Long Tracks Poems
Long Tracks Poems. Below are the most popular long Tracks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tracks poems by poem length and keyword.
Through shoeless feet I feel
The ground trembling
I thrust my fist into the air
And pump it up and down
The blast of the horn drives me back a step
I yell, but my voice will not rise above the beast’s roar
My heart’s beat begins to match the rhythm from the sound
Of its massive wheels and my head swoons as I watch the cars gently roll from side to side…Powerful and terrifying
It seems to lift me off my feet and pull me closer
I am afraid the steel monster will devour me
My legs will not let me back away
At last I see the bright red caboose
I wave my arms wildly and in answer
To my exaggerated welcome
A grey sleeved arm
Slips out the window
The gloved hand waves
The roar subsides
The trembling vanishes
On weakened knees
I cross the tracks
Always, always that light, that light
I can see it, see it, in the distance
But it's reaching it, reaching it
On getting there, am I existance
These tracks of life, tracks of life
Continuing, continuing, neverending
Uphill downhill, downhill, descending
On getting there, to comprehending
Always, always that light, that light
I can see it, see it, in the distance
But it's reaching it, reaching it
On getting there, am I existance
These tracks of life, tracks of life
Staggering, stuttering, stuttering
In deep deeper spiraling, spiraling
On getting there, I'm guttering
Always, always that light, that light
I can see it, see it, in the distance
But it's reaching it, reaching it
On getting there, am I
Written: April 1st, 2025 for contest sponsored by Brian Strand
********************
esoteric lines are etched
with antique ink
as wise men dither to think
euphoria blazes
as fresh perspectives bear flight
If wisdom tracks the dimming light
a solitary ember remains:
the elixir of life.
Unbreakable, this soul and I —
like a lake's unique fingerprint
inked to the ocean
striving for the stars to blaze
we will never falter;
heaven is a resplendent elysium
on this solid ground;
when thunder is the only sound
seraphic hosts remain unaware —
unsure of how to serenade me
Poetry transcends the words I penned
and verses left unspoken, unpenned
I cradled her heart as a cherished secret
too precious to reveal to the world
she embodies the essence
of the poem I aspire to write in my life
she adorned herself with my words
akin to celestial orbs
gently luminous, faintly shimmering —
crimson, cyan, citrine, spectrum, magenta —
a map leading to the starry nights
from which she emerged
unscathed from the storm
I draped summer
over her wintry sky
and portrayed love
over her hate and hoaxes
imagining tomorrow
over the anguish of yesterday
and when invited to paint the tapestry of my life
I engraved her name
on silken pastels
of breeze-kissed sand
bathed in nymph-like shimmer
hues of spectral mystique
sea glass encapsulated —
a choral rhapsody
weathered charms of jade, emerald
a frosted sheen
shaped by the ocean—
each jewel whispers to me
that even the broken can be reshaped
into timeless marvels
Sorrow is the outcome of sheer human weakness, and your brain is your most potent weapon.( By Poet)
Frost flaring fain azures
bloodshed still happening
deep yarns from the seabed
wary musings dumb way,
house forsook lacking dad.
Frost flaring fain azures
basic way of zest here
There is thirst to owe more
greed's pang seeks its vengeance,
leeway in one's whole core.
Frost flaring fain azures
pane in world's breaths and spells
but thaw the blaze that shines
on the tracks prime to zen,
yet they gaze at feigned shrines.
Frost flaring fain azures
each one can grasp the truth
the heat's hoary brightness
Induce us with its hand
In a glove openness.
Written: April 5th, 2022
1st place contest winner
Checked by: HMS.COM
Form M - Monchielle - New Poetry Contest
Theme: Death
Sponsor: Constance La France
"Cerberus Uncorrupted"
Every day I go to that box ...
at the top of the page,
left side, upper
its entry reads:
“What are you looking for?” -
waiting for an entry…
the brain presses a full stop,
the fingers hover and ripple
like a maestro leading a chorus
the fingers tap dance
poetically buying time
the heart tracks,
its silent voice speaks
piercing the suffocating silence
"the ability to read
what is meant to be read
front and centre, after all...
is said, and done"
the vision sits still in front of me
like a quaint loyalty and a strong desire
to understand it all
the innocence
of a mind uncorrupted
wide open
to the Light
that opens a heart
viscerally corrupted
waiting to be loved
waiting to be patted
the sun always setting
the sun always rising
calls unsilently
to me
Candide Diderot. ‘24
" ... "Do you love me yet?" Cerberus said..."
Sharon Osbourne, Short :
"Today my dog and I went to the beach and I caught her taking it all in"....
(this is the video you need to watch).
Those hills were pretty steep.
Those tracks were pretty long.
The mountains that we meet.
When we try to get along.
The road goes from smooth to rough.
The altitude closes in.
The questions we ask of us.
Sometimes the answers seem so thin.
Now we have to find a new direction.
We have to find a way.
They want us to give in.
But that gamble for them will not pay.
New mountains we have to climb, just to see the sky as blue.
New faces come into our lives, to you it could be me, to me it could be you.
We’ve lost something deep within and our instincts will start to wane.
But for the loved ones that we’ve lost, our journey forward will not be in vein.
