Long Track down Poems
Long Track down Poems. Below are the most popular long Track down by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Track down poems by poem length and keyword.
But later that night the girl tip-toed out,
And went down to the registry desk.
She picked up the ledger, poured through it all,
There was something that she had to check.
Back upstairs she went, content to wait
Her quarry had not yet arrived.
He loved was awake, and smiled at her
The kind the makes a man feel alive.
She smiled back and asked for his name,
She’d forgotten to ask in the rush.
He said ‘Clarence Stone,’ and out came her gun,
And she pointed it straight at his gut.
She said,’My name is Ellie-May Burton,
Sent out two months ago on this path,
To track down a Stone who ran to the west,
Hoping to escape our wrath!’
But he heard a catch in her harsh tone,
And in her gun-hand a slight shiver.
He couldn’t forget the warmth of her touch,
So one final chance her did give her:
He nodded and said,’Then fire away,’
With a coldness that made the soul quake.
The gun fell from her hands, and she lit out,
Running from the hotel without break.
Come morning he road, pointed northwest
Unnerved, but his decision remained,
To return to Kentucky and die in a feud
Was a choice not made by the sane.
In the bright prairie light a rider appeared,
A familiar woman on a mare.
She rode up slowly, face red form tears,
No weapon upon him did bear.
He moved closer slowly, hand on his gun,
But she said,’Clarence, there’s no need.
I’ve been thinking all night on what I’m to do
Of the future and of dark deeds.’
‘Of a good man who stood, fought by my side,
And put on a fine show in bed.
Yet my family demands, for forgotten crimes
That I put a bullet in his head.’
‘Perhaps it is best, what you’re doing now,
Riding out a free man to the wild.
To be ride of the hate that has put kin in graves,
Since the days when I was a child.’
‘They say that a woman needs a good man,
And the good men need themselves a wife.
I may not be so good, but I think you and I
Could ride out and build ourselves a life.’
Then she went silent, he waited and thought
Of the chances and of the risks.
But the pain in her eyes told the whole truth
She he rode close and planted a kiss.
They moved out at a trot, both realizing that
Amongst the worst you sometimes find the best,
And to this very day countless Burton-Stones
Are scattered all over the west.
Quick bold drums start out loud
Pounding out the terms of war
Race through the frantic jungle thick
Rhythms of pursuit take to the beat
Let the chase begin with heart in mouth
Track down the sun burnt frantic man
Stripped naked by his captives
They pushed him into foliage of the doomed
Now running through entanglements
Strangled in the vines for ancient crimes
Hate has no boundaries when not of the clan
Primal blood can not be satiated
Carbon men shoot long arrows, cannon fire from the camp
Small dark people with evil minds advance
Send the prey into unkind environments
To grounds and undergrowth with shouts
Demise looms on horizons mist for him
Already tortured from the womb
On pounding feet he bleeds while pressing through
In strange surroundings with open wounds
Shots ring out after the enemy make the naked prey
Lay eyes on him in day light with pure hate
Follow every footfall falling on the ground
The ugly trees take a couple of hits
Splinters fly out, shatter living wood, as their demise is sure
Old riffles and loaded guns come with the hunters
Limited only by so many bullets screaming through the trees
To kill their prey, to bring the head back intact
Numbers don't lie. Momentum is on their side
Why the man has gone missing is a mystery
A cause for strain with sweat and grimace
Small men with evil minds intent become confused
Bugs gather around the fugitive
Make configurations for a meal
Moving keeps him from them and their appetite
He runs in heat with fear and heavy lungs
Filled with humidity he breaths no peace
Keeping quiet requires concentration
The wind must cease to speak for silence
Hiding is a science
Snakes want more than the mosquito
No time to turn about or study wings or feet-less creatures
Insects survive by flying from disaster
He follows them into the swamp
Lives under water for awhile
A long hollow reed for breathing
Comfortable for a time with larva breeding
Tickling his frail and fragile body
There is nothing wrong with wanting to survive
Life, like bullets, fly by
Anxieties wake us up when we are in affliction.
We will track down a creative wellspring of motivation.
Obsolete ideas have flourished in objection.
Is it true that we back to the hermit turtle? Rejection.
Because of this paradox, our minds have stalled.
The truth and wonder of life itself are fancied.
We mutilate the magnet field to be hindered,
to act dishonestly, dear ravisher jumbled.
The preliminary went further than our expected hopes.
At first, we knew about our focus shifts and goals.
We were furrowed to clean and dissipated as realizes.
The ambivalence arises from the rivalry always.
Intelligible attention to uncovering last movement trance,
To yield aid and backing to handle away extravagance.
A fresh start to restore faith and sense general enhance.
No one has the ways to fulfill one's need for obedience.
Which allows for further graceful independence.
We have lost everything that made us at peace.
While being extracted by fire and photos of reminiscence.
The absence of human agony illustrates perchance.
Our spirits need all those complex rituals to redeem.
Do with careful expulsion to disintegrate the debased dream.
And bestow the blessing of unhindered wisdom.
