Long Storm Poems
Long Storm Poems. Below are the most popular long Storm by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Storm poems by poem length and keyword.
Hindered by the depth and breadth of winter
Cliffs dangle just outside the bungalow
With clear icicle mysteries remote
Hanging over shingles for dear life
Inside, imprisoned safe and sound
The hunter counts his rounds of ammunition
Riffle nestled useless by the common fire side
No chasing prey this season
Sleep takes its place
Why shoot the snow without a reason
It would only blow around and settle somewhere else
Outside the storm brings misery
Three feet of snow to block the door
Wind rattles windows to claw inside
The cabin remains remote, imprisoned
Embedded in the snow
More inches rise with no where else to hide
But down on frozen lakes on powder blue
Cold holds on to banks of solid earth
All those inches piled high for what
Filling up the landscape with so much white
Pines cling on to memory of ice below the tundra line
Like all good trees they freeze but never die
Over sleeping keeps the bears in dens
No need for hunting them
It would only mean their end
The realization of how quickly drifts can rise
Accumulations conspired by cruel natures wrath
Shear numbers of snow flakes conspire
Wind and sky hold up the nights good-bye
Now stuck inside the simple shelter fixed
Winter bound, oats are hunters sustenance, companion
Along with tea and lemon, honey makes the best of company
Will see him through to doomsday, till things turn about
Closed in on times advances
A captive audience of one
Now waits in winter wonder
On snowy mountain counting down the hours
Your friends are always there.
Bright in the morning light!
At night, fade to a starlight hue.
Friends are not just there sometimes!
But, even in a vicious storm, they wrap
You with blankets of warmth.
An army of them, no.you do not need.
Those few,stargazing ones,however,
Move you with wings....at warp speed.
It's a mystical, magical connection!
I wish I could explain it more clearly!
Bless our friends,they simply are perfection!
6/10/2022
~1~
The snow, its been a long time coming. High drifts, cold - low visibility. Stay home is the cry. Stay off the roads. Warm houses, supplies, everything to keep one comfortable. How about the homeless, are they cared for? Children love it, so they can play in it. But not this one, too hard on everyone. Ain't seen this type of storm since the forties. Not even sure they are the same. Want to believe God is with us. Want to believe we are safe. Everything closed and shut down. What will I do while the storm is going on? Play computer games, read or write. Perhaps watch TV or sleep. Not much one can do, til it's over. But safe, that's the ticket. Safe and warm.
WHAT SHE SAID
She said to me “You will not walk again.”
But I say I will. Even if only atop waves
That roll in over the shores continuously,
Or waves thrown about in tempest and
The invasions of such unforeseen storms as these.
I was taken aback and I
Shouted, “I don’t believe that!”
So, she pronounced it again,
“You will never walk again.”
She was slashing at my paraplegic knees, trying to
Wrench away my God-gifted hope: to tear from me
My full armor of God: to cause me to doubt the true
Love of God’s inseparable devotion as my ABBA!
But I will keep working to walk again, perhaps less
Briskly than I do now in company with angels, by
The grace of the Holy Spirit and alongside Jesus
Into a land far from the desolate, flat macadam
To where her words transported me...For
I SHALL walk on beyond lamentations, beyond
Pacing on embers and ashes, to walking on
The calmed waters after such doubt was spoken.
**********. ************* ************
(C). Sally Young eslinger 8/2020
Peace
Night fells suddenly sending rays of hope in the sky as
anxious hearts make music with their flute and the violin with its tender strings bring back memories of my youth. It is the part of me that no one can see but something bigger than me is always speaking to me and it is the light that is guiding me. I love the musical hymns, especially those composed with strings and the innocent voices of the altar boys echoing from afar, when thousands of voices combine together and the musical band plays a special song and procession and dignitaries walk briskly through aisles the whole world will come alive.I can hear the rustling wind beating against my window sill and the tenants below me engaged in a brawl about the height of the city wall; we walked a thousand miles to length and breadth of the city and there we found nature curled up like a soft ball listening to the barking dogs on the outskirts of the community. Walk with me an extra mile to the center of the square and I will show you what transpired there. Some circles are engraved in the middle and the tomb of doom once lived there but it was exhumed and transported to the external hemisphere and a valley runs beneath that leads to the street and the missionaries once resided there. The storm took them by surprise and that is the only place they could survive; but the memory continues to live there. Read the markings on the wall carefully and everything in that place, it will explain the mystery about that place; you must know the facts before it’s too late. Freedom is coming to the church and the theory about man was created from dirt will walk through the door when mankind comes face to face with reality, the text cannot explain it but your hearts will believe it. A thousand years of tradition will fade away and the new reality will usher in and you will start to sing modern hymns.
People, we are the pulsing heartbeats,
Pumping life through this world's veins.
Our words, the rhythmic thrums,
Echoing through endless plains.
Poems, they are the arteries of connection,
Channelling thoughts from mind to mind.
Conversations, the capillaries of communion,
Weaving bonds that intertwine.
Life, it's the ever-flowing river,
Carving paths through rocky terrain.
Concerns, the rapids that threaten to sever,
Tossing us, testing our will to regain.
But communication, ah, that's the lifeblood,
Coursing through, keeping us alive.
It's the oxygen that our spirits so crave,
The sustenance that helps us thrive.
