Long Spade Poems
Long Spade Poems. Below are the most popular long Spade by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Spade poems by poem length and keyword.
I started digging a hole,
When I was young they told me I would reach China if I kept digging,
I think the spade was a gift but maybe it was a burden,
I am fine with the labour,
The days the sun shines drums up a thirst,
I used to drink sweet things and smile while I dug. Now the lemonade is bitter and the frost bite turned my toes black
I keep on digging as if you are watching me. When I reached puberty, I was several feet deep already,
I took long breaks in those days as I thought of girls.
The hole didn't get deeper for a while but the sides were cut like a shallow grave,
I picked up the pace the first time my heart was badly broken. I lost sight of the top and hit a leak, the walls collapsed and I was buried alive.
I crawled out and the ground was soft and the air wet. The earth was turned and there were no flowers or grass or weeds
I started to dig again, because I was given a spade, it's all I know.
This time has called me.'
And if the Lord He is for me? I from
the land of iron men.' Moulded in the
outback, where horizons bend.' Where the heat is as; is a second skin
And the rain when it comes, is in tons of its
Volume and by great din.' Where steel is
in the spine of folk, where the women
are also ready.' and we don't always joke.' If God hits
Me with a spade..Then thats the call' yet i'll
Stand by my countrymen ' one for all ' by Jove' and I call your name, In respect 'will you observe a nation, that prizes honesty and
Larrakin love in oceons..No not perfect.' Yet i'll reckon
They'll come good..Not like you, but no one earth man could.' So I come to ask.? Will you cut e'm some slack..? That we may endure for when your Son comes back.' I know He'll be landing on the mount of olives..Yet if He'll spare some time.? As no
More is He that man of sorrows.' I'd like to
Walk with Him on ninety mile beach
Divine).' Maybe He'd raise that fallen column.? I know He'll teach' I am His work He raised me right there' where hearts are true and
emotions can be rare.' Such are my true
requests.'
Lord help me fight for my land, as long
as there's good wine; in the Hunter
its well worth it, i reckon still; to stand,
All in your time.!
The duck, the dog, the chicken and I,
loved long walks along the beach.
Me with spade firm in hand,
Lick played ball in the sand.
Dip had her scarf wrapped round her head,
And Chick wore a green bainette.
Lamenting of sweet times gone by,
when Chick, Dip, Lick and I,
Would splish, splash, splosh in puddles deep,
Or fee fi fo on mountain steep.
Where Billy goats would cautiously wonder,
and trolls leap out from deep, down under.
Oh the fun times we had,
playing dress up, fighting bad.
The superheroes of the town,
me, in my bright red dressing gown.
Lick in his unique mask disguise,
Dip wearing her brand new xray eyes.
Chick flaunting a full licra suit,
as the latest MI5 recruit.
We'd scurry high, low, far and near,
from mountain top to sunny pier.
We'd often see my lonesome nan,
who'd bake the best, homemade flan.
I'd guzzle the berries placed on top,
Lick would chomp on fresh cream clot.
Dip feasted on the almond base,
And Chick enjoyed the pastry case.
Then on we'd hed to Nancy's green,
for a kick about beside the Dean.
We'd paddle round the great big lake,
in a dinghy boat, eight by eight.
Until it was then time for tea,
when all the young children flee
Back home to mama's warm, fresh bread,
mutton soup and cabbage head.
To help me grow up good and strong,
and bulk me up for summers long.
Then I'd lie all sleepy by my friends,
and tell stories till the daylight ends.
Tales of dragons, beasts and vast adventure,
of the duck, the dog, the chicken and I.
08.19.2020
This thirsty ground with a barren view,
Once cooked to a blistering dance,
It baptized all the life with heat,
Cooking the grass, shrubs and plants,
Until the farmer, in his old leather boots,
Walked, throughout spring, to the fight,
Armed with nothing but hope and a spade,
Tube natives he sowed every night,
From Swampy She Oaks to Lanky Buttons,
Hopbush to Silky Sawn Pea,
He covered the hills over two years of work,
Covered in magnificent trees,
Til now, five years later, in our beautiful drought,
Life flourishes over the hills,
And the birds, bats, possums and quolls returned,
To the ground that no longer kills.
Carnations and candlelight
black Cadillac Seville sleek
ace of spade fury
six chambers for a lifetime
to set things just right
bang bang
eight balls ricocheting
bang bang
rack'em up, chump
cue sticks red velvety dusted
musk oil grinding virgin blood
diamond dead snake eyes
star mist and streamer
stiletto and sequin
unchain the ceiling
throbbing dreams kneeling
pearls riding moonbeams
sin sighing salvation
cracking pink champagne
black satin bullets and golden chains
drawing down mahogany shades
Caving in the morning
red-eyed and dead glory
two black carnations
sunny side down.
her mind drifted over the alluvial landscape
covered a few sink holes and seeped quick sand
from a life built on dense sediment and erosion
she had never asked for much but now she was firm
not so quickly please she pleaded for more time
deposits have to settle and sludgy silt needs to graft
a plastic spade and a battered bucket searched
patiently battling restlessness and discomfort
of whose home is what castle covered in sand
this challenge is so vast and my tools are so small
my roots are grip-less muddy and abandoned
she noticed and gave up on fighting the tides
huddled with eyes on a rock pool in which a
starfish rested on algae and crusted display
spread eagled she halted a while and gave way
now motionless she let be and inhaled deeply
while a wave of the ocean broke over her spine
resurrected firm resolve in view of gloomy farewell
yet despite crushing abrasions she started to float
was washed up at the other end of the beach
in a cave with pebbles and brazen drift wood
with consciousness bathed and cleansed to the core
she wiped salt from sad eyes and sorrow from her lips
kissed the nautical Prince who had been there all along
24th February 2021
Continued from Part 2
Beyond the suburbs, farmers’ fields (where donkeys often brayed)
inhale gray gusts of barren dust where living seed once laid
and in the haze a scarecrow sways, impaled upon a spade.
