Long Solitary Poems
Long Solitary Poems. Below are the most popular long Solitary by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Solitary poems by poem length and keyword.
The people have spoken
The turd has been flushed
Only a small trace lingers
You could count the important
Messages here
On Mickey Mouse’s fingers
We say what we want
We want what we say
And every last Joe must listen
Last count, I’d say
There are far, far too many
Solitary missions
Don’t I know you
From Acapulco?
Didn’t you see me in training?
Couples like us
Were always doomed
And the sky was always raining
We raced on a beach
And drank from a husk
Our hair in the wet waves glistened
The turtles then screamed,
“We’ve got you fooled;
You’re on solitary missions”
The world’s on fire --
No wait, that’s the stove
In some Russian apartment
Ever since the Red Army came,
We been shoved into compartments
Some took this
And some took that
And the rest was left for the wishing
So I donned a brown uniform
And gold-starred hat
For one more solitary mission
Now the blankets of the young
Are all dried and hung
Too bad they ain’t never been slept in
All hungry for bread
And left for dead
In starvation and depression
That kind of romance
Can be plagiarised
Which I've done, by my own admission
Just don’t you dare look
In the baby’s eyes
On your solitary mission
The preacher man
Married a Republican
Yet their babes were all Progressives
Who attacked and killed them
In rage one night
On their road to being elected
It all comes out
In the wash, they say
Crime knows no abolition
Still, history will sing
So sweet and so pure
Of their solitary missions
So the shows are closed
The city’s been razed
But you wouldn’t know from the traffic
They often wake up
In a post-coital haze
With headaches that are terrific
But this is our evening
And this is our midnight
And this is our red velvet curtain
Those work zones and orange construction cones?
They’re the emblems of solitary missions
Silent streams swirl silver shadows deep
Where sorrow's sediment settles, secrets keep
Forgotten fragments of a fractured past
Echoes of emotions that will forever last
Fleeting fingers of fate fan out the sand
As fragile fortunes falter, lost in the land
Unspoken undertows of unfulfilled desire
Yearning for a yesterday that's lost in the fire
Gathering gusts of grief, I grasp the grains
As whispers of what could've been remain in vain
Shifting shores of shattered dreams unfold
A tale of time and tears, forever to be told
In hollowed halls of heartache, I reside
Where shadows of shattered hopes abide
The weight of worn-out words, a heavy heart
A melancholy melody, forever to impart
Through the glassy gates of grief, I gaze
At the grains of time, in a haze of daze
A labyrinth of lost love, a maze of pain
A solitary soul, forever to remain
In the hourglass of existence, I'm confined
A prisoner of pain, forever left behind
The sands of solitude, a slow descent
A lonely journey, without a reprieve or consent
Fractured fragments of a forgotten past
Echoes of emotions that will forever last
In the desolate dunes of a dying heart
A solitary soul, forever to depart
Through the veil of vulnerability, I see
A reflection of regret, a legacy to be
A tale of time and tears, forever to unfold
A story of sorrow, forever to be told
In the shifting sands of solitude, I stand
A monument to melancholy, in this desolate land
Another beginning ???
Home ( where the heart lies ? ) – again – to reside within ?,
that solitary place, where only I may live, lose or win ?
Two thousand and twelve has out lived it’s usefulness.
For many, it has left them in quite a mess !
What will two thousand and thirteen bring ?
Will our spirits roar, our souls soar, our hearts sing ?,
or will political arrows fly, unfulfilled promises sting,
will it all come down?, our essence wrapped in a sling ?
Tomorrow, the future is promised to know one.
When all is said and when all is done,
all that is left to us, is the here and now
and with it, we best know how
to make it through the day,
hopefully, the fairy man, we will not have to pay,
for at least a while longer, so we may stay
and hopefully ( dream on ) make a little hay,
as we – in the days of old – used to say.
As the years keep rolling on,
one finds that youth has gone
and you know that you are getting old
when there is no birth,
only of deaths are you told.
Seldom of mirth
doth one know, just the cold
cruel winds of growing old.
We have been shown
one’s claim, to us it has become unknown
so, like that stone calendar,
that came to us from afar,
what is written in stone
is but some mans interpretation
of what was to happen with every nation.
We have begun a new year !
I wonder how many more will live in fear
of losing all that they hold so dear ?
B. J. “A” 2
January 2nd 2013
“When the pen falls silent that once danced to the muse’s command and when the poet’s heart no longer beats with rhyme, we realize that the poet in us is dead. It is a sad truth difficult to reckon.” ~ By Poet
Far from the din of madding crowd,
And away from the bustle of city streets,
I withdrew into a solitary spot,
To turn my thoughts into dazzling verse.
Shelley and Shakespeare came in view,
Emily and Eliot fell in line,
Their verse ringing loud and clear,
Their energy fanning fire within
I dreamt of putting proper words,
To clothe my thoughts in striking notes,
Longed to pour my loaded heart,
In powerful verse to move the hearts
But as I started scrawling down,
All that I had stored in hoards –
Ebbed out into mere froth and foam,
Leaving bits of broken thoughts
I sallied out for a stunning theme,
And stroked my pen to put it down,
But topics eluded me one by one,
Unable to decide on what to dwell,
I rummaged my memory for apt words,
And dallied round with lofty themes
Yet nothing other than splintered thoughts,
And hackneyed phrases came alive.
I strained hard to give them life,
And labored in vain to make them rhyme,
‘The Blazing Sun’ and ‘the Brilliant Star’,
Both faded out with no trace of glow.
