Long Turns Poems
Long Turns Poems. Below are the most popular long Turns by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Turns poems by poem length and keyword.
When moving to a new location
Love to survey the land
Finding the nearest gas emporiums
A Starbucks close at hand
McDonald's which I frequent often
Food stores with all the best deals
Office supplies, lumber yards
Great restaurants for yummy meals
Soon we'll know where everything is
But exploring is half the fun
Discovering stores once far away
Now are just a very short run
It helps to eliminate those illegal u-turns
Which are really hard on the wallet
Soon we'll know where everything is
Reducing our petrol wallop
Moved quite a number of times in life
Find it exciting and fun
You'd think at the age of seventy-eight
My wander lust would all be done
© Jack Ellison 2013
Splendiferous, once was love;
it’s heights a peak of madness:
A burning need, a flow’ring seed
blooming with passion’s delight.
Differences seem to balance.
Weaknesses offset by strength.
A missing part connects two hearts,
Imperfect, but now complete
Hope and dreams unimagined
take root and begin to grow
with focused beam upon the scene--
a future slowly unfolds.
Day by day the living starts;
small quirks begin to annoy.
Somehow you find, through daily grind,
wide fissures and cracks appear.
First, comes the stiff, cold-shoulder;
then, talking turns to silence.
Throughout the room, pervades a gloom,
the pall of love in death's vice.
‘Til all that’s left is walking
despite certain pain and fear--
a scarred flesh with no hope-chest
to sustain it on the way.
Now prayers of intercession
Erupt from faint heart and lips,
a healing spell, curing the ills:
Holy balm for what afflicts.
One day, Love will stroll back in
to mend emotional wounds;
Transformed by grace, upon the face
of a soul in need of rest.
Hold strong to your faith, my friend
when the darkness overwhelms.
Until such time, you’ll ever find
my friendship is always near.
jsc 11/18/2015
This is the second poem I've written in this original form of 7-7-8-7 where the third line consists of six words with internal rhyme on words three and six. Now, I think the form needs a name. Any Ideas?
"The soul of Nature, echoes endlessly
through the infinite rhythmic tick tock of the seasons."
Quote_by Poet
Dawn awakes as it was given a brush
And a palette of watercolors nurturing nature
Undecided as for spring, summer, fall, or winter.
A blending of warm lemons into the flawless sun
And the harmony of indigo into the boundless heaven.
Purple steeples rose and laid gently against the skyline
As the prepossessing gentle breeze whispers to a sea
Of love struck waving verdant meadow and crimson poppies.
A shadowed, gravel path, dusted with earthly leaven,
Untraveled turns and bends, but just the imprints of the wild.
2/22/2022
F Form - Free Verse- New - Poetry Contest 1. Nature
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Upon my graduation from MIT,
they didn’t hand me a diploma.
They handed me a mask—
and a seat at the table of shadows.
They called me Director,
but in truth, I became a ghost in the wires—
a puppeteer of perception,
twisting public minds like wind turns leaves.
We didn’t drop bombs.
We dropped whispers—
tweets, headlines, a viral meme.
We knew the frequency of fear,
the algorithm of unrest.
I authored elections
without casting a vote.
Sparked revolutions
with nothing but a sentence.
Cities burned not from gasoline—
but from belief.
We mapped human behavior
like cartographers of the soul.
Your outrage, your patriotism,
your doubt—
all forecast, filtered, engineered.
Sometimes I’d watch a nation tremble
and think:
Is this power or plague?
But in the eyes of the Deep State,
truth is a weapon,
and fiction—
an even sharper one.
We studied your grief,
your faith,
your thirst for justice.
Then we fed you just enough truth
to swallow the lie.
Who controls perception
controls the pulse of nations.
And now I wonder:
do you even know your thoughts are yours?
You see a protest.
We lit the fuse.
You see a hero.
We scripted the lines.
You hate. You hope.
You act.
But not as yourself.
You are living inside the world we designed.
We don’t need to rule countries.
We rule minds.
Now I write this as a man unmasked.
Not to warn you—
but to confess:
I helped build the architecture of illusion.
I was the silence behind your scream.
And if you’re reading this,
perhaps it’s already too late.
Day has taken light
Children muster on rivers edge
Priest spread the words of God
Her love for me has feathered and flew
Sounds of thunder roar like lions
Thoughts of fame have come and passed
Never before have I ever wonder
Through the eyes of evil worship
Far out lands become islands
Love to all that matters
Sacrifice has come to pass
Ancient warriors die by sword
Pyramids shadow desert sands
Once again we walk in sync
Follow paths of Gods before us
Fire burns the surface of man
Walk with me let life begin
My lust for you turns into sin
We took the Vow let Love begin
Ocean breaks the gusty winds
For you I perish will bliss set in
My lust for you turns into sin
This poem is ending I start to grin
For you I perish will bliss set in
One more time I'll say it again
This poem is ending
A message I send....
