Long Trails Poems
Long Trails Poems. Below are the most popular long Trails by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Trails poems by poem length and keyword.
Mistakes were made in the past
High on delirious hurt
Young and wild, hiding our bruises
We let our desires take us places.
On streets unlit, we paced
Followed curves that weren't right
Chased zest to escape words of fate
Built castles in the wrong times
And watched them decrepit.
We forlorned for long in alignment
Before finding escape in cross-trails
Desires come and go but love stays
We escaped to where love showed the way.
Our pasts are intricately woven mess
We carry the threads even today,
Unloved and untamed we spent
The majority of our days.
But now that we are here
In momentary confessions,
We let go of our weights
Guilt can't tame us; love prevails
Let love free us from the noose
And set the ties loose,
Stitch the scars in our hearts
Give life a novel chance.
22nd March 2023
a glass-like smooth of even's yawn
here I, myself, with one cob swan
trace cursive paths upon the lake
as we’re both OF the earth, not on
so sets the sun to blow its kiss
in hushed glissades of feral bliss
a surface cleaved in gentle wakes
oh surely heaven’s much like this
ol’ swan and I, we share these eves
in feathered white tuxedo sleeves
he trails me while I row the skiff -
my chaperon as daylight leaves
I think perhaps he's lonely too
prospecting for a soulmate who
will share his love of blushing skies
and parting mirrored lakes, anew
the water's darkened interludes
reflect both images and moods
the hopes we held of love this morn
now laid to bed as day concludes
but ‘fore we meet, next dusk is drawn
I’ll speak my prayer that he'll be gone
that one of us shall find true love ...
as we’re both OF the earth …
not on.
( edit )
Once upon a wedding,
There are guests sitting
She trails her long veil,
Tears starts shedding
Everyone came to tell,
There is no backing
She knows she can't thrive,
With culture drive
She has two ways,
Only one can be destine
Living to born-again,
Or to just survive
The walls of her home,
Feels cage beside
And dreams of her life,
Dies at that sight
Now, she choose one way,
Obviously family decides
So she became the BRIDE,
In RED GOWN to hide
The blood of her dreams,
Fell drip drip. . .
And people there,
Cheers with drinks.
“The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork.” Psalm 19:1 of the King James Bible
Nature trip propels circuitous mountain trek
beckoning ascent toward zenith’s panoramic view
ushering footsteps along trails midst pine tree canopies
wafting freshness tranquility-redolence while sun-bursts peep
radiating hope as cascading crystals from water falls welcome my soul…
Reaching verdant summit transcending clouds
my heart basks at the firmament, exposed as azure canvas
painting fluffy cushion balls spreading cottony feathers and flakes
complementing hilly floral terraces glowing with golden and scarlet hues
for faith-filled gratitude that exalts the Creator Whose handiwork is perfect.
March 11, 2022
2nd place, "Form I - Imagism - New poem" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France; judged on 3/18/2022.
She whispered in my ear of neon lights,
my mother,celebrated actress,
waning star in sick bay,
zany bird nest hairstyle on display,
lock and tress erect,
skin-fold ripple eggshell pallor,
mothball end play flutter from the wings.
I, devoted sibling, reluctant hospital visitor,
now bearing doleful witness,
to the voice that once enthralled a thousand hearts,
with oral feats and seismic tone-shifts,
like someone trying to catch a friend’s attention on an outbound train,
now tragic downturn ache.
Apple walnut salad only deli window fodder in her eyes,
Dijon mustard sachet cast aside as if unwanted email spam,
get well cards cut paper dragon trails.
Nightingales of tender years and warmth who nurse in rosters,
slowly spread those deathly forms right underneath an icon’s split chin rash.
Whiff of starchy clerk and file procedure hovers over gridlock wards,
private health insurance an albatross of waiver in that very human passing out parade.
Yet here I am, son and heir, entr’acte curator of maternal legend’s skyward exit,
tummy rumble moment where impromptu has the edge on solemn plot,
as one walks on stage hoping not to freeze.
The one true screen test all
must face dear mum would say,
before our sip from life’s rich cup becomes a stain upon the twilight bow of curtains.
