Long Surge Poems
Long Surge Poems. Below are the most popular long Surge by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Surge poems by poem length and keyword.
I leaned back and rubbed my work – weary
eyes as the stress of teaching left my
mind.
The children were playing a few yards away from me.
Their cheerful laughter could easily be heard above the
din of voices.
I checked on them briefly, then turned to the sky that
stretched out in a seamless blue. Occasional clouds
floated by.
It was a beautiful day to be out. I was glad that I had decided
to take a break from work and bring the kids to the park. My
husband agreed whole hearted
The children had jumped at the opportunity to go
play there; though it didn’t have much for play
equipment.
Despite the slight sheen of rust on the slide and
the dull pin pricks on the wood swing, the kids loved the
decrepit playground.
However if the parents ever found out what the children did
on the fallen play ground, they would be most
certainly be shocked at the manner of it all. For those
parents had no notion of what those children hid.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I looked at my twin in earnest. He had to understand.
In order to save Lishon I had to go. Just had
to.
The river flowed before us with a vengeance. It was as if the
water was displeased with the rocks and it had taken upon
itself to punish them.
Jorden looked at me sadly at the thought of jumping.
He knew that it would cost me my life if I
did.
“You just can’t Clarisa. If you jump the Noli will take over
Lishon and without you at the archers command they
will vanquish us.”
“Yes, but if the river is not quieted, our armies will drown.
As the Shana of the sea I must have control: just as you must
control the evergreen and the willow.”
“That’s different and you know it. The sea is fickle and
will turn its tide with little concern but to toss you from
its grave.”
“Jorden I must do what I must and not you, nor
the Noli, nor the Glifon , nor even the Great Shuka can
stop me.”
“Watch what you say Clarisa or the Great Shuka will
stop you.” Jorden’s features softened after this warning.
He knew.
I looked at my twin affectionately. For all that he
was, Shano of all trees and animals on land, he was
still my brother.
“Should I not return, defend Lishon with all you have. If
all goes well the frilena shall bloom once more in Lishon’s
courtyard.”
Jorden’s eyes glimmered like the wisps of freed droplets
from the surge of the cataclysmic rapids that was once calm.
He knew.
II.
I dedicate this to my future wife
In life we meet people when we least expect it, whether it be for a season or for more. Can it be love or lust? The answer is not known until both are placed into a situation to where they use their instinct to build the relationship. It is more confusing and takes work. Both parties will see the value in one another. When I first saw you, I did not know how to respond. You were wearing glasses and a neutral clam smile on your lips. Your buns were of modest size and your legs were nice in stance. Yes, I did fall in love with your body first. Later on, I would see more to you as you would be calm even when you were confused or focusing intently on your job. You did not speak; however, your words were in emotions and actions. Oh, how I wish I could kiss those emotions as they made me feel a warmth that no American girl could make me feel. I could not hear your words as I could only speak two languages; however, your language is of a different Latin branch. Still the kindness you showed to me was different. I never had a woman from a Latin country open the door for me, even when I had a cart on me. Your eyes are full of peace and joy. You have traveled far from a place that you loved; however, the tension going on down there has led you to come here. You mostly if not all speak Spanish. My one request is that we can speak more for I fancy the thought of learning about your life. Let the barrier break between us as I feel this magnetic surge towards you. You are a young woman that deserves to be happy, I only Hope that the person deserves your Heart for it is pure. If it is I, then I promise to make you smile and happy. All we can do is try. Does love to start blind or does it develop blindly. If we are the soulmates needing of one another then I ask God through my words for it to be so. Let my words through this prose shine as a beacon of light. May I say that I love your presence, and that I am beginning to love you. Every time you are near me, I linger longer and tend to take a longer glance at your presence. I feel a stir inside me to want to make you a wife and not just a coworker. I ask God if he could help us learn each other’s languages. Would it be great that if in two years we could say our vows in different languages. You are my Angel from Venezuela. Here’s a kiss to end the current night.
How many grave sites should be prepared for me?
Just one. For Robert Johnson, there were three,
all in the Mississippi Delta: Morgan City, Quito,
and (near) Greenwood. Which is right? Do we KNOW?
Those who have taken the time to do research
believe Little Zion Missionary Baptist Church
near Greenwood is most likely. At age 27, in 1938,
he died near that town--so young, with talent so great.
In the early 1900’s, this youngster’s genius was unfurled.
As blues singer, guitarist, and lyricist, he gifted the world
with recordings exhibiting style that has been admired
widely and emulated by popular performers who aspired
to greater fame. They achieved the kudos they desired.
