Long Trick Poems
Long Trick Poems. Below are the most popular long Trick by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Trick poems by poem length and keyword.
Tiptoeing inside an entrance that held
unknown mysteries of a slain clan,
draped photographs flickered with
low-lit candelabras of Halloween eve.
I ran up the steps as my heels
cracked on through a nightfall's twirl ...
the moon quivering like a ghoul's shadow
while rotten windows banged!
And the door reeled of odor around walls,
sipping the pungent air that hindered
my echoes from squeaking heavily
among a pile of crushed leaves.
Interior bleakness brought more dread
as tendrils of red mould hanged on cobwebs
dripping like spurts of blood...alone,
I turned to leave: my skirt rushing away
from the ancient house and its eerie view.
Glancing at the ruined structure
from a distance, fallen grasses
seemed to blink: my disheveled hair
meshing on a ripped treat- o- trick basket
as I quickly escaped, panting
into the thick fog without a candle in the mist.
Your Own Favorite Halloween Contest
Sponsor: Carol Eastman
T'was not the sun that caught mine eye
The shine reflected from nearby
The faces, golden in the field
With more light than the moon doth yield
There wild flowers, the like of which,
If true to hue, could make one rich
The land itself seems turned to gold
And if I were, myself, so bold
A bouquet of this gold I'd pick
And try to learn it's magic trick
The wealth that these bright flowers yield?
The truth of Faery gold revealed
The glamours of the tales of old
That turned to dust once they were sold
Perhaps they were but flowers bright
Whose colour faded in the night
For anybody having seen
This shock of gold amidst the green
Might think themselves in faeryland
With magic lying close at hand
Friday night beneath the blue neon lights
A honkytonk bar near surrounding heights
Full of cigarette smoke and loud music,
Boilermakers of whiskey and beer... winning trick.
The jukebox playing, "We Got Tonight." Young and able
He glances my way as he stands by the pool table.
Taking my breath away as he turns my way and say.
Do you want to dance? He holds my hand and away.
The minute that he touched my neck small bumps
Appear, the hair stood straight causing a lump
In my throat. I let him be my master.
Emotions of excitement arouse, my heart beats faster.
Bathing in warm and chills head-to-toe goosebumps
Off balance singing along to the song in my new pumps.
11/7/2019
“Want to play ball?” cackle of witch.
Play’n cards dispersed on pew.
Who knew this is the day they’d pay;
Their church doors close for good.
A knock at window breaks; no bat.
Hot blob of monster ball
is hurled, a hit - an eight feet orb
attacks in Devon moor.
The smoke and sulphur fills the air;
A vanishing neat trick.
T’other ball smashes window glass.
Who’s the show for? The church?
The time is nigh, nestled in now -
Century regardless.
The flames of hell might visit you.
You’ve faith to hide in church?
“…Can a person hide in secret places where I cannot see him?”
…”Do I not fill the heavens and the earth? …”
—Jeremiah 23:24 CSB (portions)
No creature is hidden from Him, but all things are naked and exposed to the eyes of Him to whom we must give an account.
—Hebrews 4:13 CSB
My entry for Regina McIntosh
Thanksgiving Blessings Poetry Contest
Wednesday
27th October 2021
Firstly I am ever so thankful I learned
to tell the time
So I can count my blessings up
Thankful for each individual letter
and word
Thankful for being I am able to write
So I can best try string a poetic sentence
together
Such as
I've never been to America
The closest ive ever got is via
the movie's or my t.v set
So I am basing this solely on
American's seem to do like they
say in Texas
Holiday's and special events bigger
and better than anyone else
Some we don't even have or celebrate
ourselves like Prom and Thanksgiving
Independence Day 4th if July
Other's meanwhile we do but not
on the same scale as
St Patrick's Day parade in Boston
New Year's Eve in Time's Square
Halloween Trick or Treat
Hopefully eventually 1 day I will get
to go and experience them 1st hand
And until then they will just have to
remain firmly on top of my Bucket list
Maybe that's the point and what
dreams are all about
Something to look forward to
As my greatest wish or dream
above all else
Is to visit the Big Apple
New York , New York
Because if I can make it there
I can make it anywhere
Giving-Thanks bigger and better
As if I was myself a proud
American
Not the bee box! Grandma would say
We heard it each time we went to stay
She had something in there precious for sure.
We knew to open it would feel impure.
Our parents would caution, “Don’t go near that box.”
