Long Stings Poems
Long Stings Poems. Below are the most popular long Stings by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stings poems by poem length and keyword.
*** The Trapped Wasp’s Tale ***
Today I am a wasp in the room
Noticed when
Sights of light began the sounds
Of my tap-smacking
Head bangs
Trying to get through the glass pane
In the wall, for
Even I sense there is no where else in here
That hints of free flight
Or ever wants
A wasp in the room…
I belong flying through the ancient spaces.
I belong with the dinosaurs — who were
Always too busy to hear me sing, and
Too thick-skinned to feel my stings —
Before humans consumed the world;
Quite, indeed, very long after
The whole of Eden ascended.
I am more unwanted
Than an army of ants
Crossing through the kitchen.
I am frantic now to flee from
The force of human fear!
I seek routes aound the curtains
And over the sofa; moving
Unfortunately, irresistably
Attracted by the glistening reflections
Of light I see coming to me
From the tears in
The screaming child’s eyes.
I do not wish to bite.
I am furious for flight.
I am ripped apart by closed air.
I am swatted by hands
Behind the curtain folds.
I am attacked by heels of shoes.
I am perplexed why — simply —
The window I begged against
Wasn’t immediately opened,
Where, if there, I might even
Have hung on the screen
To feel a last, fresh breeze.
But, today
I was a wasp in a room, desparate
To flee. At the glass, in a gleam
Of hopeful light…
I was a wasp stuck in the room
Smacked by a magazine —
I died without flourish
Without a final glimpse of blue sky.
———————————————————————————————————————
(c) sally young eslinger 6/. /2023
Thanks be to God…
At the dawn of mist, I melt into extinguished words,
From the edges of silence, wings of fog grow for me,
I search for my echo in undying memories,
Like in a shattered mirror, a dream of blue ice,
Where time flows but never fulfills.
In my soul, a labyrinth of questions,
The silence screams, like a shoreless sea,
Under closed eyelids, smoke butterflies dance,
And in their shadow, love, like a fire that never dies,
Spins in wide circles, without finding a place.
Like a dagger of light, the dawn captures me,
Through the bed of dreams, rivers of absence flow,
In every moment, the paradox grows,
Twisting meanings like leaves in the wind,
They whisper that the end is a new beginning.
I stir the silences, like a wave of ash,
From folds of mystery, I craft an altar,
On which desires burn like old wax,
And in their smoke, dreaming takes shape and form,
As if all that is ephemeral becomes eternal.
In the night of silence, I feel roots grow,
From hidden shadows, a song is born,
Like a dance of fire and ice, intertwined,
The lights fade, but the shadows tell tales,
Of a lost path, rediscovered in the abyss.
On the edge of the dream, I find a closed door,
The turning of the key is a silent ritual,
Beyond it, the truth watches me,
Like an illusion that caresses and stings,
And in its upheaval, I find myself lost.
I was driven, into the spiritual world you see,
when I was but a child, the spirits came for me.
The nightmares, battles I faced in the night.
even though I was scared, I knew I had to fight.
Words, would come to me, never seen from where,
as I stared off in space, was I really there.
The spiritual side to this world, some will never see,
my eyes are now open, as the spiritual lives in me.
Tattered and torn, broken down in heart,
every spirit in this world, does it’s very part.
The very things we under estimate, seem to take our power,
they work their works, of magic, hearts to turn sour.
I have been driven, by many spirits of the night,
all because I did not stand, against them to fight.
Some believe the spiritual world, does not exist, you see,
when you have been there,
then you know it be.
My words never ramble, as they did before,
things change, when you walk through, that spiritual door.
Everything about you, nothing stays the same,
when you find yourself in a battle, coming to claim your name.
One last thing before I leave, I will say to you,
you may not believe in the spiritual world, that’s inside of you.
Do you believe in yourself, those things in which you cannot see,
yet they are true, just as your own spirits be.
Moved by many, driven by some, to be overtaken by the night,
to be chained, to be driven, because we did not fight.
Will we soon awake, and see the truth of thing’s,
or continue in life, and be tortured by it’s stings.
Looking at my candle in the castle
Wondering the reasons of my hassle
Falling in love with my King in spring
What a foolish thing that stings !
My King, already promised to his queen
Oh, I wish that by you, I’ll be seen
But I’m only a naive yearning jester
I’ll never be gracious and wise like her
The rejection, sadly, is so foreseen
If one day I declare my love for you
Will you know that what I’m telling is true ?
Or will you think it’s another one of my jests ?
Will you be able to digest my loving interest ?
Blowing out my candle
Deciding not to cause an embarrassing scandal
I’ll never tell my love for my dear King
But what we could’ve been will forever be missing
Written: July 06, 2023
______________________________________________________________
Every day is special in some way.
A chance to cherish the moments that sway
But often troubles come our way.
Causing us to stumble and dismay.
Remember this: problems are fleeting.
As clouds pass, they're not worth repeating.
You never agnize what tomorrow brings.
An alteration in the wind, a shift of things
You may have successes, cherish some excesses,
But life's true worth is not in material possessions.
For strong winds may come, blow away everything,
leaving you with nothing but a heart that can sing.
Our lives are akin to the cold winter snow.
Aesthetic and delicate, but soon it must forego.
The sun burns hot, and away it goes.
