Long Tilt Poems
Long Tilt Poems. Below are the most popular long Tilt by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tilt poems by poem length and keyword.
I walk the face of earth once more,
a mindless puppet, my strings are torn.
the creaky bones, the bad eyesight,
yet the chance to turn wrong to right.
wars-a-raging, old mans guilt,
the worlds now on more then just a tilt.
parents weeping, children slain,
bloody thoughts, fear will reign.
I look in the shadows, a creature did lurk,
he whispered to me, hiding a smirk.
"Thou shalt be killed if thee can't find,
your fate lurking in thou mind."
So off I ventured, to quench my thirst,
of corpses piled with hearts-a-burst.
And on that quest what did I see?
My Wicked Path Of Destiny
He stands beside his child
the way a tree stands beside its shadow~
not owning it,
not shaping it,
but offering a place to grow
in the shelter of his presence.
The boy leans in,
trust quiet as breath,
as if he already knows
that the world is easier to face
when a father’s steadiness
is close enough to touch.
There is no need for words.
Love moves in the small distances~
the space between two hands,
the tilt of a shoulder,
the soft gravity that pulls
one life toward another.
On Father's Day
what matters most
is not the weight of legacy
or the echo of a family name,
but the simple truth
that a child stands taller~
when a father stands near.
ENTHUSIASTIC AMATEUR
I am lying here trapped and need some assistance,
And all because of my husband’s persistence.
“You don’t have to buy any bookshelves,” he said.
“I’ll purchase some timber and build them instead.”
I had some misgivings but he was so keen
That I thought to refuse him would seem rather mean.
He took his tape measure and measured the wall
And said it would take him no time at all
He fitted the roof rack onto the car
And drove to the woodyard, which wasn’t too far.
When he returned he had planks bright and new
And a big box containing wood screws and glue.
I helped him unload it and brought it in doors,
Then he went to the garage for hammers and saws.
An electric drill and connecting cable
And he spread them all out on the dining room table
I heard sawing and drilling and snatches of song
Interspersed with some curses, four letters long.
I wasn’t convinced that he knew how to do it,
But I made myself scarce and just left him to it
Seven hours later he emerged with a grin
And, taking my hand, he invited me in.
I looked in amazement at what he had built.
All perfectly level, no sign of a tilt.
I started to stack my books, one-by-one,
Still hardly believing how well he had done.
After book twenty-four, came an ominous sound
And I suddenly found myself pinned to the floor
Although the bookshelves were seven feet tall,
He’d forgotten to screw the things back to the wall.
So I’m lying here trapped and in need of assistance.
And all because of my husband’s persistence
18th June 2020
Write a poem about Enthusiasm contest
Sponsor - Caren Krutsinger
Her hands on hips— arms as handles, steadying the frame,
anchoring her impatience, calmly controlling the game.
Her stance, composed, yet defiant, as disappointment shows,
in the tilt of chin, a scolding glare, a brace to enclose.
She lets the tempest flare and roar, then quells the rage,
with her body commanding and coaxing - to persuade and assuage.
Her love keeps no ledger of what's been done right and wrong.
Her will, steadfast, long-lived, enduring, reliant and strong.
An eyebrow raised, a glance, a glare, can make bravado bend.
Her posture speaks before her tongue, calling disquiet to end.
I absorbed the image, beyond capture—it slipped into my soul like a summer rain,
Saturated, it became an eternal murmur, my eyes see only a zoetrope of time,
All voices sing the same refrain: "what a wonderful day," as hope unravels its rhyme.
I'm sorry to be negative—I didn't choose this role in life's play,
I'll hide the burden, that's my aim—to stop time's dance,
To freeze the frame, distract myself from the guilt pressing like a heavy stone.
I could immerse in the senses—lying roses stand near,
Just a tilt of the head and melancholy would vanish like a dream,
Let me turn back, observe, become part of this scene.
I could choose a rose, pluck it, summon the curse of thorns,
Let the thorns cut me, bleed, take the chain from my neck and be free.
In this image I'm trapped, can't you see? Caught between four corners,
I look through the lens: no way out, just a maze of shadows and lights,
An impassable border, I just need to escape, see the scene clear.