Muddy Waters, Bob Dylan, and Chuck Berry are among those
influenced by his style. Every admirer who knows
the legend that ambition drove Johnson to sell his soul
to the Devil for greater talent would surely say his goal
was reached without Old Scratch playing a role.
What caused the death of the “Cross Road Blues”
and “Sweet Home Chicago” performer? There are clues
centering around his unbridled boozing and womanizing.
Did a jealous husband poison his whiskey upon realizing
a flirtation or worse, just as Johnson's star was rising?
Or did he die of syphilis? These stories floated around,
and others. Thirty years later, a death certificate was found,
stating no cause of death. Some facts, we may never know.
It IS known that this musical master's climb to fame was slow.
It's nothing new that, after death, renown may grow.
Johnson's posthumous claim to fame is no big mystery.
Beginning in the nineteen sixties, the world would see
a surge of interest in his music. To Eric Clapton, he seems
"The most important blues singer that ever lived." Teams
of researchers have tried to capture his life and dreams.
King of the Delta Blues Singers, a collection of his best,
was produced by Columbia in 1961. Writers faced a test:
dealing with conflicts and gaps in accounts while collecting
information for biographies and films. While "connecting
the dots," they learned that sources require dissecting.
Death, no respecter of talent or youth, is bold,
stalking and striking down rich or poor, young or old.
Mysteries of life and death often remain unsolved,
though diligent research may be involved.
When I was 16 years old, I walked into the English class on the first day of school of a new year. I’d been waiting through the long hours of Economics, of Chemistry, of Physics to get to English class, the subject I loved most.
My teacher stood in front of us and explained that we’ll be studying the theme "Coming of Age" – the transition from childhood to adulthood. We were going to read many different novels that tell this story in diverse ways, and as we read, we’ll discover the universal themes across diverse accounts of this rite of passage.”
Then he told us about the books we were going to read – Lord of the Flies, Black Boy, A Separate Peace… I noticed something odd: none were written by women and none were about a girl coming of age. I knew it wasn’t right for a classroom of girls and boys to only read stories about boys.
But what was most remarkable about that day was this: I felt a strange surge of energy. It wasn’t anger – it was more like momentum, vitality, passion. It came with a feeling of “I’m going to do something about this.”
At the time, I was a little lost – in teenage rebellion, in hating my body, in being bored with high school. Suddenly, I wasn’t bored, or lost or hating. I was excited about something. I was working toward something.
Years later I turned out to be a biology teacher even without attending any teaching school or training.
And used the opportunity to enlighten lots of female students on maturity (the transition from childhood to adolescense and to adulthood) and several female related issues that wasn't in any textbook nor in the curriculum.
Today I might not be a very rich man but I am a fulfilled man. I am fulfilled because I know deep down that I have made an impact in the lives of several females out there.
So whatever is that drive, that burning passion inside of you, that push to make a positive difference, to contribute to humanity, I just want to tell you "don't give up on it. It's only a matter of time"
Together if we all put in our little effort, we can make a huge difference.
So whatever field u find yourself, be it entertainment, music, acting, poem writing, YouTuber, blogger, teacher, student or parents, let's all join hands to make the world a better place. All it takes is for you to use your field to make positive impacts.
#POETICLORD#
(c) JANUARY 2019.
Bundled in a horse-drawn sleigh
warm and snug on Thanksgiving Day
the children restless, we went on our way
as the shedding forest began to sway
and the gusts of wind set astray
the vestiges of autumn's display
that unveiled the cabins along the bay
Past weathered barns fraught with snow
and over covered bridges would we go
through the misty river's chill
turning toward the cider mill
its churning paddles frozen still
past the farmsteads and withered fields
the ghosts of bounty that harvest yields
caught in a breeze of burning leaves
and all the reveries the season weaves
We arrived on main street after sundown
gliding through the charming town
toward the chiming white church steeple
past the storefronts curbed with people
in the wake of the gingerbread float
at the stern of the Pilgrim's boat
behind fairy tales and candy lands
as the revelers sang with clapping hands
to the music of the marching bands
From the celebration would we emerge
from the flowery, spangled surge
to behold a wondrous sight
as geese took flight into the night
over the sea where moonlight sought
to quell the hues that twilight wrought
Frosted lamp posts lit our course
and into a trot sprang our horse
his hooves and harness jingling bells
as if to the tunes of sweet noels
while from the shops whose cozy glow
projected windows on the snow
there flashed the goods someone will leave
under a tree late Christmas Eve
the toys and clothes wrapped in bows
and all the gifts that a stocking stows
Now past chimney smoke and picket fences
nostalgic aspects that stir the senses
where old Victorian silhouettes are found
and gestures of goodwill abound
toward the sound of waves we wound
as our lanterns flickered on the ground
the atmosphere around us festive
while within full and restive
or nestled by the fireplace
or with their heads bowed in grace
folks enjoyed a simple pace
while outside others strolled about
amid the maize and wreaths throughout
absorbed in a twinkling universe
of colors snow-clad and diverse
To our delight there soon arose
a savory ambience for the nose
adrift from tables set with care
with a redolence that met the air
as we hailed the last of passersby
and climbed the road into a sky
whose stars adorned the snowy limbs
to a house on the coast, flowing with hymns
In the realm where indigo flames are chased by the whims of wind,
The horizons have learned to spare my soul the thread of pain.
