Long Spell Poems
Long Spell Poems. Below are the most popular long Spell by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Spell poems by poem length and keyword.
The start of the end draws near
I fear
The fake star
Up there so far
Shinning so bright
In the night
Not real
Made of steel
No big deal
The old comes crashing down
To the sea to drown
Misses Nemo
To the sea it will go
It carries a passenger on it's shell
After a spell
In the water it is alive
In the salt it does thrive
Across the waves it will spread
All that crosses it ends up dead
Changing sea life as we know
To late it starts to show
Poisons the water we drink
Now it comes out of the kitchen sink
Gives all a rage
End of our age
People go mad
So sad
No cure
Pain so pure
People cry
As they die
Death falls from the sky
Nowhere to hide
As the lions kill their own pride
People lie dead in the street
Killing all they meet
From the mind of madness
Such sadness
The tomorrow I see
Things that could possibly be
The beginning of the end
Of a life of pretend
Locked in my mind
Never know what I will find
Uncharmed by the bloom of fresh roses white,
I shall with the mute prop of unspeaking sticks,
Like a bored mollusk loathe my slowing walks;
And pine for eternal still with wee cursing clicks.
Uninspired by thrills of chart-topping songs,
And no longer revived by their lisping beats,
And aided by sad hammers and rioting tongs,
I soon shall fault all Earth and her tepid treats.
Not fresh world's trending fashion’s catalogues,
Nor its luring vogues in their cyclic monologues,
Shall this last pilgrim's going even slightly delay;
All men’s warmth unwanted obstacle in my way.
Thievish night's erstwhile dreaded gloom
Shan’t prove such a feared quieting tomb,
For her dusky shroud may better warmth
Spell than all sluttish breath's jaded cloth.
I’ll gradually disdain these slow-turning rounds,
And slowly uninterestedly rise to stiller grounds.
Did you know there’s a sweetest day?
It’s the twenty-first. Recall it well.
On calendars it’s on display.
I’m October; sweet is my tale.
How wonderful my time in fall.
On a mountain or in a dell -
With multi-colors I enthrall.
I’m October; sweet is my tale.
My story is always the same.
Take delight in me on a trail.
Keep in mind my beautiful name.
I’m October; sweet is my tale.
If nature spoke, she would impart
her tales of how I cast a spell
that brings nostalgia to the heart.
I’m October; sweet is my tale.
With all your senses, take me in.
The freshness of my air – inhale!
I grace each place when I begin.
I’m October. Sweet is my tale.
The Beautiful One, comes into being,
to save a world, in need of freeing.
The spell they're under, was born of the deep,
running through poppies, and falling asleep.
The sun shines through clouds, sometimes on the soul,
like a stone with moss, needs some help to roll.
The man stands naked, feed him, and clothe him,
then fill his head, with heaven and sin.
Great things will happen, when someone divine,
comes here to fulfill, the karmic design.
In a place so grand, where there's light and dark,
a god that forgives, when missing the mark.
This is the great test, fight with courage friend,
there is great treasure, waiting at the end!
date:9/26/21
Thrall
The cup has arrived, take my blood.
Fill it up with the good stuff.
Drink the wine, while I unwind these chains.
I have been trapped too long in this self-made cage.
Tear at the bones with perfect teeth.
Ground to a point; been grinding for weeks,
To get the right blade to cut my food with.
This hole I exist in just leaves me livid.
I want to scream in the middle of day-dreams,
But people will see me and never know,
That the empire is crumbling; all around me is dust.
I have given up on this castle of rust.
The armour no longer protects my soul.
The happiness is gone and I am feeling old
And demoralized, the eternal night,
Beckons me to join it, but I am made of pure light.
The claws had dragged me under their spell,
But now the spell is broken, so let me leave this Hell
And find my own way, a better way;
All else only fades away.
