Long Stone Poems
Long Stone Poems. Below are the most popular long Stone by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stone poems by poem length and keyword.
I have been a member of The Soup for over 10yrs now and have seen poets the I have come to love and respect disappear one by one, for reasons I do not know. I know there are many reasons of us losing our great poets, But I find it sad just the same. So I decided to make songs from some of their poems in Honor and Appreciation of having them as friends and fellow Poets.
The First Tribute is to the very talented
Robert Andrew Lyle
In The Poem titled:
Homesick
From the Faughan river valley
To Binevenaghs mighty brow
I love these roads to travel
Wish I could tread them now
To in an instant be propelled
Landing on that grassy slope
That overlooks Magilligan strand
Would be my greatest hope
To take the road to Donnybrewer
And walk down by the Foyle
To see the fields of Kerrs Pinks
Where my father used to toil
To listen to the Corncrake call
As it hides in the long hay
How many happy times were spent
Trying to glimpse her on my way
When you’ve walked up Kilnappy brae
You’ll hear your legs complain
Saying don’t you ever try to
Bring us up this way again
The walking up can wear us out
But when we turn around
The view that lays before us
Will never fail to us astound
The beauty of the patchwork quilt
Of fields enclosed with stone
The distant hills of Donegal
That was my parents’ home
I miss not just the countryside
My family I miss dear
Many times I’ve spent just wishing
I was there or they were here
Copyright © Robert Andrew Lyle | Year Posted 2014
Water shortage
In the deepest valley where the winter is short
summers long, sheep come home for safety
of bears and wolves, he bought an old house.
From a two hundred years house, a cane roof sprung
splendid isolation he lived the seasons fair.
Unknow to him and other dwellers of this Paradise
plans afoot to make the valley into a water reservoir
filling it with water to serve the city far away.
This ancient village, built stone by stone, drowned.
No, the dam didn’t burst lack of rain made it dry.
It was an eerie sight to see his home again
reminds him of a Paradise lost to development.
Elizabeth Law, only thirty-nine
Lies beneath this cold slab of stone.
On her left lies her husband, Samuel.
On her right, three small graves-grass overgrown.
Were they the reason she lies here?
Was childbirth the cause her life was cut short?
Was it complications from giving birth to triplets?
Or did they die one by one, and she from a broken heart?
Forty years have come and gone,
And still she lies beneath the sod.
No one is left to explain it.
The mystery rests in the hands of God.
Contest-Take the Dagger From My Heart, Please 2
Also entered Contest 206 Any form, any topic, max of 12 lines Judged 9/19/16
Have you ever paused to skim a stone,
Seeing the interplay of physics, frolic and force?
Have you ever driven to a place unknown,
Meshing technology, wanderlust and law?
Have you ever danced with your own,
Moved by rhythm, play and gladness?
Has ever a moment’s passion shown
You your part in the infinite pool of being?
What string of happenstance brought you, alone
To here, this spot, reading this?
Whatever your answers, whatever their tone,
They matter not a jot!
What matters is that you have grown,
Feeling joy as part of the infinite intricacy;
Delight that the universal tapestry has been thus sewn.
She sailed on her tidal madness
waiting on time to unravel her
depths of insanity
while the wave of turbulence
coursed through her veins
She is lost in her own odyssey
pillaged by Fate
she lost all
leaving her in a Robinson Crusoe
hungry skies with reddish eyes
& rumbling stomach , rained tears
lashed with anger
calling for emergency
Warning signs, ringing loud
salient voices conversing with the wind
shadows laughing
mocking her caricature
crucified on a pike
who will bear her cross to Golgotha?
who will roll away the stone?
her loft disappeared into oblivion
waiting to be seen in her nothingness
looping back and forth
To be crowned Chaos Queen
The Little Match Girl
She sits all alone
On the pavement so cold
Selling her matches
At just eight years old
The snowflakes fall
And cover her head
She's so hungry its days
Since she was properly fed
She holds out her wares
To each passer by
“Sir please by my matches”
Is her small plaintive cry
But many ignore her
This poor urchin there
They'll go home to their fires
They don't really care
But she can't go home
Till she's sold them all
Or her Cruel father
Will beat her and bawl
As she sits and shivers
A match she does light
For a small piece of warmth
On this cold new years night
With each match she strikes
She sees wondrous things
Like clowns and a circus
Princesses and Kings
But alas these are just pictures
Made up in her mind
As the light and warmth fades
No joy she can find
She is lost and alone
She starts to weep
As on the cold pavement
She lies down to sleep
On New Years morning
She's still lying there
Still stiff and cold
No more she'll know care
She died all alone
Frozen and cold
Her young life cut short
At just eight years old
Though her story is sad
It still happens today
Children still starving
And wasting away
Sleeping on pavements
Lost and alone
Crying and dying
As cold as stone
So just think of them
As you watch your TV
And maybe
The Little match girl you will see
Denis Briggs 2016
Dirty Little Secret
Hidden. Pushed to the back of the drawer. Only opened when you see fit.