For the first time, of love I croon, a minstrel's virgin strain,
From tempests of discord, I retreat, in tranquility's refrain.
This inaugural chant of love, echoes pure without disdain,
For I swear off the brawl, in love's gentle domain.
Where once I stood, a rust-worn grove, static, stark, alone,
Rushing to women and vodka's call, a raucous, rampant drone.
No more do I crave the bitter swig or the gambler's eager tone,
To squander life on trivial plays, in reckless zest overblown.
The thirst has waned for liquid vice, and from dice's call I've flown,
The mirth of wasteful life is lost; to sober thought I've grown.
In silence vast, it's enough to gaze, upon your lofty eye's domain,
To watch the sky in your orbs dance, and forget all former bane.
And by your side, to forget the past, that you may never again roam,
That in the face of bygone shadows, you'll find with me a home.
Erasing every trace of yesteryears, that you may never by your leave,
No other's call shall you heed, in this new magic weave.
You tread so lightly, my precious smile, if your heart but knew the void,
How a rogue can love with fervent zeal, by fierce passion overjoyed.
How a libertine, once untamed and wild, can become so demure and coy,
His heart can surge in dutiful tide, a reverent, tender employ.
To fathom a reprobate's tender care, and see him humbly deploy,
The love that in his depths were hid, now in sunlight's gleam and joy.
The tavern's lure, forever lost, would evade my restless feet,
Poetry's verse would mean naught if your cold arms were my retreat,
And if I could touch those frost-kissed arms, and your autumnal hair so sweet.
Let me feel the chill of your embrace, fall's flowering guise complete,
To know the softness of your skin, in the fallen leaves' deceit,
As if touching the season's finale bloom, so delicate, so fleet.
Eternally I'd follow you upon this Earth's expanse,
Distance would shift to trivial space, with each tender glance.
For the first love I sing a tune, a soft, untried advance,
From the tempests of old I part my way, giving peace a chance.
Again, of love, a newfound song - with sweet, melodious cadence,
First time away from strife I sway, in love's echoing resonance.
Conflict
The priest ran
Scared to raise
An ignorant army
On a darkling plain
Loading guns
With dummy
Faith. The froth
Rose arrogantly
In the test
Tube. They heard
Eyes shut and saw
Ears plugged,
Contorted faces
Expecting the explosion
Any moment.
Slowly
Very slowly the froth
Spilled over
Leaving behind—would
The “faithful”believe?—a near
Essence of religion.
I Meet A King
He stood in the middle of the lane,
A toddler in tatters,
Confronting my speeding scooter.
I cursed the nowhere –in-sight,careless mother,
Then shifting gear,
Threatened a mock dash,
Was to him but a big plaything
Come for his pleasure.
The sudden smile over his face
Lit up my heart.
I withdrew a little,
Bowed to his imperial innocence
And humbly went my way.
The Sea Of Truth,Land Of Desire
Daunted by its drowning depths
I sought assurance of the rocks
But the sea – it called me ceaselessly.
Frightened by its flood and froth
I clambered inland hurriedly
But the sea – it called me ceaselessly.
Nerves racked by its wheeling surge
Tried land’s many pleasure groves
But the sea – it called me ceaselessly,
Looking for my roots in glades
Soon was lost among the trees
And the sea – it called me ceaselessly.
On the beach I sat once off my guard
When the sea crept near me silently
And the sea – it licked me lovingly.
That moment joy and fear were one
My visions did a somersault
And the sea – it soaked me ceaselessly.
Sea’s mercy makes the inland rich
Sea’s magic makes the sunset glow
And the sea – it gives us ceaselessly.
