Long Timorously Poems
Long Timorously Poems. Below are the most popular long Timorously by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Timorously poems by poem length and keyword.
"In life, grief outweighs joy and laughter is an interlude between two sighs."
~By Poet~
Isn’t it sheer destiny that you and I were born,
In the endless flow of time as humans.
But we are here only for a short interval,
When death calls, we leave the stage ending the show.
As peace is an interlude between two wars
Life is an interlude between birth and death
The moon that fades after lighting the night,
The sun that sets after warming the day,
The flowers that wither after feasting the eye,
Obliquely announce that life is an interlude.
Love once flourished may fade and die.
Trees towering high may fall and rot.
Rivers that swell can dry up once.
The same is true of our life on earth.
At times we soar on wings of joy.
At times we drown and are deep in grief.
Does it not remind us of a vital truth,
That life on Earth can never be the same.
We are travelers on this wild terrain,
Heading timorously towards an unknown goal,
Ever tossed by the vicissitudes of life,
Fated to partake evenly of smiles and tears.
Know that all the paths we tread along,
Finally converge on a single spot.
At the tomb, we just pause awhile,
To resume our journey to lands beyond.
All that counts is how well we lived,
And not how long we have been here.
So, mend your life as your conscience directs.
Bridge the gap between words and deeds.
ENOUGH!
I felt deaf from the ‘noise’ of information,
constantly butting, buzzing against my mantra of:
“The quieter you are… the more you… hear!”
At present, my lifestyle felt media manipulated:
tv, radio, newspaper, mobile, computer.. ad infinitum!
Besieged by endless emails, monopolizing mobiles,
beset by frenzied yaps from apps!
Enough is enough is….. ENOUGH,
I have to escape from the unrelenting hullabaloo.
Can the human brain endure so much information
and who am I, an individual thinker or group dancer?
However, relief sat just around the corner
as next morning I boarded the flight to Reykjavik.
A three-hour taxi journey with a taciturn islander,
people and communication diminishing by the mile
until finally a twig of a boat out to Ellidaey Island.
Boating and bobbing towards the uninhabited …hideaway,
an isolated jigsaw piece of land
off the southern coast of Iceland,
I appraise a small-boned building clinging to its side
with ‘RIDICULOUS’ scribbled all over it.
Someone had said Iceland was a niceland
where you could float free, peace and tranquillity!
But someone hadn’t warned me about…Mr Loneliness
Who was soon tapping me sharply on the shoulder.
So here I sit, three days into my week’s stay
in the island’s lodge, dubbed the world’s loneliest house,
where the only neighbours are passing ships and puffing puffins.
No internet, no tv, no electricity, no running nor strolling.. water
just remote, alone and contemplating my countenance
while wondering if God is lonely too!
Suddenly, clouds bump and bruise against each other
as they race away before the darkness snarls in.
Soon, night has sent in its stormtroopers
who land and splinter into shadow groups
while wind angrily sprints up to the house
bombing it with blockbuster punches.
Then rain happily joins in, machine-gunning the house
until the building begins to stagger and stumble.
I check my face and it is still in the same place
but I sit timorously trembling, tyrannised and terrified
while my eyes follow the house’s dimly lit path
as it wags its tail to the cliff’s edge
and jumps into the void of darkness.
But this poem is a broken wrist, with a twist,
as suddenly, my bones brittle and inside myself…..I faint!
What possibly could happen now?
But there it is..
the knock at the front door!
Ian Souter
*Image of Dr Mikhail Tyaglyy
AUDIO version for the vision impaired.
Dr Mikhail Tyaglyy
Go, young man,
and conciliate cravings,
menacing palls the cherished
realm. Shelves are left barren
for frantic looks, as aisles
reload a virtuous plunge of
cobwebbed books, decaying
prints accolades of vice barren
save one issue ...
record stamped BUNKER.
Youths immersed
in causality and confidence,
protest keeps step as discord
spreads outward.
Mein Kampf now theirs,
whimsical misfits and loose
ends, melee erupts as age and
gender are trivial.
Young Romanis heed,
while zeal enlivens heels
as a body passes by,
in lieu of a gurney --
a wheelbarrow suffices.
Cadaverous festers,
for the emboldened few,
dare pierce opacity,
glimmers flit defiant palls,
as capricious spells
law books are easily tainted,
usurpers once blind,
struggles timorously
in their judicial robes.
If e'er survivors
from off the streets,
perchance a hearing,
they'll hear an echoing
in the silent courtroom,
'tis the calm ere the
storm, calamity on
trial, as justice for the
dead is made more dead
than death itself.
50s long gone bigotry kept
Santayana periods of disorder
a bedlam of societies rise
aphoristically said,
"Those who cannot remember
the past,
is condemned to repeat it".
~~a floor lies hope, shift ends, dustpan waits a couple more years.
2022 July 29
*1st Place*
Dr. Mikhail Tyaglyy
~~Joe Maverick: Judged 2022 July 31
Old beds reinventing themselves
as hammocks for the distilling
of sweat and foam
into an archive of dreams.
Sprung mattress’ sag like spavined camels,
or twist days and nights together
into sheets stuffed with mental laundry.
Some beds have fallen comatose,
they wilt like boneless owls
in slumbering hollows.
