Long Sweep through Poems
Long Sweep through Poems. Below are the most popular long Sweep through by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sweep through poems by poem length and keyword.
Trying to hide in conspicuous places
a night on the town in their false, plastic faces.
Sweetly they sweep through magnificent halls,
top-dollar galas and masquerade balls --
where always the wine is more bitter than sweet,
each girl wishing for love in her ruby-clad feet.
Perhaps scarecrows are thoughtful, and lions are brave,
and the tin-men know passion, such a boisterous parade
of hopeful young suitors, each waiting his chance
to find a young lady and win her last dance.
All tied up as prisoners with satin-silk chains
they listlessly dance as the hope from them drains.
A piano-man plinks only on the black keys:
pentatonic winds on a pentatonic breeze,
still not enough blowing to carry balloons
or to start raining houses from cyclic typhoons.
The evening draws on -- long beyond the moon’s rising,
a faint glinting of green from the city’s disguising
the envious looks in the eyes of the witches
and harsh threatening gales of the wind as it switches.
And no one is happy, none are finding their prize --
no one knows what they want, nor removes their disguise.
So the dancing is pointless, bravado is hollow
no wizardly magic can fix what will follow.
Shallow connections that lead nowhere, and quickly
the ballroom grows quiet, the witches grow prickly
the lions go fleeing, the scarecrows are clueless,
the tin-men don’t care, and that makes them the cruelest
For out in the public, among all the noise
some girls have gone missing -- and so have some boys
and in the dark shadows, all knew what occurred
but they whisper and gossip, and spread what they heard:
that it must have been mutual, it must be alright
they’re both grown adults, let’s not be so uptight.
And thus they all hide, in conspicuous places
enabling the culprits with false, plastic faces.
9/4/16
Ukraine was a beautiful place, I was told.The rolling fields of green, the flat
squares of wheat.Small farms clustered along dirt roads where children played.Now filled with the lingering stench of death.The farms once overflowing with hard work and laughter now sit silent.
I'm speaking to myself so my thoughts might be heard by someone.I'm alone and dying of starvation.Yesterday I turned nine years old, there was no
celebration.Tomorrow when the glorious sun slowly rises and floods the empty
fields with light, I'll be dead.The cold hearted Russian soldiers came with anger and frustration and took everything.My village, once a moving breathing community has been slowly starved to death, without remorse.
This night seems colder than most, my mind keeps floating in and out of purpose.All have died and I'm the last of my village.
Yesterday when the sun was setting I heard scratches and whispers at the front door,asking for food, I had none.Within hours the sound stopped as they died laying upon the cold wooden planks of night.
No one is coming and the pain has stopped.I'm tired and going to quietly drift into a deep sleep, forever. They say I am a pretty girl, but I'll never know
Tomorrow the Russians will sweep through and burn our village.No one will ever know we were ever here.They'll be an emptiness where there was life.
Death is welcomed.These rolling fields will be filled now with the ghosts of
innocence searching for a place lost in the emptiness of time.
8/27/14
The eyes fall heavy, dropped like iron weights,
The crimson seal breaks open on the page.
A silent heart decodes its darker fates,
As lips unclose without a smile to gauge.
Out through the mouth, a stark emission flies -
A gasp of feathers leaves a bitter trace.
Black words like crows sweep through the quiet skies,
To peck the margins of a narrow space.
No whisper marks the blood the poets bleed,
Dark mulberry stained upon the sacred font.
I dip the quill to satisfy the need,
And trace the only baptism that we want.
Our drawn out paths were meant to run divine;
We cast the runes and walk the crooked line.
Candide Diderot. ‘26
Caught between a glamorized past and an imploding present,
Future's hope hangs upon the scales of a timid fate.
A country splintering,
A modern-day civil war where words fly by like bullets.
Family and friends become nothing but mere collateral,
To radicalised ideals and misplaced allegiances.
While the rest of the world unites,
Watching as the sparks of hate ignite.
As flames of blind loyalty sweep through cities.
Idiocracy now rules the ashes,
The clock is ticking down.
Will you cower in the shadows,
Waiting for the winds of change to blow over,
Or will you fight, come hell or high water?
''Mighty: 'Mira, have you seen the dam's reservoir level rise?''
Its water spills over, a dangerous disguise
Mira: ''Yes, I have, my friend. It is a terrible sight
The flood brings a destructive might".
Mighty: ''The Engineers, they say it is all for good.
To generate power, for the people's hood.
But what about the homes and lands below?
The waters rage, will they ever know?''
Mira: ''The dam stands tall between us two.
A symbol of man's power, but also their woo.
Nature's force, cannot withstand.
The flood's fury will sweep through this land''.
Mighty: ''Oh! Mira, I fear for those downstream.
Their safety and homes seem like a terrible dream.
The water's rise knows no bounds.
Its power is immense, it knows no grounds."
Mira: '' But still, we stand strong, like guardians of old.
Witnesses to man's might, and to nature's hold.
