Long Turn Poems
Long Turn Poems. Below are the most popular long Turn by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Turn poems by poem length and keyword.
the sky darkened with nary a warning
as if a slate of black had been cast down from the sky
in the distance thunder gave us a nod
I saw a flash of lightning near the ocean
what was that on the pier?
I peered out my window
the magician was back!
His gambling cards were flying out of his duffle as he walked.
An owl screeched down toward him, giving him the business
I knew someone was slated to die
this always happens when I see the magician
Maybe it is my turn, I thought
“What is it?” asked my husband.
He is sicklier than I am.
“Nothing,” I replied.
Glad his eyesight was not that great.
All I needed was his heart rate to go jumping up into overdrive.
When life is only about love. Then life is not worth living.
When we learn harsh truthful lies. We are never winning.
But is commitment to another not the truest of love.
To say I love you and turn to look at another.
Isnt a case of flirt it is to sometimes hurt.
My eyes are only for you and you alone.
From the moment. I awake while at work at home.
Your face your lips your eyes your nose.
Your beauty can only compare to a perfect rose.
When my heart is sad it isnt by your tone.
Its because. I miss you every moment. I am alone.
My heart sours like the sun when I am with you.
So warm so much passion the fire within us two.
We hold and kiss and touch and cry.
You make my world and that is why.
Together we are one forever if you dont stray.
My heart would only be for you every night every day.
If I could play an instrument under your window.
It would make you smile and pout in a playful way.
Even the moon would melt at your beauty.
You make the clouds stay away. The rain it makes us play.
Jumping in puddles splashing the tears in your eyes.
On bitter days but only if you have a pain.
And my kisses and hot breath will dry them .
To make the muscles on your mouth show your perfect smile.
No heartache can come between us.
Even if a word you say is wrong.
We can make mere words become a song.
Like the birds in the morning sun.
They sing about you till twilight comes.
Always believe in our strength and no one.
Neither women or men will make us undone.
In our chaotic world, harmony has
retreated, leaving us at a loss,
Now, hopelessly, we look on as chaos
prevails, sanity crumbles and reason
tossed,
And amidst all the madness of greed,
discord and unrest,
We are each searching for a peaceful
place to take a moment to rest.
Instead, we’re blindly moving in
different directions, trying to find
solutions for a way out,
But in every corner, there’s something
that raises doubt,
Fights break out as voices clash and
opinions differ,
In this chaotic state, it seems like
everyone is at the edge of a cliff, with
some saying jumping off might be
better.
In the turmoil close ties are broken,
friends turn into enemies and love
into hate,
Then a darkness overtakes them,
sealing their fate,
All they have are screams of
anguish, constant tears of pain,
And death and destruction flow like rain.
Yet, amongst the turmoil and despair,
some with strong Faith still see a
flicker of light that inspires hope,
A chance for rescue through kindness and
compassion, thus offering a way to
cope,
So let’s stand together amongst the
shattered dreams and help each
other through this plight,
Through unity we can find the
strength to rise like the Phoenix from
the ashes, soaring high towards a
place and time of stability and no more
deadly fights.
by Zyrool
He stormed Omaha Beach in Normandy during the Second World War.
The old soldier knew all too well the din of battle and its heinous gore.
He'd fought his way through France ending up in the Battle of The Bulge.
He was hailed as a hero, but was loath his heroic deeds to divulge.
They pinned medals upon his breast - he suffered through the accolades,
And was honored by his hometown folks marching in their parades.
But there was something lacking - he was listless when among others.
He desperately missed his buddies - they'd become as close as brothers.
Through many restless nights he wrestled with demons from the past,
Tortured by bloody battlefield scenes and the thunder of cannon blast.
He was turned down by government agencies trying to relieve his plight,
And was met with unconcern at every turn - it seemed a hopeless fight.
He became addicted to the Devil's curse, the bottle, out of desperation.
Friends and family forsook him - he was headed for a life of devastation.
He was seen pushing an old grocery cart here and there about the town,
That held his meager belongings - he looked so pitiful and so worn-down.
The headlines read: "Veteran found dead beneath a blanket of snow!"
He'd sought shelter 'neath an overpass when it was twenty-one below.
He was buried with military honors while "Taps" sounded o'er his grave.
Come on America! Can't we do better than this for America's brave?
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
I can't hide my feelings and emotions,
As my happiness get faded away
Counting how many times my heart get hurt
And flooding my bed with my tears.
Losing my grandma and grandpa is a thorn,
Not like a gripping break up
All the good memories vanish like a lost key
And turns my happiness into a mourning cry.
Was I really wrong about falling in love?
Nothing can heal my broken heart
Grief becomes my own heart of darkness
As being blinded like a fool.
