Long Sodden Poems
Long Sodden Poems. Below are the most popular long Sodden by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sodden poems by poem length and keyword.
[WC2 is a London postcode which stands for Western
Central 2 and takes in the area around Holborn]
________
Over in Ireland an unhappy mother
Hired detectives, one after the other
To take on the task of locating her son
Who went by the name of Neally Dunn
He'd run off to Holborn and all his mum knew
Was that was in London, WC2
Perhaps she would sleep much more soundly at night
If he would just ring, if he would just write
Her money ran out and she broke down in tears
No letter from Neally for so many years
An old friend she met who she told about Neally
Said, 'I shall go find him and I'll do it freely.'
The kindly old friend took a boat and a train
He travelled to London and stood in the rain
He showed people pictures, his search now begun
But no one had heard of nor seen Neally Dunn
Eventually all of the streets had been trodden
The photos were soggy and he was now sodden
He so hoped to offer Dunn's mother some word
But nought had been seen and nought had been heard
He entered a pub, had a Guinness or two
And after another he went to the loo
But then he saw something that filled him with glee
In fact he forgot that he went in to pee
For he had just spotted a brilliant clue
A sign on a door that said WC2
Thinking he'd finished the task he'd begun
He tapped on the door and said, 'You Neally Dunn?'
He fully expected an end to his caper
But a voice shouted out, 'There ain't any paper.'
Our man said, 'Poor reason, so think of another,
for that's no excuse not to write to your mother.'
[This gag goes back a good forty years or so. Sorry if you’ve heard it
before but it’s not my fault that you’re a bit long in the tooth]
Cloud of despair drifted in the seamless sky of sorrow,
storm surged from the dismal horizon of mind’s visage,
melted in many streamlets of tear to torrentially flow,
like the rolling rills of raindrops on the face of foliage.
All the dark clouds didn’t dissolve in the deluge of grief,
a lone clump clasped crushed memory in emotion deep,
like the raindrop concealed in the fold of sodden leaf,
waited in me to wail for the promises I could not keep.
With the emotive brine condensing the pain of grief,
the teardrops got poised on the eyelashes for a while.
Like the raindrops at the edge of the leaning leaf,
they slid down slowly with the dreams’ debris pile.
Down the parched crease of the pallid cheek,
cascaded the silent streams of soothing solace.
The touch of serenity the mourning mind would seek
in the course of teardrops and in their calming embrace.
Before the end of our pledged journey you had gone,
left forlorn, I crumbled within the debris of the fallen sky.
Hidden cloud clump melted with angst in dismal dawn,
upwelled within me, all the restraints I felt it did defy.
The spent sun set on strewn spoils of my shattered heart,
from the dust of despair shards of life tried to rise anew.
As the destined time came for me with the call to depart,
the cloud of memory shed the last drop of tear for you.
The clutch of anguish thrashed the desolate life frail,
but from the ruins of broken heart I arose with God’s grace,
and wandered away from the dry teardrops’ trail
to divine precinct for the soul to erase the sorrow trace.
Shallow edged with twigs, and sodden leaves
The odors of the earth, green moss and peat
The roots of quiet trees and rotting logs
The crumbling bank where cattails wash their feet
Where tiny minnows dart with lightning speed
Among the roots where wild ducks come to feed
The very core and essence of the earth
Born of melted snow, and sleet and rain
Of birds who roost amid the tree tops high
And breathe the wholesome fragrance of the sky
Trees that sway and swoon along the bank
Shedding leaves of amber, rust and gold
Like ashes left from burning autumn dreams
To listen, standing guard on either flank
O'er twig and stone, with watchful eyes so keen
While shading coves where angler poles have been
Across it's face, a restless ripple seen
Where tangled grass and weeping willows lean
Upon the shores where struggles soon will cease
This place to spend in nature's splendid peace
At the crossroads between nights and longing,
He carries within him a season forgotten,
With a liver like sodden earth, chilled beneath dead leaves,
Viscera stirred by the silvery thrill of the void,
Eyes - two awkward stars bathed in dew of venom,
Wishing to dissolve,
In the mist of a river whispering its frozen wreaths,
His soul is full of echoes and untruths,
Unable to utter the teardrop, the wildness of a wrapped cry.
He fears the solitude that swallows him.
She is made of moonlit strands and woven gleams,
Chestnut shines in her hair, delicate as the wings of the morning,
Eyes reflecting colors of unabashed skies,
On her skin stretch myths boldly painted with strokes of the sun,
Bracelets of coolness and the scent of the ocean on her bared shoulder,
And she stretches on the sand - a ray in the silence of the shore,
In the noon where constellations seem to rest.
She does not know the awkwardness of voiceless days.
She lives in a world where loneliness finds no room.
Rabbit,
run, run!
The farmer doesn’t sleep
while you eat
Run, run!
The storm precedes you,
as it always does
Run, run, little one!
Your heart, like mine
is merely meat
still beating, and warm
inside its fence
We are both
constantly
hungry for something
your red leaf,
your romaine,
your fur-covered flesh is in the dirt
eating away at itself,
so is my colder skin
Little rabbit,
little soul,
my warm-bellied love,
aren’t we both true hunters
of the sodden earth?
the goldfinches,
the steady warblers,
always stop their song
in the stabbing brambles
count the syllables
of silence
in perfect time
making way for thunder
God announces
himself
Placed 1st in Contest
rain shine so divine
sprinkle blessings kissings wet ~
feet in leather boots
~~~~~~
Rain-shine sound patter
mad hatter
Alice lost in whimper drops
coatless with Rabbi Rabbit
ruling
\|||||||
////||||||||,,,,,
///////.////////||||||||||||~~the r
Ain in
sPain f
Alls mostly
on the //////~~_____?•
plain rain is my gain drip
to refrain D
from disdain r
O
Keep p dripping
Ing
everyone
SANE planting \\// \\// grain …..