And though the flood may come, with all its might.
We'll stand here forever, throughout day and night".
So let the flood rage on, with all its might
For man and nature, will surely fight
And though the dam may falter, and the water may spill.
Our strength will stand steadfast still.
*HHS Secretary Alex Azar says the U.S. time is closing, to control the spread
The U.S. has reached an all-time high, of Covid cases from the start
We may lose control of the spread, any last grip falling apart
It would sweep through every state, when you think of it this way
Overwhelm hospitals, from every direction, filling up day to day
Then we would return to the beginning of a shut down
That had everyone complaining to start with, in each town
None of this makes any sense, as today we watch each crowd
Fill up streets side by side, all together screaming loud
I’ve always said, the virus will prove the truth over all
But, it’s unbearable to watch it, contribute to America’s fall
Heidi Sands
6/28/20
"Winter ensures greater bonding than any other season by bringing the family members together to sit around the hearth enjoying the warmth of the fire and sharing pleasantries"~ By Poet
Snowflakes are sliding down through porous air.
They look like confetti on a pretty bride in white.
Some land down on bare limbs of trees and bushes
Rabbits and squirrels into their comfy borrows alight.
A thick blanket of snow is spread over hills and dales.
Land and trees look as if someone painted them wholly white.
Like pretty jewels, suspended rain drops gleam and glitter.
Cold blizzards blow and sweep through the whole night.
When flakes of snow are thus gently gliding and landing,
When I feel the chill in my body and all through my bones,
Into the depths of sweet slumber, my mind takes flight,
Enjoying the magic of winter and wind’s euphonic tones!
when scorpions crawling on the boiling sands
dance the dance of death with tail culled up
the gaudy toadstools grow in the dark and dampest spot
in the wasteland, and as day progresses the never-ending
merciless killing under the very same scorching sun that hangs high above
the wasteland drags on and on in the urban, areas where people carry out
the activities of daily routine to sustain ordinary lives.
on the street and alley the children’s corpses
though laying here and there
no one knows how to stop the deafening roar
that comes from the blasting bombs and the report of the guns
that take more innocent lives away from loved ones which do not allow
even a moment to the bereaved one to mourn with own accord, and when
the tears of a woman in black burqa slaps forehead and bangs her breast with palms and cries, her maternal affection benumbed and become stone as her tears coagulate and harden.
a small rough and simple wooden coffin goes
carried by the stern looking bearded men followed by not requiem
but the shout of the angry crowd brandishing empty fists that won’t do
anything in air the agony of the incompetent father who incapable of
keeping his dearest daughter’s life
nor able to provide a decent funeral and burial services
for the child’s last journey overlays the new-soil-covered little grave
as many layers of sigh after sighs.
when the tanks and armored vehicles sweep through the street
where many, many of those horrible stories rolling and flying
all over like autumn leaves, the soldiers with dust covered
combat boots dash into the street with unceasing gun shots
that hit the shadows because it moves, only because it breathes,
and therefore must be slaughtered. the fireballs hotter than boiling
sun shoot in the air with loud report on the other side of the street.
and between those ear-piercing roars
another angry wave marches on the street
carrying a small coffin, and in this chaos
eventide with no tomorrow dyes the corner of sky
above the faceless battlefield with the red of blood.
Rivers flow as the Milky Way
Broken clouds, the rain pouring down from skies
Stop protecting your opinions
Occasionally we are punished
for something we have never done
Obvious discrimination without a filter
nothing is excluded
Wandering through many hundreds of hymns
as tides that sweep through pulsating veins
The wise person does not associate with liars
Disappointments will perhaps diminish over time
obviously an ignorant inference
No one dreams,
if the eye never sleeps
The depth of the feeling
continued in the rainy weather
Our farms are sick and starved and outgrown barns,
The earth is witted, breaking our spades
Tomorrow is stranded because today is wicked
Barking on our tears
These brothers of mine are strangers
They rage the sun in this part of the divide
And walk in canopies we cannot provide
Come to the streets oh comrades
Your stomachs may be asking and your legs jittering
Still come
Come to the entering of the city
Cry to the heavens carrying fronds
Fan the firmaments and beg the clouds to let it rain
Let it rain, let it rain in the heat of the day till
Darkness is stopped from coming, taking terror unaware
And then the wolves slip and fall on their daggers
Let greedy mansion leak, and seek shelter in the hut of the pauper
Let it rain, so hardened hearts get soaked and thieves shiver
Till they are caught red-handed
Let it rain, let its coldness prevail and cool the boiling land,
Let’s its wind sweep through exposing the anus of the fowl kind,
Quenching greedy thirsts and succoring innocent dreams
Let it rain on the x and y
If they look back and see where the knot is tied, so not for
Crescent moon another man’s star die
let it rain and beat hard, and crash the shell of dubious tortoise
let it beat conflicts into comfort, till greed dies of loneliness
let it beat tomorrow into today, and led into leaders.