Long Steeply Poems
Long Steeply Poems. Below are the most popular long Steeply by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Steeply poems by poem length and keyword.
Morality’s general
with an intimidating aura
and a commanding presence;
this charisma’s description
is a single lane void of corners
written in a dictionary
consisting of a single page.
Blamelessness so standardized
to be empirical
and ruthless to liberalism.
Pragmatism functions but under
the administration of apt discipline
with no chance for taste
and appetite to have their says.
Lips when open
are gates for words of absolution.
Yeah and nay
never exchanging importance
and with an illumination
so exact and precise
that even distant acquaintances
can join in attestation
of its attributes
to become a part of a bunch
of its unsolicited witnesses.
Shoulders of personality
grow high above the heads temple
and character, steeply mountainous
and impossible for compromise to climb.
Such dart hits same spot
over and over again on the board;
such skin keeps to its attitude,
never longing to be tanned or bleached
what a wealthy tiny island
so respected by its surrounding waters!
The rise of the silent
We have come all the way from the darkness,
The one wise men call blindness.
With axes, hoes, we are paving the way,
And our hands aren’t down until there is a way.
We aren’t scared of the lions that roar,
We are the fearless hunters of justice and liberty,
The seekers of equality and humanity:
The quests our old folks failed to complete.
We shall go up in the sky;
We shall dig deep into the ground,
We shall break all the rocks,
We shall go beneath the lakes,
We shall set flames in the wilderness,
We shall bring mountains down.
Steeply the hill we are riding;
Stony the road we are walking
Dark the forest we are hiking
Far the home we shall arrive
For we are like soldiers marching to the war,
With the only one command to go
To the deadly field of woe
We have left our fears of terror behind
To rescue the captives of injustice
To fight for what our folks fought for
And all our heroes died for.
Now let light fight the darkness;
Let the speakers fight the speechless,
Let the dead and the live march to the battle field
Let us sow the seeds we were left with to sow
Let shackles on every man’s hands break
Let every foot rise and stand
Let every mouth rise and speak
Let every tongue speak justice and liberty
Let justice rise and live for eternity
Let the voices be hard from Bwera to Busia
From Mutukula to Amuru
Lift every voice and cry justice.
This late morning's high noon scaling, steeply-ascending, ragged herald
Hauls himself upwards into the roaring expanse of the dizzying sky
To chance upon this, might though his very soul should be imperiled,
When lording over which is constrained within a dispassionate, encompassing eye.
From the feathered throat abruptly pours such Mellifluous harmony
As, lifting higher and higher, he negotiates a ledge inside a wisp of
broken cloud;
Those rich, dulcet notes, more decidedly sweeter than any liquid honey,
Irresistibly flowing Earthwards... a continuous symphony of unparalleled sound.
His alone the rushing glory! His alone this almost unattainable niche!
For up here, rarified and raw, the air is breathless and sparse where thins.
Then the song fully enveloping the shrunken patchwork of fields beneath...
Whereon, delivering forth from bursting lungs, that final triumphant salvo
he heroically flings.
Your City
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seven Emerald Hills
Seven emerald hills rise steeply
From restless waters born of moving ice
Siblings of a greater peak
Lifting up their faces into rains of shrouded mists
Or bathed in welcomed sunshine
The First where stately mansion homes
Climbed to heights now holding healing hostels
Looking toward a Beacon,
Watching Rainier’s changing face,
Holding hands, across a valley cleft,
With the West where Alki shores
Welcomed the first footsteps of settlers
Looking across blue waters where ferries play at
Mistaken Magnolia blossoming with madrone
Not bowing to Queen Anne, counterbalanced,
Winking at Capitol, with shady streets
On a broad way above the lake
Looking north to find a learned Crown
Mourning Denny’s passing
Where offices now scrape the sky
Remembering a Yesler skid row, algorithms,
A pioneer square, a needle touching space
Slumbering in the shadows of a Sunset
Where seaplanes play with seagulls
In summer Seafairs and rain festivals January to December
Bleeding hazel eyes of infinite azure,
Diamond deluge in sapphire shadow,
Atrocities handled a fractious austere,
Smothered ashes of guilt and sallow.
Diamond deluge in sapphire shadow,
Heartbeats synced to cosmic sound,
Smothered ashes of guilt and sallow,
Six feet beneath the ruby rose, crowd.
Heartbeats synced to cosmic sound,
Rose petals of heaven blowing bliss,
Six feet beneath the ruby rose, crowd,
Hapless bodies plunging into the abyss.
Rose petals of heaven blowing bliss,
Inside a cobalt blue flowering bloom,
Hapless bodies plunging into the abyss,
Spasms steeply mingled with the fume.
Inside a cobalt blue flowering bloom,
Atrocities handled a fractious austere,
Spasms steeply mingled with the fume,
Bleeding hazel eyes of infinite azure.