O thou formless yet unfailing sea
My very own though boundless sea
In turmoil O thou tranquil sea !
I have learnt the timings of the tide
And make obeisance to the waves
For the sea now thrills me ceaselessly.
How l would to love to leave the shore
And whale-like wallow in the sea
For the sea – it thrills me ceaselessly.
But awed by its mysterious depths
I still sometimes walk the earth
But the sea –it loves me ceaselessly.
Child How Innocent!Lord’s Delight
Crawling,toddling,frolicking sight,
Playing,lisping,smiling bright,
,Eating,drinking,gaining height
Alive all day,dead at night,
Present gaiety future might,
Nothing bothered wrong or right.
Child! How innocent,Lord’s delight,
Gift from Heaven trailing light.
---------------*-----------*-------- *----------* ---------
#THIS DEDICATION SPEAKS TO A PARTICULAR INDICATION...
IT SPEAKS TOO...
SPECIFICALLY WHO???
ANYONE WHO STAYS...
UNDERNEATH
COVERS/SHIELDINGS AND YIELDINGS.
SIRENS IN HIGHEST DECIBELS GOING OFF, CONSTANTLY INSIDE, CAN'T TURN IT OFF YET!
WON'T TURN IT OFF YET???
DON'T FRET...IF YOU TRULY WANT TO, YOU CAN!
BRING IT DOWN TO ITS PROPER BALANCE!
PRIOR, THE VOLUME WAS DEAFENING,
WHAT A NEEDLESS SUFFERING!!!
"EVEN THE COVERS" COULDN'T PROVIDE BUFFERING!
"GLAD YOU CLIMBED FROM BENEATH THAT COVER!"
NOW, WHAT ABOUT THOSE SHIELDINGS...
ARE THEY COMFORTABLE,
ARE THEY COZY PERCEIVINGS?
LIKE CERTAIN FEELINGS, ARE THEY FLEETING?
LIKE A FLASH OR A MAD DASH, SHIELD'S OFF...
I'D REALLY LIKE TO KNOW...
WHAT'S BEING SAID, FED, TO YOUR HEAD?
DOES THIS SHIELDING PROVIDE ANY PROPER STRENGTH? WHAT'S YOUR INNER VOICE EXPRESSING TO YOU...
AT LENGTH?
I BET IT'S LOUDER THAN THUNDER!!!
"IT" IS YOUR GIFT!!! WHY SHIELD IT???
LET IT "ROAR! ROAR! ROAR!" AS YOUR REMINDER NOT TO SETTLE OR SHIELD IN SILENCE. SPEAK AT PEAK: NEVER MEEK!!!
DON'T "HUSH" YOUR OWN LIFE, AND SHIELD NOT...
ELEVATED INSIGHT! ALRIGHT :-)
AHH, SOFT AS A WHISPER'S WHISPER...
THIS IS THE VOICE THAT YOU HEAR AND YOU CAN'T TUNE IT OUT! YOUR SPIRITUAL TONE NEVER HAS TO SHOUT :-) THAT'S WHY IT HOLDS TRUE GLORIOUS CLOUT, AS WELL, CLARITY. IT ONLY BECOMES A RARITY TO TUNE IN...IF YOU OR I ARE "OUT OF TUNE"
ALLOWING "IT" NOT TO RESUME...
WITH IT'S URGENCE AND PRECIOUS RESURGENCE,
HOW ELSE IS ONE TO EMERGE & SURGE VICTORIOUSLY...DEFEATING THE "NOISE"
THAT MAY TAMPER/HAMPER FROM OUR OWN INNATE {SOLACE} "INTERFERENCE" OF SOUND SENSIBILITIES.
DAMN DISTRACTIONS WE LOOK FOR,
IN PLACE OF THE ACTIONS AND TRACTION
WE INSTEAD YEARN FOR...
CORE WHISPER'S WHISPER, "IS N E V E R ON MUTE..."
NO A.I. CAN COMPETE WITH T H I S COMPUTE!
THROUGHOUT LIFE...
WE'LL HAVE TO KICK THOSE COVERS!
STOP SHIELDING, "OURSELVES!"
CEASE YIELDING, BY CHOICE...
BECAUSE YOU'RE A L W A Y S BEING* "SPOKEN TO"
YOU CAN ADJUST YOUR LEVELS AND DECIBELS TO HIGH OR LOW...FAST OR SLOW.
BUT, YOUR {INNER SETTING} HAS ITS OWN LEVERAGING AND TRUST ME....
IF YOU'RE RECEPTIVE, PARTICULARLY PERCEPTIVE...