(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
A message to the martyrs who fight while we’re asleep
A message to mothers who bow their heads and weep
A message to the orphans who walk at night alone
A message to the broken hearts that constantly just roam
You’re not alone
You’re not alone
There is a God in heaven who hears your heart.
A message to the cutter who releases pain with knifes
A message to the battered, abused at night wives
A message to the homeless sleeping on the ground
A message to the addict that is dying to be found
You’re not alone
You’re not alone
There is a God in heaven who hears your heart.
Don’t listen to the lies they speak
Don’t listen to the tales that creep
Don’t listen to the messages from hell
The music that wants to cast its spell
There’s power in the name of Christ
Let his love be your only vice
And
Forget how all the elders showed you how to lead
Let Gods word be your one true seed.
You’re not alone
You’re not alone
There is a God in heaven who hears your heart.
By: Sabina Nicole
my waste basket reclines on a full stomach,
patting a grated belly
stretching over three course meals
of rotten ideas.
i ask myself why?
you've had your native tongue for,
how many years?
how many months?
how many days
of chatter and quip
could you have spun?
i count the minutes between pencil strokes,
between lines of order and my graphite mess.
i think the only long word i can properly spell is
Tantalized, but only because it's phonetic.
it's not that i don't want to write.
you could only dream of
how i dream of writing praise-worthy poems;
maybe one about a bird braving the storm,
or
how betrayal leaves the
bitter taste of coffee in the mouth.
but then i think of the galleries of poets
who have already written about small birds
or storms,
or both,
and how coffee really isn't that bitter.
and so
mind not made,
my paper stares at me
with blank expression, reflecting
the thick snowy fog
i'd like to think fills my head
instead of empty space.
the kind that clumps up
and trips over itself
like a hairball stuck in a cat's throat,
or a ball of tangled thread.
uncomfortably clinging like an itchy sweater.
Blood lingers in everything that I am,
staining my desire with a feather quill.
I grew from apprentice to madame
with practice and sheer force of will.
You may ask what spell would allow
propane words unwavering and hot?
Embers tend to catch a bit faster now.
With pure intention don’t be concerned,
what is sent out will always be returned.
Witchcraft is a class with no cram,
just harm none and let the rede fulfill.
The black cauldron will burn any exam
that replaces knowledge with a kill.
So much simmers below a silent vow.
You never share all you were taught,
keep close just a bit of that know-how.
Make no mistake, my magic is earned.
Know this, I respect what I have learned.
In the flowing darkness of the delirious night
I saw once my being sink with my essence escaping,
get dissipated in dissociative domain of ethereal ether
where I heard the sound of the distant bells toll faintly,
masking the music of my life’s violin fading away
in stalled time’s deadly depth of smothering silence.
That night I felt my frail body paranormally possessed,
the pounding heart pushing blood to the brain in a rush.
While with the swinging sense I floated in the thin air,
the vaporized eyes strained in vain to clear the vision
as they looked vacantly held in the helm of hallucination,
shaping the engulfing ominous silhouette of collapsed space.
That’s when I saw a pale figure appear as if frozen
in the mist outside the window open on the seraphic sky.
As the gloomy clouds cleared I saw in the moonshine
the smiling face of my mother who I’d lost decades ago.
She came to take me with her, but before I could say ‘wait’
I crossed the boundary between self and spell to recoup me.
Wise words work well true cheer that tells,
Opt deeply here to signal peace;
Reap that fond dwell as thought casts spell,
Keep focus clear to impact ease;
Sense a fond way that joy aligns.
Feel how you feel with a stern poise,
Urge thus each play to grand design;
Note faith that wills a sanguine voice,
Dance in your dream as hope finds you.
Wise work binds joy as love brings grace,
Oil your wise theme with form that cues;
Reach for warm finds that greet your face,
Dream dazzles dust in the crisp air,
Succinct deep trust now channels flair.
Leon Enriquez
05 May 2018
Hamlet Place, ACT