Long Tomb Poems
Long Tomb Poems. Below are the most popular long Tomb by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tomb poems by poem length and keyword.
In silence in dreams'
Projections, Returning, Resuming, I thread my way through my dreams;
The hurt and wounded, I pacify with a soothing hand,
I sit by the restless all the dark night,
Some so young, some suffer so much, I recall the experience sad.
Sad because a few had lived to tell the tale,
Sweet because I had to trust in a better world.
If I am to trust anything,
it led me to stars over the shadowless mountain.
What does it not remember in it's night and silence.
What does it not hope
Knowing itself no child of time.
I am faithful, I do not give out.
I had to hold my life in my hands as my ribs hold up my heart.
I had to let it open it's wings and fly among the gifts of the unknown.
'Twas a cold wintry day
the road was frozen white and gleamin'
a pale sun stood over the clouds
watching them float lazily by
in the corner of a street
on a flat stone, so to speak
sat an old man, bearded and bare
he is the sailor with the one-eyed look
Sat as straight as a ramrod, did he,
back to the blizzard, now astride
with fingers so numb, eyes dim to see
getting a ha'penny from a passer-by
tramps and urchins flocked at he,
told them stories of the seas, he did
with arms a'waving like sails, you see
a gleam of joy in his eyes show'd
For he'd been to the wars
sailing on the ships of Her Majesty
seen it all, he's did, and lived,
came back home to muffins and tea
t'was on the seas he lost an eye
plucked out in an enemy fight
wounded and left behind to die
but didn't, and now home and dry
Retired from Her Majesty's service, he'd
now homeless, helpless, this once proud sailor
left with neither coin, nor a roof over his head
forced to the slums, living out of the gutter
t'was a piteous sight to behold, fie it!
would'a loved to chomp on choicy bit
displayed in the streets like in mama's kitchen
but not for his palate, just to be seen
Then it came, one bright sunny day
oh, what a bliss from snow and hail
tramps and children, out to play
free from the fear of icy pain
but alas! no sign of the sailor
save a snowy effigy, and on it his comb
for while snow lasted, the snow tailor'd
a snowy covering on him; it was his tomb!
EarthMother sacred psalms
invoke reconstructive words
and loving deeds
With Her Sun of universal peace
and unitarian justice
for all living
forgiving CoCreation,
and not Just Us
Who are anything but Other
co-evolving meaning
within one truly sacred HolySpirit,
from biophilic womb
through necrophilic tomb
back to womb
sacredly again repurposing
secular mind embodied
static states of short-term health
relonging for ecstatic stirring
long-term wealth
Wherein even straight White male bodies
systemically appreciate more sustainable peaks
of win/win experience
unflat
unstraight
unwhite
unmale
empowering RightBrain wealthy
enlightening minds
Capable of meaningful passion
for purposeful
and cost-effective
religious passion
invoking sacred exhaled words
Inhaling intelligence
unstraight
unwhite
ecowomanist
warm wombing ways
Restoring Earth's natural justice
through nonviolently peaking communication
Invoking sacred speak experience memories
communing green
and blue
and even nonreactive red
Peace
Mind embodied purposeful
mental/spiritual
biophilic passions
conjoining healthcare
natural spirited
soulful timeless fashions.
A man once knelt beside a mirrored pool,
stared into the eyes of a faithless fool.
An empty soul who made a devil's pact,
to turn away from truth in search of fact.
With no light to shine on this troubled trail,
he then became lost, then slipped and fell.
Leaving all he knew for a promised lie,
he lived in darkness til the day he died.
Now all alone deep in his earthly tomb,
he ponders his choice of eternal doom.
He is kept awake from his peaceful sleep,
by the mournful hymns while the widows weep.
Sometimes he hears the sound of shovels scrape,
he knows another fool has sealed their fate.
3/10/19
I aver, an auspicious dark shadow(s) will zoom
as if birthed, sans starry eyed nebulous debris
across infinite fantastic space/time catacomb
constituting whirled wide web ringing Gaia's in utero
fallopian youtube from out cosmic podcast womb
closing gap 'twixt outer limits galactic blob
(traveling at hair reed greased lightspeed varoom
ming before twilight zone) as death spurt humanity
descends into black hole sun, sans linkedin kickstarting
permanent grim outlook, a buyer's market vudu boom
adrip oozing quasi ICE C, one trumpeting coxcomb
oblivious, asper whatsapp pining at edge of night,
whereby majority, viz remaining earthlings doth roam
tentatively ensconced in their "FAKE" Taj Mahal tomb,
awaiting rescue attempting, while lined against mushroom
supernova like explosion, each body just another brick
in human wall, where bribery paid to Johnny on the spot
if need arises to use gender neutral unisex restroom
unaware, while remains of day regarding third rock
from sun help at doggone woof lee warp speed loom
ming thru strung out dimensions, on par as (empire)
in final ejaculating decadent bacchanalian, foredoom,
when afar off (countless light years away), gloom
me salvation will soon be visited upon tattered tribes
prints in shining armoire constitutes developing
picture postcard poem, despite global darkroom
just like in the comix, an unassuming lgbtq migrant
rescues bedraggled human league more like village
people comprising bad company,
war ring MAGA Zion will resume!
