Long Trench Poems
Long Trench Poems. Below are the most popular long Trench by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Trench poems by poem length and keyword.
The Door Wolf.
And, what of the waxing Moons
Its flood, of relentless tides, that time
of scar faced pit dogs, long sharp toothed,
their belly grumbling handlers, eager
to chalk a death line, on cold ale stained flag stones hard.
While in bleakness yard, belly tumbling hags squeeze, last drops out of well gripped ****, for the blind pups bellies,
babies must wait, in so many ways they are a benefit, against the door Wolf.
And what of pale, deep eyed children
Barefoot in waste lands of snow
Thin as cotton threads, as are their ragged clothes !
Their belly grumbling quenched, by easy swallowed earth worms, to placate the parasitic worms hidden within.
Ahh, all in ! to the avoid the door wolf.
And what of the well heeled lace lover,
hovering in trinkets of silver, and cups spilling with distain, against the scroungers pain ?
With, Parisiene perfume, to muffle the drum
Hum drum stench, from a piss trench
soaked and brandyied to sleep.
Her blinkers finaly, blinked blank.
Those waxed, and wained Moons !
Now cobwebbed in long past night skies.
Clyde Duran
1894-1923
Kindly show me the exit sign!
My watch fob is missing.
It is most likely with the trench nails.
Those nails lay strewn by the cat,
Out back amongst the kiln bricks,
And the broken wheelbarrow.
Send for the constable!
Summon the parson with the forked tongue!
Peel the oranges carefully please.
Use the trench nails!
Here kitty kitty kitty.
Have you, my little furry friend,
Seen the exit sign?
Mother may have hidden it, out back,
With the cream cookies.
How dare I once again,
Steal the cream cookies!
Mother Mother.
I tried to please you best I could.
Sorry I displeased you with
My lazy irresponsible ways.
Sorry for being such a disappointment to you.
Where is my watch fob?
Where is my sweet little kitty?
Send for the constable!
Summon the lying parson!
And kindly show me the exit sign!
Shadows, invisible in broad daylight
Rule our fall with a dreary evil touch
Laughing at our blinded sorrowful plight
And our gaze as we drown in life’s trench
Days on this Earth have never been rosy
Should you have thought of life as beautiful
Then your mind must have been one, so dreamy
Said they with grins on their faces – awful!
Yet, poets left their rooms to share their art
By singing verses out to the whole world
Who, calmed, let their light give them a new start
One which bid positive dawns to unfold
May peace invade the shadows’ evil show!
May winds, with fervour, over us, now blow!
21st April 2021
At 10,911 meters beneath the Pacific veil,
where no submarine dares dream,
I descended into the throat of Earth—
into the trench men call Mariana,
but spirits call Theotokos.
There, the water was not water—
it was glass that hummed.
The ocean floor rose like a palace,
built of crystal bones and music stones—
a cathedral of sound and secrets.
They called it the House of Fire Music.
Inside, stood the immortalized—
Beyoncé, her aura a flicker of gold.
Jay-Z, carved from thunder and code.
Janet Jackson, wrapped in the rhythm of moons.
Dolly Parton, humming in divine frequencies.
Elvis shimmered at the corner, whispering hymns
of forgotten chords.
And then, the Beings arrived—
not gods, not angels—
but the composers behind the composers.
They stood clad in scarlet and amethyst,
eyes like suns behind veils of silk.
“We are the architects of your sound,” they said.
“Every chart hit, every sold-out stage,
begins not in your world, but here.”
A ritual began.
Each musician was summoned
to offer a letter of the alphabet.
Beyoncé stepped forward. Her voice—clear, defiant:
“I give you the letter S.”
The beings replied:
“Then we give you Single Ladies.
Take it. Sing it. The world will move.”
And so it was.
Kanye West knelt, offering P.
They gave him Power.
Lady Gaga whispered B,
and was handed Born This Way.
Freddie Mercury had once been here—
and took Bohemian Rhapsody
from their marble hands.
No song is random.
No beat is blind.
Everything—
from release dates to Grammy speeches—
is scripted by ancient rhythm codes
within the citadel of Theotokos.
They are taught the law of vibration,
the diet of frequency:
“No meat that bleeds.
No sex before sound.
No fame without silence.”
Their lives are not theirs.
Their voices are borrowed.
This world we know—
the charts, the scandals, the glam—
is just a shadow on the surface.
The music industry?
A temple built on crystal lies.
And when I rose back to the surface,
gasping, reborn—
I heard the radio play a new track,
and I knew—
It came from beneath.
COLD GLOOMY DAY
Woke up on a shivering
Sunday morning.
The lovely autumn was
approaching,
The cold September spells from
North was coming.
Wondering,
What trench coat am I wearing?
