Long Traversed Poems
Long Traversed Poems. Below are the most popular long Traversed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Traversed poems by poem length and keyword.
“Spring drew on...and a greenness grew over those brown beds,
which, freshening daily, suggested the thought that Hope traversed
them at night and left each morning brighter traces of her steps.”
~ Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre
I feel the caress of Spring's gentle breeze
wafting through meadows and verdant hills
and swaying branches of budding maple trees
Spring welcomes rain as each drop softly spills
dampening the cheeks of my upturned face
until the sun's warmth relieves me of my chills
It's the season that I so lovingly embrace
when flowers grow in vast, colorful profusion
lovelier in a garden than in a vase
Lavender scents the air with sweet infusion
To God and Nature, I bestow gratitude
for the beauty found in their collusion
Spring arrives offering hope renewed
and fresh beginnings are redolently imbued
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The grid failed first~
then the pipes burst their seams,
weeping silver tears down frozen walls.
The night groaned under the weight of frozen sky
a thousand fractures in the power lines~
silent screams of transformers dying.
Darkness engulfed the Lone Star State,
gnawing at the edges of counties and cities.
But the men came anyway,
their gloves split by the cold,
boots cracking ice like thin bones.
No heroics, just work~
Men in orange vests moved like ghosts
through glassy, slick streets
their breath leaving them in ragged clouds,
each one a prayer for warmth.
Linesmen dangled like marionettes
from poles slick with betrayal
fingers numb, breath curling in shattered puffs
stitching light back into the sky
one frayed wire at a time.
Blue lights cut through the sleet~
not for crime, but for warmth
for the woman shaking in her car with a newborn,
engine dead as stone.
The police traversed the streets,
tires spinning on invisible black ice,
their cruisers sliding like doomed ships,
flashlights cutting through the gloom
where families huddled under blankets,
where an old man’s oxygen machine sputtered silent.
The fireman’s axe didn’t care about the cold~
only the door it shattered, the grandmother inside
still clutching her rosary.
Firemen across the state kicked in doors,
their axes swung against ice-clogged hydrants,
each strike ringing hollow in the frozen air.
Somewhere in East Texas,
a lone fireman’s breath hung in the air~
white flag of exhaustion
as he hauled another body
from a house without heat.
The child in his arms didn’t shiver.
Not anymore.
All night, the wind screamed.
All night, these men did not stop.
In the morning, as the thaw crept in,
some slept in trucks,
some drank bad coffee from a thermos,
some stood staring at downed lines~
weary, yes, but still standing.
They were not gods~
just men with wives who texted be safe,
whose children didn’t understand
why they had no heat and why lights stayed off.
No monuments would bear their names,
but for a week,
these men were the only thing
between Texas and the abyss.
As I walk down this rugged road,
That flows through the overgrown wood;
I am reminded of the life of a Christian.
This crumbling road with its faded yellow line;
It may have difficult turns and drops,
It also has its holes and ruff spots;
But is is the only road to the top of the hill.
This road I travel is covered in dust,
And is surrounded by the darkness of the forest.
This pathway may be hard to travel,
But one step off leads to a deep fall.
The cliffside that boarders this road,
Leads to nothing except pain and despair;
And the Forests around lead to nowhere.
This road may be dangerous to be traversed:
Traveling on a road the world has cursed,
May cause us to feel all alone;
But if we stay on the path,
We will meet up with someone.
If we feel we travel alone;
It is because the Lord is watching:
Waiting for us to join Him.
We were never alone, He was there all along,
To help us around the next sharp bend.
At times the Road seems steep,
At times the holes seem deep;
But at the final step, all will be worth it,
Because the top of the hill is not the end,
But rather the start of a bright horizon.
I traversed the tunnel of time,
never looking to find gold or silver.
I sought one alone with whom to celebrate.
I traversed the tunnel of time,
hoping to uncover some treasured past.
Instead, I found lots of familiar numbers.
I saw the numbers 13, 20, 22, and 50.