So let your poems be the heartbeat's cadence,
Syncing with others at the perfect time.
Let your words be the arteries of compassion,
Bridging the gaps, making connections sublime.
For in this tapestry of life's conversations,
We are the threads, interwoven as one.
Each voice, each thought, a vital pulsation,
Keeping this grand symphony forever begun.
People, we are the heartbeats of existence,
Poems, the very blood that gives us form.
Let's flow together, in perfect persistence,
Weathering life's every storm.
43 American presidents since our founding. Living history, alive and well in 5 living ex-presidents. If individually good enough to become a US president, what could they accomplish as collective and unified minds?
Are they not a treasure house of history, wisdom, and experience?
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*Mr. Carter(1976-80) He was a successful peanut farmer, and a Governor. Now, a brief condensed version of his 4 year presidency: Change the heart; Being born again; Tell no lies; Surprised at The Soviet Union for invading Afghanistan; Fought hard for peace in the Middle East and won the Noble Peace Prize, but lost the Peace; Iran: Could not bring the hostages home.
**********************************************************
Five ex presidents, still alive to shape, to show, and to tell their own story. And their own history of 4 to 8 years is part of the same history of America. Are they not also a collective institution, a museum, as well as a library? Away from the Oval Office, are they being utilized for the cause of peace?
********************************************************* **Mr. Bush 1(1988-92) And now, a brief condensed version of his 4 year Presidency: New World Order; Read my lips; No New Taxes; Manuel Noriega; Panama; Saddam Hussein; Iraq And Desert Storm.
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09222017 PS
*The listing order of Presidents is purely chronological
**Mr. Reagan followed Mr. Carter, but he is not a living ex-president
In the vast field of beings, some are stars casting kindness,
Somehow born with a mirage that drips mercy of its own accord.
They traverse valleys and deserts, spreading, unwavering, their pure essence,
While others, with kindness held beneath the leaves of the heart, offer it hesitantly.
They are generosity embodied, with palms open towards the sky,
Even when the sky is barren, asking nothing in return.
They do not demand we understand, as they breathe droplets of color into us,
That penetrate the veins of life, turning macadam into a silk road.
They are luminous beacons; in tumultuous times, they are our anchor,
And perhaps we too, are a haven for a moment in this ballet of fate.
Then, the storm passes, and each raises their sails to catch another wind,
New paths on the horizon, while desires twinkle behind like light on the waves.
They are the ones who ignite the light in unknown depths,
Awakening in the soul what it had forgotten it could illuminate:
Hope, joy, the delicate, magical thread of an unreal connection,
Silent proofs that souls can communicate more than the spoken word.
By their side, we find peace, stringing thoughts like beads on a thread,
And the heart, like a placid ocean, forgets to ripple in turmoil.
These people, whom we discover not with eyes, but with our whole being,
Though we try, we cannot forget them, for their imprint has shaped us.
With very few we resonate in the absolute, in perfect harmony,
And those found must be kept, not let them slip away
For they are our solace, the sweet balm of our days,
We are the clay of the same soul and the hearth of the same inner flame.
Adorned in pearls and silver lace,
the moon's tranquility veiled her virtuous face.
A white flowing satin gown she did wear,
as moonbeams touched upon her silver hair.
'Twas beneath the blue moon’s exulted arch,
the night awaiting the sun’s returning march.
I stood upon the sun bleached sands, felt ocean's breeze
of that which took, I dropped down to my humble knees.
Beset of love, in quiet quest of great romance,
where long ago my Mirabelle wistfully danced,
and all the clouds of soft and gentle form,
the stillness round between the heaves of storm.
And there along the soft and golden strand
she momentarily held my quivering hand.
Through the mist of Love of great renown,
the sweetness of her lips 'tis what I found.
And washed ashore the deep blue waves
we marveled at its white cascade
bathed in light of the glistening moon
'twas there our melded souls communed.
It’s but my imagination a passionate dream.
No, never! thou that yet dost lovelier seem
'twas not to be, Mirabelle belonged to another
‘Twas but a lambent flame which I must rent asunder.
"The Arabian Nights"
Underneath the oceans' veil.
A mystery lies within.
Beyond Orion's belt, I shift my mind to sail.
Within, every constellation hides the secrets of sin.
Allowing me, to the time frame the world of yesterday.
I found portals with no way out.
Covering every bruise that my body had on display.
Drawing along the mist of no doubt!
I tie eternity into loopholes with no end.
Singing a song that lacks the strength to be strong.
Trying hard to swallow words that have no end.
Babbling at my tongue, when one's heart is wrong.
I hide in the light, away from the darker mist.
A sprint sensation lurking down-under.
Anthologies wrote only to exist.
A place that strikes louder than thunder.
Eyes that port and slow everything down.
Mysteries behind, a deadly desert storm.
Slaving under the 3rd crown.
Candlelight's guiding a new wedding form.
Executed in a thousand tales, of romance.
Knocking at my door ending another dream.
A sensual marriage with regrets, and loss of chance.
Dancing streams with no means.
Avalon, closing over an Arabic Night.
A story cradling me in bed.
By morning dawn, I will no longer see the light.
Waking up to another Arabian Night.
. by;p.d.
NOTE~ I read the book 5 years ago.
"ARABIAN NIGHTS."