I always bottle my pain and sadness
As my world turned absolutely blank and black
And my grief turn from wound to scar
Leaving a hole in my heart.
DISTURBING THE PEN
what creeps
in?
insanity of sorts,
leaking
in,
instead of out.
it dribbles
out,
like drool or frothing foam.
it comes
from
the inner sanctum,
barely a
stream,
scissors snip away at contentions,
invention of
hate.
bitterness and cacophony invades.
you toss and turn,
laughing.
like a crazy fool, do not turn over
and look at
the underside.
drip, drop, drip,
on the roof of
your head.
clear your mind and begin again,
putting pen to
paper,
even bend and fly that plane.
ramblings are...
just that.
Conjure up a complete thought.
i see you hiding in the
corner,
cobwebs like sticky curtains.
madness laughs
uproariously.
how insane you look when humor beds your pen.
friction of match
complains,
as a scintilla of flame recognizes your waning brain.
9/20/2017
The rows and pews, the uproar of pain
Saint's can't tame
Hold your hands,
pray for the one up above-- confess your sins before the statue
The symbol of beauty
of grace and fatigue
Let the veil lift from damaged eyes
Call the Lord; the savior to all
Fall to your knees
A Holy sanctuary of angelic sinners
Let the blessed come forth to the purest of light,
have your love turn to anguish as the flames dance
Tickling your skin
Let it lap at the scraps like all rabid dogs; hungry for a taste-- one of blood
Crystal white and lush velvet
A cacophony--
one to clash, dance, form beauty
One for the Devil to lust, one for the Lord in vain
Bruised knees
Pointed hands
The screams are visible through stained-glass windows
When it's all burning, we're all laughing
the Sinners and Saints
Our saviour watches from the ash, the smoke, the flecks of human
No longer is Death a foe;
only an old friend
Once it's all gone, it reins
Take a moment to shut-down the brain.
Rebooting also works,
the writing on the mind wall
will probably continue,
but don't get back on the thought train,
The much annotated, over-cluttered script
will fade away
when your eyes begin to look through it.
We are all born with a soft spot
atop our heads, that aperture is still there,
it opens when you unplug
from all your self-talk.
The starry universe can now pour in,
or just a scent of an unworldly flower
that swoons your sense.
Keep brainless, sit apart from its
scrolling word-monitor,
sit, lay or stand one breath away
from its constant chatter,
watch from a distance
watch the one who watches
do not editorialize
just observe.
That metaphysical hole
in your emptying head
will let your Higher Self inward
and it will fill you with wonder
until you know there is no 'you'
at least until once more
you turn back on
your beeping and buzzing brain
to find some news of yourself.
(Verse)
Kurt will live forevermore, along with all of our existing songs
Songwriter for a disillusioned old-world generation, is not gone
On the day he left the world, he left me, and nothing else to do
I turn off the radio, our songs now are unbearable to listen to
Life goes on knowing one of these days the heart shall stop
This “very dark period” will come to an end, as shall tremulous teardrops
A determination, a resolution, till then I’m going to live like it’s the last,
appreciating everyday regardless of the hurt of songs from our past
(Chorus)
Shut down I am, the dreams get louder in my head
It's me that's gone, is it much easier for you now, being dead?
Music I once loved I can’t bear to hear,
I journey wounded thru glass in tears
You took you out, for me no light has shone
I can’t bear the darkness, can’t quite make it alone
(Refrain)
It’s times like these you learn to live again
it's times like these you learn to love again… (From the Foo Fighter song)
(Bridge)
What was then my loss I found a way back in solace of music
I played every instrument, I wrote, liberating my grief in lyric
I had to learn to live again, love again, without my friend
With the formation of Foo Fighters, my grieving came to an end
Though it was when my own daughters fell for Nirvana’s work
That healing words comforted them, conciliating the suicide of Kurt
(Refrain)
It’s times like these you learn to live again
it's times like these you learn to love again… (From the Foo Fighter song)
I have held the hand of sorrow
unable to comprehend its pain,
shared a sandwich with a beggar
offered respite from the rain
stood my turn as sentry
guarding our open gate
secure in Milton’s promise
“they also serve who stand and wait”.
I have turned the other cheek
forever gentle, never meek
listened as the mindless spoke
preserved their right to speak,
built the rising city’s towers
imbued the brick and steel.
Held a child in infancy
made mud pies shaped like hearts
stifled tears as others cried
at lives seemed torn apart.
My hands, grown calloused,
still reach to touch
the simple joys
beyond Life’s rush
of smiling eyes and gentle hands
that made - and altered - future plans.
I have held the hand of sorrow
moved past it through each morrow
sought the sunshine of each day
for simple men – that is their way.
John G. Lawless
4/14/2015