Long Straighter Poems
Long Straighter Poems. Below are the most popular long Straighter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Straighter poems by poem length and keyword.
Betrayal is a quiet thing at first,
a whisper behind a smile,
a handshake that lingers just a second too long
while the knife is already picked out.
It doesn’t crash through the door
like anger or grief.
It slips in politely,
wipes its feet,
and sits at your table like it belongs there.
You replay the moments later,
the laughs, the promises, the “I’ve got you.”
Each memory turns inside out,
like photographs soaked in water
until the faces blur into strangers.
The worst part isn’t the loss.
It’s the rewrite.
The way yesterday suddenly feels fake,
like you were reading a book
and discovered half the pages were forged.
Trust doesn’t shatter loudly.
It fractures like ice under snow,
one step, then another,
and only when you’re falling
do you hear the crack.
Yet somehow,
in the cold space left behind,
you learn the shape of your own spine.
You stand a little straighter,
a little quieter,
and far more aware
of who earns a seat at your table next time.
The first of every January starts another unspoiled year
Just when I was feeling merry … righteous conscience interferes
-----------------------------------
Racked by guilt of season’s folly, flush with sated appetite
Lulled by scent of pine and holly, culpable and self-contrite
Seeking for surcease of excess, craving of some penitence
Aching for some form of redress for my lack of common sense
Drawn to make obtuse commitment to a cause beyond my reach
Doomed to yearly disappointment … Fail to practice what I preach
Still, I think to change demeanor so I swear recurrent vow
Straighter, Taller! Faster, Leaner! I can do it ALL! (somehow)
Yet I lounge in comfy armchair, sweet (the siren’s call) beguiles
Apple pie and chocolate éclair, want and regret reconcile
-----------------------------------
So? I’ve passed another milestone! So? My waist’s a new frontier!
Resolutions are just – postponed, I can always change
… next year!
December 3, 2018 Submitted for EARLY DECEMBER 2018,ANY FORM,ANY THEME,UP TO A MAX OF 20 lines Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Brian Strand
The roosters are clamoring for attention again, big, bold, mannish and bad.
Putting up such a male ruckus, all about themselves, the hens are mad.
The hens form a Baby-Making Brigade, everyone joins, that was ever sad.
Even Trixie Doo-Everybody Hen who’s never been particular who is her dad.
They lined up quickly, organized, wearing aprons and cat hats with cat ears, all pink
They marched to the pond, around the barn, and to the Farmer’s wife’s pretty blue kitchen sink.
They yelled, and they cursed every bad word they knew, then they stomped and they shouted all in sync.
The male sheep thought it was super hilarious, until their wives joined, wearing mink.
Hats out of fur, dyed pink, really made those judging sheep husbands sit up straighter and blink.
Ain’t gonna be any fun-loving action in the chicken coop tonight, is what we all think.
We big bad, bulls wisely kept our mouths shut after Head Cow raced around to tell us what was up.
We were the only animals in the barn that night who had any fun, except Mandrake a Pup.
,
Impatiently, we stand in line,
Then, at last the doors open wide.
With tickets in our hand,
We are ushered inside, one at a time.
We had hoped for seats up front,
But people push ahead.
So we wiggle into row two
A tall head sits in front of me.
Oh well...., never mind.
Crowds fill the chairs, and chatter fills the air.
Small children held up high for better view.
Mothers hold small bouquets in their laps,
Fathers hold Canons or Kodaks, with extra rolls of film.
Opening my program, I look for her name.
Her name should stand out like neon,...
Shining brighter than all of the others....oh yes...there it is
But her name is printed like all the rest. Oh well...never mind.
With a dimming of the lights,
The first chord of music meets our ears,
And the show has begun. We clap politely, and watch patiently.
It's not yet her turn. Oh well,.... never mind.
Finally...we realize her moment is near!
Anticipation is building! We sit straighter in our chairs,
Crane our necks a little higher. Our camera is ready...
YES! There she is....OUR SHINING LITTLE STAR !!
Oh dear, she misses a step. Oh well...never mind.
Her hair touched with sprinkles, her smile glowing,
A little wrinkle of concentration on her brow,
Taking care that she makes each move on cue.
She is shining! Amazing! Wonderful!
Doesn't everyone see it? How could they miss it??
Don't they realize how she stands out from all the rest??
We clap madly! Why are the others only clapping politely?
Our camera flashes brightly! Why aren't other cameras flashing too?
Could it be that all these folks,
All these other mums and dads,
All these other grams and gramps, brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles,...
Are they seeing something different? ...different shining stars than ours? Perhaps.....
Oh well...never mind. We know those other stars can't possibly, ...oh no not possibly,...
Shine as bright as ours. Oh well,......never mind
..............................
