Long Strode Poems
Long Strode Poems. Below are the most popular long Strode by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Strode poems by poem length and keyword.
The Tiger General
Hobbes
The Tiger general strode onto the field of battle,
Tail flowing eloquently as he walked.
And then he turned to his men and began to speak,
They fell instantly silent as he talked.
The general led his men with a strong presence and iron resolve,
They fell into line at a quick command.
When they marched he always took the head,
And lead his men across the fields of sand.
His men followed him with love, respect and admiration.
His feats were the stuff that make up great tales.
Each fur who followed him took every order to a tee.
And when it comes to plans he never fails.
The tiger knew this battle was different then the last,
He felt the tides turn on the winds of change.
He knew that something horrible was about to happen.
He didn't know about the scope or range.
It was in the thick of the combat that he found it out,
and his face changed to one of hidden pain.
But he never showed his men a shred of doubt,
And each passing feeling he would detain.
He started loosing men at an alarming rate,
And he drew his blade and rallied the boys.
But the enemy had an advantage so large,
It made the master steel look like toys.
The guns were blaring left and right as the tiger stood his ground,
Never surrender he yelled to his men.
And nobody saw that he had shed a few tears
For brothers he would never see again.
The general never backed down and stood his ground,
He screamed that he would fight ''til his last breath.
And he fought with burning desire and passion,
He brought many a Soldier to their death.
And when it came time the tiger knew a showdown would occur,
As the two leader met amidst the fight.
The wolf opposite him unsheathed his own katana,
A true battle that would be quite a sight.
Each great leader was gifted with amazing skill,
They fought each other with tremendous guile.
And the further they got the more the tiger thought,
Soon enough the wolf will show his true style.
The battle went back and forth in a clash of sparks,
And then the wolf took out the tigers feet.
The cheater finally showed his true stripes and colours,
And brought the tiger general to defeat.
The tiger general's men rallied on to win the battle,
And even through death he drove them forward.
His men will always remember him as a friend and a brother,
And a man who truly lived by the sword.
Armadilly came galloping into Troll Lake, bent on seeking a new life, to unwind.
He’d rode out of the Badlands, leaving only a trail of blowing dust and leaves, behind.
His steady stead Jalopy had been pounding feet, relentlessly with powerful strides.
Rearing up, Armadilly stopped before our Troll Bridge with his slingshot at his side.
I could see, he rode the sleekest mount, and the biggest tortoise, that I had ever seen.
Man that armadillo knew his tortoise flesh… this was the fastest one, ever been!
I would say: he truly looked, the devil’s mount… with glowing, fire stocked eyes.
The stranger named himself as Armadilly, but his true identity, could not be denied.
He was really Armadilly Billy, The Slingshot Kidster, as he bowed to us, so very low.
With a yes Ma'am, and a no Sir, he was smooth and could charm, near any old soul.
The Trolls loved him for the spell binding stories, that at the campfire, he gave away.
He never talked about his past, but we knew who he was, without being told, that day.
The rumor had it that Sheriff Bunny Garret had shot him dead, on one fateful day.
Another said he’d faked his death, heading south to Mexico, his life to live away.
But we knew better, for he was here with us, right now, on this illustrious day.
We knew he was a kind and misunderstood guy, because of what I’m about to say.
He saved our squirrel, Funkundilly, from a hawk diving straight for her, inward bound.
With his slingshot, like streaked lightening, he forced the hawk to spiral to the ground.
And we all applauded that Funkundilly was now, once again, so very safe and sound.
Then he strode, spurs a jangling, to dish out his own type of justice, so very renowned.
With a steely glint in his eye, he ordered the hawk away, or meet his end, he did convey.
And you can say that frightened bully hawk, really high tailed it, as he ran away.
Everyone celebrated that night, with Armadilly, all the way to dawn’s embrace.
Before he left, Armadilly knew from then on, he’d always have a home in this place.
But his mind was set on a wandering, more of this world’s adventures, to unweave.
So with a HiHo! Jalopy! He took off, leaving in another cloud of dust and leaves.
But I heard him shout that he’d be back again, soon…
And we were sure, that’s just what he would do!
