Long Twists Poems
Long Twists Poems. Below are the most popular long Twists by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Twists poems by poem length and keyword.
a day in the life
of an everyday man
mostly working to live
to provide what he can
looking at others
and comparing success
but a man who has everything
can sometimes have less
the gold and the splender
are all material things
when its time to go back
all your need are your wings
a time of reflection
a quiet moment of thought
to make the most of this time
as this time is too short
mistakes are a given
its all part of our plan
so lets meet them head on
and just be a good man
we’re all here for a purpose
so lets lead and lets learn
and start looking for answers
and have faith in concern
to make the most of the knowledge
we’ve been given since birth
ask lots of questions
theres more to this earth
are we here to return
with a story to tell
did we fail before
and came here cos we fell
whatever the reason
i will make the most of this life
to be a the best I can be
alongside my beautiful wife
i know life is for living
our time is for a reason
its not too long so remember
to make the most of this season
there could be a god
with a son who’s the saviour
would the truth make a man
change his earthly behaviour
i am not a sinner
neither a saint
a non waivering faith
but actions that taint
im a man on a mission
to be the best i can be
ill be there once more
for the whole world to see
funny how life
offers twists and some turns
playing russian toullette
with the ending to learn
Grunt grunt below the gutter
The man of the sewer works
With his big old rusty spanner
He twists the pipes, the nuts and bolts
That struggle to hold the metal that jolts
The rats and roaches scamper
When they hear the sewerman's steps
Plod plod plod goes the smelly sewerman
Onto the next battered and crusty pipe
Glog glog the stinky water churns
Flowing out in wispy waves
Greenish hue surrounds the river of filth
Looks like a witches wildest dream
Mr sewerman scrunches his bulbous nose
Shaking his head and clicking his tongue
As a fat rat chases past his bulky boots
Oh Mr sewerman sir
Look how much you toil and swear
See and smell all what you wear
Do you like this job Mr sewerman sir
Are you merry and well with the fat rats
Jolly and gay with huge skidding roaches
I say your plight is choice
Look at that large frame
You could have been a pawn in the country's game
And left the smelly sewers that you call home
Honour and grace could have earned you a place
As a general or even a captain of the horde
Instead you cower behind the sewer's cover
And douse yourself in the smelly waters
Look at me Mr sewerman sir
When I strut with my uniform in town
People wave and salute me in honour
Do you envy my shiny medal
And the respect from the townsfolk?
Forgive me, my love, for I wandered like a lost traveler,
On the enchanted caravel of our lives,
I traveled through blooming fields,
But slipped away like a subtle and enticing melody.
In the garden of your heart, I found shelter and rest,
A haven of tranquility, like stories woven in moonlight,
But I couldn't vigilantly watch over the early buds,
I left, letting them discover their own heights.
Forgive me, my love, for the long and deep nights,
When our dreams intertwined like threads of gold,
On the sky of your life, I unfurled like a celestial traveler,
But disappeared into the timeless mist of silence.
In your eyes, I deciphered unspoken secrets and hidden mysteries,
On your lips, I tasted the essence of eternal love,
But as a pilgrim of infinity, I didn't know how to stay,
To share the heavy and unwavering burden of our existence.
Forgive me, my love, for leaving the labyrinth of your soul,
Leaving your heart to weep in bitter isolation,
But even as a traveler through the twists and turns of your life,
I loved passionately, like a sunrise ablaze in fiery flames.
Now, as a memory, you will carry within you the echo of my pilgrim,
A traveler who sowed seeds of love on the untrodden path,
And perhaps, in another spring, on another day of grace,
You will forgive the traveler who passed through your magical and mysterious world.
A heart that's closed
Is not exposed
It feels no pain
An upward gain
Control to have
On what to feel
Don't want to love
It's no big deal.
Love is an easy
Word to say
Manipulated
For games to play
To elevate
Their ego gain
The ones that play
Are that vain.
Love an
Exaggerated
Over stated word
When all is right
Till things go wrong.
Moods and feelings
Begin to change
Boredom, expectations,
The blaming game.
Some will start to play away
Broken words
On promises made.
Resentment and sadness
Creeps it's way in
Emotional sepsis
Starts to begin,
Volcanic eruptions
Of anger and hate
Pains from hell
Has opened its gate.
Emotional lava
Tempers fast flow
Where is that seed
Where love did grow?
Where is that love
That was often proclaimed?
How loving feelings
Flip over and change.
Spoken cruel words
Often cut deep
Sharp bladed tongues
Spit venom; eyes weep,
Stabbing so fiercely
With deep powered twists
Forgetting their love
If it really did exist.
Weathered changed feelings
Warm, hot, cooling to cold
Violent hurricanes
Start to unfold.
