Long Storm tossed Poems
Long Storm tossed Poems. Below are the most popular long Storm tossed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Storm tossed poems by poem length and keyword.
The Sea Rolls and Rules
Ragged, slategrey skies
Gulls brave the battery of winds
Mariners pensive in storm-tossed ships
Cut through the waves with billowed sails.
In the sanctity of the ocean's deep
The most ancient things of this world do sleep;
In the crushing cold of the muddy seafloor
Lie eternity's treasures, to rise nevermore.
Far above, life goes on in the swell of the tide,
The Mother of All tosses her children about
Sings them to sleep on her bosom wide
As they swim or shudder, gambol, shout.
The rhythm of life beneath the waves
Flows on and on in this womb and grave;
This whole beauteous Earth sprang from stormy seas;
From the deep dark below,
All her children flee.
3. Lighthouse Of Yearning
''A heart without longing is a lamp without oil'' --Arabic Proverb
Oceans of longing beat against my chest,
Each wave a reminder that hearts cannot rest.
Your gaze,a lighthouse through fogged,storm-tossed nights,
Guides the lost sailor with hope manifest.
Though seasons change and roses wither slow,
Love endures where the soul is blessed.
The horizon whispers your name with the dawn,
In a song that refuses to to be suppressed.
And the heart,still yearning,bows in your name,
Pheko,Son Of Jesse
4. Candle In Shadows
''Even a small candle defies a night of a thousand stars'' -Arabic Proverb
The candle burns where shadows meet the wall
Each flicker a heartbeat,a whispered call.
Through corridors of time,your steps still echo,
Soft as a prayer,gentle as a fall.
The night sky listens;the stars hold your gaze,
In silver and silence,in twilight's thrall.
Love,though unseen,paints the heart with fire,
And in the dark,answers every small.
Forever your presence lingers in dreams,
Pheko,Nephew Of Jamani
5.Petals Of Remembrance
''The flower fades,but it's scent remains in the lover's breath'' -Arabic Proverb
Petals drift down where memories reside,
Soft as a secret that time cannot hide.
Your voice is a river, weaving through my soul,
It's memory long,it's current wide.
In every echo,in every sigh of wind,
Your spirit walks with me,quietly beside
Though seasons falter and the world may fade,
Love remains a flame that will not subside.
I bow to your memory in silent reverence,
Pheko,Grandson Of Makobane
6. Mountains Eternal
''Mountains Bow Only To The Wind Of Time ''
The mountain stands,eternal,beneath the sky,
Witness to tears no eye can deny.
Each stone a testament,each wind a prayer,
A song of longing that will never die.
Your laughter once scattered the clouds of my night,
Now it returns with the morning's sigh.
Though rivers run dry and stars may fall,
The heart remembers,the soul will fly.
In every echo of earth and stone,I find you
Pheko,Father Of Tokelo
In the beginning, we played musical parts
singing the script with free-spirited hearts
Adlibbing lines without rehearsing a word.
As absurd as it sounds, quite profound
that our threads were a woven tapestry
without eyes meeting and voices never heard.
We danced, swaying like palms in the wind
Our dance steps were always in sync.
We were Fred and Ginger,
turquoise and silver... p b and j
until the day the music stopped...
In the realm where light and dark merge,
that shadowed place where docile dreams
and hellacious nightmares converge,
we found ourselves worlds apart.
Our Utopian haven had been storm tossed
and left us swirling on a dystopian plain,
a deserted land where painful silence rules
for those who played the game of fools.
For days I've been hearing piano notes
that seem to float from memory's core.
A chance encounter, a phone call,
familiar lyrics to a musical score...
a romance rekindled?
His music once filled my head,
but I don't dance to his songs anymore.
There's never a happy ending
when nothing is left to be said.
There's no point lingering in thoughts
over a broken heart when it's mending.
She once wore white like a promise unspent,
lace veils fluttering with tomorrow’s breath.
Now the mirror shows a woman halfbent,
counting empty rooms where love met death.
The house she lost still stands in memory’s lane
walls that echoed laughter, then screams, then silence.
Dishes left in anger, doors slammed in vain,
a tongue like winter wind, sharp with defiance.
Friends whispered warnings she never could hear,
“Soft words build bridges; sharp ones burn them down.”
She answered with fire, with pride, with a sneer,
until even the hearth refused her crown.
Children visit on weekends, eyes full of questions,
polite little strangers learning not to ask why.
She smiles too brightly, hides the infections
of regret that bloom when the curtains draw high.
At night the bed feels wider than oceans,
no arm to anchor her storm-tossed soul.
The shame arrives dressed in quiet devotions
a ghost in the kitchen, a weight in the bowl.
She waters dead plants out of stubborn habit,
feeds stray cats that won’t stay for her hand.
Once queen of a kingdom, now beggar of habit,
learning too late what a woman must understand:
A home is not built by the strength of her will,
nor kept by the fire she refuses to tame.
It crumbles when kindness is left on the sill,
and character’s cracks let the cold enter in.
She carries the blame like a stone in her chest,
not for the leaving, but for how it began
the slow, unseen poison of words unblessed,
the woman who broke what she swore to defend.
Yet dawn still comes, cruel in its mercy,
lighting the ruins she once called her own.
Shame is a teacher, harsh and unsparing;
perhaps, in its shadow, a wiser seed’s sown.
The sky is a cloudless crystal blue
with a breeze to chap your lips
I’m grateful for it, it’s heaven-sent
the dawn was a celestially stamped, angry red
sailors take warning
It’s going to get feisty cold,
I’m told
about the time we go back to school.
