Long Stalk Poems
Long Stalk Poems. Below are the most popular long Stalk by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stalk poems by poem length and keyword.
Dragons Dance
Come on kids and step inside
Let's see the dragon through sober eyes
That one little bump and your body sinks
My claws are now in you more than you think.
Deeper and deeper the webs I spin
The endless black hole your sucked right in.
Scraping your veins I've taken over your mind. Now every thing you do its me you try to find.
Shaking, sweating ,trembling with fear.I've clouded your mind so you can't think clear.
Nauseous and angry mostly un self-aware, punching the walls and pulling out your own hair.
I've created an itch that is deep inside
Very few people have come out alive
The ones that have I stalk every day
Trying to temped them back into my haze
Never dance with me or let me inside
It's like Russian roulette
chances are you'll die
How I long to return to the Summer of my life,
When days were so long that they required a nap or a refreshing splash through a tadpole-infested creek to make it til night.
Yet, still, my eyelids raced the setting sun to see which would douse the glorious light of the day first.
Summer conferences were held in the privacy of a field of wheat,
Concealed in the rows, chewing a stalk between our teeth and whispering earth-shattering childhood secrets,
Including our greatest fears and least favorite vegetables.
In the Summer of my life not even darkness scared me.
Dusk was the greatest of all miracles of summer, when fireflies, in consideration of children unwilling to leave the glories of nature but paralyzed by the terrifying noises of the night, burst forth in waves like tiny torches leading us on to more adventures and finally home.
Now, as I approach my Winter of life, having marched solidly through the fall while raising a family of my own,
Summer sights fill my dreams, both day and night. Barefoot in overalls, skinny dipping without the slightest notice of gender or sexuality, gulping lemonade and eating watermelon, seeds and all, these are the things I miss the most.
In my life, I will see many more summers. But I will never again live the Summer of my life. I wish I had known how magical climbing the biggest tree in the woods or digging my way to China then napping in the cool earth I uncovered, could be. In hindsight, though, I believe the innocent naivety is part of Summer's charm.
So I will use Summer to keep me warm in the long Winter to come.
I will pretend the sun is beating down on my youthful, freckled skin as I fight the ravages of time with cream and Botox. I will lay in fields of golden wheat chewing on just one stalk, not in my medical bed with the oxygen tube in my nose. And when I see fireflies, I will know it is time to go home.
Insomniac writer, that’s what I am.
Pen and paper are natural,
bedtime accessories;
at least, in my world.
The blues of my bedroom;
soft cushions for my tired eyes.
Scent of lavender, on my pillow;
tries to force, the darn sheep;
they never come.
Tossing…turning…mind-churning;
the chatter, in my head, won’t cease;
my favorite New York rocker,
beside the, overloaded bookshelf, beckons.
Muse’s tantrum…
a violently beating drum…
possesses me.
Like some mindless drone,
hands stalk pen and paper.
Night-wandering, in my cocoon of blue;
I rock and write…my carpet,
soundproofing crying, pine floorboards.
The numerous paintings and
photographs, on my bedroom walls,
inspire Muse and with “Wagner’s Valkyrie”,
riding my ear-channels,
she has her say.
They told me,
"Turn around,
see that black cat
stalking you".
It knows your name
It knows your shame
It's come to claim
your black-jack soul
back in black tonight.
She's Queen of darkness
pawing at the borders
until moonlight bleeds,
in the black kingdom
that daylight never sees.
Prophets sold salvation,
Merchants sold me gold.
Love sold me promises
carved ice-cold in stone.
My dreams come in iron collars,
rusted shut with time.
That black cat keeps the keys
so I'm hunting on her trail.
So I turn, around...
Let that black cat stalk me.
Let her eyes unlock me.
Let her claws unchain me.
Let me free...
LET ME FREE!
Follow the shine!
When heavens disappear.
Follow the shine!
There's nothing left to fear.
The lion breaks your sneer.
The tiger wakes desire.
The leopard stalks the darkness.
The panther lights the fire.
The black cat steals black aces
deals another life.
The black cat knows....
She walks between the worlds,
where broken spirits roam.
She never leaves....
the lost all alone.
She never leaves...
the lonely, on their own.
The tiger broke his collar.
The lion smashed his crown.
The panther flew from darkness
instead of backing down.
The leopard swapped white spots—
for dark red glowing eyes.
The black cat watched them all
beneath forgotten skies.
Follow the shine!
When the last star dies.
Follow the shine!
When the daylight lies,
Every black cat shadow...
is a doorway in disguise.
Every ending sheds a skin.
Every death ignites its rise.
The black cat knows...
The black cat knows...
The black cat knows..
Its darkness
.....IS THE DAWN.
How do the girls talk, of boys in the bushes and stones in their pockets
How do the boys stalk, to thinking that girls are dreaming of nothing but lockets,
for keeping inescapable kisses trapped in a hope
And why do the ladies say, that helpless are husbands when wells run dry
And why do the men cry, though tough as the night, when the daylight dims the eye
till work is rest and boredom besets…
Like it's given to be
Just a fall, just blood blotting from a scrape on the knee
So watch it go brown
And watch it go down
To rise like a star, a little forgotten scar in the memory
I heard the lonely yell, "I once was quiet, and I had a truth, but nothing means nothing when something breaks in the laugh!"