Inspired by Silly Billy the Kidster's--- Billy the Kid Blog
An epic poem by Carol Eastman
… On The Gist of Where A Gather Melts Hate’s Glacier
On The Nexus of Need & Knowing True Love’s Nature
On The Passage of Innocence To Please Forgive Us Prayers
On The Way To Meet Wide Open Arms of Our Maker
On Edge of Evening and Eden’s Promised Favors …
stretched The Trail of Soft Footfalls Towards Forever …
There Lay A Storm-Tossed Loch Between The Rifts
A Charcoal Sky That Seemed Heavy & Propped By Stilts
She Was At The Limits of Her ‘All That She Could Do Lists’
She Was On The Verge of Vanishing Into Vanity’s Myths
While Searching Between Urgency and An Internal Eclipse
… ventured the Interim of Soft Footfalls Towards Forever
She Took One Last Stiff ‘Uisge Beatha’ Spirit-Sip To Lips
She Heard The Last, Lone Note of A Bagpipe’s-Signal, Lilt
Envisioned The Strong Stance & Clan Colors of His Kilt
and The Rich-Hued-Tow Head, Which Shone Like Gilt …
as He Strode The Soft Footfalls Towards Forever …
(Her Eyes Closed But Her Course Kept At Canter)
Eyes Closed … Tho’ That’s Not Why It Had Gone Black
She Can Nay See How To Finish Thru To Their Trek-Pact
She Must Rest On A Narrow, Not-Well-Beaten Path
Will He Cover The Distance From What Her Last Legs Lack?
… Even If She Has Stopped & Dropped Dead In Her Tracks
Will He Come To Find and Bring Her Unfalteringly Back? …
from Earth-Packed, Soft Footfalls Towards Forever?
Her Eyes Closed, But True Love’s In-Sight, Closes Never
He Found Her, Eyes Closed … Swollen, Squeezed Into Slits
He Saw The Puffed Flesh Where The Poison Had Been Spit
He Saw Her and Traced The Tears She’d Held Back Then Spilt
Saw Her Lovely Face Framed By Curly Dark-Red, Wet-Wisps
& Finger-Nail Marks Where Her Hands Clenched Into Wee Fists …
Formed & Fashioned Her Soft Footfalls Towards Forever …
(His Bonny Lass, Woven In His Tartan & Tam’s Token Feather)
He Saw The Emerald Heirloom Wrapped Around Her Wrists
But He’d Not See In This World, Her Twin Sparkles, Again A–Glist’
His Own Eyes Became Mirrors of A Flooded Dam That Split
He Took On The Burden That She Had Endured This Tryst
Yet He Could Not Bear The Thought of Her Feeling A–Jilt
As He Carried Her Where Clouds Covered Them Like Quilts
Each Sorrowed Step & Stone & Step Spanned Breach & Breath & Built …
the Bridge That Balances & Blankets: Footfalls Towards Forever …
(to be continued on Part 3 of 3)
Written & ©: 1/ 3-6 /2013
by: MoonBee Canady
And thus began their heroic journey through the fantastical labyrinth of the escape room, where every twist and turn carried the promise of freedom, laughter, and the unforeseen—the perfect remedy for chaos and an unexpected road trip back to normalcy. After all, in a place where even a bunny could be a hero, and a Man is a Woman, anything was possible. Even a Media run Presidential Campaign supported by Big Tech, Google and the FBI !
As Penney and Gus entered the vibrant escape room, the door clicked shut behind them, "Penney parted from the impending loom, weaving her curiosity in a gape driven plume; punctuating the chaotic symphony of the mall with a sense of immediate sanctuary. The room was a kaleidoscope of interesting colors, smells—walls adorned with whimsical murals of enchanted forests, floating bubbles, and scattered stars. Even some Left Wing styled fecal graffiti, as if plastered from the hand to Trump sign out of TDS. It felt like stepping into another world, far removed from the madness outside. A home away from home !
“Okay, what’s the first clue?” Gus asked, glancing around at the eclectic decorations, which ranged from giant inflatable mushrooms to shimmering disco balls. They needed to think fast, and the first challenge awaited like a Mother given the news that the police would be escorting her child home after a bonus round of shoplifting at Castle Megastore had landed her in the "Stoney Loaf".
“Over there!” Penney exclaimed, pointing to a large, comically oversized egg perched precariously atop a pedestal. “There’s bound to be something inside!”
