Long Stairs Poems
Long Stairs Poems. Below are the most popular long Stairs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stairs poems by poem length and keyword.
I had one finger sandwich, one cracker with cheese...
but I was not satisfied, only with these,
so, on my way home I had a burger with fries,
and a couple of steaming hot cherry pies.
When I got home, I had one pizza, two burritos,
polished off with three bags of Cheetos.
I heard a voice that said, "Stop eating this slop",
but it was too late, because I could not stop.
The refrigerator was empty, so I ate up four chairs,
I ate the table, and I ate up the stairs.
Before you knew it, I'd eaten the whole house,
I didn't even spare that poor little mouse.
I started to cry because everything was gone,
but I felt much better when I ate the lawn.
My stomach was hurting. You might say I was reckless,
but I kept going and ate half of East Texas.
I ate up the earth, and I ate up the moon,
I ate up the sun with my hands, not a spoon.
I ate up all the stars, and I ate up the sky.
Nothing is left, so I bid you goodbye.
At the old place,
the days were the color of unsharpened pencils—
dull wood, faint graphite.
He knew the timing of every bell,
the way the lockers stuck in winter,
which stair creaked near the railing.
He could walk it all without looking.
Maybe that was the problem.
Nothing surprised him.
Not the ceiling stains shaped like countries.
Not the way his words
sometimes slipped past unnoticed,
like chalk dust in the air.
He kept his head level.
Did what was asked.
Let the afternoons close quietly behind him.
When he left,
he carried no grand speech—
just a box of notebooks
and a habit of watching from the edges.
The new building had too many windows.
Light fell across the floors
in long, bright stripes
that were hard to ignore.
He squinted at first.
The halls moved quickly,
but not unkindly.
A shoulder brushed his—
“Sorry.”
A pause.
“You’re new, right?”
He nodded.
The word felt small
but it didn’t disappear.
In class, the teacher asked a question
no one answered right away.
He waited.
Then didn’t.
His voice sounded different here—
less like it was testing the air,
more like it expected to stay.
At lunch, someone shifted a backpack
an inch to the left.
Enough room.
The days began to pick up color—
not all at once,
but in strokes.
A joke that landed.
A project partner who texted after school.
A hallway that seemed shorter
by Friday.
He still noticed things—
the hum of lights,
the rhythm of steps on stairs—
but now there were other details too:
sunlight warming his desk by third period,
a laugh he recognized
as partly his own.
If the old school was pencil-gray,
this one was something closer to morning—
not blazing,
just steadily brightening.
And somewhere in the middle of it all,
without ceremony,
he stopped standing at the edges
and found himself
exactly where the light fell.
The first Wednesday of the month
we sit around the table and share
poems written with care and revised.
We take in their shapes and forms
and read between the lines.
We gasp with wonder about creations
and search for other words
to make each verse stronger.
Each of us has written volumes by now
the lives we shared month-by-month.
A retired lawyer has returned
from his vacation in Spain
and I’m back from four years
of traveling through the Midwest for work.
The sights shape nuances of our pieces.
Each of us takes the time allowed to read
and get feedback but time slips from our fingers.
At eight PM, the library closes.
Our conversations continue in the hallways
and as we move toward the stairs.
I take in the sight of paintings and stop
when I see the shadow of the group’s founder
on the wall. She nods at me.
An idiom by which she's always stuck
is 'having one's head buried in a book'
The truth behind it, she was unprepared
that morning as she went to climb the stairs.
Stopping to lift a bottle, bad mistake
especially when one isn't quite awake
her balance gone, could not control herself
now plunging headlong into the book shelf.
Bruised head, bruised knees,bruised pride was quite enough,
thankfully, make-up would disguise the scuffs.
But then she only went and made it worse
by saying that it would make a good verse.
Hopefully next time she will be wiser
and not tell me, but tell 'Trip Advisor'
29th August 2016
With love, Connie, from Viv x
The old house was left
a wordless descendant
Ravines of cold air slide in through the cracks
Deadbolts are latched and keys have been hidden
Years of desertion have swallowed the years
Cupboards are bare, and the hinges are bent,
Doors are askew with a vague musty scent
Laughter was swept with the dust of neglect
Summers and winters have long been forgotten
Windows watched seasons gobble the stars
A derelict house that no one would claim
A house shuttered tight, where no one remains
No one has bothered to take just a look
No one is writing a page from this book
No one is left to tell of the story
No one is left to walk down the stairs
_______________________________________________________
As I walked over to my bed,
Completely drained and unable to do
Anything else other than dive
Into the pool of unconsciousness
I saw, coming towards me,
A man, seated upon a raft!
He rowed slowly and in a relaxed manner,
Coming towards me
As one well aware of where he is headed to!
As he neared, I noticed that his face could not
Be discerned, since he wore his hat low on his forehead
But I could see, near his feet, a singing bowl!
He came next to me and waved over to me
To direct me to get on his raft!
I did so, without thinking twice
And off we went into the sea of existence;
Him sure of where he is going to,
While I, in total confusion about my destination
But, so totally content,
In that man's company for, he radiated with
Pure and divine energy!
