Long Stormy Poems
Long Stormy Poems. Below are the most popular long Stormy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stormy poems by poem length and keyword.
As i sit here and ponder
About my love that's gone
She was tall, slim and shapely
Angelic and full of song
But then i started to wonder
At certain times she never came home
I used to wait and worry
And the streets i would sometimes roam
So many early mornings
She wandered in all tired
The changing of my love
Whom once i craved and desired
So many questions i asked
But for her, there was no tell
For it came to break my heart
As i told her to go to hell
One wintry stormy night
The truth i needed to know
I followed her in my car
Through winds and driving snow
Her car turns into a driveway
In an classy part of town
Where the elite look down upon us
In typical, turned up nose frown
I park my car discretely
Hidden from the road
As i make my way to this mansion
Quite an affluent abode
I slowly, quietly walk
To find out why she's here
As i approach a bay lit window
Stealthily i begin to peer
I see a well dressed man
Slightly older than me
As in the door way stands
My darling so close to me
But gone are her innocents
That were by my side
She's now scantily dressed
The truth to why she's lied
Her skin on show all over
Black leathers in sporadic view
Her breasts all pert and ample
Eyes of azure blue
I stand in total shock
As my love in another mans arms
Sharing her heavenly body
Rejoicing in her charms
No more of this i can take
As i turn and take flight
Betrayed by my loved one
Her other side of midnight
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love5.php
A simple string of letters,
they were the only that I saw.
The rest were gone you see,
because you knew that you were wrong.
The slightest of affection,
you felt the need to comfort her.
I’ve needed you so badly,
I guess it’s what I don’t deserve.
You promised it was harmless,
that you wouldn’t go and screw her.
I never saw it coming,
struck me down like stormy weather.
So, if it were so harmless,
tell me, why delete the others?
There’s more to this sad story
that I may never uncover.
You’d met with her for months,
behind my back without a trace.
You swore it wasn’t like that,
that you’d never seen her face.
But then, more hits me hard,
there’s clearly so much that I’ve missed.
Like when I’d found your past out,
and that the two of you have kissed.
How can’t you understand
why my heart it hurts so bad?
Re-read the last few stanzas,
and say you don’t know why I’m sad.
You said that you were angry,
and that was why you did such deeds.
But that only makes it worse,
I know now what your anger breeds.
How am I to heal
when all my questions have no answers?
You claim that you have none,
except that you were never lovers.
Why can’t you fill the space for me?
Do I not deserve to know?
My heart is broke in pieces,
as my sadness overflows.
There’s obviously more to this,
but you won’t spare my mind.
I swear I only want to know
so we can leave the past behind.
I always thought that she was pretty,
but I guess that you did too.
You promised you would never,
that I could put my trust in you.
So, whether you admit it,
you and I both know there’s more.
You withhold so much truth from me,
leaving my insides sore.
The pit inside my stomach
and my heart as it does sink…
Has left me feeling vulnerable,
and I just can’t seem to think.
No matter how much time goes by,
the stitches never heal.
The vast amount of questions
left unanswered is unreal.
The slightest of affection,
and simple words that you had sent…
Has injured my self-worth,
it’s all been to my detriment.
But why did she deserve
to get support that I had begged for?
I needed you. I needed you.
Guess I’m not special anymore.
“The best way to treat obstacles is to use them as stepping stones.” Enid Blyton
**************************************************************
Stepping Stones to Success
In the deep depth of their dreams many souls
Aspire to reach atop a scenic hill
Whence they can eye the vista as a whole
And view the landscape of the distant fields;
But when wild woeful winds of stark failures
Rock their spirit, hurling them to the ground
It is ripe time to change their behaviour,
Time to move step by step to get around,
Time not to try to reach the sky at once
But to make every step a success tale
Time along the stairs not at once to bounce
But to learn to confront the stormy gales
And over woeful wild winds to prevail.
The chick grows to puberty hearing the sound of surfs as a lullaby,
returning waves as rocking cradle, fed by passing clouds and drank
of fogs. He learned: how to fly friend with wind, flow of time following the sun and moon, and direction through stars of constellations. And about the time when flock of birds returns
to this isle after long absence from the isle to avoid harsh and cold winter, the bird, flapping his huge wings, soared higher and higher to the endless deep sky.