They approached cautiously, the soft thump of their footsteps muffled by the plush carpet that crunched as they stroke on, I mean strode on, apparently-designed to match the room's carnival theme or was it Carnivaal, Carnibaal? No matter, with a gentle push, Gus nudged the egg, and it wobbled dangerously before them. A creaky voice echoed from within, making them jump.
“Beware the wrath of the bouncing bunny, and tell Nanceycat to invest in BlackRock!”, it croaked, before the egg split open, revealing a tangle of colorful ribbons and a single, glittering key.
“Perfect!” Penney cheered, plucking the key from the chaos. “Let’s see what it unlocks.” She scanned the walls for a keyhole, eyeing an intricate door covered in glowing glyphs.
He walked into the dusty saloon,
maybe an hour after high noon,
his face still smooth with the touch of youth,
eyes dead-set on seeking out the truth.
He saw him there, two men at his side,
looking just like his mother described,
the scar, gold tooth...the cold countenance,
Silas knew that he had found his man.
He strode up and said, “You’re Dalton Wise,
you killed my father, so now you’ll die.”
Dalton and the two men looked amused,
said Dalton, “Who’s gonna’ do it, boy? You?”
They laughed again, and young Silas seethed,
said, “For his death, you will answer to me.
You took Joe Hamlin from my mother,
and brought no small deal of pain to her.”
The name caught Daltons attention quick,
“You claim your pa was that weak-willed twit?
Oh kid, your mother has told you tales,
that fool Hamlin did nothing but fail.
“Joe was a coward, a sniveling fool
tuck and ran when we treated him cruel,
a pasty lunger, barely could breath,
much less attract a woman to breed.
“There was a woman, Lauri, I think,
who screamed that we did terrible things,
she pitied the fool, got in the way,
girls shouldn’t trifle with men at play.
“I told her as much, but she kept on,
blathering how we treated him wrong,
one day while smacking that fool’s face in
she dared to stand between me and him.
“With hands on hips, she flustered and fumed,
‘Stop bullying him!’ he small voice boomed,
thinking we wouldn’t lay a finger
on a woman, that’s why she lingered.
“I slapped that yapping to the ground,
took aim and shot that fool Hamlin down,
dragged her to a barn when it was done,
I took my time…had a lot of fun.”
He leered and the other men both laughed,
said Dalton, “What you think about that?”
Silas felt his rage slowly turn cold
as more of this cruel story was told.
“Hamlin couldn’t be your pa,”he said,
“’cause when I took young Lauri, she bled.
Just looking at you, it becomes clear,
Joe weren’t your pa, he’s sitting right here!”
He thumped his chest, just to emphasize,
supreme confidence blazed in his eyes.
“So wipe that bravado off your mug,
we both know that you won’t kill your blood.”
He smirked at the two friends at his side,
not a one showed real fear in their eyes,
said Silas, “If there’s truth in your words,
then I’ll have to get revenge for her.”
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Here I sit, on an examination table
bored, swinging my feet to and fro
waiting for a doctor who will be able
to diagnose the reason why I feel low
I study the body posters while I wait
in my unfashionable blue paper gown
I must remember to sit up straight
to keep my tushie from being found
Another hour goes by, maybe more
I'm sure I got forty winks in a nap
I can hear him now, outside my door
clicking his tongue then 'rap, rap, rap.'
A cheesy smile then he reads my chart
I could tell him what he needs to know
and doctors are supposed to be so smart
Well, he should have been here long ago.
He shakes my hand then off to the sink
where he washes with ten squirts of soap.
"You think I'm contagious?" I ask with a blink.
"Don't know," he says. "Maybe there's hope."
He inquires, "Now, what seems to be wrong?"
I ramble symptoms; there are many to convey
while squirming from the pinch of my thong.
Shouldn't doctors be old, at least turning gray?
"Lie back," he mumbles, "and I'll check you out.
Blood pressure's high. You have a fever, too."
Into his stethoscope I was tempted to shout
but he hands me a cup and I'm off to the loo.
I clean off the seat from someone's neglect
sit quite impatiently, and desperately I try
to get enough of a specimen for him to inspect
while maneuvering the cup beneath my thigh.
Back to the room and the nurse peeks in.
A frown on her face makes me start to worry.
She seeths the words, "Where have you been?"
"My pee cup runneth over," was my true story.
Dr. OneSoYoung returns and takes a chair.
