Long Thicker Poems
Long Thicker Poems. Below are the most popular long Thicker by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Thicker poems by poem length and keyword.
The sky tore open like a wound that morning,
two towers of glass and ambition
falling into their own shadows,
dust rising thicker than any prayer.
Streets filled with the silence after thunder,
names becoming lists,
photographs taped to chain-link fences
where hope still searched for a face.
Then the city did what cities rarely do:
it opened its doors wider than its grief.
Strangers pressed water into strangers’ hands,
ironworkers and nurses,
taxi drivers and CEOs,
children with lemonade stands
and elders who had already buried too much
stood shoulder to shoulder
in the long gray light.
They did not rebuild only steel.
They lifted the weight from one another’s chests
one careful breath at a time.
A firefighter’s widow learned to laugh again
because a neighbor kept showing up
with soup and silence that never asked for more.
A boy who lost his father
found a hundred uncles
in the men who taught him how to throw a ball
and how to stand when the ground still shook.
Brick by brick, yes—
but also story by story,
hand by hand,
the living stitched the living back together.
Out of the ash rose something quieter than triumph:
the stubborn green of new grass
pushing through cracked sidewalks,
the soft insistence that even shattered lives
can learn to hold light again.
We are still learning.
We are still building.
Not monuments alone,
but the harder architecture
of one another.
Milestones in Life
By Franklin Price
11/13/2015
Milestones in life are passing
Time stops for none at all
From the day that we are born
Not so long before we crawl
Then unsteady steps we take
Next thing you know we run
Passing by the markers
Headed for the setting sun
The first day I went off to school
Mom shed a little tear.
Not long before I drove a car;
Then graduation year
A cornucopia of options;
So many things from which to choose.
A myriad of paths to take;
So much to win or lose
Off then to a higher school,
And in a uniform;
Wedding bells and family, working,
Moving through the storm
The book was getting thicker
As I moved from page to page.
Twenty-one was gone;
When I was young, the magic age.
Then through the thirties, forties,
The years went rushing by,
The fifties and the sixties,
Hardly time to blink an eye
Those will all be gone
Tomorrow's seven oh!
So many milestones passed 'til here
So many more to go
Along the way have made good friends
With my wife, on life, a grip
Know it's not the destination
But the milestones of the trip
My back upon the bed, night's thickening dissolves. Awake, eyes open.
I see him lying high, the silhouette of head, glint eye, arched back,
tail hangs down black- tipped, black-striped, pale background,
dawn revealing furry, fire-tipped orange.
Perfectly still. He does not move. He has not moved since fading of last year,
and now January is here, soon gone, and though the night's are long,
summer sun's long march is strong, the shadow of his tail will shorten.
I see a wound.
Three stripes up, above tail tip, a small but bursting seam, entrail revealed,
white and clean, showing clear what must have been.
Ferocious battle with precocious cub who sudden leapt upon his back
and cuffed and sank milk teeth into his neck, and roared and clubbed with fearsome paw.
And tail was caught between the fray, and pulled and ripped and left this way,
perhaps to fight just one more day.
For now he waits, tiger lying high upon the wardrobe, beneath the ceiling.
No thought, not feeling, not counting nights for cub's return.
Yet eye below does long and yearn to see young cub again,
his muscle grown, with longer leg and thicker hair. Not long, not long.
The days will soon be flown in passing of the year.
Drivel in a puddle
Cried my tears
The bowl is dry
The water is a wonder we all need there is no why
The water is life
The life is for the all
We can not keep our pigeon read
We only seam to fall
There is a crawl up a way side
There is a demon in the tree
You should not question every feeling , the sky is the ceiling
This is only a dream
Nothing is as it seems and it will never be so
Only one time
Sometime
Can I begin
From where I started from?
The lord is a word
The meaning is old
The vulture’s a bird
Not one scrap left for thee
Me? I see you
I can be beneath you
In the clouds
catching your shine
Not mine. No
Mine is a long soft wave
The song of a swan
The honk of a goose in my feathers
Warm like the hot water bottle by my feet
The crickets make sounds that I will never forget
Chirping us all to sleep until the next season comes
The high tides
The Bay of Fundy
The rocks show early
The fish swim sparkling
The same as we all keep moving and shining in our own way.
Everything is all the same in a way that it isn’t at all
Separately equal only makes sense as a philosophy
But everything is equally absurd
Before the lightning strikes
Before the crow caws in the morning
The mist is thicker than the shaving cream my Papa never used
My goat is bearded
The lamp is lit
The fire is cracking
My fun is never a lack
I have sight to see
I have sounds to hear
My touch is connected to my brain
It is shocking
The memory
The strange details
The inability to forget
The chore of remembering
Not as delightful as the chores of a farm
My old body is going
I wish it wouldn’t take you so long
This experience has filled me
To burst into an entire new Universe
I went down to watch the ocean this morning - well, Long Island Sound anyway. My last chance for a while, classes start tomorrow. I wonder sometimes how I can be refreshed by that gray, drizzly, melancholy harbor - locked in winter’s intemperate grip - but I am.
The salty air seems thicker and richer, the sky bigger and wilder. There’s the relaxing sound mix of wave and gull. The ugly brown pelicans arguing like old, married couples, as a lone fisherman, in his yellow macintosh slicker, sorts his boat lines under the watchful, hopeful, hungry eyes of floating black-backed gulls.