The wardrobe I've opened,
As my red Hooded Glittery Coat
was shimmering.
Had to put this on,
to brighten up my cold,
Gloomy morning!
THANK YOU GUYS FOR THE SMILE!
15 September 2017
Written by: RMV-tatchvrg~
Only when we have felt, even once,
the clawed caress of strife,
do we value the soft warm hand
of peaceful days in our life.
Give me boredom and humdrum
over adventure and interesting times;
a quiet corner in a calm house
to write and edit my rhymes.
Oh, war has driven the pen stroke
and sorrow versed in the bomb strike,
but I’d rather read all about it
in a book and only imagine what it’s like,
than breathe the smoke of burning -
the death scent of a home.
I do not need to personally bleed
to scratch out a war-time poem.
Better to write of cows and apples,
than Flanders field and poppies;
to write of a Luve like a red, red rose,
than a requiem for the Croppies;
and though the poet much values his words
I’ll bet that each war-torn bard
would’ve chosen to write first hand in the soft
than ink pain in the trench of the hard.
I've read many accounts on that horrific war that was WWI ,it was supposed to end all wars.
It was trench warfare and men fought and died in hellish conditions.
It inspired me to write this fictional verse.
The posters said come fight with us and make your country proud
Went to town my friends and I to sign on the dotted line
I remember the scenes in town, the cheering of the crowd
They said t'will soon be over and everything will be fine.
Naive were we and believed them and everything they said
Some basic training they gave us on how to use a gun
It did not help my friends though because now they all lie dead
To us this was a big adventure, just a bit of fun.
I was assigned to B squad, trench number forty seven
And had to stand in mud so deep it came up to my knees
Soldiers had put up a sign that said ' shortcut to heaven '
After a while my skin was itching someone said it's flea's .
Night time bombardments were the worst and my ears were ringing
Often they'd strike lucky and parts of the trench would disappear
We'd try to drown out the roars with patriotic singing
In the eyes of the boys I was with you could see their fear.
Everyday bodies were brought out and placed upon a cart
As the stretcher bearers passed we'd think thank god that's not me
A gruesome sight I witnessed were those bodies blown apart
I could not help but think that from hell those souls were free .
In November ninteen eighteen the war was finally over
We cried with tears of joy, we were finally going home
After a few hours I saw them, the white cliffs of Dover
Tears rolled down my face and I vowed never again to roam.
Home for me was a struggle and it didn't seem quite real
At night I'd have bad nightmares' and I would wake up screaming
Often I'd wonder if my mental scars would ever heal
My mother she'd rush in and say " son you're only dreaming ".
It's been ten years now and the wars still raging in my head
And I often ask myself how ever did I survive
Nine friends I lost in that war and now they're forever dead
Wars are a game of chance, whether you die or stay alive.
Written 30th September 2019.
You shouldn’t be buried somewhere unmarked in there and I shouldn’t be here.
You should not have done that for me.
So many tears I’ve cried for you over the years.
In the trench you saw my fear. You saw the scared boy of me. You protected the innocence I hold so dear. The most important part of me.
You saw the shaking of my hands while your dead steady aim was so straight and true.
You were a presence of a man. A formidable soldier, no fear, no fool.
You ran into gunfire aimed at me. You died out there so that I could be here.
There was no tougher man out there, this I know. This I know and I hold your memory so dear.
You showed a care for my life, a care that the world didn’t want to know or hear.
Always the gentleman, always the strongest and kindest with the greatest smile.
After the war you were everything to me I want you to know.
It’s been thirty years since last I was here. Thirty years I never forgot you, I’ll never let the memory of you go.
You died for me on this battlefield. My life, my wife, my kids, my smile… I owe all of that to you.
.
Just cuz'uh her face
i were will'n to love her rest
She wuz dressed like
the Pinkerton man
until
the auburn locks rolled down her trench
when she removed that well salted
Stetson hat
the rules were about to change
The rustle uv her copper stallion
and the smell uv that
new barn hay
yep
just cuz'uh her face
Doomed to be alone
As my sorrow swells in me
Immersed beneath the waves
of this hopeless misery
While pondering the oceans
Of each, mistake I've ever made
All of those unworthy
My true love that I had gave
Only to be broken by a sea
of crushing tides
An abyss of suffering
filled with dark
and endless lies
Reminded by the winds
of my dreams, they'd never be
To sail away with him
And feel his kiss
Upon the breeze
Where loves a priceless treasure
A last chance for nothing less
Then a dance that swirels forever
To it's deepest, vastest depths
Lost within the storm
that flows beyond these shores I see
To plunge into it's noble blue
Embraced by he
Who's life
is loving me
And with my last and final breath
I'd fade into it's blackest trench
That's where I long to be
With you and you alone
For all eternity
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