Eyes of blue, handsome face, but I digress
while I'm sitting here with my bottom bare
Wondering if my thoughts, I should confess.
"Get dressed," he orders, with a look of dread.
Must be bad news, I tremble, cold with a chill
thinking that by tomorrow I surely will be dead.
"You just have a bad cold and here is your bill."
I spent all morning thinking I was near death
and his diagnosis claims that all I have is a cold.
I peeled off my wrap and said in hissing breath
"Your bedside manner sucks, if truth be told!"
To the pharmacy, I strode with a disgruntled look.
I have to pay a fortune for prescribed medication.
Druggist or physician, which is the biggest crook?
Now I suffer from the malady of acute indignation!
Remember the story
of Billy Goats Gruff?
The troll under the bridge,
and all of that stuff?
If you liked that old story
it's all good and well,
but it isn't at all
the troll tale I will tell.
Now, Trolius Troll
was a timorous soul;
A more timid troll
you never shall see.
He lived in a hole
in the base of the bole,
(that is, the trunk)
of a turpentine tree.
Young Trolius Troll,
I ask you to note,
is a strict vegetarian;
he does not eat goat.
You might not believe me,
but, begging your pardon,
he eats only produce
from his vegetable garden.
One day, after harvesting
some of his crop,
with a basket of turnips,
with some carrots on top,
he strode up the path,
just as proud as could be,
toward his home in the trunk
of the turpentine tree.
Then, outside the door
of his pine tree abode,
was a sight that made
Trolius Troll drop his load.
There, with a chainsaw
and a double-bit ax,
stood a brawny, black bearded,
blue eyed lumberjack.
With his feet wide apart
on the green, grassy ground,
the lumberjack looked
the troll's tree up and down--
Then, laying the ax
on a moist, mossy bank,
he gave the saw's start rope
a sudden, sharp yank.
With a white puff of smoke
and an ear splitting sound,
the saw shattered the silence
for acres around.
The lumberjack stepped
to the tree's sturdy base
with a smile of delight
on his black-bearded face.
Then, the usually timorous
troll gave a shout,
and, pounding his chest,
he went leaping about.
With a wild snarl of rage
and a blood chilling wail,
the once timid Trolius
charged up the trail.
The brave lumberjack
was stricken with awe.
He turned from the tree,
and dropped the chain saw.
Through the ferns and the bushes
the tree feller ran.
and he never returned
to the forest again.
And so ends a story,
that some might find droll,
of a timid and timorous
tree dwelling troll.
But its message is clear,
it’s as clear as can be:
You may monkey about with Trolius, friend,
but you’d better not mess with his tree.
Form:
Notes: Part 1 of The kiss at the tor was the first poem I ever posted on the Soup.
Some time later, my life changed and I was moved to write an alternative version.
I always thought I had posted the second part as a separate poem but, on discovering
that I never did, I have combined the two as a poem of two parts here...
The kiss at the tor (Part 1)
My soul was on fire, as I entered the wood
By the old rusty gate, which silently stood
Absorbing history, making no choice
Passing no judgement, adding no voice
The rough ancient path, veined with roots
To test my step, or scuff my boots
Unhurriedly followed the line of the brook
But this was not the path I took
I turned to the right, climbed up through the trees
Where bracken and brambles tugged at my knees
‘til I reached the edge of the open moor
And strode on up to the lonely tor
Where first we kissed on that moonlit night
Where you held me close, as I held you tight
That was the moment I was truly born
My life before you had been tattered and torn
You gave me the courage to truly be me
You gave me your love unconditionally
Yes, my soul was on fire, as you came into view
On the edge of the rock, by the magical yew
And I knew, as then, you were only her ghost
The spirit of the one I have loved the most
The kissing gate (The kiss at the tor – Part 2)
My heart was aglow, as we entered the wood
By the kissing gate, that silently stood
Preserving the memory, of all those who passed
We were not the first, and we’ll not be the last
The soft grassy path, in shafts of light
Caused us to miss, the rough track to the right
Inviting us on, as it slowly took
The meandering line, of the boulder strewn brook
Spirit and power, now came from the trees
The canopy rustled, in the warm summer breeze
While beyond the forest, on the high heather moor
The grit stone crags, of the lonely tor
Acknowledged our kiss, in the broad daylight
While you held me close, and I held you tight
This was the day I was truly born
My life no longer tattered and torn
Your love was the gift that set me free
The love that you gave unconditionally
Yes, my heart is aglow, with a love so true
Freely given, by this magical you
Now, as never, I am rid of the ghost
And with the one I love the most
On asphalt, wet with blood and sweat (down streets with no address),
there lay a man, snuffed by the Man and left to evanesce.
