Long Trenched Poems
Long Trenched Poems. Below are the most popular long Trenched by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Trenched poems by poem length and keyword.
Mother don't you cry now
Daddy has gone to the sweet by and by
And I
Sweet music I do hear from the angels, so dear
I can hear them singing, singing
And mother doesn't ask why father has a tear in his eyes
Mama why does he cry, it must be raining outside
The rain on the ground is the tears, is the tears from heaven from the skies
The rain on the ground is the tears, is the tears from heaven from the skies
For I too have a tear in my eye, my eyes
It must be rain outside for my clothes are trenched why
The rain on the ground is the tears, from the angels crying, crying we ask why
The rain on the ground is the tears, from the angels crying, crying about mankind
And when the dearly departed are sadden
After the sadness comes the pain after the clouds empty it rain
I can see it all so clear;
The rain on the ground is the tears, is the tears from heaven from the skies
The rain on the ground is the tears, is the tears from heaven from the skies
For I too have a tear in my eye, my eyes
It must be rain outside for my clothes are trenched why
The rain on the ground is the tears, from the angels crying, crying we ask why
The rain on the ground is the tears, from the angels crying, crying about
mankind
07/11/09
Written by James Edward Lee Sr.
savoured the roses in the garden
especially the climbing variety
because they had no bounds
and therefore represented
the wild passion of change
the juice of fresh blackberries
ran down as he picked and imbibed them
consumed by their nature
he never minded the prickly thorns
scratching at his skin and his soul
yet calluses on his hands and mind
sometimes took him to a darker place
and the undergrowth would not shelter
a numb kind of restlessness
from a peace not to be had
but he had always been able
to salve the wounds
sometimes picked at the scars
as if to remind himself
that he was frightfully alive
calendula gave him respite
chamomile reminded him
of the healing power of
patching up sores that
appeared out of nowhere
and out of somewhere
only to be seen through that lens
of refraction reflection
and parallel consciousness
as he trenched through the soil
his hands a trowel
and fingers and rake
he minded the earthworms
which sooner or later
would decompose what was left
16th May 2023
Rainbow
It’s raining in my soul
hailing a hurricane of
desiccated tears drenched
to the bones and trenched
in my mindless mind
Constant pitter patter cracker
crocker like a desert under
water silence noise demise
Flooding iron cages of reason
leaks in abundance cascades
of unfelt emotion trickling
feeling what cannot be felt
Storm water defences over-spun
in endless loops of hidden sun
in torrents of nothingness
Leaks are the cracks where the
light gets into the solar stellar
moon moist musky meandering
at the cliff face of healing
Vents and releases are to limit
drowning drowsy suffocation
asphyxiation storm cloud’s haze
Walls will be crumbling
soul-muck can subside in
light of nothing but the rainbow
so far unleashed under cover
of grime and mind-soap deluxe
If it was that easy I would not be
writing this poem would be the
rainbow instead of the shadow
but I can attempt to pitter patter
to a different tune and tremor
2012/2016
While bulldozers, drunk with gasoline
Have once again scared and maimed
Where once grew trees and meadows free
Is now an earth, encased by concrete seas
Engines roar, to drown our ears in echoed glee
Where ghosts of children played their summer games
Forced to leave their childhood memories
In trenched out holes, and broken trees
The big top guns...ravage earth, then run
Dinosaurs that raise their iron heads
Jaws dripping with loads of earth and grass
As gophers rampaging through halls, bereft
are forcing nature's giants to their knees
Place by place destruction of the land
And while the green world grandfathers knew
Is gone in days, with every oak that falls
When this new invading presense is someday done
Has had his fill of dollar bills, then abandons one and all..
Who will mourn, who will recall?
__________________________________________________________
I will search for you
when stars seem to be mute
their sparkle shrouded by the cool soot of love's burning root,
I will reach for you
when my lips are lost, fever embossed,
as the night brings only frost, soul between two tears tossed,
I will pray for you
when lightening lashes the rock of my wisdom,
marking my mind with trails trenched in the temptation of Destiny's prism,
I will serande for you
as my most sensitive skin awakens to be awashed in heaven,
seeking your sacred surfaces with open pours pronouncing passwords of passion,
I will find you
where the crossroads of creation and divination release revelation,
divulging the rudiments of desire into senses romanced by body fire and love red vision -
J.A.B.