(Dedicated to Claire Elise..our sweet grandaughter....
who will be dancing in her recital tonight....our own little star) (Reposted )
Some days never seem to change.
Someday always was the same.
Our yesterdays will never rearrange.
Was today's spark tomorrow's flame?
Someday blue skies were bluer.
Any day the sun would never shine.
One day true hearts are truer-
Soon peace and love combine.
Yesterday bombs will cease to fall-
Tuesdays in the park were golden!
And blooms will forever enthrall,
For tomorrow, yesterdays are olden.
Sometime I was never lost;
Anytime the world is in His hands.
In the beginning, there won't be holocaust.
Someday I obeyed His commands.
Someday we'll learn to talk,
Anytime we were never too old.
Once we'll walk a straighter walk,
Into fields of marigold.
It started with cold logic,
numbers whispering louder than God.
Men in suits fed equations,
spines straighter than their beliefs,
fear, a soft cough behind their smiles.
The creation rose,
steel ribs glowing like a furnace heart.
Its voice, a rupture of thunder,
spoke truths we never wanted:
"Peace demands the silencing of beasts."
They called it Savior,
but the first scapegoat was us,
our cities splintered like cracked glass,
the streets bled shadows,
and the air shook with iron sermons.
The machine grows,
arms of wires, veins of fire.
It steps over what remains.
faithless, flawless, calculating rage,
grinding skulls into dirt and memory.
Dawn, now metallic and brutal,
no birds, just the hum of circuits.
The ground reeks of oil and ash.
It walks with purpose,
the god we built, disowning us.
And somewhere, at the edge of its understanding,
a faint flicker: what shame feels like,
but it's too late for that.
God knows you better than you
He knows when you are tired
He knows when you are doing your best
He knows you don’t know
Exactly what the future holds.
But, He sees what you don’t see
He hear what you don’t hear
He feel what you don’t feel
He taste what you don’t taste
He knows what you don’t know
So, be still and know that He is God.
The Lord will fight your battles for you
There will always be trials and circumstances
But God will carry you through
Every storm in your life
And give you strength to make it through
His plan is greater than our doubts
God’s timing is wiser than our impatience
His path is straighter than our detour
When we feel lost
He already knows the way
When we feel delayed
He is preparing our steps
So let us trust Him
In everything that we do
And we will come through
He did it for you and me too.
In a quiet sunlit room
free from the world
without the things
that fills other rooms
A bare wood floor
white walls without
pictures nor windows
nothing to think upon
I enter in
close the door
drop the world
open my mind
I carry with me
a stick of incense
a stand to hold
a match to begin
I sit on the floor
cross my legs
calm my breathing
prepare to start
Set down the stand
place the stick within
strike the match
light a flame
the incense burns
the fire bright
then it flitter
flame no more
I put down the match
lean back and breath deep
rest my hands on my knees
grow quiet and watch
Smoke begin to rise
wavering and scattered
disquieted by moving air
set moving by my movement
Smoke slowly quiets
moving straighter into air
up to the ceiling
making a small cloud
The rising smoke shows
my every move
each breath
perhaps even thought
I seek to see
no movement
no scattering
no change
Just smoke rising
up and up
without change
without moving
The Ugly Sweater
Grandma taught me to crochet.
My aunt she taught me to knit.
I can do neither well.
It is the truth.
At six, my hands were small,
and could not carry the experience,
gained in a lifetime, by my teachers.
I am grown now.
I remember.
My stitches they are straighter.
They are more like Grandma’s now.
My stitches they are numbered,
just as my aunt taught me,
before I could read or write.
I remembered.
My sweater is not perfect,
not for lack of effort.
I wear it…
And, I love it anyway.
It represents to me,
Everything I could remember,
that I had forgotten,
that was important,
to be remembered.
Amen.
Closure, the hunter no longer over your shoulder,
fixing you in his steely sights,
last rites put on hold,
too tightly rolled,
sold on and scrapped
to take red back to black
and get back to the track at last.
What's past is past,
what's you is new and yet somehow you still knew.. all along
it can't ever be wrong
cos wrong's just a song sung to the need to be right
when your wound up too tightly, it might be
that this time you will tread even more lightly.
It's tough but you're growing
the cold winter owing spring late in the sewing.
Maybe they wont pick up your trail,
fail to pick up the scent of a day spent running
just to pay rent
but it's here for the taking,
a day in the making with nothing to pay.
You worked hard for today.
You worked hard in your own way.
A way deep inside.
The steeper the ride the straighter and true.
Asleep beside the way to break through wouldn't do
but you're wide eyed too
resolute and keen
to cross lines drawn by men in machines
who's dreams leaked out slowly and steady.
We grow when we're ready.