Long Traipsed Poems
Long Traipsed Poems. Below are the most popular long Traipsed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Traipsed poems by poem length and keyword.
up a steep and narrow road
reach the tops
wilderness reclaims a verge
of wintery snags
land juts and tilts
hauls out
lays treeless
clumps and hags
pitch up stricken soil
heap above the miry troughs
loud the heartbeat
nearer to feral thought
then any mouth or ear
swale and quag dawdle
appear to seep listless
no
every bog tunnels shrouded
to fetch up the feckless
harsh and gorsy
heather treading low
the moors mark nothing
only a head of gnashing wind
a whipping dinosaurs tail
blear and chill
bites and grapples
a stone-tusked marl
crofts under
tangles of un-spun fleece
in barb and thistle
sheep piss in running rivulets
thread through
mizzle-pecked rocks
inscribed
by whatever tortures the air
ravens picket grit edges
wings beating back the below
primal caws that lift and speak
for the standing stones
their harrowing
lime-cuffed history
before light founders deeper
black anvils appear
in the lowering
a scant anchoring
a bare farrowing
shorn and scoured aloft
by miles of orbiting
beauty
twenty years later
son sends pictures
of moors long traipsed
the sky in my phone howls
Frank Osgood
1870-1919
I was the great wanderlust of Whittier!
From 1890 until my last days,
I followed my nose,
And other body appendages,
To distant earthly destinations,
Both sensational and disgusting,
From the calm tranquility of a secure home,
To the chaos and uncertainty,
Of traveling with heavy bags, aching feet,
And certain fears, I, nevertheless,
Decided to break out and seek other lands,
Other people, and other vistas.
Sickness did awfully afflict me many times,
As I lay retching inside many a tent,
But always I was learning, and thriving.
To far-away Rome I traipsed,
To Paris, Venice and London too.
From the streets of Madrid to
The far-away shores of the Mediterranean,
Where The Christ founded a mighty religion,
I ventured and saw, and tasted!
I hunted on safari in Eastern Africa and
Shot a gazelle from a standing position.
In beautiful South America and Asia,
My restless feet found another universe,
Of unworldly sights and strange rituals.
My friends!
It was amazing indeed to drink it all in,
Like a cool fruit drink from Rio.
But my thirst for wandering was never slaked.
And then it ended,
Like the quick waking from a dream,
When I died at home of a measly fever.
Most ironic indeed.
And so, as for my epitaph,
This is it:
“‘Tis a heap of profit to travel.”
Married into esteem, wet blood of rubies
Eighty one ladybugs jitter over decoletage
Prince winks at my wonderment, approving
Twinkle pink flashes, silk rhubarb mirage
His newest attainment suitably adorned
Heavy with resplendent raspberry prize
Chest rise and fall, cool gems warmed
Youngest addition, other wives despise
Purple swords impale my heart, royal highs
Paraded through market bustle by monarch
Scintillation imprisons many envious eyes
Stones steal attention, status makes its mark
Gliding aside sultan, highlighted in twinkling
Sea side suite seduces snaking strawberry
Lavish lashings threaten to erase my history
Desirable princess flung far from ordinary
Chartered fingers caress coves in rapture
Lustre of pandora fulfills intrigue's voyage
Merged territories weave magic carpet capture
Traipsed mapping harbours among cleavage
Enamoured mumbles promise a hundred emeralds
Deftly, he unclasps pleasing planet neck orbiter
Molten mouth sears my shoulder, lurid liquid gold
Rallied rubies release, libation grains pour on floor
18th July 2020
Written for Julia Ward's Contest -
' I Went Shopping for Rubies'
Mother said to carry Dad's little green luggage,
Godzilla my foe, I can do a step not a hundred,
Mother said to put in you--that, it's all bronzed,
Ugh, zip-phew Godzilla you stink your breadth.
Godz I gotta look for Dad Mom I ain't no angel.
Godz I told Mother that I heard the car engine.
Mom prayed for the car using holy oil, via olive.
It needs that. It'll start with a tad of that liquid.
Mother said Dad knows. He'd already glimpsed
it'll drive that bobbing--pistons Mom--amongst
other something, than cars. Like? Stew borscht
Mom says. I say that's not Russian. Mad, whilst
it'll be Mother's last words said, Russia's worlds
are rightfully theirs, and we own ours. Traipsed
not, glory ste..get-MA, PA, joy go I-run anxious.
*Image of Seashell On Beach Sand by Pixabay.