I traversed the tunnel of time
and also spotted 1949, 1950, 1970, 1972, and 2022.
I said to myself, " What is it about these numbers?"
The time tunnel replied to me, "The numbers are about
love, you and her, a happy birth, and a happy life.
I traversed the tunnel of time
and saw yesterday as well as today. I saw a most
loving face filled with grace. Without hesitation or
reservation, I reached out and embraced one whom I have
called 'Honey' for more than 50 years. She is the love of my
life who in 2023, in the 3rd month, on the 13th day, is turning 73.
030723PSCtestest, For You, Love. Regina McIntosh. 7P
How I wished I had been granted to know,
The depth of the unused words, the hallucination of a happiness with purpose.
My labor, how much has dissipated into the void, in the vast unknown,
All the zeal, all the toil – a deaf echo, a terrified phantom, and a fasted feast.
The pains take shape in a carnival of weightless gestures,
And the deluge of stress caught me in a round dance of confusion, enveloping me like a mist.
A shattered heart and sleepless nights, empty theaters under the celestial vault,
You thought it insignificant, your eyes did not see, did not feel my struggle, a spectacle of phantasms.
Like an echo, my question resonates, "Am I worthy?"
And you, wielding words like black magic, become the sculptor of ambiguity,
"No one is simply categorized," you tell me with jeweler's delicate speech,
And yet you remain the transformative substance when other children call you to gather around the fire of life.
It is a bitter paradox, this theater of shattered promises,
I'm weary of being your artist and craftsman, yet receiving only the empty echo of your expectations.
My fatigue is a bird's feather fallen from flight, lost in the tumult of the night.
I wanted you to understand, to feel deep down and comprehend the cuts you crafted,
Each scar - an odyssey, traversed with the desire to touch your presumed sanctity.
How insignificant for you was any failure, any deviation from your desired line of triumph.
You say "I love you," yet you remain a silver-hearted idol,
An indifferent witness to my great drama unfolding on the stage of expectations.
The child within me, forever trying to be sculptor in your eyes,
Perhaps I once was that naive artist, but now...
Now I know better, the blaze of hope has turned to ash,
The palace built from dreams is now a ruin under the sun's dying rays.
That arc of love from long ago, now knows better its conceptions and regrets,
And my step through the fair of disappointments has become scenery for the unwritten plays.
I shore up my doubt, behind a loosely bound hope
Which in turn is propped up without foundation
Cynical of a life, at the mercy of luck
Collateral damage feeds my reservation
I shore my up tomorrow with what I see today
Without conspiracy or investigation
I place trust in all that’s completely unfettered
For fear, I’m left to this present resignation
I shore up my life with whatever came before
Not hindsight or academic education
The oblivion traversed until I was born
Strings along primal echoes of information
I shore up my conscious with bliss and ignorance
Interspersed with indifference on occasion
It’s not I don’t care about suffering and death
Rather, I’m desensitised by their pervasion
I shore up my denial with an open mind
Which is nothing except raw interpretation
This planet spins correctly, even though tilted
Not by wishful thinking, but strange gravitation
I shore up my boredom, trying to fall asleep
When really tired, will attempt hibernation
Anything to forget this human condition
After remembering, I’m long past salvation
I shore up my heaven, by creating a hell
Balance looks more appealing, in an equation
Gaze upon purgatory, and share what I see
Not because I’m kind, it’s more my destination
I shore up my poem by claiming it’s my own
But in truth, it’s an open collaboration
I conspire with the musings of all that’s unclear
They dwell inside me, in flawless aberration
- - - - - - -
(And as the sky darkened I heard these words)
better to face hell alone ~ than bring the whole world along for the ride
said the moon eclipsing the sun ~ who replied son I’m right behind you
By
David Kavanagh
He carried the old man into the woods, and watched the body
slowly decay. In the end, after the sun had prepared the corpse
it seemed that the moon had consumed it. The trees did not mourn,
and Pinocchio - could not; although Geppetto had been his only
companion for decades.