Maybe I should become a sailor? Besides, I hear it’s a great way to meet guys.
Don’t tell me this is how it’s meant to be.
Don’t tell me it’s all just a mystery.
Don’t tell me that it’s you instead of me.
Just don’t…
Don’t tell me I’ll be better off this way.
Don’t tell me that I’ll understand someday.
Don’t tell me you don’t know what else to say.
Just don’t…
Don’t lie to me,
Make me believe
That lonely hearts are better being free.
Don’t break my heart,
Tear me apart,
And say that it’s the gift of a fresh start…
Just don’t.
Don’t tell me you don’t mean to cause me pain.
Don’t tell me that your feelings still remain.
Don’t tell me you don’t know how to explain.
Just don’t…
Don’t tell me that one day I’ll love again.
Don’t tell me that you’ll always be a friend.
Don’t tell me I should grow a thicker skin.
Just don’t…
Don’t lie to me,
Make me believe
That lonely hearts are better being free.
Don’t break my heart,
Tear me apart,
And say that it’s the gift of a fresh start…
Just don’t.
The Storm
Lily disappeared in one hardened season,
Her innocence drugged inside a container from Lagos to America,
Dumped into a whore plantation
Where the hugs of men are colder than the bottom of Antarctica.
Neighbours mutter in their sleep:
Daisy disappeared too, for the same reason.
Coming like rain, soft and lush,
These maidens returned wearing seductive smiles,
To refresh men who rarely eat vegetables,
Flooding their fantasies with foreign fakegasm.
Good girls gone wild, selling death through their outlets,
Infectious love cloned into emotional tablets,
Where immune systems surrender to colonies of STDs,
Leaving our ancestors rummaging through thicker forests of herbs.
Obituaries are no longer a shock.
They could not find a cure,
But they found timber for coffins.
Uche Chidozie Okorie
when i was a kid i used to draw a blue line near the top of the paper
that was supposed to be the sky
it started off being thicker in some places than in others
but as the time passed i started to add clouds
and draw inside the lines
the older i got,
the more realistic the sky became
then i started adding rainbows when i heard about heaven
i wanted to make it pretty and happy for all those who have died
specially those who died alone
and those who died without love
i haven’t drawn the sky in a while
i no longer can,
not now that i have people who i’ve lost
i wouldn’t know how to make it pretty enough
—painting the sky
Magic Beans of Many Colors
In a magical fairyland I reside,
herons, toucans, rainbow lorikeets, peacock angels,
hummingbirds, ostrich, even a cockatrice
of magnificent colors that harmonize.
They take flight and soar in the glorious effulgent wide
blue sky; roost on the limbs of lush crisp green trees,
or wander the landscape foraging on meat and plants.
Magical animals, dragons, unicorns, ,Pegasus
Gamayun ,skvaders, wolpertinger all exists.
A forest of trees with canopies so large and trim
the folks build tree houses on the strong large limbs.
Spiral ladders and ropes are used to get upward to their dwellings.
Out of my window I peek, a raven with black glossy plumage
color of soft elegant black silk appears with a gift in his beak.
He has brought beans of assorted colors so rare, a gift from a mage.
I wonder if I plant them is it worth
the effort, what it would bring forth.
I hurriedly get up in the morn, dress,
and have my hot breakfast.
I rush out with my gift to my secret place
a cave where my treasures I place.
By the entrance I dig the moist fertile ground
and plant my rare beans of assorted colors.
To my surprise, a wondrous sight I see.
As soon as the rainbow beans touch the soil,
feel its moisture they establish their roots
and grasp the upturned soft brown, fertile soil.
I stand there and watch in awe
As Hedera vines creep and reach around the mountain side
As it reaches out the stems gets thicker and restricting,
It’s bursting leaves greener and containing
All of a sudden, they stop growing.
Little doors are opening as little people dressed in green peek out.
Leprechauns!!!
Now I can follow my dreams of riches
And look for the pots of gold under the rainbows
5/1/2016
1/25/2015
For some of us, family isn't our blood but rather those who stand by us and become our family over time. These bonds are strong and lifelong.
May each of us be blessed to have special folk who we regard as family, no matter who they are in the world. Blessings and love.
When water is thicker than blood
By Michelle Morris
02/10/2021
We are all made to believe that family is everything
And in Utopia, it probably is
But for many of us, family is a disaster
Mixed memories that confuse and hurt
Experiences that steal our happiness
Trauma leaving our souls to bleed
And when we leave to escape the drama
We burn bridges where egos lead
When water is thicker than blood
Let it flow over you and cover your soul
Don't let the blood run cold
But focus instead on the water's warmth
When water is thicker than blood
Hold on to the ebb and flow
For real feelings and relationships matter
They hold you in their tender palm
It's wonderful how much family can mean
To each and every one of us
But this is not always there when
We need them most, they lose our trust
Making friends and meeting strangers
That do and mean so much more to us
It's sad but it's reality
And our paths will lead us there
When water is thicker than blood
Let it flow over you and cover your soul
Don't let the blood run cold
But focus instead on the water's warmth
When water is thicker than blood
Hold on to the ebb and flow
For real feelings and relationships matter
They hold you in their tender palm
© Michelle Morris, 2021