They built this world for the other hand,
Every door, every tool, every scissors command.
Ink smears across my palm like war paint,
While spiral notebooks mock me with their constraint.
But I am the mirror breaker,
The rule shaker,
The one who writes backwards
And dreams in reverse.
Ten percent revolution ninety percent poetic evolution
I am the southpaw standing alone
Against a kingdom of clockwise clocks
And right-turn locks.
My hand moves left while the world turns right,
I am the shadow boxer in broad daylight.
Every signature is an act of defiance,
Every handshake, civil disobedience.
They say I'm sinister—
From the Latin for "left"—
But I am the artist
Of beautiful theft,
Stealing moments of pure rebellion
With every stroke of my rebellious pen.
I am differently commanded.
So here's to the lefties, the rebels born,
Who face each day like breaking dawn,
Carving our paths through a backward maze,
We are the 10 percent uprising,
The minority surprising,
The ones who reach across our bodies
To write our own stories.
I'm the child that no-one See's, no-one ever remembers me, I live across the road from
you, the one with bruises, black and blue, the child who never speaks or cries, the child
with sunken dark ringed eyes.
I watch you as you walk on past, from the dirty bedroom window glass, I never smile or
wave to you, my arm, like my heart is broken too, but that's something I must never
mention, my bones mend without attention.
I don't get hungry anymore, although my throat gets dry, I try to forget how I feel, and
watch the world pass by. I saw a lady with her dog, he pranced and played on grass, I
liked that very much, just watching from behind this glass.
One day I will play outside, and I will have a dog, the sun will shine upon my face
instead of dirty fog, of all the dreams I had today, this one I will keep, I'm going to
play with this little dog, once I fall asleep.
With such a start I turn around, the door is opening wide, and stepping into this lonely
room, he grabs me as I hide, my frail body thrown around, my head hits against the wall,
he smiles at me, he's oh so pleased, as I hit the floor.
As he turns to leave the room, my eyes become a mist, he hit me really hard this time,
full force from his fist, I used to find the strength to stand, I'm usually ok, but this
time it's so different, I'm being pulled away.
On wooden floorboards where I fell, I'm certain I see God, he has come to take me home,
and with him is a dog. As he takes my lifeless hand, and lifts me to his chest, he tells
me there will be someone, me they won't forget!
'Suffer little children, to come unto me, for theirs is the kingdom Of heaven'
Time's Weavings, As I Brood Upon Them
Shut inside windows open W I D E
I age 1,000 years
To your one.
The Past turns in tight circles upon the Present,
Inscribing itself in memories
Lending textures to the future,
Pains and pleasures,
Loves and losses,
Bitter, sweet,
All fall together to become tomorrow,
To break apart and cycle on again.
Outdoors, beyond a window full of November's clouds
A child runs gaily past,
While up the street, with ancient, measured tread,
A crone approaches;
Youth and age will meet and cycle 'round again.
I turn grey thoughts within my mind,
Composing poems as Significant Others
Drift in and out of the rooms of my life,
Now babe, Now child, Now youth, Now adult
Now gone.
Friends and lovers weave the warp together,
Light and shadow chase one another through the rooms,
Whispering secrets of change.
the forest path winds and turns
weaving
and the foliage is lush and wild
as I arrive at wooden steps
that the forest wants to claim
I pause
then, walk upwards in awe
of a deep hush and sigh
and it feels
that I have stepped
into a magical
sacred place ...
___________________
April 10, 2023
Poetry/Free Verse/forest pathway
Copyright Protected, ID 04-1538-676-10
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
O.Babe
What's become of Us
I'm saddened by the sorrow
That I no longer feel
I could wish upon a star
But I know that isn't real
The daily life of always
And here to there to share
Not met with meant no longer
And a sombre stand to care
We miss you in the evening
In the twilight next to day
Then there's that part we lose you
In Isn't nothing new we say
So cry a tear a river widening
And wonder why it's gone
We hear it over and over
Like a hit me hurt me song
The longer than forever
We can reach and we can learn
The turns we find so often
Like the embers that don't burn
So Oh Babe I'm so sorry
I don't miss you most of all
I'll try to remember you always
Like we just talked in a call
And find me in the evening
Never grieving at not near
The clearest we can offer to
The loved ones we can't hear
Is Amen and an always
We can find find it when we try
The gone and guess is better
Than we've done our all to cry
And truer than a sunset
We can't see that it is clear
Always is she was lovely in
I still miss you most my dear
For Becky
My Babe