Reminding us that time always flows.
One day to another, no one knows when it ends.
So cherish each moment and bear amends.
Cherish laughter, love, and tears.
Life is but a fleeting series of years.
Happiness comes to those who pray.
To their maker, they humbly say,
Talk to Him anytime, every day.
Entrust to Him your worries, your everything.
If you just don't agnize what tomorrow brings,
It may start joy, or it may start stings.
But with faith and hope in your heart,
Embrace the unknown and bear a fresh start.
Yup, its not easy
being a female gardener
fun glorious fun
passionate joy in sun -
BUT -- just now for instance
deconstructing a tree
snap -- thwack --- stings like a bee
as green branch flicks a boob
YOOWSER!!!
Loppers and boobs its a horror show
No holding up close for leverage strong
or squeezes, bruises sing
a black/blue song
hold far away from chest
use more muscles is best.
No getting the hose out for a convenient piddle
Too obvious when female needs to widdle.
Of course I'm smarter
So that's a useful starter
For massive shrub removal got a good technique
but best done when no one around to peek
As when final root comes loose
I go head over bum, like a boomerang goose!
And YEAH,
When I get home really do need
a comforting beer!
Written 6th July 2018 for Nick Trim's contest.
Amuse me with your rhyme.
I sleep while nature squeezes under my door.
A dream of the swamp blooms like a water-born disease in my polluted
senses flooding my throat, nose and lungs.
Breath rattles heavily through damp fabric and pushes tears through
infected lids.
Salt cracks and crumbles from my eyes in brittle flakes.
Nature is in this house.
From within the walls, soaking wet tendrils transmit intricate messages.
Tapping. Smearing.
Mud at the water’s edge swallows my legs in muscular contractions that grip me hard and hold me sucked into the slime.
There is comfort in my restful sludge as I slowly become a celebration of waste.
A new smell is in this house.
I fumble, prod, rip, and slash at the dirt-smeared welts in the hope of exposing bone through paper-thin skin.
Insects have burrowed beneath bleeding fingernails and laid their sodden eggs inside tear duct, nostril, and mouth.
Swollen and stretched, the engorged tissues begin to rupture as they rhythmically pump soupy discharge onto saturated sheets.
I hear my laughter in another room.
From the banks of the swamp, I watch amber lilies drift away on dark, green ripples that shimmer with an oily gloss.
Their moist, heavy perfume clings to my tongue like a sugary membrane.
I slowly lift my head towards the clean blue sky and open my mouth wide.
I hope God can see me, feel my restructuring.
One by one, black, twitching mosquitos swarm down to feed from my gaping mouth.
They bite and suck the blood from my blistered lips and force their way down into my lungs and stomach, filling me to bursting with their fluttering wings and delicate stings.
I cramp, bruise, tumefy.
Cells divide.
Segments fall away.
New organs grow.
This is my fresh suit, my next phase.
I do hope God can see me.
Fighting for love because you fight when you are in love
Here we are in the heat of the moment and I’ll admit that the kitchen is making me want to leave
Not leave you but go for a walk and blow off some steam, maybe listen to some music
I don’t even remember what brought us to such a crossroads
My anger is on fire and your words are the kerosene, and love is the furthest thing, from perfect but the illusion is its perfect
Like this is the last place we should be doing this, but there’s no one else I’d
rather argue with…
So, now I’m listening to the silence because sometimes I like it better quiet
Sometimes I just want to be alone and sometimes I need space like I am in space
I know you don’t like it but you still put up with it because you love me with all your heart
So, I let you cross my heart, because I think this time my heart would die from the aching pain
Sorry for my mood swings I know I gave you a ring and you weren’t expecting this, but I know we will get through this
You always have my back, so I never have a reason to look back
I am sorry for being the me that is selfish but thank you for loving me in spite of me
Don’t spite me please when things get crazy, I know I am a little messed up and a combination of everything good and bad but somehow you always find
the good
I am selfish way too much but I will never love anyone the way I love you
Love notes written in a balloon, drive in movies, the other half of my heart is you
I wrote a record for you but still can’t find the right words to say for you when
I am lying next to you
Waited all my life for my queen and the past pain still stings
Why do these thoughts always try to control my life
Piano plays me out and I know I am not perfect
p.s. but I’ll get as close as I can for you…
a quiet walk
In the graveyard, I walked
I didn't take the dog in case she smelt bones
noticed even in death
there are three classes
I was drawn to the famous lies because
their place is more airy
big stones, with swada words in gold, nice
flowers and well-kept lawn
the dead middle-class people's graves were
nice to in black marble
I did come across a grave that told us
the dead had been a chief engineer
he might have been a cruel person
and would, if he could, be pleased that his
title mattered for his family
The poor graves tucked in a corner
overgrown grass hiding names, thistle too
had stings
They had something in common that made
them equal, death silence
When your soul finaly speaks
And in rejoice your heart sings
A little colour comes to the cheeks
Reality bites ,and boy it certanly stings
Looking for opertunity whenever it reeks
Initiative ideas to your bow more strings
But still what is it that one really seeks
When many great exspectations it brings
Wheather hours days or even if its weeks
Brain storming when your bell finaly rings
Always your striving for higher peeks
Though feeling destinyd for greater things
Take from poem skies the limit back in 2004