Long Swipes Poems
Long Swipes Poems. Below are the most popular long Swipes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Swipes poems by poem length and keyword.
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Life Changing
In these quiet woods, as shadows spread,
Timorous leaves whisper my secrets to the breeze.
A sentinel of time I am among the malus trees.
My roots run deep in my seed’s homestead.
--
I stir under the warm sun anew.
My blossoms blooming bouquets of pink petals fair,
I stand in beauty, unaware.
Unbidden but welcome, Spring has made its debut.
--
My branches grow branches, my leaves bear blades.
The bees buzzing come, a swarming tinnitus hum,
My stigma swipes their pollen, my honey glands reward their plumb.
Such is the dance of life, out of sight, in the shade.
----
Sated with Spring and Summer, exhaustion nears,
Pink petals pass. Unadorned leaves leave their color green for brown
And softly, gently, resignedly, flutter down,
Dumb in their final moments in the breeze’s tears.
----
Myself, in those moments, stark and bare, I ponder life.
Its fleeting fare seems awkwardly unfair to the fruit I bore, the leaves I shed,
My issue are now numbered among the dead.
But my roots still run deep, insulated from the strife.
---
A sentinel of stone I am among the malus trees.
Turned on the TV to see what they'd say
There's crowds in the streets all around the UK
Shelves being ransacked at Tesco all day
It's happening too in the U S of A
My TV depicting an end, clearly near
With Donald Trump there and Brexit right here
Then back to the masses, although it’s unclear
Whether it's panic or madness or fear
They're showing us scenes of emptying shelves
With mobs going frantic, all out for themselves
TVs get lifted from where they were racked
It's easy to see that society's cracked
Hoarders are scooping up baked beans and bread
Brand names all gone, own label instead
'Food for my family', is what one said
'I've got to provide for fear they'd be dead’
Coffee and alcohol, biscuits and cakes
Sausages, burgers, bacon and steaks
Folk grab at board games with ladders and snakes
And luxury watches, both real ones and fakes
And now the news treats us to Donald Trump's face
He's saying he's set for a nuclear race
He's gonna build brick walls all over the place
Cos the US is full and there ain't no more space
So they're panicking far and they're panicking near
The whole of the western hemisphere
The Ruskies have nukes and they're all pointing here
It seems that the mobs are in justified fear
Then back to the markets and bustling streets
Shopping bags bulging with with copious eats
Vegetables, fruit and myriad meats
All crammed into car boots and on the back seats.
Now we view traffic jammed up standing still
Ambulance racing to someone who's Ill
Drivers attempting to show some goodwill
No room to manoeuvre though sirens are shrill
Then back to the clambering hands and shelves bare
Frantic swipes reach for the last items there
Desperate housewives all pulling out hair
Their trollies still holding a square inch of air
As fighting breaks out in aisle number eight
Some fellow bought milk... An entire crate
But what made the other bloke really irate?
The last crate was grabbed by the first bloke's mate
I turn in shame from my TV
Can't bare to see the things I see
Where once we had humanity
This war has brought depravity
But as I turn, the room to leave
I hear the words I can't believe
Do my eyes and ears deceive?
This is not war... It's Christmas Eve
My naked feet feel the slick, moist grass in the quiet park
as my fingers pluck and trace the soft edges of a flower petal.
My back is pricked as I lean against a spiked, tree trunk
while my hand swipes off a sticky, delicate cobweb from my face.
As I pull off the cobwebs, tree sap drops onto my hair
penetrating my scalp, and I attempt to pull off it's gooey sap.
Suddenly, I feel the thick, sandpaper lick of a dog's tongue
on my cheek, and I laugh, petting his fluffy fur with pleasure.
Written on 8/31/2015
The bordello camp
Morning in Aruba, the cock has crowed three times
Men get out of beds that hundreds have slept in
of other men, they are silent, waiting for taxis
to take them back to their ship
Sad men, there is no jubilation here, cigarette smoke
A cold morning beer while waiting for the transport
A seaman, overcome by the tardiness, tries to run away
There is nowhere to run; the whore camp is in the desert
on a desert, sand, bushes, and snakes.
The madman, plied with alcohol, is sleeping.
The other carried him onboard.
In the courtyard, a woman swipes the dance
floor, doesn't bother to look up, when this day ends
They will be back again, or someone like them
will come, here, drink, dance, and pay for sex
Place: Malvan beach, konkan, Maharashtra, India
By: Sashi Prabhu, Date: 3rd march 2012.
As I trudge along with fancy and conceit,
Tender soles and bare feet.
Sandy saunter through virgin sands,
Pathways lead up to blue waters of Malvan beach lands.
A groove of coconut palm stands swaying tall,
Shady steps embossed as pass on us all.
Yellow-Green thatched leaves shades, cool breeze swipes south west,
Ham mocked nets to cradle me lax if I rest.
Cool breeze blows now is saline but strong,
And the blue water melts to white foam.
Lone eagle soars blue virgin skies,
Many more from the brood join in and swirls as fishing boat gently pass by.
A murder of crows’ pelagic fish they feast as on wet sands they briskly hop,
Siberian crane, solitary sweep grabs sandy fish &thaws into the backdrop.