Beds keep their history recorded
in the brain-stems of a thousand bodily impressions;
beneath lumpy mattresses horror movies clump,
and pornographic images are laid
timorously to rest.
A young boy jumps up and down on his bed.
One day he jumps very high,
when he lands he is a teenager. By his side
a young girl (both),
not knowing what to do next, until the bed
begins to whisper to them.
As I walked into a family restaurant,
My nose got tickled all of a sudden
By a familiar aroma that entered my nostrils.
It transported me back to the years long past,
When I was a child at my far away home
In my mother’s kitchen on a Christmas day.
The smell of chicken stew and *‘appam’
And the intoxicating taste of steaming tea,
Raided my memory with deep nostalgia.
The spicy aroma of her kitchen still haunts me
And how I miss her culinary talents!
Amid this smell, pops up her smiling face.
When I catch such scent, how my mind runs to my mother.
Though she is not with me now, what sweetness is there
For those memories that tie me to my mother
And wish those smells should never fade away.
It gives me the feel that she is with me, so close.
When the smell of Jasmine wafts through the air,
It always brings memories of our first night,
When I timorously entered my husband’s room,
Carrying the delicate texture of a dream,
Lending romance to the still night.
His bewitching presence and endearing words,
Filtered down into my mind, making me feel
Both of us being lodged and lost in a fairy land.
When we mingled and melded into one,
In a spark emitting sensuous indulgence,
Never thought we would be together all these years
Drinking from the same cup, the bubbling wine
And the bitter, acidic potion of pain, alike.
Holding on to those honey dripping memories,
I re-live those heavenly moments.
Is it not strange that "memories buried
in the wavering wash of time" are stirred,
that lie ash laden when olfactory senses activate,
the neurons of our brain from time to time!
* Appam- a Kerala( Indian) delicacy.
Forever young, poised on the leaping edge of time,
the child essence that lives within,
age-creased the outer casing
where, paper thin, the skin grows old
and withers like spent leaves before the wind;
constantly renewed the inner stream of lightning grace,
fresh flowing from the all wise Father's life granting hand,
an exuberant miracle captured
in so small a vessel as the timorously beating human heart.
Thus inspiration comes, lightning quick, alive, forever new,
to prick imagination's wine skin, releasing a spring of creativity,
a birth, a miracle itself, a joint act with God,
the great giver of all gifts.
© September 17, 2015
Faye Lanham Gibson
I see him walking awkwardly
With faltering baby steps
A wizened shadowy figure
A man over eighty with an arching body
Carrying the carcasses of lost aspirations
He has seen thousands of auburn sunsets
Now timorously inching his way
Friendless, solitary and deserted
May be towards his final sunset,
Beyond which is utter darkness!
I see in him my aged father
A fellow pilgrim heading to a common destination
God speaks to me through his eyes
He has opened the door for me to a living light
I value him so much that I want
To make him feel loved and cared
Before the night darkens and he stumbles and falls
Let me hold his hand for a while
Be with him for some time
To brighten his world for a fleeting moment
Before he falls down dead
Before I am too weary to care
As I suture his wounds and apply a little balm
Over the scalding burns of his mind
If he feels, he is not alone, but with company
Oh sure, my heart will quiver
As an opening blossom of joy!
Jan.9.2023
~ Placed First~
The Way We Look Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Unseeking Seeker
We are travelers on this wild terrain
Heading timorously towards an unknown goal
Ever tossed by the vicissitudes of life
Fated to partake evenly of smiles and tears
All the paths we tread along
Finally converge on a single spot
At the tomb, we just pause awhile
To resume our journey to lands beyond
From the experience I have with life
I am able to download the great wisdom,
That all what counts is how well we live
And not how long we have been here.
So, mend your life as your conscience directs.
Bridge the gap between words and deeds.
Believe your heart knows what is best
It will show the route you should take
Faith and Hope together brightens life
But love is the magic key opening every heart!
April. 16. 2023
A Wisdom Download Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Unseeking Seeker
I was afraid.
The morsel of fear laid upon my finger
It laughed at my dismay
It was quick.
Leaping from my hand
To my carnivorous cave
It reminded me of home.
My moms warm garlic
mashed potatoes
Dancing around
Swirling with such soothing grace
It was peaceful, calming
It tasted like a buttery roll
A divine gift from the gods
Which fell gracefully upon my tongue
It timorously tumbled down my throat
Feebly and weak
I conquered it.
Then it sank its sharp fangs into my gullet
Causing my nostrils to flair
And my eyes to water
Its taste was deceiving
Mimicking its appearance
It was evil.
It thrashed around
and slowly finished sliding down my throat
But it was gone.
I rejoiced over the demise of my foe.
I conquered the unconquerable.
The shadow hides many pretty things,
but light is the chaser of the ugly darkness
as the desiderable sunlight shines on
persons and Nature alike!
Don't we all have:
a great necessity to seek a light,
however dim it may be...when it is frightfully dark
and roaring thunderstorms move on?
The shadow hides many pretty things
and wouldn't do any good if everyone didn't
suspect the harmful enemy
hiding behind it; the shadow,
unlike the soothing light,
is merciless and ungiving...hindering us
from reaching tomorrow!
No,we shouldn't gaze at it timorously,
but consider it an invisible evil,
which must not grow...
yes, shadows are indistructible...
if weakness overpowers us!