Long Tends Poems
Long Tends Poems. Below are the most popular long Tends by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tends poems by poem length and keyword.
Gate of GODFORSAKEN GRAVE yard made sound.
A girl with GRIEF -STRICKEN face to enter.
Her long dress of GOSSAMER touched the ground.
She walked and reached almost at centre.
It was Moonlit night : Her tears to glisten.
She put flowers on the grave of her Mom.
Her silent GROANING, only to listen
by gate : Myriad of pain to fathom !
GHOSTLY silhouette is displayed on sky
The girl looked up above : Moon tends to hide !
Gate of grave yard made sound again, but why ?
The pet cat followed her and sat beside.
Gate of the graveyard witnessed the event.
The girl got her companion to lament.
He said ‘Saving the world’s in your hands.
Look how you sparkle, see how you shine?
So crucial the poet understands,
what pours out of your pores is so fine.’
Upon hearing those words I fell back,
I never believed that I was seen.
That focus on writing’s a fast track.
Sweet and salty breeze so dynamic,
transports you to any place you pick;
Nearby towns extend to far off lands,
you connect through a web so divine;
Across an endless sea to white sands,
harness the power of your coastline.
With a pen and towel in a knapsack
soak in the ocean’s aquamarine;
Step in the shallows make chaos crack.
Stanzas filled with lines so eccentric,
the Muse tends to be panoramic.
He's calculating and tends to move slow
She's a visionary and goes with the flow
She looks eastward and wants to go
He's more settled and wants to stay
Whether it be yea or nay,
Come what may, they'll
always love each other
for the rest of their days.
He feels at home as he slowly turns grey.
She wants to go home where she was raised.
Some four years ago, this idea was conceived,
But in his heart, he never really wanted to leave.
All would well agree that there is no place like home,
and he well remembers the place where he used to roam.
It has been said that home is where your story begins, but
who's to say or rightly know where our story should end?
010821PS
In the deep darkness, where the soul draws its night curtain,
I write with the blind cruelty of children throwing stones,
Hitting a madwoman like a crow in chaotic flight,
No—not writing: opening a passage in the twilight,
So the dead may send cryptic messages,
An equation of shadows and light.
What is writing, if not a whirlwind of senses,
To steer through the light of mirrors in dense darkness,
To imagine places known only to me,
Like a song of distances, a melody of untouched faraways,
Hearing the vivid notes of birds painted on Christmas trees.
In the twilight of the soul, every word is a breach,
Through which silent spirits pass, shadowing star paths,
Like messengers arriving on ancient wings,
In a world of consciousness, where silence tends to be the universe,
Caught between thoughts, dreams, and old memories.
At the edge of night, words stand like sentinels,
Guiding paper steps through whirlwinds of aims,
Unraveling roots of unfulfilled desires,
In rhythms of painted birds, screaming under blue worlds.
Writing, this ancient art, a dialogue with the unknown,
The mirrors in which we see faces we have not known,
We lose ourselves in labyrinths of narratives, like lost children,
Hitting shadows with stones of poetry, outlining new skies.
Who am I, but a shadow sculpted by ancient times,
A speaker of those unspoken non-words,
The storyteller who lights up silent galleries,
Letting the dead sing their longing among speaking pages.
Breaches open in twilight, shadows gather,
Like a mysterious choir of paper birds, caught in Christmas trees,
Where pain and joy meet in vivid notes,
Of a song written in the depths of my soul.
This is how I write, not just with words, but with crushed echoes,
Drawing dream scenes in the black night,
Guiding through mirrors, led by the eternal call,
To give voice to the unknown, in tones dressed in melancholic magic.
Sandwiches perched on plate, remote control in one hand,
he settles heavily on comfy couch as the TV goes alive.
A sweet and sexy voice cuts in the heavy atmosphere;
“Weather forecast: Now we move to the tropical depression….”
He’s alert; eyes are held by slim fit skirt and moulding top.
“…menacing our island. This is the zone of low pressure…”
With extraordinary care, he arranges the plate on the table and tries to listen.
But eyes are riveted to the waves of graceful movement as she stretches her arm and walks on needle sharp heels to indicate some drawings on the map. He flinches.
Her words fall on buzzing ears “...atmospheric pressure tends to intensify…”
The pressure in the living room is intensifying as she goes on
with a killing smile, as if it is the greatest joy of the world for her to declare
“…from 1007 to 1004 hectopascal, in the next 24 hours….”
“What’s that?... What pascal??....” he is irritated.
“Oh! Why does it have to be young women like her doing this?”
“…which will be sustained with gust of wind of 60 to 61 kms per hour…” she goes on facing the camera boldly.
Her blouse is too tight on her breasts…
He swears in an attempt to diminish her power over him and scoffs her knowledge…
His ego is shaken and a voice inside his head warns
“Fool...Learn some more on atmospheric pressure to understand weather forecast!”
Still, her coy smiles are suffocating, he sweats and eyes her hungrily.
Feverish eyes search for her name at the bottom of the screen.
Not bad….he gives a devilish grin: She is the next!
