Long Strayed Poems
Long Strayed Poems. Below are the most popular long Strayed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Strayed poems by poem length and keyword.
Tired of being afraid,
Of the path I've laid,
I may have strayed,
And been dismayed,
Time is delayed,
Played into my own hands,
A life full of demands,
I don't even understand,
Was the fear planned,
I stand before you bare,
Unaware of whats out there,
Sharing every part of me,
So that everyone can see,
Laughing privately,
About what they think of me,
I feel all their energy,
Every time we meet,
It's hard to be discrete,
I'm tired of the deciet,
Defeating myself over and over,
My shoulders are growing cold,
Breaking away the mold,
i'm tired of being told,
Being scolded for what I do,
I'm tired of being afraid of you,
And the next thing you send through,
So I stay true to me,
And just wait and see.
President Trump has rattled Washington's cage
with an unlikely combination of technology and rage
He's twittered and texted sharp barbs, targeted criticism
at oversensitive pols, used to kow-towing and witticisms
He's shaken up the stuffed shirts of the established order
by trying to stop criminal aliens with a wall at the border
He's gone toe-to-toe with the demagogues of Russia and China
unlike his predecessors, who've caved in to the Soviet-Sinos
And he's raised a crucial issue, from which productive discussion has strayed:
If our government won't protect its citizenry, why should its workers get paid?
February 13, 2019
Entry in "A Positive President Trump" Contest
Sponsor: Anthony Slausin
Gobsmacked, Bamboozled and Confused
I was gobsmacked, bamboozled and confused
when they showed me worn out crayons never unused
for the lines they were destined to stay within
were taken as a challenge - not a whim
as the fists that clutched the colors misunderstood
the concept of the lines - “for their own good”
strayed with the exuberance of youth
opened up a crayon kissing booth
mingled the sunrise with the moon
served breakfast at the height of midnight noon
gobsmacked, bamboozled and confused
the crayons wandered happily bemused
across a barren landscape of pure snow
trailing behind them life’s rainbow
©11/11/18
for – What Gobsmacks, Bamboozles and Confuses Me Poetry Contest
In the warmth of a summer sunset, I sat idle,
on the sea shore looking at the grey enormity
that heaved and swelled in turn.
Before me was the wild brutality of the sea!
Though at times she is calm and windless,
a smouldering volcano lies beneath her surface.
I sat away from the crowd in a cool square of quiet
inhaling the briny air, enjoying the foam and spray
My mind then was light as that of a child,
that plays on the sea shore, making sand castles.
I watched small boats carrying men.
They were heading towards the Casino moored in the inlet of the sea.
I felt those men were like flies lured by the flame.
They come either to perish or to prosper,
most of them go back with empty wallets!
My eyes stretched far into the horizon.
Swallows were circling beneath tangled clouds.
The tall masts of ships could be seen at a distance
and ever growing waves drifted and strayed
as the fabric of blue got continuously shredded.
For fun I scribbled my name on the sands,
but a wave came crashing against and washed it away
Was it here or there, I had scrawled my signature,
I don’t know. It has vanished leaving no trace.
Suddenly from a child, I grew into a sage.
How transient is man’s life on Earth
How very tiny we are set against the vastness of the sea
In the wide expanse of life, as on a sea shore,
we scribble our names to stay.
Alas! Some unknown hands wipe them away
Form:
How looks thou love
That i see not, but desire
And never can hear or
Reach to touch and taste
As does Helen eludes me?
Why feign thy presence
As though the cool air
We can see and we do
Care to know of what
Substance it's composed
Or the waters of what
Contents made it so?
Where is thy abode
Then? Within the heart
Or strayed outside of it?
Who drives whose wits
And disguise itself?
Who is to be responsible
If thou hath Helen
And Helen is thee?
Show thyself now
If thou hath genuine that
I may know thee for real
But not without Helen
As with the wind and
Water we bother less
Of what they are but our
Breath and nourishment!
The moon was full that Halloween,
I strayed to sites I hadn't seen -
a castle, dungeon, disused jail,
a place they say that banshees wail...