Green trees gone dark in palace parks (where kids once paused to play),
watch lifeless things on phantom swings (like statues made of clay)
guard marbled tombs in graveyards groomed for grievers bent to pray.
And castle clocks, unwound, defrock with speechless spinning spokes,
unfurling blight of reigning Night by sweeping off her cloaks,
and flaunting dun oblivion, her Baroness evokes.
The sun-bleached bones of those who'd flown lie scattered down the lanes
while other souls who’d hid in holes left bones with yellow stains
of plaintive tears (shed insincere, for no one felt the pains).
The wraiths that scream in sleepless dreams have ceased to terrify
though terrors wrought by conscience fraught now stalk and lurk nearby
within the shrouds of curtained clouds, frail fabrics on the sky.
And fog no longer seeps beyond the edge of doom’s café,
for when she trails her mourning veils, she fills the cabaret
with sallow smears of misty tears in sheets of shallow gray.
The City’s still, like hollowed quill with ravished feathered vane,
baptized in floods of spattered blood, once flowing through a vein.
The fruits of life, destroyed in strife... ’twas truly all in vain.
No umbras hum with jagged tongues nor sing a silent psalm
nor lade pale lips with languid quips to pierce the deathly calm –
they've seen, you see, life’s brevity, beneath a neutron bomb.
EPILOGUE
Beyond the Silent City’s walls, the victors laugh and play
while celebrating PEACE ON EARTH, the devil’s sobriquet
for neutron radiation death in places far away.
End
"Poetic tools are a means to aid poetry, not an end in themselves'
*******************************************************************
I don't understand why poet use poetic tools so often making a poem so tough to understand
Hiding behind the garb of metaphor, simile, onomatopoeia, alliterations and other poetic tools the real thoughts of poet, the message he wants to convey never reaches the mind of readers
Ask any school going child reading english literature he will say "I don't understand this poem what is poet trying to say! Why can't they make it simple? Why use figures of speech?"
Why not call a spade a spade! Be simple straight and clear! Let your message reach others!
Write such that each reader interprets the poem in same manner.
Same meaning, same mental image gets created in reader's mind and poets and readers mind become one such should be poetry!
I have read poems which no one one has understood, each reader giving his own interpretation.
I don't understand what is the fun in that?
Especially when you want to convey a message, use straight clear language as against poetry tools.
I know, my child dear, you are growing up physically,
Your mind, I see, has been developing quizzically;
As your flesh and blood, and bones intermingle in your growth,
Shouldn't ethically fine fiber become your true troth...?
While respecting your father, mother, sister, and brother,
Shouldn't you respect, too, your neighbor and any other?
Shouldn't each word you think and speak, at each moment, my child,
Be truth and truth alone in your self-styled way - mild or wild...?
Shouldn't, my child, your confidence combine with your kindness?
And to your helpfulness to others, should you show blindness?
Shouldn't you be industrious, and all the same, sincere?
To call a spade a spade should you ever in your life fear...?
Shouldn’t you accept your wrongs, while you're happy when you're right?
Against the might, for the rights of the poor, shouldn't you fight?
Shouldn't your love, just as humans, reach out to all creatures?
Shouldn't optimism be the brightest of all your features...?
Shouldn't you, to safeguard Mother Nature, always be bold?
To esteem, the world as your household, shouldn't your mind, mold?
Could you execute these, my child, in your life, as you grow?
Shouldn't, like the priceless gems, your existence ever glow...???
20 February 2023
The 12 Things You'd Teach Your Child Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Matt Caliri
Dreamed that you loved me again
I saw it in your eyes
Filled with love and happiness
The words we wrote despised
The tears were writ upon the clouds
Your heart was not the prize
The words we spoke can't be unsaid
Our love has been capsized
The birds sang out ,"its all for naught."
My love is not for sale
I prayed for you upon my knees
Was hid behind the veil
The hope I felt moved inside my dream
The picture had been taken
I wanted you to wait for me
Must have been mistaken
Woke to tears I see it clear
Gathered memories within my soul
Armies fought to cleanse the mess
Precious love was on the dole
The birds sang out ,"its all for naught."
My love is not for sale
I prayed for you upon my knees
You hid behind the veil
The birds sing with morning glory
Love carried in a pail
My prayer's were never heard those nights
My ship put out to sail
I visit when asleep at night
We're walking hand and hand
Hope those wicked birds sleep in
As we walk along the sand
Those birds are my alarm clock
As your vision slowly fades
Only see you as I dig the hole
It's best to use a spade