What I Love
A nice long winter's night to rest, sleep, and dream
Sweet dreams of love so dear, with you holding me
Loving; feeling loved helps build our self-esteem
I believe that most would totally agree
Elderly lovers under dreams' soft, gentle veil
Where souls sail in an endless stream of stars' trails
As moon cast its glow 'pon life's last journey's grace
We'll be joined together in new life's embrace
~~~~~~
~~~~~~
~~~~~~
What I hate
Oh! How hard are restless and sleepless long nights
Sleep won't come and dreams in flight, tomorrows loom
Dreading a day filled with foggy thoughts in flight
Because my nice, dreamy sleep-filled night fled the room
Three sleepless nights, how will this night's sweet sleep go
I hope it won't be one more chalked up in a row
I know I'll take a melatonin from stash
I'll sleep; dream poems which a rested brain will hatch
Birds and Bees
The bunnies hop forever-
as do birds and bees
but I fear I'm subjugated
by this horrible disease.
I pick the poets,
she loves me not.
And I fear I cast my love
into oceans naught.
Full of fear and pain
and haunting death.
The screaming is so real now-
when will I seek my last breath?
Crying all my tears
and ripping up my fears
in stained glass poetry.
I wonder if they'll ever go away,
so I fight each day and try.
So I fight and I try
so damn hard not to cry.
For if my tears ever did flow
they'd form a bubbling brook
that somehow leads
to a rainbow.
The rainbow is
not far from here
But still I'm stuck
in decades tears.
A lifetime spent
beyond the bow,
I must stay safe here,
this I know.
For the beyond leads
to a passion play,
I'll plant the seeds-
of love and dust
and the deepest trails
I'll dream of you
and your betrayals
even to this day.
You left me here
from the rain
good as dry.
And now I cry even seeing
a scattering butterfly.
For she can stretch her wings
and fly beyond the bow.
The bluebird catches
upon breeze
and sings
a beautiful song
I'm not sure that I know.
But among the trees
and birds and breeze,
You left your mark here known.
And in this ancient forest here,
I carefully select your tomb.
Knowing I may pass this way near,
with my brain forever riddled with
the nature of your disease.
And leave your mark on the path
that you have sown.
Flowing serenity prevails
Refreshing soul with gracious hope*
To offer peace that never fails.
Sweet chime of scenic river hails
Majestic Creator’s endless rope
Securing faith from fear-filled tales.
With melody to soothe heart’s wails
Stream ripples amidst blessings scope
Assuring triumph along trails.
My spirit sets for freedom sails
Vanquishing gloom toward downslope
While trust in God smites doubt-caused ails.
Awed by wondrous rivulet’s sight
I plunge in quietude delight.
*Jeremiah 17:7 Blessed is the man that trusteth in the LORD, and whose hope the LORD is.
June 20, 2023
8th place, "A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE no 1227" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 7/5/2023.
The hot days of summer slowly fade away
Autumn takes over with blustery showers
tinted with some warm days others cold
still it creeps on causing leaves to curl up.
Vivid colours of browns, yellows and reds
drift down carpeting the land with piles
that hides insects ready 'to escape the cold,
land's chill and we know Jack Frost waits
He waits in the wings full of much mischief
but still is not quite time for his appearance
Autumn is not yet quite ready to stand aside
with final breath she blows, then steps away.
Leaving winter to take his place with chills
running down spines with freezing fingers
A light sprinkling of snow a warning sign
and Jack Frost steps out with great glee
He whips up a bitter wind leaving trails
in the snow, finger prints on window panes
So we snuggle close to a big roaring fire
and start longing for the arrival of spring
If I was rich and could live anywhere I wanted,
I would buy my very own island on the St. Lawrence;
Somewhere between Ontario, Canada and New York,
In the 1000 Islands, well it is actually 1,864 islands.
Oh yes, in the heart of islands I would live my dream,
Talk about off the beaten track, not connected to land;
A retreat and a haven from the world and so unique,
It would not be a river cottage but a huge mansion.
No rustic and charming for me but stunning and beautiful,
Located in a deep water channel on a private island;
I would relax on my deck watching huge ships and boats,
But the mainland would be a motorboat ride away.
And there I would find bike trails and hiking and markets,
Wonderful restaurants, theatre and even a casino;
From my deck I could go fishing and have endless silence,
I could swim from my own beach and go scuba driving.
There are many historic ship wrecks to go exploring,
And the Boldt Castle, build for love, it is a tourist stop;
If I wanted to go to the United States there is a bridge,
Or just be alone with my very own trees and nature.
I could take a river cruise to somewhere or lay in the shade,
If I was rich then I could just write poems all day;
Oh I can just imagine how amazing it would be in the rain,
And I would call my private island, Dreamer's Island.
_________________
October 25, 2015
Verse
For the contest, If You Were Rich, sponsor, Mystic Rose
Second Place