IT WILL B A L A N C E
YOU & I ACCORDINGLY...
{PERFECT PITCH}
~~~~~~~DIVINELY & ZERO GLITCH~~~~~~~
Renee D. Gross {GHPPR} SEPTEMBER 23, 2023#
Journey Journal Page
ON A BAD DAY
By Leon Enriquez
To know the way
True purpose seek
As truth now plays
When vision peaks
Pique your own think
In fruitage ripe
The right verge brink
Hides in sad gripe
~~~~~~~~~
When people see you
In a bad light
Unleash and do
What creates right
In tint and hue
Your true colours
Paint and mint cues
In pure flavours
~~~~~~~~~
Your hue and cry
Creates new sights
For as you try
You find the light
When abuse surge
Upon your way
Glimpse your fond urge
Within fair play
~~~~~~~~~
Your wounds you hide
As you bear hate
Bury vain pride
Dare live your fate
They now conspire
To bring you down
To curb your fire
To cluster frowns
~~~~~~~~~
They say bad things
And point fingers
With words stifling
In harsh plunder
They smear your name
With plain malice
Put you to blame
In vile short list
~~~~~~~~~
They take you out
As vain pride cuts
With petty shouts
In messy rut
Here and there feel
Your fear ooze tears
To crush goodwill
As gall draws near
~~~~~~~~~
Here lies odd fate
As people hurt
Your placid state
With heaps of dirt
In caustic haste
They sculpt in blood
To render waste
As anguish floods
~~~~~~~~~
Look deep within
To your soul stage
To see unseen
Divine image
As you create
Your inner life
Sculpt your own fate
Beyond mad strife
~~~~~~~~~
Know then your peace
Lies in purpose
As poise knows lease
That you immerse
In the lost age
Fun-mirrors trace
Loss and vain rage
In time and space
~~~~~~~~~
Carry your heart
With faith and hope
For end and start
Live vibrant scope
Go deep within
To your soul core
To touch unseen
For love and more
~~~~~~~~~
Be at peace now
For faith knows hope
True love endows
To help you cope
The middle way
Offers pure choice
To live your stay
With vibrant voice
~~~~~~~~~
So style worthwhile
You focus here
Now frame fond smiles
As joy keeps cheer
The pain you feel
Tells of your fate
Put on goodwill
For love’s not late
~~~~~~~~~
On a bad day
Look deeper still
For dark times play
As light moves will
Do live your best
When times feel hard
Anchor your quest
Word verse dear bard
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
27 January 2024
Singapore
In the whispering silence of a moonlit night,
where stars wink like old friends,
I drift along the river of my thoughts,
an unbound stream of consciousness,
Flowing through the landscapes of potential and purpose,
where dreams dwell like forgotten treasures.
Most of us,
shadows of our true selves,
live in shallow waters,
afraid to dive into the depths,
Creating busywork,
weaving webs of distraction,
as if afraid to face the stillness of our own souls.
Oh, how we toil, like ants in an endless march,
building castles in the sand,
Not because the work is urgent,
but because we do not know the art of being.
We are craftsmen of the banal,
architects of the mundane,
lost in the frenzy of doing,
When all we yearn for is to float,
weightless and free,
on the river of life,
to be carried by its gentle current.
Imagine a world where laziness is a virtue,
where idlers are the sages,
Where shaking off the chains of duty is a path to enlightenment,
To bask in the golden glow of a sunset,
to savor the sweetness of a moment unclaimed by time,
To relax into the embrace of existence,
to find joy in the art of simply being.
I do not preach a life of total inactivity,
for such would be a disservice to the soul,
But rather a life where each act is a dance,
each gesture a poem,
imbued with meaning and grace.
Let us not be prisoners of our own making,
bound by the chains of needless toil,
But the artists of our destiny,
painting with the colors of purpose and passion.
For in the quiet moments,
where the heart beats in sync with the cosmos,
We discover the true rhythm of life,
a melody that calls us to slow down,
to listen, to feel.
To be busy is not to live,
but to be alive is to flow,
to ebb and surge with the tides of meaning,
To find the balance between action and inaction,
to dance on the edge of potential and peace.
So let us embrace the wisdom of the river,
to be lazy in the pursuit of joy,
To be idlers in the garden of dreams,
to cultivate a life that blooms with significance.
For in this dance,
this flow of consciousness,
we find the essence of our being,
And though the world may rush around us,
we shall move with the grace of those who understand,
That the river of life carries us not to the shores of accomplishment,
But to the ocean of our own infinite potential.