I envisioned before me the Sacred Mount,
To drink from the fountain gushing down,
But hot lava spurted out,
And the wings of fancy burnt outright!
No Muse appeared to enliven me,
Nor my fantasy lingered long,
The words that once flowed like honey
Dried up with no inspiration, coming to nourish.
Staring blank into the scroll in front,
Unable to scribble even a moving thought,
Like a soldier vanquished in war,
I put away my paper and pen.
I greatly lament the death of the poet in me,
And wonder if ever will have a rebirth!
"The Circe Effect" (Part 2)
In solitary confinement, she remained all alone
in a big old mansion in the middle of a woodland zone
there she sat weaving on her loom all alone
on that Island of Aeaea, until that good sort, Odysseus
walked into her home.
Athena, sent Hermes to warn Odysseus “Beware Circe’s wizardry! Beware!”
and handed him a sharp sword with some Moly to imbibe,
“Protective powers! Added benefit!”, she prescribed -
with her final parting words, something to this effect,
“Odysseus, dear friend, Goddesses are not mortal, they are extremely treacherous in bed!”
Circe’s powers were far too strong and before very long
she had Odysseus
hooked on her magnificent wand.
He remained on her island for one year,
feasting, drinking wine, dancing merry with our Circe,
where he slumbered in a meadow full of flowers with her,
to avoid getting dirty.
Eventually it was time for Odysseus to continue on his quest
where Circe, our clever and dear girl,
gave him final directions to The Underworld
you know, that other dubious
place to rest.
(Lovejoy-Burton/ Dec 2017)
"Underworld Blues"/The Mechanisms
https://youtu.be/wkWkk7Di2YU
I really have to speak my mind
One day you'll wake up to find
There is no on by your side
Every day you really tried
Pushing them away as you
Became more and more blue
They wanted to really be
Fixing all your misery
With kind words and crying shoulders
But as you became more older
Your attitude started getting
So angry it wasn't letting
You out of all darkened places
Screaming in loving friends faces
They slowly started disappearing
All their efforts for good caring
Was just being pushed to waste
Giving you a bitter taste
Of how they were being treated
All their efforts were defeated
As you shut down more and more
Surrounded like never before
From loneliness anger creates
Sealing your solitary fate
Just look at the peak
Tall and sleek
Looking at the creek
With jealousy
A little enmity too
For the creek has its friends
Trees flowers showers
Towers of colored clouds
Prepared to appease it
With fire dousing rains
The mountain peak
Lonely monotone
Head to toe alone
A single standing stone
None to share the agony cones
Of grief
No bird no ballad
No pink clad
Deserted by all glee
Eleanor Rigby
Messy hair and dirtied skin
Frail frame lean and thin
To vacuum, she likes to grin
Almost an empty bean
Knee loves chin
Exhausted by her misery
Eleanor Rigby
Her stone-cold gaze
In her eyes the grey haze
On her face blocked sun rays
Starless nights and dark days
From loneliness sickly
Eleanor Rigby
See her at the county fair
There are vacant chairs
Yet she chooses to sit
Near the river beside a pit
Skin taking support from the bone
A dull ache seated all alone
A sculpture from wood or stone
Attempt to laugh bringing out groan
A torn paper with the wind blown
A voice of hesitant monotone
Alone alone and again alone
All colours monochrome
Though surrounded by people
Living in a desolate island
Walking along the empty seashore
A solitary story is she
Eleanor Rigby
Suddenly she collided
With him
Was about to slip into the river
He held her tight
A cup of tea
Eleanor Rigby
September 4, 2019
Eleanor Rigby Who was she Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Jerry T Curtis |
A single lonely cloud floating by
casting a small shadow on the ground
a shadow that changes as the cloud
is twisted and altered by a breeze
As it slowly moves on, it shape shifts
now a swan but wait a fiery chariot
that thunders by, a forest in the sky
mountains and houses, even a lake
The wind strengthens blowing more
clouds to combine into a shiny city
icicles hang down forming diamonds
that glitter and twinkle in the sunshine
A single lonely cloud floating by
captures my imagination setting it afire
filling me with wonder as i watch it
put on its own spectacular solitary show
Goosebumps and all
I lay
Under a bed of stars
Sparkling across the night sky like a diamond mine
Chinese Lanterns in the sky, hanging far from my reach
To guide me through the complexity of the darker night
The solitary moon and I Gaze at one another other
Parallel in nature, we hang back from the rest of the world
She, plagued by her cyclic nature,
And I, sickened by the cynicism that only a broken heart can bring
She pulls at the ocean, wishing for affection from the shore
And I, push away any attempt at sincerity
But she must fall as the day grows young,
And I must rise to the possibilities
My chest wall aches, as it fills with hope and the cold night air
This must be how a second chance at life, and inner peace must feel
Then the wind blows through the willow trees
The crickets move their bows together in symphony.
They made an overture, for the performance of only one
This is my song,
my new harmony
Form:
Every Wednesday on the dot,
off to the newsagent like a shot.
A solitary sixpence,all my wealth
picking up the Hotspur comic from the shelf.
To read of my hero W W Wilson,the wonder man,
sporting 'extraordinaire',batted bowled and ran.
Soccer &cricket were a piece of cake,
leaving all others in his wake.
Bowling ,on a sixpence seven from eight,
above average Wilson was uniquely great.
He'd bowl all day at one twenty an hour,
never stopping to take shower!
In futuristic black body suit,
a record breaker without dispute.
My inspiration,this imagined prince,
never bettered ,'fore or since!
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2007