I found the house beside a lake,
the note enough to make you quake:
'Beware: don't visit on this night -
the place is bad, you'd die of fright.'
Despite the orbs my photos show,
no figures floating all a-glow,
nor eerie sounds of creaky floors,
not even countless slamming doors,
if something there was watching me,
it wasn't something I could see.
The moon still shining, full and bright,
my hunt was fruitless on that night.
My search for spirits isn't done;
I'm lonely, I'm the only one...
written 27th September for Chantelle's Halloween Moon contest
The funnies are stealing back into my soul
They've never really strayed very far
Both love and laughter make a great pair
It's the place I latch on to my star
Laughing they say is good for your ticker
Got a pretty strong heart this old man
From first light of day till the very last glimmer
Love and laughter go hand in hand
Makes the world spin, well certainly mine
Sometimes have a tendency to get down
With uncontrollable things that happen in life
Smile brightly and banish the frowns
Just tell yourself a silly old groaner
But try hard to keep a straight face
People around you will slowly back away
And quietly give you some space
The funnies are back but not all the way
But stay tuned and trust me I say
Has this old guy ever lied to you before
Let's not go there... just have a nice day!
I've passed this way many a day
and wondered as I strayed;
Who had opened, what had filled
the gap within the crib's dark bay.
The opening small in the wall
at once so spare yet alluring
with tilted sides and gap toothed maw
which now held field mice burrowing.
The boards of red once formed a bed
for stored feed of golden maze,
these cedar shingles had sheltered
the abundance of by gone days.
The farm's gone now, no fields, no cow
long past its youth, its heyday
housing only bitter sweet and
memories of corn cobs and play.
Yet, here it stands, as I go by,
and so quietly it brings to me;
the lingering joy of laughter
the faint echoes of jubilee.
This Land I Roam
This land I roam is not my home, as it was in the past,
In the past I cared not for breath, or to pass a person in the aisle,
In the aisle I now must look away as we are all afraid,
We are all afraid of one another, for something wrong has strayed
Something wrong has strayed upon us, now we strive to last.
Now we strive to last again so we can laugh and smile
Laugh and smile with the children, innocence they may not know
They may not know of this trial, but sweetly smile for show
Smile for show, they let us view, because they see our faces
Our faces aged, years in months, due to this that strayed
Due to this that strayed, we keep our distance from each other
From each other, I now have noticed, that we will talk, no bother
We will talk no bother, because we all long, for the touch of each
Touch of each, is all we want, and all we miss in this time
In this time a man passes by, and we say hi
Where as in before, we may not have bothered, as he went by
As he went by, I waved my arm to let him know I say hello
I say hello more now, as I know that he wants this too
He wants this too, as I believe, because we all long for same
Long for same, has not far passed, and that is all we claim,
All we claim is life gone by, with hugs and closeness to all
Closeness to all, a longing now, with time there is an answer
There is an answer, in the heavens, only as God knows
God knows that time will always show the row He wants to sow
He wants to sow a brand new row, a row of more compassion
More compassion for all humankind, to let us know our foe
Our foe is only us, it seems, we all must strive to be as one
To be as one, a distant dream, and for our sake, it must be done.
Ince St. Child
by Michael R. Burch
When she was a child
in a dark forest of fear,
imagination cast its strange light
into secret places,
scattering traces
of illumination so bright,
years later, she could still find them there,
their light undefiled.
When she was young,
the shafted light of her dreams
shone on her uplifted face
as she prayed . . .
though she strayed
into a night fallen like woven lace
shrouding the forest of screams,
her faith led her home.
Now she is old
and the light that was flame
is a slow-dying ember . . .
what she felt then
she would explain;
she would if she could only remember
that forest of shame,
faith beaten like gold.
This was an unusual poem, written in my youth, and it took me some time to figure out who the old woman was. She was a victim of childhood incest, hence the title I eventually came up with. Keywords/Tags: Sexual Abuse, Child Abuse, Pedophilia, Depravity, Betrayal, Shame, Humiliation, Evil, Family, Innocence, Childhood, Girl, Memory, Memories, Repressed Memories, PTSD, Shock, Shell Shock