Long Soil Poems
Long Soil Poems. Below are the most popular long Soil by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Soil poems by poem length and keyword.
Memories go back to my vanished youth,
And I reminisce clearly my master’s beautiful farmhouse.
With its granaries full of corn and wheat.
He was once a zealous farmer working day and night,
With me- as his inseparable companion.
We worked together in the corn fields till the fall of dusk.
With cock crow, my master would wake up,
Do his morning ablutions, get ready and proceed
To his field in springing steps,
With me clinging heavily onto his shoulders.
The land was ploughed, the seeds were sown.
My sharp blade made furrows in the soil.
Though my master’s hands with toil were torn
And my blade got blunt many a time,
Never were we inclined to take rest,
But kept working on end till the harvest was done.
Even when the summer sun was blazing above us,
With the air pulsing with waves of heat,
We worked hard, both of us finding joy in relentless toil.
Those were days of sweet contentment.
It was long ago, those days have quickly gone.
Now I have grown old and with me my master too.
Rusted and abandoned, I am tucked away,
In the old farmhouse, the sad reminder of a glorious past.
There, on a cracked wall, I am hung limp in dreamless sleep!
Now the old farm door on its rusted hinges creaks
The wicker gate around the farm is falling to decay.
The gravel path, with brambles and weeds overgrown.
Rodents and snakes roam freely among the thickets.
My master is now like his abandoned farmhouse.
A rotting engine not overhauled and can’t be put to use.
He has withdrawn to a life of lethargy,
With trains of memories haunting his days!
I awoke this morning
To a brand new day
The sun was shining
Neighbourhood children played
Then i heard on the news
That made my hair stand on end
The Reapers elves
To our world they descend
Dressed in black
These creatures of death
To take earths life
It's very last breath
With them he marches
Dictating who dies
Enrolling the weak
As he casts his eyes
First Toronto and Buffalo
Near these beautiful falls
Cities, towns and villages
In darken deathly maul
They reach Albany
Near route 87
Many people are praying
As they look towards heaven
They are now in their thousands
As they walk with the dead
The discarded are left
In bloodied stained shreds
Our countries are in cry
For a saviour so strong
To turn this dark evil to right
Cast them out, to where they came from
Semaj is summoned
Once again
From his Kingdom in the Highlands
Master of, the Mountains and Glens
With Etto his droid
New York they reach
To call up the followers
In world wide preach
He summons the Knights
And hero's of old
To rise for the right
And join his fold
In Churches and Cathedrals
All throughout our nations
Burial vaults are opening
Civilisations salvation
Even the gargoyles
Leave their resting places
To join the fold
Their faces now grace us
To the North of New York
The old and the new stand
To rid this evil
From our righteous free lands
The Reaper cries
Hell is for hero's
As King Richard replies
Hell is for zero's
Both armies clash
In bloodied spoil
But there's no spill of red
On this free countries soil
Where all around
Lie fallen elves
The Reaper on his knees
For this is where he fell
Semaj stands over
This evil of the dark
With his claymore he strikes
We are now worlds apart
The clean up begins
As they are gathered en-mass
With the divine waters
This evil has passed
The very next day
All the old hero's have returned
To their place of rest
For on this day they have earned
Nations stood together
To fight all evil, as one
The corner has been turned
A new world has begun
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-10.php
I do not die
I fall.
Each spring I split the earth
press my green throat through cold, absent soil
offer color
to a garden starved for beginnings.
They find each other near me
hands brushing in my shade
laughter taking root between ribs.
My pollen clings
They carry it on their sleeves.
Soon, ivy knots itself to brick
Roses lean open-mouthed into air.
And I cut at the stem
sap bright on the wound,
feed the ground
that fattens their forever.
By winter I am rumor and root,
threading myself in the dark
until nothing is left but the memory of bloom.
No one remembers
which flower began it.
Elephant ears with a green glow.
Gives nature a magnificent show.
Please visit and stay down below.
One of my plants looks like a sweet bow.
Zinnias, marigolds, roses too.
Sharing their pretty. Each one brand new.
Daisies planted softly in the ground.
More beautiful garden rarely found.
Sunflower’s face so prettily round.
Tiny grasshopper providing sound.
My work is happy. Dirt therapy.
Flowers my main productivity.
Angels, faeries, dragonflies too.
Sit next to pasture where cows go moo.
I have no qualms about what to do.
I’ll also grow tomatoes for you.
Soil so dear; flowers and veggies love it here.
“He has made everything suitable in its time. He also has put {the past} in their hearts, yet no one can grasp what God does from the beginning to the end” (Ecclesiastics 3:11)
I remember treading through narrow marshy paths,
Our fields with my father, me as a little child;
While in a slip, like an involuntary maths,
My "grasp" of my father's hand and the way he smiled...