As we progress in serenity, we retreat from a problem.
This has nothing to do with any other person's perception.
But, It helps to revive the implicit flame of passion.
A vision of a tear, once again, saves a lost creation.
A positive outcome permits understanding the resolution.
At last, fresh and neglected facts facilitate the retry.
While it appears to be that enhancements were lengthy,
The status consistently turns into absoluteness, genuinely
Coasting tranquility and freely, at that point consistently.
The unexpected impediment fills as one's template.
On earth, we are doing our walks, as well as communicate.
The earth is moving, however, holding an enigmatic aspect.
To sustain and become much further fortunate.
Written April 12, 2021
Where are we headed Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
We are lost cities finding reasons
to join our broken aspirations together,
a lost elegies uprooting tubers of yam planted by our forebearers,
dreams seeking for home and abode to abide by in the nexus of classism.
We've missed the track created by our ancestral ancestors in the dark days.
now, the light created by modernity hurt and hunt us through shame.
We keep running into the dire shadows,
Into hollowness, into races that named us betrayals & nothingness.
Race that track down our throats into splitting emptiness and sagging lips.
We lost between thigh of a lady,
Through the celestial eyes of women,
In between fingers of Delilah's make up.
Our name reek of bottles of wants and needs,
Our shadow duplicated in the thought of lost temples.
We printed the map of our cities in our mind eyes,
We foresee the routes of our helmet but we could not trace the fragment of it.
Home is the passport of dignitaries of righteousness and holiness.
Our kind minds the animation of this movie called life.
But the thoughts of leaving our shadows
To places where survival and existence
Are two starved fishes - wrestling under water is our fears and doubts.
Our bodies are home of sluts finding reasons to live!
Our minds are carved memories
our legs have created more pains than the rebellious act of Boko Harams.
How do you name boys like us when you place more values on baby girls?
You said we were stronger and you left us to find freedom,
musical notes of songs which is to be
Sang by boys who grew into men
Gulping crooked waters- for strength
We were the origin
Of those unclad boys rejected.
We seek for the way to retrace our way into future built before us.
.
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent
For those not familiar with Banjo Paterson's poem LOST you may like to read it first to
understand the sequel below. You can find it at
http://www.uq.edu.au/~mlwham/banjo/lost.html
He stood by the pepper tree down by the stream
and his eyes were cast down at the mound,
the hurt in his heart, which he’d carried for years,
now displaced by the peace he had found.
The promise he'd made to himself years ago
he'd fulfilled as he'd promised he would
and the daughter and grandson he'd lost years ago
lay together as he'd deemed they should.
He’d known that the filly was vicious, strong willed,
but the lad was so wilful and game.
He’d only gone down to the two mile that day,
still he failed to return all the same.
His mother searched tirelessly all through the night
and for days rode the ranges in hope.
But sadly she pined and she faded and cried,
till her small frame could no longer cope.
He lay her to rest ‘neath the pepper trees’ shade
and he vowed to his God and to her,
he’d search for the bonnie, young, winsome lad’s bones
till the ranges declared where they were.
He too was determined to track down the mare,
that now ran with the ranks of the free,
but pledged in his heart he would have recompense
for the bones ‘neath the ironbark tree.
Year in and year out the old man rode the range
and he searched every gully and ridge.
Astride his old grey with his packhorse in tow,
he forged on with his bold pilgrimage.
At times he would sight the wild mob and the mare,
but they sensed the man’s presence and fled.
Though filled with a will to win out in his quest,
the old man set his course straight ahead.
CONTINUED
Diana, Nature’s Guardian
Defending purity, virtues, by preordained, destine.
With faithful diligence I oversee all life that’s birthed.
Celebrating nature as its radiant guardian
Fulfilling life’s desire with independent strength girthed.
I am Diana, Goddess of hunting wild animals.
Protector of the natural world both domestic and wild,
Camels, beetles, jackals, deer, hogs, flowers, myrtles, squirrels -
All in my magical care live wonderful lives beguiled.
Fertility and childbirth, my responsibility,
Accomplished spontaneity living, functioning well.
Reflecting light among the beasts with great nobility.
An accomplished war-like goddess guarding while lives impel.
Hunting dogs track down their prey; fearful deer run. I am there.
Staying in the midst of them observing, balancing, and keeping.
Preying is part of life’s design sustained with greatest care.
Plants and animals live mortal lives wisdom possessing.
Plundering men cause great concerns that must be soon resolved.
Wreaking havoc here on earth, plowing jasmine, balm, mugwort,
Destroying creatures, felling trees, habitats requiem.
Man must change his wasteful ways to prevent my last resort.
Mother to the animals I recycle elements.
Wildlife conservation thrives, careful awareness acting.
Take heed ravenous plundering men, lest my anger vents
And another species takes your place, last choice exacting.
You can find me in my sacred place among quiet oaks.
Cherishing my own chastity, purity makes me swoon.
Walking in my natural world hearing each frog that croaks.
Living flawless beneath God’s sun, reflections from the moon.
© August 1, 2010
War is Obsolete
by Michael R. Burch
Trump’s war is on children and their mothers.