Mother Earth, she weeps, but her tears are all in vain.
Men who seek profit and power will never feel guilt or shame.
What is happening to our world? Wake up and see what we have done.
The pollution that fills our air is now blocking out the sun.
We carelessly chop down our trees at such an alarming rate.
Nothing left to purify our air; is our existence left to fate?
Who will pollinate our plants when we kill off all the bees?
What will be left of our oceans when we contaminate all our seas?
Majestic animals that share our world, men track them down to kill,
Not for any particular purpose, they hunt them for the thrill.
Beautiful beasts that once roamed our lands free,
Reduced to decomposing carcasses hunted for a fee.
Our marine life is being poisoned by all our toxic waste.
Plastics dumped in mass for all our fish to taste.
Mountains of our garbage, in our oceans we do store,
Then watch in silence as the blood-drenched waves break angrily on the shore,
And with it, all the decaying corpses from once an abundant sea of the living,
A sea that kept us fed, a sea that kept on giving.
Without all these things, we cannot survive.
Each link has a purpose in the circle of life, and they keep us alive.
Our planet is our mother; we live in her womb.
She provides for all life; let's not make her our tomb.
Hurry, hurry we are burning daylight,
The flowers are wilting;
Mother was planting a cottage garden,
And we needed the right perennials;
Flowers durable, enduring, perpetual,
Oh sweet dreams of flowers;
This was a journey I shared with mother,
Daylight pours into this memory;
That I recall vividly.
Fragrant burning daylight day lilies,
Flowing emerald leaves;
Intense beautiful orange-yellow colors,
Trumpet shaped delicate soft blooms;
We set them in a sheltered location,
So attractive in the shade;
They also thrive in fields growing wild,
After mother died I took some;
Placing them at her tomb.
Darkness turns to daylight as I recall,
Mother's cottage garden;
Some tell me that I must let it go,
That all the time I spend grieving;
The less time I spend living my life,
But how dear to me the memory;
Of me and mother in her garden,
Planting burning daylight day lilies;
With petals that sleep.
_____________________
April 14, 2015
Poetry/Verse/Burning Daylight Day Lily
Copyright Protected, ID 04-666-612-14
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
For the contest, Burning Daylight,
sponsor, John Lawless, Judged 2015
Second Place
Destitute is the productive, empty lives
who Garner the plain
with heavy chains and a directive, pain.
Stone on stone they lay, the bedrock,
of their own, unheralded graves.
Each day a March of the little death,
terra-families in bondage to circumstance
until last breath.
Until Lifes taskmaster calls them asunder.
Until each ghosts the valley as a piece of it's render.
Rending afar into the forgotten memory
and silent voice of the landscape.
It being soul witness; sole attorney with a grimace,
to opine upon the court of the stars.
Ironic to be in the construction
of their own destruction,
of death in craftsmanship.
Servile-letting,
of whip, a chorusing,
coralling
into the building,
of the Tomb of another.
A demon king, Son of Sun basking.
Plumblined into their lives
as a heavier burden than stone.
Fortune-masking. Jeweled in fasting.
From the Valley of the Kings.
When they shall be. Redeemed. Everlasting.
The heart that is longing to natures chancing,
hearing the music the souls needed dancing.
Trees raised crowns towards the clouds as homage,
granting the request in tears as rain hostage.
Sublimity from loving spirit not being asserted,
tomb of worlds past and society diverted.
Precious vision to become empty of presume,
empty hearts reflected to recreate the bloom.
Wilderness in all so over-whelming,
mental expansion naturally mending.
Before the feet can reach that dwelling place,
imagine that sphere in all grace.
The silence of the heart wakes the whole creation,
natures moral principle before preparation.
Loving souls whom life has thrown apart,
destinies to separate and fulfilling a new start.
Lives ocean waves come to wake and leaving,
to solve in oneself the rhythms of pleasing.
Dying Democracy
Rulers are the lords of this land
Their Wishes and words are laws
Their own castle is their world
We are the unwanted creatures to them
They will come and they will praise us
Up to capturing their throne
Then we will become zero as usual
Your pen should not write and
Your tongue should not speak
Your hands should not rise
Against their walks and runs
Medias speak their fame and
Papers write their deeds
Cinemas exhibit their highness
We are only the audience to clap
There is a tomb in the center of the land
The Rulers They will come and honor
That is the day of Our Independence
Which is the gift of our toils and sacrifice.