To step forward, leave behind the ugly backdrop, find the hidden set,
I throw you the camera, shout "catch!", let images crop, reveal the truth.
All that matters is for it not to be just in my mind, to become a dance of reality,
If I'm uncertain, I'll work with it—I'm still, not dead, but a searching soul,
Hell: I'll spin the wheel and be free, refraction: you no longer dictate my role.
Thunder echo's
Softly in the distance.
Hot is the twilight
Sheet lighting flickering in the velvet sky; high.
Strobe all in the sharp silhouette.
Black shapes...
Thunderheads; masses as the cloud build higher.
Darkness within its depth.
fire rages deep inside.
Tongues of hot furies lick, strike.
Plasma torrid and white dances...
While fingers of lighting stab the electric earth.
The air is charged...the heat is thick...
The coming storm heralds the cool winds of fall.
Rains lie suspended deep within its womb,
Waiting to burst!
The wind picks up and troubles trees to tilt.
Thunder rumbles in
Louder as it nears
Lighting flashes sliver slicing the air.
Wind rolls and the thunder rings
Suddenly fat drops of hot rainfall
Like gods crying for mortal fears.
Large tears fall...slow at first
Then faster hot and sharp
Hitting the dry dirt.
Carving rivers.
Cascade in waters builds and flow…
Waiting for the cooling winds of a coming frost.
Thunder echo…
Lighting flickers, and shadows everything.
Each silhouette: black and sharp!
As thunderheads mass and pass.
Feeling the rain wash away all…
THIS IS LOVE
If you had asked me three years ago what love was
I couldn’t have told you.
I knew what lust was
Long slim legs; an exaggerated cleavage;
A one-night stand.
But not love.
Then one day you walked into my life
And suddenly I knew.
Love is that thing my heart does,
Whenever you enter the room;
Love is the tilt of your nose, the blue of your eyes;
The curl of your hair, the smile on your lips
And the pride that I feel when I walk down the road
And they stare at the girl on my arm.
Love is the warmth between us
As we lie in our marriage bed,
And the heat of the passion it leads to;
Love is the peace of waking next morning
And finding you still there beside me.
Soon we’ll be three, as the new life inside you grows.
Then our joy will be complete
But, until then, my dear,
Love is simply… you.
2nd February 2021
What is Love Contest
Sponsor - Unseeking Seeker
Birds stop singing
This summer spring morn
The Son of God
His head forlorn
No need to tremble
The gardens scene
With men and angels
For friends look mean
Come they say see
The simple man
Hands together
With touch the plan
No need to listen
The whispers cry
For will not wishes
To live To die
Yet sparrows simple
And lilies tilt
Upon a rock
The riches built
Then look no longer
His feet His Side
With all or nothing
And there abide
With near and closer
A vision see
The man the moment
Upon a tree
For with His wisdom
He bore and kept
The few the faithful
With crosses yet
April
2019
Chill confines a diary of absence
as September keyholes a papered wall.
A smirk tears a face--escapee silence
--styles wall with nothingness, dead ends AWOL.
A bottle of spent wealth parlays about ...
tangled weaves justify the performance.
Pebble leather worships darkly, blacks-out
a ghosted pundit building blocks, mischance.
Cold fashions the well, tilt pour sands reserves.
Alas, pitched secrets facades of falsehood,
its prisoner scopes round a war of words,
sheathed arrogance knells myPhone, knock on wood.
Crinkled gone days lay ... flattery goes on.
Scrawled lines drown, looming voice curts; "My Dear John".
In times of impending demise, you might see your life being replayed across your mind. Sometimes it’s in fast forward, sometimes in slow motion, sometimes both at once. Life flashes in random order, constantly cycling in and out like an out of control tilt-a-whirl at the county fair. You’d think that with all those moments stuck on a playback loop that one would walk away with perfect recall of all the events. Not true. You can remember things like the first time you pooped in your diaper and that piece of Bazooka Joe bubble gum you pocketed when you were ten years old. Every detail, no matter how small or insignificant will come flooding back. But what the heck just went down, draws a complete blank.
when death feels certain,
life flashes by in seconds—
don’t regret the show