Long Tiled Poems
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The chapel wall ornate brass findings are long gone as no more
Years of dust and debris lie upon, the now no longer used pews
Pieces from the stain glass windows, broken upon the tiled floor
In this small chapel God’s words they no longer need, or choose
Years of dust and debris lie upon, the now no longer used pews
Old leather bound bibles, lie sprawled across the floor in misuse
In this small chapel God’s words they no longer need, or choose
Cited local lack of interest as in order to claim their poor excuse
Old leather bound bibles, lie sprawled across the floor in misuse
Their lightweight Scritta’ pages waver from the windows breeze
Cited local lack of interest as in order to claim their poor excuse
A religion to which these folk burdened in as some dirty disease
Their lightweight Scritta pages, waver from the windows breeze
As relate long forgotten messages written within its open pages
A religion to which these folk burdened in as some dirty disease
The small abandoned chapel, which lack of trust in God enrages
As relate long forgotten messages written within its open pages
Relictus, where the Lord’s words lie within here, as all forgotten
The small abandoned chapel, which lack of trust in God enrages
No shoes to clink the granite tiles as no more the aisles trodden
Relictus, where the Lord’s words lie within here, as all forgotten
Silence, befalls this chapel now, as no more sermons to be read
No shoes to clink the granite tiles as no more the aisles trodden
With God’s words now muted, his messages now remain unsaid
Silence, befalls this chapel now, as no more sermons to be read
Whilst yonder angels; weep in sorrow, to them they have failed
With God’s words now muted, his messages now remain unsaid
As the Lord’s purpose to his people, no longer his worth availed
Whilst yonder angels, weep in sorrow, to them they have failed
This forgotten chapel now lies in ruins so it ails in its own decay
As the Lord’s purpose to his people, no longer his worth availed
Once cited a place of worship, leaves its parishioners, in dismay
This forgotten chapel now lies in ruins so it ails in its own decay
Pieces from the stain glass windows, broken upon the tiled floor
Once cited a place of worship, leaves its parishioners, in dismay
The chapel wall ornate brass findings are long gone, as no more
Part Two
Do you remember your run-up to the crease
your Lindwall-delivery dragging the clasping flannel round hobbled boots
your anger
at the wicket that went on a no-ball
Do you remember your opening bat
that snicked the runs to leg and off
which dozing umpires signalled as byes from pads
Do you remember Brigitte
her perky bobtail
her boucles of prancing hair
lances on her forehead
sickles on her verti-vir-ginous temples
Where are the bridges you have crossed
and those you had planned
and those you saw grow pebble by pylon and cementing stone
where the roads you laid
up virgin forest and limestone
Where indeed the buildings you repaired
erected
re-erected and razed
and the thousands and thousands of miles
you rode the wild seladang of the primeval jungle
hand on hump
with no stars in the paly night to guide you
through venomous blukar
and the boiling green torture
seared deep into your burning entrails
these that now have run out on you
Watch now how the river glues under your fuming stare
when the monsoon torrents sweep the knock-knee-ed pylons to a side
those dry as split-bark legs of yours
itching once too often in comforting company
though a little spindly for a Pied Piper
Yet you made the puppety Peninsula run
down drains and monsoon pipes
to a purge-full sea
Who is there now who wouldn't wake to your fits of irrupting gurgly merriment
to ease the tension
amongst unlikely fellows
Who who wouldn't miss your seething whiteheat glee
at his side
You who knew how to accompany Kay and Richard
up to the closed door of your last night
a very good night on your lips
Your opening bat's duty done
the side shored-up in safekeeping
the last fast breathless ball you faced
nicking the bails off
You needn't return to the pavilion
for the standing ovation goes on
for you Bala
long after the cloddy-stumps lie slain on the tiled floor
© T.Wignesan 1993 August 8, 1993 - Paris [from the collection: back to background material, 1993]
Cloistered within the restroom stall
eavesdropping on my peers
soft whispers echo off tiled walls
revealing secrets, hidden tears
Somehow this restroom has become
a sordid confessional booth
a place of refuge, safe for some
to air their inner truth
Co-workers cluster, confiding things
they wouldn't want the boss to know
nasty hangovers, weekend flings
soap-opera worthy woes
Some speak carefully, checking stalls
noting unfamiliar shoes
while others quickly unleash it all
like they have nothing to lose
“That ratfink took credit for all my work
but I'm gonna wait and be patient-
'cause I've got a plan to fix that jerk
next week while he's out on vacation!”
Young woman details a wicked trap
to catch her mortal foe...
while on the door, the impatient raps
of another who's “got to go”
Next there is an angry mother
scolding her wayward son
something or other (he did to his brother)
the fussing has just begun
“Listen Mister, I've had about all
I can take from you today
Oh, now you're sorry, no- don't you bawl!