20 Aug 2017
A while back I left meaning
At the river bank of seeming
And gathered myself to trust
Dark and light
I learned how to fight
By giving my faith to LOVE
He took me deep and wide
Cleaning all I longed to hide
'Neath the sheath of TRUTH
The fire was roaring
And I began soaring
As the chains of deception were loosed
Down, up, over, under
The lightening struck and I felt HIS voice THUNDER
Shaking the foundation of my soul
I yielded to the push and pull
Wanting to be wise in spite of being a fool
To the world system of structured holes
For so long, my eyes were fixed
On the laying of the bricks
To see how it all works
The wrong tends to rise
In the systems we devise
.....quirks, quirks, and more quirks
What on earth made us believe
That we could keep what we receive
And do whatever it takes to ensure entitlements never leave
OUR FILTHY GRUBBY HANDS
UGH! I am so tired of the struggle
...I want, I need, I should have, I'm not happy with what I have
...........I should have alllllll I want, when I want it, and
....................GOD, you should want me to have it.
There! I said it!
So, if I continue with LOVE
I get the blessings others aren't aware of
Enjoying intimacy so deep my heart swells in capacity
Or, I can lay the struggle down
And try to keep all the temporal things I have found
In the accepted veracity
...of fallen men
Yesterday, the answer was clear
But today, my friend, I am here
In the thick red clay...that clings to my boots
Although I walk in peace
Matter tries to stick where the Spirit gives release
So I can allow enemies to believe they have valuable loot
....I worked hard to gain
No...it was given..and I will let it go.
Written by Trudy Schrader on 01-22-2019
So many folks seem to be living such and exciting life
But then I find out later than they really are not
Days in and days out so many people keep just pretending
And upon this large stage of life they're only but~ role-playing
All of us are always assuming to know what kind of weather it will be
Some say the day will be sunny and shinny but then it starts to rain
I guess is fun for most folks to assume that they know more than God on high
Some folks assume that there's much more to what you say or you do
Each day has its own way to progress and keep changing
And each day and night all the clocks just keep on ticking
Everybody tends to assume they're not loved but they just might
And wonder why assume of things we're not sure~ that's not right!
Sometimes when we look into life's book so many things seem very wrong
But why assume things are so bad~ when we can sing in our hearts~ a song!
Ode to the odd duck, a motto to keep
Who always opts for the path least travelled
Never minding being the one black sheep
Feeling things are becoming unraveled
Wanting much more than to follow the pack
In a time perceived as leadership lost
A brave and lone wolf to roam nomadic
Where individualism tends to lack
Standing for nonsense, no matter the cost
Frequently seeming even sporadic
A uniqueness not always requested
But with a spirit lasting endlessly
The rest of us, you already bested
In a mind that operates senselessly
Knowing to hold your ammunition close
If you are going to stick to your guns
Always naysayers, keep you on your toes
You battled the odds, Duck, a heavy dose
A luminous strangeness, that weighs in tons
Still, once you shift course, that’s just how it goes
So continue your quest and never cease
One day they will see that you were better
Perhaps though, not before you are at peace
That seems the route of a true trendsetter
To blaze a trail means no recognition
That’s okay, it’s not where you gained your nerve
No care for logic, or flipping for luck
You say good sense is just superstition
On the path with no curves, you rather swerve
Life’s best run amok, cheers to the odd duck
May 12, 2022
Form O- Ode- New poems Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Theme: Person (The Odd Duck we know)
Since you're gone
I can hardly move on all alone
I can't see good things around
Can't feel the warmth on the ground
Since you left me
I can't resist what haunts me
Can't imagine you're already gone
Can't believe I'm already done
Year after year I look for you
All the time I search for you
I know you've not forsaken me
I just thought you've forgotten me
Rainy days kept me wet outside
Cold and freezing without you by my side
My body tends to surrender
Only my mind tells me not to go under
One day you came back
Telling me I always have your back
You gave me reasons not to step back
You brought life to a sleeping sack
I regained my body and soul because of you
Tell me it's still you that I missed in you
If you'll ask me to be with you
My whole of me is all for you
From here, where should I start again?
Tell me it's not wrong to love again
From here to everywhere I'll be full again
With you, I am free again
Tell me you'll never leave
With your heart you'll stay and believe
That you're the only one I conceive
Forever to be with, I dream to perceive
Tell me...
Like a tsunami from the ocean
I want to churn everything, inside out
But rue the fact that,
Like a bubble in the air
Have to be content with only
Being fidgety inside myself.
When the rocks try to stop
The natural flow of river, downwards
Even the transparent water, gets bloodied,
Breaking its head on the rocks,
I can feel its squirming and quibbling
But can remain only a mute spectator.
Whenever I feel oppressed, in any form
My heart seethes and fumes
My blood Inside tends to boil over
Only to become cold again, why?
Perhaps it is not in my nature to retaliate,
Then, am I condemned remaining wounded, perpetually?
Unable to do much about oppressive relations,
I pine away with my grief
Only wishing I could also free myself
And others of the oppression and the pain it inflicts
And enjoy the happiness and freedom
endowed by nature, in relations.
But looking at nature’s infinite vastness, where
Despite tight bonding and discipline in every bit
All relationships out there enjoy
Innate freedom, harmony and fairness
Then Wounds inflicted by the experience of oppression,
Fill me with jealousy and pain even harder and deeper.
Hope is life, maybe quite dreamlike
The change, which would destroy
the current forms of oppressions
and build relationships, free and fair, anew
seems to be a far cry, as of now.
the volcanoes are also destined to remain
dormant inside, for centuries, before they erupt.
Self Translation of my Hindi poem 'Parivartan'