A polar-bear vortex with all its features
will spread its icy paws
What jumps out at me first
is how it could be worse.
if unapologetic nature
pounced sans disclaimers
with a cold worth semi-Shakespearean verse
What follows, star-crossed
is a week storm-tossed
a winter holocaust
with heaven-kissed frost
that only madness would call a judgement
We’re steered from harm
by precision alarms
stay warm
sweet friends
wrap up, stay in
.
.
Songs for this:
Come In from the Cold by Marc Broussard
World's A Changing by The Bingtones
If others become very wicked
Then help me be righteous for You
If others are full of deception
Then help me to speak what is true
If others turn desperate and hopeless
Then help me to tell of Your love
If others may judge me, please make me
As innocent, Yah, as a dove
Please help me, if cruel ones use cunning
As wise as a serpent to be
If others are shackled in bondage
May I, in Your strength, set them free!
If others are drowning in chaos
Please let me send forth, Yah, Your peace
If others are fearful and storm-tossed
May somehow I help worries cease
If others are lost with no shepherd
With You, may I show them the way
If someone sees only the darkness
Then help me to show them the day
If others are scared of the battle
Please help me to stand and be brave
If others are bound for destruction
Through me may you seek them and save!
If others start crushing the needy
Those innocent, poor, and distressed
Then help me to strengthen the fallen
May somehow I help them be blessed
If others keep hating, please help me
No matter what comes, to forgive
If others want purpose and meaning
Please help me declare why I live
If others love sinning and cruelty
Then help me with courage to fight
And if there must be such deep darkness
Then help me, I pray, be Your light!
"It is to be..." A bold statement!
Demonstrative for it's not preceded with "If."
That would leave room for a way of escapement.
More of a command as if delivered by the Word of God,
or the promise of a lesser being... I am merely mortal.
Que sera sera... what will be, will be? Not a chance.
That seems much too uncaring a stance to take.
A life, left in the hands of fate could easily be led astray,
but that's not the way I choose to live.
Forgive me if I dance around what I'm trying to say.
It's just that I want to follow through with whatever it is to be.
To know when a friend carries sorrow in a wounded heart
so that somehow I might find a way to chase it off.
Don't scoff. I know being human has its limitations,
but friendships are in need of aspirations. They are to me.
I'm not interested in being disappointed in others.
I've thwarted and dismayed many, even my own soul.
It is to be that I need to prove to myself
that I confess having been foolish on occasions
but I still dare to dream for my heart's desire
without the least hint of gentle persuasion...
even when I put myself in the line of fire.
It is to be, as written in 'My Creed' by Edgar Guest,
"To take what comes of good or ill
and cling to faith and honor still.
To live undaunted, unafraid
of any step that I have made."
It will do no good to recall my strife or what I've lost.
I don't want to live on the waves of a storm-tossed sea.
I choose to drink from the cup that's half full
and inhale the fragrance of ecstasy when it comes my way.
I cannot alter what was but will accept whatever "it is to be."
Hark, compatriots of mine, hark that ye all may hear
a song that yet may cheer your hearts and prompt a bashful tear.
We man the good ship Albion upon this storm-tossed sea.
Our native rights we must defend and the cause of liberty.
Though now Britannia's sway has passed upon the ocean waves,
we still affirm full-heartedly: Britons will ne'er be slaves!
Not one of us will fail his friend; not one of us will flinch,
but each of us will stand his ground, not one will yield an inch.
Not one of us deserts our cause. Desertion, that's for rats!
Shall we who beat Napoleon bow down to bureaucrats?
That song is growing fainter now, and soon it may be still,
but in my heart I hear it yet, and guess I always will.
What is sleep? What are its positions?
Right side? Left side? Prone with arms in?
You seem to have lost all intuition
Relax and breathe easy, they all say
You can/t. Your chin is always in the way
You shift uneasily from side to side, half-crazed
Insomnia's a form of unjust bail
Left unpaid, it keeps victims jailed
In storm-tossed bed on sleepless nights
Robbed of hope and basic rights
A good night's sleep is but a distant dream
Dashed on the shore of muffled screams
The minutes tick by, agonizing
Hours upon hour, paralyzing
Near dawn relief comes at last
Blessed sleep arrives when night has past
An hour or two of drugged slumber
Then stagger forth, sans sleep, encumbered
"All the art of living lies in a fine mingling
of letting go and holding on."
~ Havelock Ellis
Humans can be compared to diminutive grains of sand
as we mingle, traveling from home soil to a foreign land.
An ocean's depth represents the divine or life's infinity.
Sand and sea will mingle together in the surf for eternity.
There's an ancient relationship between sea and sand
in which the tides were given the resolve to command.
Earth and Oceans have always coexisted side by side
as important voices in Nature, they mingle and coincide.
Luna majestically reigns over the sea's ebb and flow.
Magnetic are the powers of her luminescent glow.
Tempest winds provoke white crested waves to thrash,
sending sand aground with every thunderous crash.
And when the sea has calmed her churning once more,
grains are able to mingle together on a distant shore.
In the radiance of sunlight, they will linger and dwell
until windswept waves arrive as if brewed from a spell.
Tiny grains cannot socialize because they are tethered.
Guided by Nature's winds and seas, they're weathered,
stranded on golden shores, beach after sandy beach.
Mercy is not a request they can beg for or beseech.
Never can they choose where to go or mingle at will.
Washed upon a sandscape dune they may be until...
Fingers of storm-tossed waves return them to the sea.
They're merely temporary tenants, just like you and me.