Long Thoughts Poems
Long Thoughts Poems. Below are the most popular long Thoughts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Thoughts poems by poem length and keyword.
Schuylkill Valley Encampment, February, 1778
Dearest Beloved,
This letter, penned with nature still enwrapped in winter’s shawl,
Might reach your hands by April, should it reach your hands at all.
Your parcel came this morning, now I take the time tonight,
Before I sleep, to correspond with you by candlelight.
Our troops look less an army than a ragged band of thieves;
We’ve gone without supplies now since the falling of the leaves.
My old shirt hung in tatters, yet I wore it as it was.
I thank you for the new one; kindness is as kindness does.
The season dawdles cruelly on the icy road to spring,
So please excuse my penmanship, like strands of knotted string,
My script becomes a scribble as the temperature goes down.
I haven’t yet replaced the gloves I lost at Germantown.
Some days it makes me wonder if we’re merely grasping straws.
At times, I must admit, I have my doubts about our Cause.
I’m staying till it’s finished though; I want that understood.
It may not make a difference, but it does my conscience good.
I’m not the one who named these hills; it’s no romantic ploy
To say I stand between the heights of Misery and Joy.
But don’t you get to thinking I’m all misty-eyed and such.
I only want to tell you that I miss you very much.
I pray this letter finds you well, at peace and safe from harm.
New Hampshire nights can be as cold as any witch’s charm.
It’s cold in Pennsylvania, too. For warmth I must depend
On this new shirt and thoughts of you, my dearest, sweetest friend.
Your most affectionate,
M.
First Troop,
Philadelphia Light Horse
Eileen and I are cut from the same cloth
Hopeless romantics we two
Oblivious to life's trials and tribulations
It's love that sees us through
Since the world began, it's the driving force
The reason we exist you and I
Thoughts of no longer being able to express
My love brings a tear to my eye
Ask Eileen, she knows what I mean
Her words exude passion and desire
Symbols of what real love is made of
That can set our hearts on fire
What a wonderful place this world would be
If love replaced hate in men's souls
For the first time ever since the beginning of time
We'd be actors in a strange new role
Eileen and I are cut from the same cloth
Hopeless romantics we two
© Jack Ellison 2013
Dedicated to everybody's sweetheart, Eileen Ghali
when the lights are dim
and the night looks grim
all i write is sound
and i think i'm better off
better off
twice today
I was in your arms
and i bit my tongue
i'd rather be aloft
yea i think i'm better off
better off
dear city that never sleeps
i often think of you
i wonder how you will keep
when the night sinks into
and if you make it to the days break
no one will really know it's you
another second chance to excel with truth
relaxed like stooping pigeons on the roof
lately i've been dying for a noose
or just a rope in general to hang myself from
day light trickles
but i find it difficult to hold a nickel to my left thumb
in other words
life is simple if you play it as it comes
here lately
i find myself growing more skeptical of people
feelings resemble damaged goods that pose lethal
at the edge of absinthe
and only tear drops touch the needle
i still write
but most of the time i'm like
kind of nice
for tomorrow pushes me gently
it's a rush but it soothes my thoughts
and i'm stronger mentally
when the lights are dim
and the night looks grim
all i write is sound
and i think i'm better off
better off
twice today
I was in your arms
and i bit my tongue
i'd rather be aloft
yea i think i'm better off
better off
so i'll send this letter off
"when all else fails I write"
There should be a place to shelter us when sleep is a bird that no longer comes,
or when we are tired of getting drunk on our own thoughts, and the grass no longer lifts dreams,
I don't mean powders or cocaine, but a realm beyond the death that watches us
or the loves that have been lost like echoes in a cave forgotten by time.
There should be a sanctuary to hide us when sleep refuses to embrace us,
beyond the screens that flicker lifelessly or the cinema halls projecting shadows,
beyond the newspapers carrying the world's news or the novels promising imaginary worlds,
the absence of this refuge gives birth to lost souls in asylums and those who choose eternal silence.
I believe that in the absence of this place, people turn to corners that barely caress their desires,
and this ritual polishes them like the wind sculpting rocks, until they can continue,
even without hope, like empty calendars swallowing their days without counting them,
the faces we see daily are not devoid of hope, but merely of wings.
Be gentle with them, for they too, like you, seek a place to rest their souls,
perhaps, one day, that place will appear like a strip of light in the densest night,
where silence will become a balm, not an abyss that swallows us whole with stars,
and until then, let us be gentle with those who, like us, seek to learn to dream again.
This gypsy soul is on the road
It leaves castles far behind
It abandons ghostly mist
which sabotages the caravan of life.
It passes along the mountainside
by golden hay fields where daises bloom
By streams of waters which sweep
all withered leaves towards
the decayed lumber flume.
This gypsy soul is on the road
from Edinburgh to Lochlomond
against high winds,against the rain
against aquatic monsters of pain.
This gypsy soul is on the road
to the woodlands of your heart
where I would camp inside your tent
as our blissful thoughts impart.
This gypsy soul within myself
and all the woman in me
would wantingly await your fingertips
to compose a guitar's melody.
The smell of early coffee
would fill our empty cups
The song of the cicada
echoes in the shrubs
And as the chimney-smoke
drifts side-ways in the breeze
As warm dappled light filters
through purple pansy leaves
The pressed rose of my lips
would leave its crimson mark
below your sun-kissed cheek
My arms would cling around
your once a muscular physique
We'd laze upon a hammock
strung between two old oak trees
I play upon your strings my hundred fantasies.