I trudge along with fancy and conceit,
Tender soles and bare feet.
In the heat, indiscreet……….
All clear ,no signs of jungles of concrete
Someone playing a concrete violin
with a jackhammer
on a midnight sidewalk,
street lights gawk,
flickering fascination,
tuning keys locked,
rosin swipes declined
chalks marks hold hop scotch trinkets
tossed into the numbered squares,
pawned now for a glass of chardonnay
and a plate of cheese
Paneled walls ache
of yesterday’s smoke rings,
scentless air fresheners,
hanging Christmas trees
presumed innocent,
only here for the music
and rear view mirrors
cherry lipstick traces on a folded napkin
crimson half circles
prints on either side
someone will be kissed tonight
I’ll take it with me
I love the flavor
In a barren apocalyptic landscape,
under a withered, bare, and grossly malformed weeping willow tree.
Lies a lone stone which reads: There is no escape From the house of the dead.
The stone, in pristine state, stands as a testament to all who enter there.
The interloping tendrils of a wisteria vine, have encircled and strangled all in its path. Except for the stone, which emits an eerie glow, as a lighthouse beacon in a fog laden ether.
THERE you will experience true solitude.
Approaching closer, you feel the frigid breath of the cemetery breeze, enveloping you and drawing you nearer, t’ward a single oblique whisp of a specter as she floats ominously over the stone.
Her once great love left her for dead, and
from the depths of sorrow, she acquiesced.
Since that day, she has clung to the life she once had.
Her happiest days were spent in the garden behind a house where no one else played.
Laughing, singing and running with her once great and true love they spent endless days together.
Now, in her current form, she lists as she sways, her tattered ghostly shroud swipes against your leg.
The window curtains’ lace whips wildly through the night air, flicking against your feet and wakes you sharply from your sleep.
Opening your door, as you head down the hall, in the corner of your eye, you spy a translucent figure. Turning to look the shape disappeares.
Was this a dream, forebodance, a warning of some future catastrophe? Mark me, and heed these words well......There IS NO ESCAPE FROM THE HOUSE OF THE DEAD.
February 21, 2021
Poem written for Constance La France
Ghost Poetry contest
As people cheer, the birthday girl
Swipes fingers at the cake.
A glob of frosting coats her hand
But this is no mistake.
For after all the singing
And the candles have been blown,
The birthday baby gets a cake
To smash that's hers alone.
It's part of a tradition
When a child is turning 1;
As chocolate's smeared on face and clothes,
We get to watch the fun.
The messy part's a memory
That phones will have preserved
And while somebody cleans her up,
The real cake's cut and served.
It's really quite adorable
But what I cannot gauge
Is just how cute the child will find it,
At a later age.
Autumnal
The leaves on the big trees on the avenue begin to fall
a giant vacuum cleaner that looks like a truck swipes up
the leaves in the gutter
The chocolate brown leaves on the still green lawn are left in peace, possibly because the two colors harmonize mourning the summer gone.
There are bald patches on the lawn no longer possible to hide not even the longest straw can camouflage the dark soil which is the beginning of plants and humans.
The sun feels mellow today this has to do with its elderliness that renders the bravest of the brave humble
one day it will disappear and a new sun arise.
From my collection “The Last Diary” 2015
Turned on the TV to see what they'd say
There's crowds in the streets all around the UK
Shelves being ransacked at Tesco all day
It's happening too in the U S of A
My TV depicting an end, clearly near
With Donald Trump there and Brexit right here
Then back to the masses, although it’s unclear
Whether it's panic or madness or fear
They're showing us scenes of emptying shelves
With mobs going frantic, all out for themselves
TVs get lifted from where they were racked
It's easy to see that society's cracked
Hoarders are scooping up baked beans and bread
Brand names all gone, own label instead
'Food for my family', is what one said
'I've got to provide for fear they'd be dead’
Coffee and alcohol, biscuits and cakes
Sausages, burgers, bacon and steaks
Folk grab at board games with ladders and snakes
And luxury watches, both real ones and fakes
And now the news treats us to Donald Trump's face
He's saying he's set for a nuclear race
He's gonna build brick walls all over the place
Cos the US is full and there ain't no more space
So they're panicking far and they're panicking near
The whole of the western hemisphere
The Ruskies have nukes and they're all pointing here
It seems that the mobs are in justified fear
Then back to the markets and bustling streets
Shopping bags bulging with with copious eats
Vegetables, fruit and myriad meats
All crammed into car boots and on the back seats.
Now we view traffic jammed up standing still
Ambulance racing to someone who's I'll
Drivers attempting to show some goodwill
No room to maneuver for sirens so shrill
Then back to the clambering hands and shelves bare
Frantic swipes reach for the last items there
Desperate housewives pulling out hair
Their trollies still holding a square inch of air
As fighting breaks out in aisle number eight
Some fellow bought milk... An entire crate
But what made the other bloke really irate?
The last crate was taken by the first bloke's mate
I turn in shame from my TV
Can't bare to see the things I see
Where once we had humanity
This war has brought depravity
But as I turn, the room to leave
I hear the words I can't believe
Do my eyes and ears deceive?
This is not war... It's Christmas Eve