Long To that Poems
Long To that Poems. Below are the most popular long To that by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long To that poems by poem length and keyword.
* This poem almost cost a college student his enrollment, as he plagiarized it for his final exam, (the highest form of flattery they say) … I begged them not to expel him, though they made him call me and gave him community service. I was rather flattered by the whole thing, as I’d only been writing a couple of months. *
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I be a common salty once
no captain's bars, did bear
yet blessed was I to venture
where few a skipper dared
from crow's nest high aloft, I saw
those bright coast beacons wink
thru biting spray's December gale
what shoals and reefs would sink
for countless days I rocked atop
that oaken spar’s good length
as wake and skies conveyed my eyes
Lord Neptune's sullen strength
aye, busy dogs, the mates and jacks
bent hard while tasked below …
as toward the sky, a glass to eye
my post waved to-and-fro
first was I to e'er spot land
my voice, the first to yell -
first to sight a skull and bones
loud-clanged that warning bell
"thar she blows!" was oft' my cry
if spied foamed breach, had I
and "friend or foe?!?" the query barked
when strange sails cleaved the sky
but moments to becalm my soul
as swells tick-tocked the time
were star-filled nights, a bullion moon
and the phosphorescent brine
the darkest times were battlements
when the ship groaned with its might
but never dark, those eventides -
sea and vault - awash with light!
quite rare it was to find this tar
midst the deck or down below
and rarer still would I abdicate
my realm there, high the crow …
well, I'm adrift on shore now
with ol’ brittle bones and gray
yet in this lubber's mind I’ll still
climb masts to watch … and sway
I bounce wee kin on knobby knees
and spin them my swabbie tales -
St Elmo's Fire and scorching skies
fierce battles, storms, and whales
and when sweet angels task me
to that dark and heav'nly crow …
I'll bend gaze to my looking glass
and give a hearty … "tally-ho!"
Sweet sublime
the taste of an oyster
strange cold and true
like drinking sea water but not being sick
being lifted up
A lime...tart and chilled...in liquid dipped
and it dives
then lifts me up...I feel lighter
a hot water shower...such comfort
is truly one...a child's gift of sublime
Give me lemons and limes
give me oysters and little neck clams
give me raw tuna and salad and ice cream
give me life!
That I can not argue with you about anything that went before
make me breath
in simple pleasures
bread oven warm with butter
and a dash of salt or served with Italian true deep green olive oil
give me white napkins and music...Italian...or French or Sinatra
music playing ...sweeping me
Give me Opera lifting questing searching striving attaining height
lift me up with lighting...
the suns cast at end of day
sideways glances...illuminating the bushes...the greens
the shadows it casts
chairs become monuments to time when someone sat there and a mere limb on a tree become symphony
rescue me with grace and glory...simple and little and priceless
let me remember always the smell of coffee downstairs
that a friend has made
in my decadent leisure of sleeping in
when I was meant to serve...to get up and make coffee that they could wake to that scent
Give me friends...beautiful kind friends who spot you
wake you...give a coffee scent to... hope of today
when your soul is just too tired to wake
your body to beaten to rise and you just desperately need a reason to rise
"fall down 7 but get up 8"
...But now that the truth of all was revealed,
and no future was awaiting our kind,
I looked on my life’s work, now meaningless,
and a notion entered into my mind.
If creation was a pantry for them,
if our souls were what gave these monsters life,
then fighting them meant taking this away,
we couldn’t win, but we could bring the night…
So I turned to that old scifi chestnut,
of nanotech turning all to grey goo,
self-replicating machines seeking matter
to build more of themselves, nanobots new.
It was once a fear that we all dreaded,
but since we were all doomed to face our ends,
I wrote the program, then turned the bots loose,
and I went to the grave laughing, my friend.
Since before I died, I bought a rocket,
one of those private ones built for small sats,
sent a small cloud of bots out into space,
out of earth’s orbit, to begin their task.
Now you probably wonder how I can speak
of these things when the gods consumed my soul,
it’s simple, I copied my mind in full,
in every nanobot I’m in control.
Earth was the first, and it surprised these gods
when whole planet was reduced to goo,
nothing left alive that they could feed on,
they had to leave Earth, no more could they do.
But all of the bots I launched to the void
scattered so slowly throughout time in space,
consuming all matter, including life,
leaving nothing for the gods’ dinner plate.
The best of all, I get to see it,
see them all panic as the truth sets in,
watching an immortal bemoan their end…
is so delicious it must be a sin.
To be killed by what they once created,
given all the myths, I guess that’s fitting,
there’s not much life left, I’ve still work to do,
and those bastards are already starving…
There is an expectant hush,
a kind of full-term birth.
The baby will be a green child,
leaves will be its hair,
its eyes will be green pools of light,
deep yet bright,
its limbs both roots and boughs.
It will know not conflict or strife,
only growth and blossoming,
fruitfulness and efflorescence.
It will be our child,
born from a love of life,
but hush,
we will need to hide it
from the death dealers,
conceal it for a little while,
then exiled,
escape to that legendary Egypt,
a symbolic land
where astrological temples
proclaim the green hearts
of cosmic progenitors,
those that once seeded this earth.