The black slurry sound of coal lifted by a shovel
As it enters the locomotive mouth of fire
Consumed in flames as well on dark gray days
Is advised and necessary for movement forward
In any event the heat and cold are secondary
To other pressing matters of formal conversation
Not worth mentioning as life goes off the rails
Carriages slip into oblivion when leaving the tracks behind
With snow no longer pushed aside, blindly from side to side
No longer facing horizontally as trains are known to go
Coaches fall and with them people's laughter
Vertical movement seems peculiar at times like these
Locomotion in the snow in total free fall seems obscene
Passengers did not sign up for going off the bridge
Surely a refund is in order when disappointed
Ending in ravines was not foreseen
Not exactly the adventure anticipated for this ride
Certainly not the destination they surmised
We are sure the engineer will have an explanation
If he and others should survive
Written: May 06, 2025 for contest by Edward Ibeh
*************************
Like kernels, the day's enigmas start to unfold,
The green folk are still waiting, eager to corrode.
The creaks of a shaky bridge echo pain and despair,
Connecting the shining heights where flows the air.
A vibrant veil of violin weaves, with fiery flares bright,
As the bus rolls by, mourners gaze at fading light.
It appears that diligence fails to become a hero
Signs may lead us to Rome, yet destiny is Nero.
Let's begin our journey to reclaim Rome,
To restore sovereignty of our cherished homes.
Everyone rallies behind me in this quest.
Yet home builders destroyed bluebird's nest.
Gather your steeds and your weapons,
Steer clear of the roots of Agropyron repens.
We engage with the tasks at hand,
Weaponless, knock on doors, striking with firm stand.
A prosperous goal feels like a distant dream.
Greed drives man, hope and desire fuel the scheme,
Until he clings to the fragile bridge suspended high,
Stretched over an abyss where destruction lies nigh.
Rome wasn’t built by mere artistry or lore,
Nor by tales sung to Babylon’s god, Marduk of yore.
Chaldean Dynasty measured the world in degrees,
While at Napoleon’s Circle, first trapeze swayed with ease.
The icy chains bind the Scythian main,
Once inhabited by barbarians on the eastern plain.
Watch as homes with cracked walls slowly decay,
In trendy townships, where clay fills the hallways.
Silent nights scream, a pale face turned to the wall,
Men forget the pain, and that becomes their downfall.
We labor with crimson lips that pulse with each kiss,
Longing for cold, clasping arms that we sorely miss.
Mourners depart, unraveling the chain,
Sadly, the dead linger in our souls to die in vain.
For memory flickers like a flame, it rises and goes,
Sinking in human light, grief swells in woes.
Cross the Rubicon with us, liberate those in need.
Are you with us in this noble cause, fellow friends indeed?
Unless we’re overwhelmed by terror, there’s no turning back.
Join us as we march to safeguard the areas and their tracks.
Sitting down in a local coffee shop, I see many people speaking and working on stuff that may never be valuable or valid for any medium. Especially, when all of the conversations take place in different mediums. Mostly, you can hear the words fly from their keys.
Take a stroll with me
The girl in the corner is trying to be an advocate for some woke rubbish after she is called a miss and not neuter person!
Oh poor baby! Are your feelings hurt? I don’t care! It’s time to grow up!
The guy in front of her is doing the same thing
Both of them should be silent and be appreciative that they were acknowledged
Too many liberties are given to fools that only focus on trivial matters instead of true problems that arise.
Where are the people that speak up against the true social injustices of the world?
Where are the people that would speak about gender, job, age, and religious discrimination?
Now people are talking about their feelings and why others should care!
This all occurred before I came into the coffee shop as middle schools were starting to waste valuable time with pointless exercises that spoke about feelings. Instructors would waste class time doing a constant rehearsal of one movement for twenty minutes. If you cannot figure out the routine then figure it out on your own time before class. Rehearsal is meant for rehearsals and not for practice.
On the screen of another person they are watching laugh tracks that have no substance. The barista is asking for the details of each order.
Sitting down in a coffee shop while being on social media is now a different form of socialization. Where are the people that spoke to one another in a social physical circle?
People of sacred Cornucopias
found ourselves politically alone
competing to survive
in Earth's choking climates
of totally domesticated and over-run despair,
then neglect,
then more actively terrorizing abuses.
Corn People,
PolyCultural Planners,
greeting Yang-behaving bean bodies
growing up and into our digestive tracks
and tracts,
our speaking parts,
to sing like tassels
our Divine Corn and humane Yang-beanish ego-rising lines
of harmony
co-arising nondual Earth anthems
of graceful GreatSpirit incarnation.
Domesticating corn people
finally also meet Yin's squashed voices
flowing bilaterally out
well-grounded cooperative incorporations
intending divine corn
and Yang-bean
and Yin-squash
mutually braiding
weaving up and out
trimesters of rich
and deep
nutritional development,
with winter dormancy in-between
summerish diastasis.
Corn and Bean and Squash diversity
during August pre-birth deliveries
reduce competitive domesticating relationships
to favor cooperative democratizing trinities,
of Spirit and Body and Bilateral Flowing UnSquashed Minds.
These corny holonic domesticating resources
enjoy differentiated cultural climates,
Diverse partners prevailing
through multicultural nutritional landscapes
up and out,
down-rooting and inward feeding feeling
as outward bleeding
into each Other's Common-Space
and side-by-side solidarity reforesting times.
People of the Corn
and beans and squash,
co-domesticating temporal WinWin differentiations,
preoccupying Earth's global climate
in different times of day and night,
months and years,
transgenerational eras and stages
of mutual democratization
into trust
bean-sprouting
within interdependent pumpkin patches.
People of the Corn
invite diverse beanish vertical needs
and polypathic squashy tendril outputs
in different revolving stages
of our mutual domestication,
integrity empowered
through deep nutritional gardens
and forests of time,
like climates of Earth,
organically democratizing solidarity.
People of sacred wild Cornucopias
found ourselves politically atoned
through competing to survive
in Earth's stroking strumming climates
of globally democratizing,
healthy wealth,
Original PolyCultural Intention.