::::::::::
torrential rain potential
Puddle H
Ubble Oo00orainnoshame
huddle close
s
H
O * * *
wers for blue flowers | | |
so they cower
in ROYAL tower /////|||||||::::::://///\\\\\\
///\\\\ a shimmering sleet
of rain glimmering
on street
rainbow sheet covering
a fleet of SHIPs
2 dip so neat
sweet
RAIN AGAIN bleat bleat
SODDEN EARTH
joyful mirth
|||||\/\/::::::::||||||•••girth birth water
w a t e r FILTER b
R
OK
en
G. R. A. T. E. F. U. L 4. RAINDROPS
buckets of rain
there’s a hole in my bucket
rain s
E
e
P
s
sneaking
holy r A i N
Rain S. h. I. N. e. ••xx
ON ••
_______\\\\________
In a dream of future foreseen, a stranger I see,
Familiar, yet foreign, just staring back at me.
Lines etched by laughter, eyes bright with knowing,
Face creased, scarred and pitted with forgoing,
Harangued and haggled with lines of old age.
A tapestry of choices made, right there on stage.
Suddenly, I recognize this creature standing there.
It's a strange concoction of self-awareness in the glare,
It's my future self, rejigged and rearranged,
Of future and past potential, all there estranged.
There's a whispers of triumph in the hair,
Shades of regret, darkness under the eyes that stare.
Rosy cheeks beam the warmth of relationships much cherished.
A smile half-baked is tangled in lament, entwined, embellished.
I see a montage of moments I've not lived yet.
An amalgam of potential, of what not quite, not yet met.
Of things tried, juggled, shuffled, as corrections.
Of resolutions, lessons, and inner self-reflections.
What dreams were bloomed? What paths were trodden?
What mountains were scaled? In what sea was I sodden?
How has this future seen, and past reshaped, conned the future me?
It's mosaic of maybes, a collage of what could be,
A kaleidoscope of who I could, and might be yet.
An echo chamber for all my tomorrows yet to get.
Shaken and forsaken, I awaken to the real myself,
Saying goodbye, good riddance, to my future self.
In the hush of April showers,
Whispering secrets of rebirth and decay,
I find myself lost in the labyrinth
Of dampened streets and sodden souls.
The rain taps softly on my windowpane,
A rhythmic reminder of time's ceaseless flow,
And I, a specter in this world,
Drift aimlessly through the fog of existence.
Each droplet a prism, refracting memories,
Fragmented visions of forgotten days,
Echoes of voices long silenced,
Lost in the cacophony of modern life.
In this dampened urban landscape,
Where the city streets gleam with melancholy,
I search for meaning amidst the shadows,
Tracing the footsteps of ghosts.
Their words linger in the misty air,
A haunting melody of despair and hope,
Guiding me through the darkened alleys,
Towards a fleeting glimpse of understanding.
And as the April showers fade into memory,
Leaving behind traces of renewal and decay,
I find solace in the beauty of the rain,
And in the echoes of a name.
Her tears fall like rain on a borrowed shore,
A quiet deluge, seeping through seams,
Staining the fabric of a life not hers—
His shirt, his collar, his cuffs worn thin,
Drenched in the salt of a love forbidden.
She weeps for him, the man she holds
In the hollow of her chest, a stolen flame,
A fire that warms her, yet chars her soul.
Each drop a confession, a mute apology,
To a heart that beats for what it cannot claim.
She traces the threads with trembling hands,
His scent a tether, his warmth a ghost,
Her love a river with no mouth to run,
Pooling in silence, drowning her slow.
The wrong woman, they call her—
A thief of glances, a beggar of time,
Yet she gives all, her tears the proof,
A currency spent on a debt unpaid,
Soaking his clothes with her breaking truth.
And then the wife, the keeper of vows,
Lifts the sodden cloth from the basket’s weight,
Her fingers brush the damp of grief not hers,
A stain she cannot name, yet feels too well.
She washes the shirts in a rhythm old,
A ritual of care turned bitter with knowing—
The tears of other women weave through the warp,
Heartbreak stitched into the weft of his wear,
A tapestry of sorrow she scrubs in vain,
For the water runs clear, but the pain remains.
The wife’s hands pause, the suds grow still,
She senses the echo of a stranger’s ache,
A chorus of fractures pressed into his skin—
How many tears have kissed these sleeves?
How many hearts have wept their claim?
She wrings the cloth, and with it, her peace,
The laundry a shroud for a marriage worn thin,
Each tear a thread unraveling trust,
A silent war waged in soap and rust.
The wrong woman cries, the wife washes on,
Two souls bound by the man between,
His clothes a battlefield, soaked and cleansed,
A map of longing, a ledger of loss.
One loves in shadow, one in light,
Yet both bleed red beneath the strain—
Tears that fall, and hands that mend,
A cycle of hurt with no clean end.
For love, unshared, is a wound too deep,
And the shirts he wears bear all they weep.
BLEEDIN RADIATOR!
Snow falling caused our flight delay
We arrived home from holiday
Radiator’s been leaking
A new carpet I’m seeking
I’m hoping insurers will pay!
2/1/19
Unfortunately it’s a true story ... after a fabulous holiday in Cyprus we had a 6 hour delay at the airport, our flight plan then had to be re routed to Milan so they could change crew and de ice the plane. When we eventually arrived in the UK we had 2 /12 hours sleep in the hotel before we had to be up for our flight back home. Got home and found a radiator has been leaking and had to spend 3 hours removing a sodden moldy carpet. Despite all the drama I was still able to write with humour and posted my Regina limerick which, from all the comments, has made many people smile!