I see a glimmer of light, then stuffed back into the darkness.
A commodity.
A collectible.
You have dreamed of me, but you will wake up when I open my mouth for something other than your cock.
I am a stepping stone for you until you find the one.
The one with blonde hair and an effortless elegance. The one who radiates light.
Do I encase the darkness? Or is that only what you wish to see.
‘Nobody else knows this side of me’
Am I that side?
Is it a privilege to know the real you?
Or a sacrifice, because nobody will know the side of you that keeps me.
Your words dont pierce my bubble.
They linger outside, you wait to see if I will swallow the letters you throw at me.
But they mean only what I decide.
And I show you only what I want you to see.
I want to be seen. Admired. Loved.
And I know you do.
You see me bound and gagged.
You admire how much pain I can take,
You love how I kneel before you, always eager to submit and please.
I am a vessel for you to unleash your darkest desires.
The perfect toy.
Limited edition, crafted only for you.
That’s me.
The ink is dry upon the vellum sheet,
Precision lines where every corner meets.
A calculated world of steel and stone,
Where logic carves a kingdom of its own.
But through the cracks, a stubborn green appears,
Defying all the measurements of years.
A tangled vine that does not know the rule,
The uninvited guest, the nature's fool.
One seeks the stillness of a sterile room,
The other thrives within a crowded loom.
How can the compass and the drifting seed
Find common ground for any mutual need?
The wall is built to keep the chaos out,
To silence every petal's quiet shout.
But roots are patient, heavy with their toll,
And structure cannot cage a lawless soul.
We stand together in this ruined space,
Two opposing truths in one embrace.
The grid is shattered by the rising thorn,
And in that wreckage, something new is born.
I'm Not Leaving
My empty hand hangs in the air like a tree with no roots and no fruit,
our love split apart with such ease like the smoke from an old burial route,
I'm not leaving — I stay planted in this doorway like a knife inside stone,
I refuse to lose a battle where neither one of us ever won or has grown.
We wipe away memories like drawings on a window fogged up from yesterday,
we go back to zero — but zero is a circle and the circle still pulls us its way,
broken promises grind beneath our feet like shattered glass in the dead of night,
and our vows don't mean a thing anymore — hollow words with no weight and no light.
I'm not leaving — even though we fight every day forgetting why we even began,
each one pulling the other one down like two rivers that don't know their own plan,
our families are getting dragged into this slow and dirty current we made,
and what was once a clean kind of love is now nothing but mud and a blade.
The lips that once spoke love — those lips as warm as fresh bread from the fire —
are telling me now that they hate me with a voice that is cold and entire,
the cruelest paradox of all is that hatred speaks with the very same mouth
that once poured out words as sweet as honey, warm as the deepest south.
The eyes that used to search for me in every crowd no longer want to see,
and I stand still like a candle burning in the middle of something too big for me,
I'm not leaving — because leaving would mean that all of it was real and true,
that love actually died and didn't just fall asleep somewhere between me and you.
I'm leaving — I won't stay in a place where my presence is a quiet sin,
where my name is spoken like a curse word by someone lost and paper-thin,
I take my empty hand with me as the only thing I ever truly knew —
and the door closes behind me like an eyelid over everything that was
and was never seen again by you.
Into the night I fall
Another long day,
a curtain drawn from lessons
So many thoughts, intertwine
The past and the present merge
I can see myself a fool
Yet. I can see wisdom grow
I can feel the pain, but some relief
Many times, I have built trust,
only to see it torn apart
Was I making myself believe?
Always, trust your gut
I often stayed positive
Until positivity turned into denial
I remember this lesson before
Why did I let it slip away?
As if a gust of wind was too strong
I am back at that first stone
It lays at the beginning of a walk way
To the next door to open or a garden
Either way, I must plant what will bloom
Maybe, in my dreams tonight, I will see
The beauty that lies in front of me
Grounded in this time I am granted