As he went along, he never spoke
But stopped the raft to play his singing bowl
Which sent vibes so powerful to me
That I felt myself lifted up in my mental cosmos
And could no more feel my body!
As I opened up my eyes to the dawn that
Offered itself to me,
I could not help but smile,
At this great gift called life, which some sort
Of unexplained power has deemed me worthy of
And I promised to myself to imbibe others with its awareness
So that they make the most of their gift
As they shall never be given another same one
To use as foundation ground to reach the stairs leading to where
Rafts can float in nothingness!
Armageddon
As I was coming out of the local shop
with bags in both hands, I do this to keep the balance
as I’m elderly and not a steady walker,
When the heatwave like a shimmering wall was
coming towards me.
I turned my back to the inferno of heat as horses do
When the winds blow, but there was no respite.
I believe we have degraded our planet; this is proof.
I struggled home not far was near, but the going was slow
Finally, I entered the building exhausted and dizzy.
The porter took the bags and helped me up some stairs to the lift.
At the flat windows were shut to keep the heat out.
I knew, had I been less fortunate, say, without an abode
the heat, would have killed me.
Sudden heatwaves, unexpected frost freezing fog, hurricane
and burning forests, it might be too late to save humankind.
We lived in the U.K as expats in a Tudor style home in Kent
It was a nice home but it had “a feel” about it I can’t explain
Not frightening or threatening at all
Just a different sense in the atmosphere “something strange”
My son a very brave boy who was never afraid of the dark
Told me “He didn’t like it upstairs in his bedroom sometimes it gave him a funny feeling”
As a child he also sensed something unknown in that house
His words sent a chill down my spine and hastened my breathing!!
One night while my husband and I were watching t.v downstairs
There was one almighty thud in our sons bedroom directly above
We raced upstairs thinking he’d fallen out of bed or over
To find him fast asleep tucked up nice and snug
An unexplainable happening that became a regular occurrence
One loud thud , our son asleep and nothing there
Unbelievably enough it wasn’t frightening
Again …Just a strange entity in the air!
This night at the base of stairs a movement caught my eye
In stunned silence we watched a female shaped shadow glide up the stairs
Disappearing out of sight when at the top
We found our son sleeping soundly and again nothing was there!
Initially, it was somewhat unnerving and there was definite unrest
My husband saw the shadow one more time then it was never seen again
As time passed life relaxed and continued as normal
Though I was interested in the houses history for a reason to explain?
So , apparently many years ago a family of five lived there
Strict parents and their three daughters forbidden to ever wed
All three sisters grew old and died as spinsters
One of them dying in that house it is said …..!
It was a ‘learn to water color’ class Deborah signed up for without restraint
and she already had in mind the picture she would to paint.
It was our cabin in the mountains…the one nestled in the trees
where we sit on the porch together…where we catch the summer breeze.
The cabin where we’ve spent those summers with our children for over 30 years
where we’ve shared so many moments…shared our laughter, shared our tears…
I knew she could paint the cabin, add bright colors to the trees,
but how, I asked her, is it possible to paint in our memories?
“That would be impossible,” she said, “I won’t ever try.
I’ll be content with painting the cabin, the ground, the trees…the sky.”
But she was wrong…for when her painting was completed…
the more and more I peered…
there on the canvas before me…a host of memories appeared.
Each time I look at her painting of our cabin…of the stairs, the trees…the door
I quickly realize I’m not just seeing the cabin…I'm seeing so much more.
I see Deborah’s parents on those stairs…
I see our children, our grandchildren…I see a painting that is rife
with friends and family and a myriad of memories that bring her painting to life.
Perhaps that’s what a painting is supposed to do…
urge us to see not only with our eyes but with our heart…
Perhaps that is not only the beauty of this painting
perhaps that’s the beauty of art.
Take a stroll with me up the street
And I will tell you what I see
There is a little house that lies next to
Edge of the sea with a little pole on top
And somthing there is waiting for thee
Follow the clue and you will see a brand
New pair of shoe next to a boulder inside
And it will take you where destiny abide
Cover your hands and feet and with the
Cloths under the bush and the instructions
In the gas mask will tell you what to do
Walk to the left of the boulder and you
Will see an old rocking chair
There is a stairs that leads underground
And it will take you to the other end of the town
Half ways down are several signs and avenue
That leads to nowhere
they were meant to confuse you
But just one sign will tell you what to do
Snowflakes are not falling on the hill but follow the rhythm and it will keep your spirit still; look out for the mound in the ground, follow the trail and it will take you some where
It will lead you to King Tutt’s grave and take you
Further into the ground and you will
See the golden empire that man build deep in the ground
On the outskirt of town, there is one way in and
One way out and you can out and the exist is on the
Top of the mount. Once you enter you have to keep
Going, until you come out on the other side,
the journey is long the trail is dark and it
will take you right back to where you starts
If you are lucky to come out alive, the earth
God was perhaps walking by your sides
Mountain rhythm will take you deep inside the ground
Mountain rhythm will take you where destiny is bound
There is a big operation going on inside
So pass through discreetly and let sleeping dog lie
Mountain rhythm is blazing with heat and the village people
Are running all over the street.