I thought it held a monster with sharp teeth of a fox.
When grandma passed in twenty-twenty
We had lots to sort out, I do mean plenty.
“Let’s open the bee box,” my sister whispered to me.
I said “Let’s wait for the other siblings” – there are three.
Our brother was the last to come in the door.
It was midnight, we could not wait any more.
We ripped that box open and stared at Grandma’s stash.
That old woman was a pot smoker, and here was her hash.
We laughed ourselves silly, my cousin got sicker than sick.
We could not believe this was our grandma’s trick!
Poesy and song are all about
rhythm and flow, and tunes and tones;
how every rise and fall throughout
make melody within the zones
and forms of verse without fade-out
to listener's tympanic bones.
Measure’s a trick of deft poets,
who know the cadence of their feet
gives lines their tempo. And so it’s
like Poesy’s pulsating heartbeat;
it’s hypnotic (and you know it’s
rhythmic),—so feel its potent beat.
Together, Poesy's clear measure
(the crests and troughs of its music,
the highs and lows of its leisure)
can roar like a score symphonic,
an orchestra of high pleasure
with counterpoint so harmonic!
Atatine .00999 parts per million
Enough to power four continents
With my Matron Disstule Generator
One ounce can power enough energy
For one large city They laughed at my
Science and ridiculed my beliefs I offered
them money, they said it was evil.
I trick them by giving them pallidium
Knowing they would have to use me to
refine it. Fair, fair, I was fair I asked for
there lands to began mining. I made them
Wealthy people When some refused the deal
I smiled and walked away And one night
I heard the gossip of cackling hens, speaking
Of me as foolish and how they wished to exploit
Me. I created the Scarecrow in response. My
Need to exist before all others. My wife lefted
divorced me and married my enemy. One July
Fourth she came to visit me crying.Asking me
to again trust her. She had fallen on hard times
I took her in, for months it was like when we
Married. One night I was in the warehouse and
I heard giggles, I tiptoed to we're the noise was
and there she was standing . I asked her what
she was doing there she dropped her robe to
Inside me. I went to her and suddenly a large
Man grabbed me. I woke up tied to a chair in my
House She and her husband making love before
Me. I reached into my pocket and grabbed my
Neutron fazor. And then suddenly to my surprise
Through the wall he came to rescue me, My Scarecrow,
My Scarecrow had come to life!
The Blind Illusionist
Fate wears white gloves and pulls a whole dream from its top hat,
Twirls it in its palm like a tarot card that's burning,
Watches me applaud in my sleep, then whispers to me "choose",
But whatever I choose turns to smoke and to ash that's lost.
In the dream, I wander through houses with doors leading only to other houses,
Every room holds a beauty I will never get to touch,
The mirrors swallow my outstretched hands, leave me only empty cuffs,
And an echo laughing somewhere, behind some strange curtain.
I'm shown gardens suspended in the air of a crystal moment,
A sky with two moons drawing close as in a forbidden kiss,
Then a soundless bell wakes me, a signal
That it was all just props in a theater of dreams.
It's a blind magician dealing cards without ever seeing their faces,
Shows me the king of cups, then turns him into drought and bone,
Smiles with a stitched-shut mouth, like a doll with no life in it,
And still I play, though I know the stakes are always rigged low.
To give and take back is a trick as old as the world's illusion,
A handkerchief hiding a dove that never existed,
I applaud again in my sleep, though I feel the edges of the earth tearing,
Beneath the chair I'm sitting on, in this suspended hall.
Maybe I was never more than a card drawn from a stranger's deck,
A joker who believes himself king in a story written by someone else,
I'm afraid now of every beautiful dream knocking gently, calmly, at the window of my mind,
Knowing the blind illusionist will clap his hands again and take back what he gave me, or not.
I will place you in position, a spot you've never seen,
I will take away the fear you've felt and give you perfect peace,
Do not search for validation, in only me confide,
People's opinions do not matter, you have always looked into my eyes,
Whether you realize or not, you have solely relied upon me,
And in your heart people's opinions never mattered before, because you've discerned between love and greed,
So whatever you do that seems foolish to them, you know the root reason behind,
Because you're not operating on what they assume, you've always viewed the circumstances through my eyes,
Your strength comes from me alone, and your heart is in my hands,
I will always be right by your side even when you can't understand,
The enemy tries to trick you with distractions from every side,
But he can never steal the love we have, because in the end you will always be mine.