After such, time had passed and autumn, again, returns to this isle,
all birds abandon it and flies away as before. And when all the birds left, raging bellows, deep fogs, torrential rain, high wind, thunders and lightening punish this little isle once again, the gigantic bird flies over and lands on this top cliff, then, he sits on the nest where his mother’s burnt bones still remain. He cries sorrowfully vomiting blood, while gathering and holding mother’s remains in his wide breast.
During the circle of days and nights, when the bird sees rays come from peeking sun between crevices of thickened cloud, he soars high to reach the sun, pecks a piece and brings it back to the nest and
covers mother’s remains with it.
He repeats this act as long as the sun is in the sky. After so much folds of sun-ray, he goes back and forth restlessly watching radiance floating atop of pathetic mother. When the weather turns worse as before, the bird covers mother with his broad breast.
After so much of those stormy weathers and occasional sunshine
pile up, spring approaches to this isle, and when such time comes, waters return to tranquility that of calm of primitive day. And in this absolute stillness, moon rises to die everything from sky to sea, to the color of dark-blue. And in this dark-blue stillness, the son-bird carries mother bird, which is resurrected as dark shadow on his back and flies away to the moon, to the sky, to the farthest dark-blue sea.
After the son-bird has flown away carrying mother bird on his back, though heap of suns became highest mountain, heap of moons became deepest sea, it was so told, these birds having once flown away never return to this little islet.
Its raining here in Nottingham
We're having quite a storm
The clouds are black and gathering
But still it is quite warm.
As I'm looking out my window
The rain is coming fast
And now its turned to hail stones
They look like sparkling glass.
I went to put the washing out
But here comes the rain again
The weather here in Nottingham
Is driving me insane.
Now its starting to thunder
And there's lightening too
The streets look like a river
The sky is no longer blue.
I suppose I will have to sit and wait
For the sun to shine
And then I can put the clothes out
On that washing line.
10/11/21
Sometimes
I wanted to lay low
Or get recognized
Stormy nights and days with rainbows
Was it all really like what is televised
I think not, but for you and me I wish us the best in life
Any wrongs we've done let's set it right
Meanwhile opposition continues to weaponize
Life being compromised
And jeopardized
Sometimes
I would read in-between the lines
Gave it all a lot of tries
It took more that fifteen times
Sometimes
As one of the guys
I went against what was ill-advised
Drunk and high
The outcome I paid for or it was minimized
Sometimes
I couldn't always rationalize
The answer difficult to find
And describe
As I continued to analyze
Sometimes
Areas got vandalized
There was scandal and lies
Leaving others agonized
Sometimes
I was being blind
Instead of opening up my mind
And eyes
Sometimes
I'd hide behind
A disguise
Anything to get the prize
Sometimes
I went counter clock wise
Having many lows and highs
Sometimes
The skies
Left me mesmerized
The same could be said for Fireflies
Sometimes
It wasn't all what I surmised
Or had in mind
It was quite the surprise
Sometimes
They would patronize
And chastise
Time after time
Stab you in the back with knives
Sometimes
My eyes
Would dilate to a bigger size
Felt lethargic or energized
Being lazy or exercised
Took it personally or was desensitized
Sometimes
They say it's a sign
Of the times
Among all these enzymes
It's unclear or the lines
Being drawn are fine
Sometimes I felt alive inside
And revitalized
Nearby a rising tide
It's all been an exciting ride
If I die it's fine
OLD MEN WALKING TO THE SEA
GOING DOWN HILL THREE BY THREE
FOAMING MIST AND DISTANT THUNDER
OCEANS DEEP AND FILLED WITH WONDER
PASSING GATE AND ANCIENT TREE
HEAR THE MORNING SEA BIRD SCREE
LIVING LIFE BY SEASON'S CLOCK
WALKING TO THE WOODEN DOCK
FOGGY IS THE GRAYISH SKY
LOOKING CHILLY TO THE EYE
CLOSER NOW WE’LL SOON BE GONE
FISHING WELL BEFORE THE DAWN
DEW SITS ON THE MORNING FLOWER
WAITING FOR THE SUNSHINE HOUR
MUDDY IS THE WALKING PATH
STILL WET FROM THE STORMY WRATH
BUNDLED NETS IN OPEN BOAT