The "vines" creeping climbing crawling filled with ripe grapes,
"Hold" fast to the branches whose endurance seem strong;
And "glide" greatly and gets best of forms and fine shapes,
Source of the air and soil they "inhale" and live long...
As the days went by and when I lost my father,
Just Like creepers and climbers, the strength I did need;
I "clutch" now the hands of the heavenly author,
The father and author of every life well "hued”…
Faced with trials, tribulations we "gasp" and pant,
Only when we "clasp" the hand of God we stand free;
In him, our spirits "soar"; his name we need to chant,
He makes our life whole; wake us his kingdom to see.
02 July 2021
Writing Prompt - Grasp - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Human Rights-
The rights not only men but women,
God rolled down the soil to make all men and women alike,
Air,light and water common for all,
Right to do and right to undo,
Human Rights,
For men and women alike,
Why one to listen to other?
Why one to hear to other?
No one to bring force on another,
No one to take the life of another,
Human Rights,
At par for all,
No above par,
No below par,
Each of the birds enjoys a set of wings,
To fly independently,
But they fly together,
Signing for a system under their wings,
A system to be together like galaxy,
One to listen to other,
One to hear to other,
Under a system all signed,
One to expect from other,
One to respect to other,
For the system to survive,
Human Rights,
For all,
An universal system,
All to accept,
All to respect,
For the coexistence like birds,
For all the world,Human Rights,
For all the Governments,
Constitutional Rights,
A system all Government institutions in sight,
For all it's men and women alike,
To fly the flag of just in hike,
The strong structure of constitution,
Constructed for all by all,
The key of the structure in the hands of all men and women,
Access allowed but with the aid of the key,
No one can try back doors,
Theft of all thefts is thieving one's right,
All men and women to become watchdogs day and night to fight.
Because,
Constitutions of Governments are the very doors of HR homes!
Some days at sea are nothing but work.
Heave out and trice up. The smoking lamp’s lit.
All one can dream of are stable foundations,
Roots in the soil, and walls made of stone.
Some days at sea are seven nights long.
Stand to at muster and stand tall on watch.
All one regrets is the sin of the Garden,
Exiled from Eden and sworn to the mast.
Some days at sea are lived in the dark,
Crouching below deck past canvas and hemp.
All one can smell is the taint of the wicked
Wafting from hammocks asway in the swell.
Some days at sea are heavy and damp,
No sleep to comfort the ache of fatigue.
All one imagines is Saint Brendan’s mercy,
Tribute for Neptune, and safe passage home.
Some days at sea are absolute calm,
Fair seas that follow with no hint of storm.
All one envisions are distant horizons,
Some looming outward, and others within.
It was magic beans you placed in my hand as we held
Ones you nurtured, embedded deep within your love
I know because it tormented me with euphoria planted
Stalked me earnestly with your charming advances
You know I climbed walls 'til next you stood at my side
When you occupied me and I began to grow, the eclipse
Was gigantic, extraordinary, a wanting wildness sublime
You were my mystical hen, the one who laid Golden Eggs
You made our home a majestic castle suited for royalty
It was magic beans you infused in my hand as we held
Made me spin searching for a long pole to slide down
Escape with you my loving wife from the Giant Ogre
Inside me, I who feared commitment, a long time alone
But now you are the only enchantress I need or crave
And when it is my turn to die, take with me to the grave
The feel of you deeply rooted beyond my meager frame
From the soil above my coffin will grow beyond the sky
The largest plant with leaves shaped in awe of our lives
Steps beyond the clouds you'll find me playing my harp
An angelic music and song that will herald our union
Speak of our story in fable for children's open ears
Adapted to capture their imaginations, inspire them
Lift a glass in cheer to magic beans entrenched in you
01~12~2015
Maurice Yvonne
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Contest Name: Magic Beans
Belief
Metamorphosis; can I really get a witness?
Searching for a loving kiss, waiting here for her lips.
Love makes your face change,
Getting better with age.
Happy days are back again.
The truth is the only way.
What more can I say?
Lover evolution; love’s an institution.
A body lies alone, lacking devotion.
One hand needs a second,
Fates date is pre-beckoned.
Death is always calling,
Tired of always falling.
Fighting the mortal coil,
Hoping to plant in the soil.
Waiting for life to grow.
Trying to hold a precious soul.
Words become pictures,
They could write a story of pure bliss,
But nobody would ever believe in it.
So tell me what I should think.
Faith in the faithless,
Apathy requires less.
This life I lead has been one Hell of a test.
Maybe I’m not ready yet.
(C)2019 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
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