You can't change in the traffic lights, you can't change a tune or even a melody
without breaking a song
So I'll get it wrong and she'll see me naked as naked can be
Lit by the sun in the contempt of modern antiquities
Like it's given to be
Just a fall, just blood blotting from a scrape on the knee
So watch it go brown
And watch it go down
To rise like a star, a little forgotten scar in the memory
Now how would you say, dappled in ideas
That ruins aren't buried under buildings so tall
And now how would you say, given the seas
You can't wash the sin from the salt in your mouth, you call...
"That's it's given to be for you and not me, to rise like a star, with little forgotten scars in your memory."
A two year old represents herself. Is this a court of law?
"What is your name?" (pronunciation's magisterial)
She doesn't move, she doesn't cry, no tremble in her jaw
There in her seat, she swings her feet... unresponsive is the rule
It's as though she doesn't understand what's going on around her
Like this was some cruel trickery intended to confound her
What's in a name? Is this a game? Who's making up these rules?
Representation, reprehensible from those who've staked their claim
And ev'rything that's done here's done as though it's "In Your Name"
The caterpillar crawls along the leaf from egg to stalk
A journey just the start of a new leaf along this walk
Black and yellow segments leaving no track neath its feet
Three thousand miles before this odyssey will be complete
A migrant moving north to south when it has gained its wings
Generations moving north on milk for queens and kings
The Caterpillar crawls down from the lowboy on the ramps
Each track will leave a track as all will fall before its tramps
And the wall these tracks are making they are making "In Your Name"
The bombs rain down on desert that's been fought over for years
Since the time of Abraham it's served as field for battle
The precious rain that's fallen here has come from children's tears
The babbling brook, from tower it took from Babylon it's prattle
Dividing tongues and tribes and sons and daughters from their parents
Along the lines and signs and tongues as language often suffers
The little children to false kings and prophets here among us
To trudge across the sands of time, ground down through ill fame
And the wall that's built between us, is building... "In Your Name"
The whole world I can measure in this cornfield.
Why would I need
to go to Indiana or Pennsylvania
or Katmandu?
Ohio is right here, and the rattling gold of the corn is here.
Yes Indiana has its rustic temples also ~
as does Kentucky and Idaho,
all over the world the sky is wide open
and the green and yellow corn is swaying,
but why travel
when this amber upsurge is before us?
Here I can feel the hidden ramparts
of a mighty cathedral of music
here under my feet,
the songs are rough and ready,
but they are as good as any prayer.
Over there a stand of trees
where the green frocks
of summer shadow-dance.
Each stalk of corn climbs to its highest
and my spirit climbs with them,
rocking on that sea of wind-waving luster.
The mud and dirt here is as good as any,
they are just as holy as elsewhere
as are all the grubbing creatures in and upon it.
This field is a sure-enough atlas
it reaches surpassingly deep and high,
the roofs of heavens are below us
the roots of time delve and sprout here
the sky descends to breathe within each breast.
This is the land beyond the great river,
that river brings the world here,
the sun nests here, and the stars appear
reflected in our up-turned eyes.
We listen to the tilling breeze
mapping the whole of creation
in just this well formed,
well farmed forty acres
above and below
but also in Michigan and elsewhere.
Long gone are the golden
Dusty days!
Where once, like Blazons
On Armorial Shields,
The gathered bronze sheaths
stood -
Cut through at the stalk...
Raised from time honoured
swathes.
Burnished like brushed copper
By high summers slanted rays:
That were sliced so thinly
From the thickening air,
As they brightly
Caught the hot glare,
From the grass mowers blades.
For the singing scythes,
Once wielded so ably
By strong, capable arms,
Are standing abandoned and
Forsaken:
Blunted, left rusting,
Languishing alone
In damp, dilapidated barns.
Now their songs are forgotten -
Lost within a woeful winds
lament!
Blown far out
From the green meadows;
Separated from their verses
Once sung so heartily
With purposeful,
Lusty, well practiced intent.
So think you all well,
Next time you pause
Your drawn eye,
Upon Englands rich harvests
Of ripened barley,
Yellow wheat, and stiff rye...
To dwell on the lost seasons
With melancholy tears...
And think of the old reaper
Who cuts back at the years!
Little cat,
how sleek and glossy is your pelt
like a lithe Cheetah you stalk my ankles,
always ready to leap upon them,
a shared domesticity has made them
your natural prey.
Soon I will fill your bowl
with the meat of a great animal,
that in the wild
would certainly trample your lithe body
into the hard earth.
After you have fed and licked your chops
I will run my fingers through your tail,
we shall purr together,
watching a TV documentary,
a show about lions in the Serengeti -
hunting fleeing cheetahs.
Then off to bed.
In the morning,
you can pounce on my back
as if I were a sleeping lion.
My favorite game has a shuttlecock.
You can hear my shrieks around the block.
People come running looking for detective chalk.
Thinking I was killed by a moron’s Glok.
You see I am not much of a sports jock.
During hopscotch I can barely find my rock.
I noticed today that I ruined my summer frock
Badminton has torn a hole in my new lace sock.
People are standing along the gray sidewalk.
This racquet game they had better not knock.
I watch my cohort give them a quick pickpock.
These Items I will later help her hock.
We’ll take them to swap down by the pirate’s dock.
I enjoy seeing the sneaky way she doth stalk.
Wallets disappearing, oh, what a shock!
They will be stirred up for days, talking the talk.