The Man then strode along the road and smiled at his success
and, cavalier, he bought a beer, sat down to decompress.
A life was gone, but day wore on, the sun awash in heat –
the riddled head no longer bled, concealed beneath a sheet,
and passers-by began to cry, were sobbing indiscreet’,
while holy bells in distant hells began to moan and bleat.
In heaven's eyes (no one denies) due process is decreed,
but down below, where burdens flow, it rarely can succeed
and certainly not for those distraught, benighted in their need,
so Men in blue (you know the crew) thought nothing of the deed.
Though just eighteen, a little green (was still his mama's son!),
adored by all, but left to sprawl in webs of hate, undone,
the youth was shot and left to rot, but never held a gun,
so people cried and wondered why'd the evil deed been done.
The sheriff said "forget the dead, his crime was black as slate"
and in the rush to hush and shush, he hissed "I'll tell you straight,
that boy, today, was on his way to rendezvous with fate,
so now you know – I gotta go, it's gettin' kinda late".
Not satisfied with those who'd lied, some took to fill the streets
with peaceful cries neath blackened skies, were paid with clubbed retreats,
cruel gas cascades and stun grenades, then days in jailhouse suites –
though curfew's on from dusk till dawn, each night this scene repeats.
With exits barred, in came the Guard to rumble and repress,
for people stray both night and day in search of some redress.
The city's scarred, the houses charred, the locals in distress –
with cut or bruise, they still refuse to kneel or acquiesce.
So choppers fly above the sky with whirling, twirling blades
and drones in flight within the night erase the renegades.
The tarot cards and crystal shards reveal the masquerades –
the beating parts of diamonds’ hearts forever club the spades.
Now puppet Pols are making calls and acting out charades
(like shouting loud within the crowd, and marching in parades),
while underneath, where lies a wreath, the hope for justice fades.
Yet, freedom waits behind the gates, beyond the barricades.
25 Aug 2014
In Dreams, Her Spirit Sallied Forth: with Lin Lane
Through frigid months, she waited for Spring rains
to give relief and ease heartbroken pains,
Nature will award that which Life commands
placing her true love, in its gentle hands.
O'sweet promise of passion's fine delights,
candlelight dinners and intimate nights.
With eager dreams her spirit sallied forth.
Away from winter's chill, in the far North.
Countless, were the eventides spent in dread
Praying he'd stay safe 'fore lying abed
She wished on stars in darkened Winter skies
as tears pooled in her melancholy eyes
Arctic winds blustered; through tall pines they'd blow,
layers of oceans, in white waves of snow
In Wintry dreams, her spirit sallied forth.
Away from winter's chill, of the far North.
Pictures sent from her beau, her Southern man
whose dashing looks, deep blue eyes and bronzed tan,
had her heart remembering their first kiss
Without regret, love said, "Hold onto this!"
To wake with dawn's sweet warmth, upon her face
would ease her sorrow and heartache erase.
In ardent dreams, her spirit sallied forth.
Beyond the frosty chill of the far North.
She brushed her hair, raven tresses fell
Her firelight shadow evidenced the swell
Softly, she hummed, cradling her unborn child
A motherly instinct that brought forth a smile
Having a babe, they had both long revered
That he'd be back in time, she deeply feared.
With anxious dreams, her spirit sallied forth.
Further from winter's chill of the far North.
She was haunted by his voice in a dream
and awoke with the sound of her own scream
Rain, her companion, on an April morn
Pains let her know their child would soon be born
Alone, she prayed that she'd know what to do
In the door strode a man; eyes of deep blue.
No longer a dream, her man had come forth
To deliver their child in the far North.
11-01- 2018
Thank you for writing with me yet again after such a long break my friend. Your invitation to do another collaboration was a great gift and a blessing given to me. I sincerely appreciate such great kindness as well as your great advice given on poetry/editing. As such shows great talent and true poetic heart. You magnificent verses makes this a truly golden poem.
God bless always..