He had seen children cry and wondered why? Now the wilderness
called to him.
When in that Alpine cabin he had danced for his master, he had given
no thought to the truth that the dwelling itself was hewn from the same
ancient material as his own consciousness.
For weeks he traversed the wilderness, hiding from any trace
of humanity. He did not grow tired - could not, but a need to be
anchored to the ground gradually stole over him. He envied the
tall trees with their deep earth grasping roots, how the trees fed
themselves from the soil, the air and the rain.
A time came when he simply had to be still, to feel what the trees
felt; to pacify his busy mind with the slow thoughts of the sky.
The years changed him, branches and sprigs grew from his trunk
his legs became immovable. That which had once been Pinocchio
drank from the soils deep wells, wells that filled with his once
human mind, natural cisterns that now nourished him with a
knowledge that any creature of flesh and blood could ever hope
to translate.
We started on a common path,
But not one of our choice.
In time we went our separate ways,
To hear or find our voice,
And so traversed the wilderness
With joys and dangers fraught.
The path I chose, not best or worst,
Just mine, or so I thought.
I did not scale that rocky cliff,
Nor cross that deep crevasse;
I found the briars and the thorns,
And verdant, pleasant grass.
Yet here we’re called to take a rest,
Again, not one we chose.
The way is forward; that is clear,
Yet to where no one knows.
Shall we recount where each has been?
Do bygone ways still matter?
Or shall we share a common time,
Again before we scatter?
How will I know about that scar,
Those flowers in your hair?
Or you about my painful limp,
Those wrinkles there and there?
Come, let us simply rest a while,
Tend sore and calloused feet,
For He alone knows when our paths,
Divergent, wandering, meet.
—————
for the 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 12 Poetry Contest
sponsored by Mark Toney
written 03/15/2022
BARREN DESERT
I wander in open wide barren desert alone
on camel-ride drawing in the reins,
the only companion of my lone adventure.
Sizzling Sun dazzles, blazes in azure sky.
Off and on sudden gust chasing dust drifting dry sand grains.
Scorching heat pricking piercing penetrating thick garments.
Fiery flame flickering in ambient, even rowdy raven dares to fly.
My eyes blinking, itching, trying to remove flying sand specks.
Camel with long heavy eye lashes suited to confront simoom.
My carrier quite fit to put feet with firm grip
on drowning pull of burning sand.
Camel can sustain long without water owing to fatty hump.
My dry lips need moisture, thirsty throat to be soaked in water
Quarter of my path is traversed and water bottle almost empty.
How could I quench my thirst! Water will not last till I reach destination.
Last week you were strict to spurn burning my heart
and just walked away coolly.
Now I am watching high hardness and void vastness of desert.
Long journey of life ahead, only a quarter is passed.
Whirling heart on septic sullen sensation frantically searching oasis.
I wander the desert alone and wonder to see
emptiness of my heart full of auburn ashes
similar as dry desert devoid of moisture.
Feeling abashed abandoned bewildered in barren desert.
No energy, no power, no wishes left to exert.
I've walked the fiery coals, of hell's dark floor
Where shadows danced, and demons roared
The flames that flickered, burned my soul
But in the ashes, I found a heart of gold
I've seen the darkest night, that swallowed all light
Felt the weight of chains, that bound me tight
The screams of torment, still echo in my mind
But I rose up, leaving the darkness behind
I've traversed valleys, of tears and pain
Climbed mountains steep, where hope seemed vain
I've faced the ghosts, that haunted me
And emerged stronger, wild and free
Been to hell and back, with scars to show
But in the journey, I found a way to grow
Through the fire and smoke, I saw a light
Guiding me forward, through the darkest night
My heart's been broken, my spirit worn
But I've risen phoenix, from the ashes born
My soul's been tested, my will refined
And I've emerged stronger, with a heart redefined
Been to hell and back, but I'm still standing tall
With a voice that whispers, "I've survived it all.