I wasn't born yesterday!”
Then tripping in, catty office girls
meowling with purrs and sighs
pretend to freshen their faces and curls
while sniping and scratching out eyes
“...Lovely green sweater you're wearing, my dear-
wherever did you buy it?”
She means it looks quite awful on you
“Here, this smells good, you should try it!”
“Gangway girls- I'm comin' through!”
woman bellows, bursting through door
the others pause, and then continue
nonchalantly as before
Eventually they all trickle out
and two teenage girls traipse in
whispering about poor What's-Her-Face
and all the trouble she's in
“She's only twelve, and such a shame
tried to kill herself last week
they said she's crazy, that she's to blame
a loser, misfit, freak...”
“So they had her institutionalized
and she sits, spaced out, and stares
while they tell her the abuse was 'made-up lies'
and she knows that no one cares”
Sooner or later, there's silence
as the restroom door swings closed
then after a flush, a wash, a rinse
I get myself composed
Finally, I'm all alone here
in this magical, comforting place
voicing my own insecurities, fears
to my mirror-image face
The heavens brush by her fingertips
as she reaches for the sky
but her feet stay nailed to the ground
when she stretches past those pearly gates
catching a shooting star in one hand
while grabbing Orion’s belt with her left
to wrap around her waist
when she gets home.
Down she shrinks
until she is the size of a firefly
blinking on and off
to the beat of their hearts.
She smothers her light
as the demons emerge
from the depths of the burnt lake
and they search in the dark
for something to clamp
their steel traps around.
As she is finally found
she is pulled from all sides
by good and bad alike
and only at the break of the sun
when light pours out from two grinning halves
does the tugging on her spider web soul cease.
And the struggling plants fly by her window
as she makes her journey around the world
though it’s only around the block that she flies
for the umpteenth time
and as the clouds decend
to meet her feeble plane
she wishes the land beneath her
didn’t seem quite so far away.
She jumps out, parachute-less
and tries to run away
on those stepping stone puffs of perspiration
to meet her so-called destiny.
But as she is running she is sinking
and the hands she reaches for
only throw stones to build the wall
that she resides within
effectively putting blinders on all five sides.
All she sees are feet pounding air
and now she is jumping
red-tiled rooftop to red-tiled rooftop
a suburban myth in the making.
Sparrows swoop in to chat
sharing their piping hot tea and sympathy with her
but her appetite is destroyed
by the sight of the endless abyss
that stretches out before her
surrounded by the cliff
she now teeters on the edge of
one leg in the air, dancing gracefully
as she tries not to fall.
And as she blindly reaches all around
she realizes that no one is behind her
to grab her waist and save her
so she takes a baby step of faith
and finds the blackness holds.
Already she is walking quickly
so fast she doesn’t realize night is coming
until the stars put lights in her eyes
and the shadowed blue cloaks her shoulders.
But nails don’t pierce a nothing
so tonight she does without
her winking and twinkling accessories
and hopes to anything that’s listening
the demons can’t find her here.
How do I acquire a place where I can forgive?
How can I stop blaming myself for my mistakes?
I can't recall the version of "Intrinsic", but it's conflictive,
None can quash them If you can't forgive rattlesnakes.
It's difficult to forgive wrongdoers who won't swage,
It's cruel to excuse inner suffering from a rapist's rage,
It's difficult to grace louts who have killed your family,
Spirits will not retaliate but can whip you clearly.
No, I'm not a saint; failure is not the same as forgiveness.,
That doesn't refer I must trust or favor the chorus,
He seems angel but he throws his seat through the window,
He is tiled with a shabby female tattoo on his elbow.
I felt vulgar, stupid, and useless,
Close to the leech and slimy worm, that's sageness,
Every smile contains a malicious chart, so I lack faith,
I endure on wobbly legs, wiping away tears and scathe.
How can I resist the urge to do things right?
Some people mind me a skeptic. My kids guess I'm bright,
In fact, they suppose I'm an incredible winner,
If they view suffering, it will improve my manner.
No one understands what I endure,
I am not in a position to reveal such rancor,
I'm tired of seeing and living a shabby life,
I wanted a widely used headline in some rife.
The tombs of our ancestors are everywhere,
Earth's soil is the body's dust, walk lento, and care,
The suffering of death is greater than the joy of birth,
O cooing doves bestow to the weeping, some mirth.
Some actions are held liable, but none are shrewd,
Every devout soul has a past, and every deceiver is lewd,
Who can you forgive if not the toughest opponent?