Listen now
with your evergreen soul,
harken,
for even to this day,
they watch and wait.
our coming inheritance
lest
we forget
salvation
all of God
we recollect
marvel
in wonder love&praise
atonement
covered
by
transforming grace&
blessing
thought
emotion
mind
will&imagination
to
climax&conclude
our
ever present reality
the
promised new life
of
maturity progess&tenure
the very
fabric
to loyally obey
the call
of divine revelation
an unchangeable teaching
statutes of divine origin
rules for every day living
to keep us clean&pure
in the chosen
place
of
fundamental truth
a treasured possession
in His
open hand
our open
heart
ordained in His name
a
once-for-all
redemption
a Holy Spirit
empowered
provision
safety
'til our homecoming
to that great
gathering
to come
A permanent fixture on the news
over here on the BBC
Is the Refugee Crisis so much so
it may just as well be given it's own
individual segment
And the general running theme throughout
is how we aren't seemingly doing enough
for them
Or treating them in the way or in the matter
they are accustomed to or were expecting
due to according to their human rights
But given that they come here uninvited
without any form of official documentation
and as a country we are struggling to provide
for our own
And yes i know what I am about to say
will be deemed by some as not being
politically correct or unemphatic
But whatever happened to that little
thing called gratitude towards your host
and not complaining about everything
and everything and nothing being good
enough
But hey then again I have to stop
and remind myself
They are all refugee's and asylum seekers
Wanting nothing more that just to flee
political repression human rights abuse
and the war raging in Calais France
And are willing to do whatever it takes
to escape and get here even if that means making the treacherous perilous
23 mile journey across the channel to
England in a rubber dinge
And put not only their own lives in danger
but their children's lives at risk as well for
want of a better life
And how bad must thing's be in
Calais France if none of them even
wanted or wished to stay
But it must have been worse than
whatever reason or place made them
escape or leave in the beginning
And obviously England according to the
news accounts coming out reported by
the BBC
Ain't much better either
I fold myself into smiles I don’t feel, like paper carefully hiding the truth,
I walk hallways as if I’m not slowly melting into the shadows of silent walls,
I nod in conversations as if I’m truly listening, but in reality,
I’m just trying to remember what it was like to breathe without apologizing for every breath.
The mirror knows my real name, the one made of sighs and unanswered messages,
I call for help in invisible ways, through silences and through “I’m fine”s that scream softly,
And on some days, getting out of bed feels like an impossible task, as if I’m dragging the moon behind me,
The moon with its dying light, in an effort to bring night into day.
But still, I’m here, not strong, not brave, just present in this fleeting moment,
And maybe that means something, maybe the simple fact of being here is a beginning,
Maybe my existence in this world of shadows and lights is a form of courage,
And in my silence, in my fragile smiles, there is a truth that only I know.
And so, I continue to exist, to breathe, to be, searching for my path through passing days,
In a world that asks me to be someone else, but I keep my name written in whispers,
Remaining true to that part of me that refuses to be lost in anonymity,
And perhaps that’s all that matters, to stay here, to continue to be myself.
Bazookas In The Bed
We have a mosquito problem
It’s in our house. It never ends
There’s nothing we can do but shoot them
Then shoot them over and over again
You see…You understand…They’re not our friends
Potions, tonics, sprays all make them happy
It gives them strength to multiply
We’re looking to make their lives less comfy
Less pleasant less satisfied
It’s not from animus or hate
Shells and ammo is the case. It’s simply fate
And to that end
I stay up late at night and wait
7 bazookas by my side and sights are ready
And from my bed in the deepest dark
I fire at will! I fire straight!
The idea is not to simply kill them
Though that would be so very great
But to make them really really dead
With bazooka fire power from my bed
He welds and melts, pours and molds
In his "Conversations with My Soul"
He smooths the rough steel of syllables
Into a "Portrait" graced by his "Play on Words"
Unrolling "Scenes from a Countryside" to "That Starry Night"
Whether "October Skies" or "In November" "Moonlight"
So, "If Ever I Don't Know"
which way my adjectives should go
when wandering "A Starry Galaxy"
I follow the "Sinuous Melody"
To cross the river and climb the boulder
While tapping "Gently on the Shoulder"
He finds summer in "A Piece of Winter"
As a friend, brother and mentor
He is welcoming, and when reading your poem
His comments are "To You Alone"
And if you come to say
"I Needed Wings Today"
He will weave lines in a "Distinct Ballet"
As if "It Came Upon a Prophecy"
And not from some stifled "Academy"
Dear John, please continue to "Compose"
Even when "Getting Old is Getting Old"
Without your gift
We are "Too Soon Bereft"
The "Verbal Miracles" you perform
Show how "All of Life is a Poem"
You have been my friend
my artistry sibling,
"And I Am Grateful".
12/20/23
The immortal flame on a cold and frozen night
Guide our lives through fire earth and ice,
To the unknown depths consume in the light,
We feel the warmth and comfort in Christ.
To offer ourselves up unreservedly to that power
And wield the weapons concealed within,
which allows one to defeat infested terror
by the glint that draws the radiance in.
Against innumerable noise and propeller voices,
That revolves around you, filled with the life of fire
Friends, in their loneliness, making you speechless,
And becoming the pure air for a ruined heir.
This immortal flame I can see in my awakening
Arising from the darksome shade into my dream.