Written: May 10, 2022
Oh dear earth, the psalm of the willow dredge,
whose angles, toil amidst the waters' edge;
Her posture is sorrow's ally,
her form a perpetual sigh;
She stands speechless,
disheartened grieving priestess,
beside the snail-paced river;
Her leaves are the green tears quiver,
of a thousand unnamed sorry sorts;
Each quiver in the breeze distorts,
a saga of a hurt heart that dares;
Her arms, a cascade of emerald hair,
skimming the face of the river,
to wash the stains of a time giver,
from the current’s infinity flowed;
She knows of the sirens that hold,
the harps wilted muted upon her tree;
She brooks the duty of their memory,
an eyewitness to the anguish of Zion's ploy;
The waft in her boughs not songs of joy,
but the wails of a woe so deep,
honors the age-old stones weep;
She offers a nice shady canopy,
for those who seek out a refugee,
from the sun’s harsh shedding;
Her shade is a balm for the grieving,
quiet enclosure for the rested souls;
Beneath her flowing aplenty boughs,
loads are sans a word shared;
She holds the space for despair,
a loyal friend who will not bend;
Her strengths are not at all sand,
tall and defiant, standing
but in their best yielding;
She bends, sways, weeps bleak
—but she does not dare break;
Her roots anchor her deeply,
in the moisten earth steeply,
a testament that despair soundly,
can root a life more profoundly;
And so, bless the weeping willow,
the tree of tender lament swallow;
In her hushed weeping trails,
she teaches us the grace of Ails;
That a broken heart can still shelter,
and a spirit crushed can cell her;
And that even in the long darkness,
one can stand and still offer solace,
woe be gone and freed from strife,
rooted deeply in the river of life.
The rise of the silent
We have come all the way from the darkness,
The one wise men call blindness.
With axes, hoes, we are paving the way,
And our hands aren’t down until there is a way.
We aren’t scared of the lions that roar,
We are the fearless hunters of justice and liberty,
The seekers of equality and humanity:
The quests our old folks failed to complete.
We shall go up in the sky;
We shall dig deep into the ground,
We shall break all the rocks,
We shall go beneath the lakes,
We shall set flames in the wilderness,
We shall bring mountains down.
Steeply the hill we are riding;
Stony the road we are walking
Dark the forest we are hiking
Far the home we shall arrive
For we are like soldiers marching to the war,
With the only one command to go
To the deadly field of woe
We have left our fears of terror behind
To rescue the captives of injustice
To fight for what our folks fought for
And all our heroes died for.
Now let light fight the darkness;
Let the speakers fight the speechless,
Let the dead and the live march to the battle field
Let us sow the seeds we were left with to sow
Let shackles on every man’s hands break
Let every foot rise and stand
Let every mouth rise and speak
Let every tongue speak justice and liberty
Let justice rise and live for eternity
Let the voices be hard from Bwera to Busia
From Mutukula to Amuru
Lift every voice and cry justice.
Before you I stand, just as I am,
Your gaze bore steeply within my soul.
From within your sight, my consciousness stems,
Beneath the brokenness of a gaping hole.
Our eyes are windows, so in your pupil I found
Words unspoken, yet said aloud.
The depth of soul cannot help but astound,
Faded only by your inner cloud.
I gazed and gazed, and still could not find,
The truth about who you are.
Am I looking too close, mesmerized by the details in your eyes,
or shall I search deeper within your heart?
I sought your visage to find answers,
To a question I do not know how to ask.
Will my seeking become a futile curse,
Since your eyes are hidden by an invisible mask?
Alas, I asked the dreaded question,
"Who are you that I see?"
You replied with no little hesitation,
"Well, who are you to me?"
Indeed our eyes are windows like they all say,
Yet you see your reflection in its glass the more you look.
So the images that I saw within that lay,
Were they images of myself that I mistook?
When I asked you who you are,
Am I really asking who I am?
Is looking at you a reflection of myself from afar,
Am I the answer, or am I the problem?
The name you told me of yourself,
Was it your name, or what you're known by?
The name that I knew for myself,
Was it my name, or simply an elaborate lie?
How I view you perhaps reveals more
About myself than it does about you.
For you are yourself in your inmost core,
But outside, we are known by what we do.
Do I see you as you come to be,
Or simply the way I want to?
Is this you, or is this me that I see,
What's false, what's true?
If my hand reaches out to you right now,
Would you become disappear as an ideal I made in my mind?
If I asked you to show me how,
Perhaps the answer I shall never find?
Gaze, o muse, into my eyes so deep,
Do you see the vision that I create?
Alas, o muse, put yourself to sleep,
For perhaps, you know yourself better than if awake.
We may know more about ourselves if we try,
Within each other than on our own.
We can't see our own eyes,
But we shall see each other's alone.
In that silence
In that silence, I heard sparrows chirping
In the still green hedge.
I saw the lake and your reflection
And my reflection.;
and did the sparrows see
as the sun shone slantside
over the steeply falling bank?
Dd they see this natural mirror?
And my mind's mirror
gave me new reflections
in the reverie
Of the dreaming evening,
As I slid slowly down
Into soft slumber;
Trusting the life within,
Trusting you;
Trusting myself;
and in my reflections
I see you too,
smiling in welcome;
smiling the beautiful smile,the true smile of love itself.
The embrace of the dreaming world
comforts
and holds us
as we breathe gently
in the sweet air
of love.
Marvel of fond Mother-Nature,
Carefully carved nomenclature!
Mountains fold hands toward blue skies,
Where stars flutter, like, butterflies!
Water-waves warmly wash the feet,
Fleets on sleets meet around and greet!
High, steep, sharply molded boulders,
Stand in accord holding shoulders...!
Solitary human standing,
On a broken cliff crash-landing!
A bird flying around its edge,
To build her nest, finding no hedge!
An owl dwelling in a small hole,
Lost as though with a restless soul!
Bats, waiting for the silent night,
Alike, are, bleak views of cliff- sight...!
Suffering writs of erosion,
Churned by chisels of corrosion!
Carved, compiled, combined, conditioned,
Into wild bird-beaks protruded!
Steeply, slippery, surfaces,
Sloppy, soapy, still, circuses!
Cliff has its captivating charm,
That until disturbed does no harm...!
11 January 2022
C Form - Couplet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France