"A seashell should be the crest of England, not only because it represents a power built on the waves, but also the hard finish of the men."
by Ralph Waldo Emerson
Sally Sells Seashells, Rethinks Career
A shell lies ashore by the sea
freely moves about as waves drift in
the seawater playfully tumbles its plaything
the glistening sun reflects on it by the cresting sea
Seagulls filled, fed by the sea
wafting uplifted o'er the sea current
it hovers down suddenly, wings opened out
initially stares then prod the shell needlessly about
Bird prints traipsed the beach
shoved shell safe by pushing waves
like an army by divisions thrusting a seawall
as a prying feathered friend, surrenders to the sea
Lil' Sally sports run next wade
notes the shell immersed in the sea
her eager digits cradled it upward with care
she poured out sand and seawater from its spirals
Abrupts, those forces of habit
the same that excited the nosy bird
she put the polished part right up to her ear
hoping to catch past the shore and across the sea
Dismayed, looked at the shell
frustrated, release it from her hands
whilst sea reclaimed that seashell uniquely
as tax pays overseas calls, collect-calls unallowed.
2021 August 23
*2nd Place*
Writing Prompt, Oceans or Seas
~~Constance La France: Judged 2021 August 25
How many times must I tell you, monster?
Goddammit, I think it must be the twelfth.
Again! With mud on your feet, in you traipsed.
You are making me extremely angry.
Goddammit, I think it must be the twelfth.
No Mom, I think it might just be the eighth.
You are making me extremely angry.
Hey, Mom, can I have a jelly sandwich?
No Mom, I think it might just be the eighth.
For dinner, you will have room for nothing.
Hey, Mom, can I have a jelly sandwich?
Why do you give me such a big problem?
For dinner, you will have room for nothing.
Again! With mud on your feet, in you traipsed.
Why do you give me such a big problem?
How many times must I tell you, monster?
Goodbye To Love
I traipsed through the night
and the morning dew
To open my heart
stars crossing in queue
And left on your doorstep
blooming anew
A floral surrender
— of loves adieu
**
The Delta’s Gulf
Rivers of chaos
flow into oceans
of harmony ...
Leaving the torrent
in the delta’s gulf
— for peace and depth
**
New Feelings
Poetry defies
explanation
Perhaps its greatest
strength
New feeling’s unfelt
emerging unspelt
Present
— in the words
**
Dark Dismay
Spurned and left dejected
his heart in disarray
Falling from love’s precipice
into dark dismay
Trapped beneath the anguish
without a last goodbye
Buried in rejected shame
— wishing he could die
**
Pray
Hoping for fame
a slave to its portal
Praying for truth
— its blessings immortal
**
up a steep and gritty track
reach the tops
wilderness reclaims a verge
of wintery snags
land juts and tilts
hauls out
lays treeless
clumps and hags
pitch up stricken soil
heap their marshy troughs
loud the heartbeat
nearer to feral thought
then any numb mouth or ear
slough quag and mire muddle
seep listless
every bog runnel shrouded
to fetch up the feckless
harsh and gorsy
heather grips low
the moors stretch
flat and far fetching
a grappling wind
blears
bites and baffles
a bedrock sprouting
tough rooted and cold
as an ice-crushed vine
clutches
flinty undercuts
wait to pitch the faltering
a tangle of un-spun fleece
caught in barb and thistle
sheep piss in running rivulets
thread through
mizzle-pecked rocks
inscribed
by whatever tortures the air
ravens picket gritstone edges
glimmer wings beat back the below
primal caws that lift and speak
for the standing stones
their harrowing
storm-cuffed history
as silent
as scored moss or lichen
before light founders
cropped spikes snatch
snaggle beneath a lowering mist
or snow flecked haze
a scant anchoring
a shallow farrowing
shorn and scoured
below and aloft
shredding miles
with toil and trudge
twenty years later
son sends pictures
of moors long traipsed
the sky in my phone howls
I put on a cashmere sweater
That a friend had passed on down
Thinking it would keep my cozy
As I traipsed around the town.
I was new to wearing cashmere
(Too expensive, I did find)
But I walked out feeling toasty
(And with Seinfeld on my mind).
I discovered, though, a downside
And I soon began to fret
For, combined with my down jacket,
All that cashmere made me sweat.
By the time I got back home, my clothes
Were soaked right to the skin.
I was wetter than, without a shower,
I had ever been.
Think that I’ll return to cotton
Which, for me, works so much better.
Seems that wearing what I wore made me
A living cashmere sweater!
"Blessed assurance glory divine ..."
Supine haze swiped tall grass wooing shadows,
as chimes of wren's feathers a float parade,
begs a trace with leaves sought resting barrows,
the fondness parting loft and low portrayed.
Nourishing willows stranding morning dews,
while lengthy lappings the murmured streaming,
courses the sourcing promises pact sinews,
of turned new leaves and blazed hues trails dreaming.
Quietude slights segmental furtherance,
edging up-ends the friendlies beckoning,
hail the awakened, embracing balance,
trice the brevity traipsed separating.
The listless stares a sheltered clemency,
keys to a kingdom freed their fervency.