KNITTED HAT AND SEAMAN'S COAT
FRIGID AIR AND SALTY TASTE
ICY FEEL UPON THE FACE
SMELL THE BRINE AND SALTY AIR
SEE THE MAIN MAST CANVAS FLARE
POINT THE VESSEL TO THE WIND
MAKE THE MIGHTY SEA YOUR FRIEND
SUN IS RISING IN THE EAST
FOGGY MORNING MIST RELEASED
CAST THE NET AND SET IT RIGHT
CIRCLE LEFT TO MAKE IT TIGHT
SAYING NOW THE FISHER’S PRAYER
THAT THE MORNING CATCH IS FAIR
THAT THE ENDLESS, LIVING SEA
PROVIDE THE GIFT OF LIFE TO THEE
PULLING NOW AND FEEL THE PAIN
OF THE BONE AND MUSCLE STRAIN
HEAR THE FISHER'S GOD DECREE
YOU TAKE THE BOUNTY FROM THE SEA
AND NOW THE DAY WAS FAIRLY WON
AND NOW THE STORIES CAN BE SPUN
WHEN OLD MEN TALK AS OLD MEN DO
ABOUT THE TIMES THAT THEY ONCE KNEW
SITTING IN THE VILLAGE PUB
SMOKY ROOM AND STEAMING GRUB
RUDDY FACE AND TOOTHLESS GRIN
GRAYISH STUBBLE ON THE CHIN
TALES ARE TOLD AND SOME ARE TRUE
LAUGHTER FROM THE FISHER’S CREW
OLD MEN LIVING BY THE SEA
THEIR LIFE A LIVING SYMPHONY
Let me be, as God intended me to be:
Neither a wicked elf, nor a fairy godmother,
Never a demon, nor an angel,
But a true woman.
Never, I yearn to be the ‘Phenomenal Woman’
Of Maya Angelou,
Drawing a hive of honey bees round
‘With the span of my hips
Or the stride of my steps’
But,
One with a loving heart,
Calm and caring,
Though at times touchy and itchy
I yearn to be:
A gracious host and a helpful neighbor
An all time student and a teacher
Able to stand in my own light
And lessen the darkness of the night
I yearn to be:
An abiding spouse in whom my man can see
An ocean of love in my dewy eyes
And feel the steady warmth of my grip
When the seas of life grow stormy,
I yearn to be:
An adorable mother to my children
In whom they can confide,
Their doubt, despair or delight
A counselor, a friend and guide
With the balm to heal their wounds
Touch and move their spirits
And show them the miracle of love
Piecing together these different roles
Let me into a close knit texture weave
The fabric of my life,
Like the interlacing threads
Of a great tapestry!
In a way, is not living the art of quilting
Bringing out unique patterns
Of exquisite beauty and delight
From the scraps thrown in our way!
Submitted for Bian Strand Free verse
Poetry Contest
Cold is the wind in Europe.
It is a stormy evening, brown leaves flying in the storm
dank and dry, torn from the mother tree with hatred
I`m thinking of Macron, the president of France,
extolling globalization. I`m a nationalist, from
a country that has naturally evolved, has its own culture,
and an unspoken agreement on how people should perform.
We don`t want a global nation with one culture, one language, one thought as dictated by newspapers owned
by the globalists.
It has been tried before under the dictatorship of Stalin.
Macron is, in the words of Oscar Wilde,” Deep down he is
a shallow thinker.”
Migrants are welcomed in my country if they are willing
to accept our culture and not demand changes
But have accepted the system as it is.
Mass migration is a manufactured phenomenon; it could
be avoided by investing in the countries they hail from and
It is political to sow discord in Europe.
We see how the USA, a beacon of democracy, has been turned
into a semi-tyranny helped by the opaque forces of Zionism
They want globalization to serve their end, that is, to enslave
and bend us to their will.
The working class in Britain gets it, and the ditto Germans
to see the way their countries are going, and the protests
because of this, know a new war will come, a war that can
benefit the Zionists.
Upon the midnight moor I roam,
beneath the stormy sky;
a black cat sings a sorrowful tune,
where restless shadows fly.
He prowls along the ancient way,
with tales of grief and flame;
a rogue of claw and velvet coat,
who bears a haunted name.
The old trail calls across the vale,
the thunder rolls afar;
his song rides wild through every gale,
beneath a broken star.
He tells of ships and savage seas,
of battles lost and won;
of wanderers who chased the dawn,
then vanished from the sun.
The hunter hears the midnight song,
and halts beside the heath;
for legends born in darkest hours
hold secrets underneath.
The black cat cries a rebel hymn,
a ballad fierce and free;
a lonely soul with burning pride,
beneath the ancient tree.
So raise your gaze, ye souls of grit,
who march through storm and rain;
for every heart may find a song
inside its deepest pain.