"An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind." ? Gandhi
War is obsolete;
even the strange machinery of dread
weeps for the child in the street
who cannot lift her head
to reprimand the Man
who failed to countermand
her soft defeat.
But war is obsolete;
even the cold robotic drone
that flies far overhead
has sense enough to moan
and shudder at her plight
(only men bereft of Light
with hearts indurate stone
embrace war’s Siberian night.)
For war is obsolete;
man’s tribal “gods,” long dead,
have fled his awakening sight
while the true Sun, overhead,
has pity on her plight.
O sweet, precipitate Light!?
embrace her, reject the night
that leaves gentle fledglings dead.
For each brute ancestor lies
with his totems and his “gods”
in the slavehold of premature night
that awaited him in his tomb;
while Love, the ancestral womb,
still longs to give birth to the Light.
So which child shall we murder tonight,
or which Ares condemn to the gloom?
Originally published by The Flea. While campaigning for president in 2016, Donald Trump said that, as commander-in-chief of the American military, he would order American soldiers to track down and murder women and children as "retribution" for acts of terrorism. When aghast journalists asked Trump if he could possibly have meant what he said, he verified more than once that he did. Keywords/Tags: war, terrorism, retribution, violence, murder, children, child abuse, Gandhi, Trump, evil, drones, USA, military, terror, horror
I’m going to each of my suitemates' rooms. One at a time, methodically. I pause, for dramatic purpose, until I have their full attention. Once I have it, I rushingly, excitedly, breathlessly say, “I’M getting pizza later, for the GAME!” Like a seven year old child.
Now, my roommates KNOW we're ordering pizzas later. They’re all “on board,” everyone’s submitted their order and venmo’d their money to Sunny who will actually place the order for delivery at 5:30 pm. But I’m excited. I LOVE pizza (and American, NFL football) and I love being childish.
My roommates, like my brother, sister and parents before them, know this and love my manic, overactive way of excising tedium. Besides, I won’t do this more than once or twice - ok, maybe three times today before the pizza comes.
Since you’ve read this far - allow me to opine, for a moment, about “self restraint.”
Have you read about how they’re using familial DNA to solve old cold-case murders? I think they should use familial DNA to track down whomever it was that invented self restraint.
It was probably some old Protestant. I mean, Catholics only have sin - it’s yes or no - binary. So without researching it (at all), I think we’re dealing with someone born after the protestant reformation of 1555 - but I’m flexible.
Anyway, they should track that person down, dig them up, beat them with a stick, and then rebury them, in unhallowed ground.
I hate self restraint. It’s so.. restraining. #restraintsux
*I said my roomies “love” my mania but truthfully, I’ve done no hard research
Donut People
Not all donut people are large or police or thieves
Nor are they thin, eating only greens and leaves and vitamins
Or exercising on the side of reasons muscularity
All this takes time to digest of course
Another hole, another donut down
Finding the criminal intent within is not a sin
Each and every calorie must be accounted for
According to health reports and other sources
Sugar particles find their way to court
Another bite out of crime….(but what about the obvious holes in this story?)
Public opinion is all about perception and what went down
All energy and money spent takes time to digest as well
To track down lost donuts, confections imperfections
Bring it to just desserts and deliciousness of justice
Our dedicated police will not sleep on just one donut
Their job has just begun
All citizens of our fine town
Can rest assured…. (So let them sleep)
Why!...Some of my best friends are donuts…(the mayor shouts.)
There is nothing wrong with that
Knowing one is out there unconsumed….
Leaves donut people too confused
Children are donut people too
They eat them all, run back for more….Poof!.....They’re gone
Confectioner’s confess and conjecture
Did girls and boys steal or simply borrow them?
Dusting off sweet powder and tiny prints of suspects
Leads to one conclusion
Convictions are in order for any one large or small…mostly small
When donut snatchers perpetrate such crimes
Donut people have their rights to eat in peace
Protected from crumby children who steal their treats
There are some things that I should say to you
But I just can’t find the words
They keep running from tongue
And avoiding all my thoughts
And I’ve got to find a way, to say… you are…
Well you are…
The words that I can’t find
And the feelings I don’t know
But I’ve got to find a way… to show…
That I can never let you go
Until I find the words, to say…
You are... Well you are……
You are the rain that hits my roof
And sings me back to sleep
You are my strength to rise again
When I’ve fallen to my knees
You are the warmth that comforts me
When the cold has made me weak
And still these words they don’t explain
All the things you are… well you are….
So I try again to say these things
That I should say to you
To track down the words and bring them to their knees
And let them flow across my lips
So you can finally see, to me… you are…
Well you are…
The words that I can’t find
And the feelings I can’t show
But I’ve got to find a way… to show…
That I can never let you go
Until I find the words, to say…
You are... Well you are……
You are the rain that hits my roof
And sings me back to sleep
You are my strength to rise again
When I’ve fallen to my knees
You are the warmth that comforts me
When the cold has made me weak
And still these words they don’t explain
All the things you are… well you are….