As the incandescent half moon
rises above the dusky hue
and orange paper-lanterns
float high in cobalt-blue
We'd chase the opalescent glow
Of a million firefly
You'll be able to touch me
before last embers die.
This gypsy soul is on the road
in search to be set free
Across each bridge,on every journey
Your compass is my destiny.
A revised repost .
In the forest of your heart, I lose myself, a green and endless world,
Breathing deeply the essence of your woods, pine essence and unspoken longings.
I can never fill the boots of the explorer of my soul,
Nor explain the thrill I feel when you step into the clearing of my hidden thoughts.
Your whisper, "Darling, I love you," is the wind caressing the leaves of my being,
Gently wrapped in your cloak of pine needles, I become immortal in fleeting moments,
Happily lost in the enchanted jungle of our boundless love,
I can no longer find the way back, nor do I want to, in this realm with no return.
I feel fitting, like a flourishing conifer in the rich soil of your heart,
In this ever-green existence, I simply am, breathe, exist through you.
I inhale the fragrance of your loyalty, pure essence filling every pore,
I feel like a loved woman, after a lifetime of yielding to your will.
I am now the wind blowing over your heart, caressing every fiber,
When I reach you, I simply breathe, and my breath becomes music,
A symphony of the forest we are together, I as the tree, you as the fertile ground,
In this green and endless story, where love is our pure oxygen.
Your words are the sap that nourishes my roots deeply embedded in you,
Every touch is a ray of sun caressing my trembling leaves.
In our secret grove, time stands still, and we grow together,
Two souls intertwined in an eternal dance, breathing love, simply being.
Sometimes actors play a role
Which touch us to our very soul
Even though it is not real
Something deep down makes us feel
That we can associate
With the part that they create
And the movies that we watch
Can ignite us like a torch
Because some things that we see
Brings up our past history
One that leaves me lots of scars
Is the world famous Wizard of Oz
The characters are memories
Of the way that he left me
The tin man has no beating heart
You took mine right from the start
Leaving me no way to care
Because my heart’s no longer there
The scarecrow has no way to ponder
All his thoughts just seem to wander
That’s the way I feel when
My thoughts of him start up again
Asking why my useless brain
Let him cause me so much pain
The lion isn't strong but weak
Because his courage he can’t seek
That’s the image I showed him
My courage can’t show up again
Every time I took him back
I had another “weak” attack
Dorothy was all alone
She just wanted to get home
To her loving family
There was no home left for me
The love just seemed to disappear
I couldn't find it anywhere
The wicked witch was just pure evil
Trying every day to steal
The love out of the purest hearts
The way he tore mine all apart
There’s one portrayal that I can
Connect to as I take your hand
The wizard saved Dorothy's friends
Bringing her home in the end
The way you went through every length
To give my heart back all it’s strength
My courage and knowledge I have sought
To regain ever since you brought
A loving home back in my life
Making everything alright
(Note: taken from a diary of a young lady)
In memoriam of Jose` Maria
aged twenty, drowned.
I lounge on an uneven stone
under the uneasy shade
of an ancient carob tree,
away from the hot rays
of the summer sun.
I sit alone, abandoned,
I contemplate in vain,
for my thoughts wander on you,
who left me in the lurch.
I stare vacantly towards
the mighty sea that
like a cyclone of frigidness
buffets the darkened rocks
that form the inlet.
Wave after wave
enters the narrow strait
and rumble onwards
to the horrendous shore
throwing iridescent sprays
over the plaque of cold hard marble
that hides a tragedy of life.
Under the Iberian sky
prickly pears ripen
a stone's throw away
from the glinting shore
amid the green olive trees
slightly wet with sea spray.
The plaque seems to glow
in the hot summer rays.
I wonder what made Jose` Maria
swim in that turbulent sea.
Maybe he searched for treasure lost,
or hunted for the slippery octopus,
or mourned over lost love.
A life destroyed.
Am I not astray too?
I am so far away from you,
forsaken and unloved,
for you are like the sea, drowned
in a cyclone of frigidness.
Wild at heart, blind man plays with burning fire;
Allows bold passion to secure mind games;
Notice dance transcend the funeral pyre;
Excite rash action to favour proud name.
Weave odd tapestry with vain thoughts loudly;
One wholesome motion beyond graveyard shift;
Note clear feel and see urge and flow easy;
Dig deep emotion to fling form that lifts.
Experience each wave of feelings that surge;
Ride stormy seasons with attitude brave;
Include vision brave that follows sure urge;
Now is good reason for conflict that craves.
Go far beyond scope when the chips are down;
Sanguine moods greet hope when wane fractures frown.
Leon Enriquez
15 May 2014
Singapore
Clear sky above, crisp breeze of dawn
gently blowing on our sun-tanned skin.
Lost in the autumnal beauty before us,
we hear the leaves crackle as fire logs.
No bird songs to greet the golden-colored sunrise,
only two lonely souls walking as it grows and shines.
Many distant thoughts of Yule and gifts
escape from us with only joy to embrace.
The sunshine feels warm as the morning advances,
a few clouds appear and cast a shadow on the waves.
This path leads to a rolling hill which we ardently seek,
from here dreams never flee to disarm love's heartbeat.
Written by Andrew Crisci
for Michael J. Falotico's contest,
" Falling In Love In Fall "