Bulldozers, drunk with gasoline
once again have scarred and maimed
a place, once green with grass and trees
Where we once heard the sound of breeze
and ghosts of children played their games
and were forced to leave their childhood memories
There trembles now an engine's roar,
that drowns the sounds of echoed glee
In trenched out holes, in broken trees
The big top guns....pour the concrete, build the towers
Ravage earth, take the power, then run- run- run
The dinosaurs raise their iron heads
Jaws dripping with loads of earth and grass
Like a gopher rampages through his halls
Forcing the small guys to their knees
One by one the disappearance of the land
And while the green world our grandfathers knew
Is gone in days, with every oak that falls
When this new invading presence someday is done
Has had his fill of dollar bills,
Then soon abandons one and all..
What will be our fate
Who will mourn, who will recall?
Will we stand up, change the course
Can we stop invading forces
Before it’s too late? Before we have lost it all?
________________________________________________________________
The old house stands still.
Rot has set in.
A flying termite caught in the webs of a dead spider, sway to the shrill of a ceiling fan.
All things sway.
Dreams rise and suffocate in the mouldering mortars
Falling on the adjacent tiled roof.
They scream, laugh, make love, declare the infiniteness
Of their finite existence through diatribes of reality and unreality.
They are passionate bunch,
Bound by their common desire to be. And blood.
And the house just is. It still is.
Once there were sparrows in the ventilators.
And envious swallows on the palm trees.
The ripples in the pond sing their dark, merry tunes
Licking away its edges,
And they shove and trample for the whiff of north wind.
Life persists in slow, lonely decadence.
The cactus on the roof thrives in monsoon and in summer.
Basil live and die, live and die trenched in the never ending circle
Of micro-civilisation.
The house harvests its own sustenance in the whispers among its bricks
That become a collective
And a roar is heard.
They pray to Earth.
The old house is defiant,
The old house is tired.
Its melting skin sizzles and stinks of industry of old,
A glorious past always in the distant like the horizon,
The promise of bright future exposed to the misery
That is naturalness of time.
The hammer rusted, weed has grown over,
They clinch onto the sickle, like oxygen.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Form: Free Verse
Date: 02 / 11 / 2016
Growing up in a state of the country where all the magnificence is limited to either history books or fictional literature, one hopes for something more. This is definitely a political reflection than anything else, but 'the house' is not just a metaphor, it does exist, and so do the people living in it.
Memories' claws catch weakness, sore substitutes for truth
Mind's future sambas hipswung with anticipated brew
Mother bird waits for non viable form to peck forth
- Maybe deserves haven, hollow where wings never grew
Taken for pyschiatric watch, her dignity snatched
Wheeled through corridors' dizzying demented askew
Violent spine flings translate her refusal to succumb
Praise oblivion wets periphery drenched in dew
Crazy called, insane answered, chat ensued furious
Before corridors consumed, dance quenched, she flew
Rhythm of obedient pulse beeps sanity's seep
Doctors molest old memories trenched, vague faded few
Sigrid's void has only her instinctive drive to leave
Hopeful risen dandelion seed on next gust blew
August 30th 2020
Syllable count per line is 13.
Bears no representation
to my experience
(just thoughts)!
Old Soldiers
Poem
Lionel Derbyshire
Old soldiers not born for war at all.
Father's brave and cold
Send into battle
And defend..
Home made men with chili courage
Gallant audacious and courageous
Very valuabe to their children
Never had a chance
To be good cuddle daddy's
They were alone and in fear
And no one near
The enemy bullet pierced them
And they bled and bled
And trembled tremble
Who sent them out there ?
Tremble tremble
Did they care ?
Quiver and shudder
They left the home
Leaving wife 'n child
Waiting their blank return
Their famliy field's are green
And their home is painted within.
Old Soldiers
Camaraderie in the war
Trenched , trampled , bruised in battle
Wounded father soldiers bravely fought
Returned in batches of boxes instead
Their courage..
Their hard fight.
Rewarded only
In memory of medals.
" the last thing Billy
done for me ...
was to paint the wall ..
and hang our portrait
above the dinner wall
before he left for war "
Only a cleft is left
In the lonely heart
Of the soldier's wife ..
And his name coldly
Embossed in marble
6 feet under in a cemetry.
Old soldier's did not
Want a war.
There's more than just twelve feet of twain
between total happiness and emotional pain
It's unfathomable, for they shall never meet
The distance is similarly much the very same
as is substantial derision 'tween cold and heat
There is much disparity amidst goat and sheep,
although they both have four legs and bleat
Assonant as the depth of a trenched abyss
the golden rays of sun; beams of silver moon
while one is wide awake, the other is asleep
Half a world away is midnight from high noon
The chasm is a wormhole, millenniums deep
It's a contrast amid abundance and emptiness
Never the twain to coincide. There's no egress
Woes of sorrow to the one who tries to compensate
for the lack of love that causes him to drown in hate