You are fully ungrown with this Atonement.
The blast radius of your grief can harm the soul,
What if the people around you are shown a rays hole?
What if you cling to someone else's roots to be injured?
It all begins with a runic visceral fear of the biohazard.
I select my destiny and discover myself,
Say farewell to my harsh youth with purity and pelf,
Today I saw the opposite of what you taught me,
I also forgive you for everything before I flee.
1st Place Contest Win.
Written: June 25, 2022
Forgiveness Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Growing up,
you dream of Prince Charming—
the one who’ll set your heart free.
Spinning in hope,
you wait for the one
who’ll love you right.
And then he comes.
He’s charming, alright—
with soft words,
a warm smile,
and eyes that learn your every crack.
But not every crown shines.
Not every prince saves.
Some just learn
where to press
so it hurts without bruises.
He never raised his voice—
at least not at first.
Just small corrections,
little rules,
words that stung
with a smile behind them.
"That dress is too much."
"I only get mad because I care."
"You know how lucky you are, right?"
And she believed him.
Because love is patient.
Love is kind.
And she thought if she just loved harder,
he’d be soft again.
She learned to be quiet
before he ever yelled.
Knew how to read the room
like a battlefield.
Every breath,
every glance,
a calculation
to avoid the spark.
He never hit her.
Not with fists.
But silence can strangle.
And words can bleed.
He carved shame into her skin
with a whisper and a glance.
"Why do you always ruin everything?"
"No one else would love you like I do."
"You're lucky I stay."
So she stayed.
Locked in a house
that used to feel like hope,
now a cage with good curtains
and cold dinners.
She smiled in public.
Laughed on command.
But inside,
she was screaming
in a language
no one else could hear.
She stared at the tiled floor,
counting her breaths,
wondering how long it would take
to disappear completely.
And when the silence grew too heavy,
and the weight in her chest
felt sharper than fear—
she stopped counting.
She left no note.
No final words.
Just a quiet stillness
in a home full of noise.
The world kept spinning.
Neighbors waved.
Her name faded
into passing conversation.
He cried for cameras.
Blamed the stress.
Said, “She was always a little emotional.”
But the truth sat
on that bathroom floor.
In the shape of a woman
who gave everything
until there was
nothing left.
She didn’t die of heartbreak.
She didn’t die by choice.
She died
because no one believed
what he never bruised.
She died
because silence
can be louder than screams.
She died
because the cage didn’t look like one.
Stripped like a slave I have no freedom
No rights inside this enclosed life
Its starring me in the eyes what do I do with this knife
Dropping it as it crashes to the cold tiled floor
I fall right behind it as darkness surrounded me with a closed door
No point to scream and shout I don’t see any future that can restore
I crawl on my knees for your liking
Bruised skin and open wounds drenched in alcohol as it begins to sting
Swinging back and forth on the rope of life a tight grip I cling
Letting go to a tragic death I know ill be under Gods wing
Shot with bullets and shot with what we call a dart
Living along side of me but were you really with me from the start
Saying those spiteful and hurtful words I pushed you away and soon I fear we will part
I paint my life on a canvas which now has many dark spots but it’s still classified as art
Feeling left in the rain struck by lightning shaken by thunder you can’t see that I have a
bleeding heart
The one day that was given to me from God the one and only
I still sat in a corner starring through a double platted glass all lonely
There were false tellings that day
Learned not to bite off more than I can chew because I don’t live the life that of a buffet
Sorry I was such a disappointment to you
Thinking my life is perfect and everything is fine I say “if you only knew”
Not asking for the wind to come but with no control it blew
Life is not a game in which you can jus undue
I wish I could because I use to look out the window now starring at a wall is my view
I once had a heart but it's gone and now there is a hole
Every painful beat I am paying a new toll
Down in the trash of an empty cold park I stroll
Living has become a mystery the only thing real is my soul
It's dark and cold where I am and he left me I don’t know who is in control
He is not God it was someone else in which was the thief that stole
Standing in a corner I thought you were suppose to be my number one friend
You said you didn’t but at times I believe you did pretend
There is nothing left to buy…for my life has a price thou shall spend
I am ready in which a destiny I can attend
Like a sad song or a sad movie...life doesn’t get better until the end
© Jeremy Fennell
When I was a young boy
I used to watch with awe
The common house sparrows
busy building nest out of
twigs,straw and dry leaves
in the crevices of the tiled roof
in my old ancestral house.
The ever chirping sparrows
never stayed at one place,
But kept moving swiftly,
now in the backyard of the house
Where there was a garden,
And 'd collect tiny worms
Insects,, seeds or grains;
And keep them carefully in their mouth
And fly from thence to their nests,
Where they 'd feed their chicks
Waiting anxiously to be fed;
I remember all these vividly
Even today ,to tell my grandchildren .
What happened to these birds,grandpa?
My grandsons asked ;I told them
The tiny birds were driven out
By radiation emitted by micro-wave towers;
And further by paucity of their food
The worms and insects which
No longer are there in the modern
Landscaped gardens fed with insecticides;
And where will they go to build nests
As modern buildings are bereft of
attics, crevices and spaces.
So my kids,make cardboard nests
Keep them in vantage points with
seeds and grains inside to lure
these lovely little passerine, the sparrows
To our neighborhood once again,
Long live the house sparrows.
strong does the wind blow.
against it, she walks towards me;
two guitars I hold.
Four parakeets
Living in a little cage
Singing for freedom
Why do you seek us?
Earthlings, you are so far away.
You will find, that we...
thirsty little flame,
not orange, crimson or red;
highlights sister's scales.
Sandals speak below,
Though sand knows no prejudice;
Sun begins to shine.
Each page is Hellboy,
Read with warmth in my sunroom;
Tiled floor gently glows!
a room filled with mirrors,
collected by a blind man;
hoping to once see.
Tarot's number nine,
wisdom boarded isolation.
here to set it free.
hello dear nature
and to the spiders inside
outside I will be
Grimlocke the Oracle,
Born to teach us prophecies.
What has he to say?
I'm a happy cat,
you are my fine gingerbread,
let's go out for milk!
'found my old guitar,
played just a major seventh;
strings were out of tune
dreaming and daring.
And with this shovel, digging;
for dinosaur bones.
ouch, squeezing my eyes,
a nail has entered my foot.
taking a look; rust!
baby elephant,
life will be so hard for you;
baby elephant.
room to room I walk.
each turn doggies follow;
love is mutual.
sitting on my stool,
gazing beyond my guitar;
reaching for my drink.
drunken pirate heads north.
epic adventure begins;
treasured gazebos.
lost; knowing where I am,
very slowly I shake my head;
lost; knowing where I am.
polymorphic six
everywhere where you shall look six
cryptography six
one two three four five
days away from the Amazon
curious Return
tasty yellow rice
simmering in shiny tin
lunch will be awesome
romantic squirrel,
painted his acorns crimson;
appreciated!
gluttonous owl,
eating extra meals each day;
tree branches annoyed
black daylight cricket
happens to have lost his way
friends will wait to play
escaped parakeet
from one strange place to another
panicked guardsman prowls
The trilogy dance...
Boxing on midnight canvas;
Who will reign supreme?
Five lighted candles,
What will your fortune behold?!?
A tarot draw; hot!
Unbelievable
Just indefatigable
Vocabulary
forest is alive
moon lights up pathways and trails
horns are all I see
This is a fun little story....
While in Germany.....with USARGE...I got an assignment....go to this city...we met four
Special Forces Operatives and helped them get on the right train....that's all....and we did
just that....fifteen mintues work...
Baby... We were in Koln....the Captitol of W. Germany.....this is were the story gets a bit
wild.....After more drinking than even I thought I could do.....it was 05:00 Hrs....and we had
a train to catch.....we grabbed our bags...and we went down the stairs of this small
Gausthouse and tried the front door...it was locked....Crap!
The train was leaving in just a half hour...we had to go!
Upstairs...a window...I ran up the stairs to look out....Oh! This should be easy.
And the window was open..we could climb out...and jump down onto a tile roof maybe five
five feet below us...then drop to the side walk.....and make a run for the train......sounded
good right! Well, at first....
My fellow Patriot..climbed out the window first...made a rolling motion as he hit the roof five
feet below him and rollled again... as he hit the ground below.....
Wow! I am no super Hero....but that was good.....But I was in good shape too....I got on
the ledge...with my suit case....and threw it.....and it fell to the ground two stories below
me....
Okay, here goes....just a simple jump....five feet..go...go...and I did...and I tripped.
And felt myself hitting the red tiled roof.....and....and..going through it!.....and landing in
someone's attic....on my back.....looking up at a huge hole I had made in the roof. Oh
Crap!.....I waited a second or two to see if anyone was aroused by the noise I made falling
threw the roof.....Nothing, not a sound....I picked myself up off the attic floor, brushed
off my Class "A" Uniform from all the debris and checked myself for injuries...only my pride
was wounded.
I climbed out the hole in the roof....slid down to the edge of the roof and jumped to the
ground...thud! After checking to see again if anyone had noticed all the commotion.....My
buddy and I walked the four blocks to the Haumpt Bahnhoff.....and made good our esape.....
A true story......