Wreckage of feelings
Minds battered and torn
Leaves many scarred
And painfully forlorn.
If this all grew from love
How fickle it is
Weather seasons of feelings
Only humans can bring.
23.07.2021
As I ride the winding roads away from smothering waves of hypocrisy,
I cross the line into freedom through valleys, soft breeze and fluent rivers
Decorated with weathered rocks and bordered by empty picnic tables
The multi-colored mountains rise high above me, holding onto spatial snow,
Before it’s stolen by spring’s warmth with months of waiting to be seen again
Suddenly everything is so simple, like the wandering turkey, on patches of grass
Old railroad tracks remain in place through crevices of gray cliffs so narrow on edge
Birch trees cast shining white color in clusters on the side of the road in the sun
Waterfalls flow down the mountainside with an ‘energy’ some thrive to have,
In a world spinning with hatred amidst criticism that drains the depth of one’s soul
While all those ‘complaining’ hurl insults like balls of fire, fueling it more each day
Yes, hypocrisy has its twisted way
But, far into the fresh air of these mountains, so cleansing and peaceful to the mind,
There is no place for this kind of hypocrisy that twists, bends and projects, robust negativity
Such that those want to push onto others like a wave in which they believe will drown the truth
But, God allows for spaces to be found that some things he dislikes may never reach
Such as these mountains, this winding road, this fresh air to breathe all with no casted stones
Heidi Sands
4/9/21
Because I live, I cannot alter the wind, but I can adjust my sails to ensure that I land safely all the time. By Poet
Because I live among humans and not angels
I cherish affection in all aspects of my life
We shall remain in love as long as we are alive
In our world, beauty is becoming scarcer
Moreover, we act as if nothing is significant
Because I live, delight stems solely from love
As social beings, that's just how we behave
And we are here to express and bestow passion
Recover cheerfully when life knocks you down
Our lifestyle is absurd, but we are not insane
Love, sympathy, and respect are what fuel us
Wealth is essential, but it's not everything
Realize that life unfolds as you're scheming
Either you grasp the day or it steers you
Oh, the golden radiance of the past is gone!
Sacred stones are now present everywhere
Our house is a beacon in the pitch-black night
Our mother's voice is audible in the shadows
Oh, poor kids, once worth their weight in gold
They are now regarded as pottery made of clay!
They are living oblivious to the lives they've changed
People gave other people purpose and brightness
Because I am yet alive, leaps are being made
Twists and connections abound throughout
Since our lives are connected, I get hollered at
My influence has been recognized frequently
I am, however, largely focused on my own life.
Written: April 06, 2023
Choose wisely your what guards your heart; for we are products of our environment.
Written: October 21, 2023, For Miranda Hawley Contest
________________________________
We must mightily mold matches in this life.
Actions must be taken to forestall strife.
We stop at every junction to demarcate.
What we decide will determine our fate.
Our upbringing has a significant impact on us.
Those who belong to us shape our solid fuss.
Be wary of who you let into your inner circle.
Because their vitality could be a hurdle.
You should stay away from the negative.
Things that are poisonous and deceptive
Smacking serves the strength to spread.
And impel your emotions to grow in dread.
Avoid those who induce stress at a distance.
Who twists a grin into a gesture of riddance?
Wrap yourself in a quilt of affection and rely
And witness your spirit soar across the sky.
Trapped for so long in walls that cocooned her
She struggles to break free
All she desires is escape from the darkness of her prison
And the walls that bind her
To feel the sun on her face, the cool breeze on her body
She pushes and pushes with all her might …
Eventually she sees a pinprick of daylight
She struggles and struggles, fighting with all her strength
Finally emerging into the world
Fluid pumps around her body
She twists and turns and her wings start to unfurl
Hanging upside-down she remains motionless for several hours
Slowly, sensuously, she reveals her beautiful body
I gasp at her breathtaking beauty – she is simply stunning
There before my very eyes – a beautiful butterfly
13th April 2015
What do I do, my soul inquires, abandoned in the shadow of the moment,
When the call to move forward is incessantly declared wrong.
My options are as hazy as dreams shattered at the dawn of day,
My inner sight – a lamp in the depths of a cave of the unknown.
What can I do, when choices gather like leaves on the branch of time?
And resolve, a perpetual ice statue in the marketplace of my fate,
Twists like a stream in the underbrush - will it find its way to the sea?
Or remain a forgotten river, transformed into an irreparable abyss?
Can the seasons melt back, to when they were the minions of the sun,
When every path was open, and a smile was not yet a foreign gesture?
The dilemma gnaws at me, yet at the same time, my mirror has no face,
Not just scratched or bruised, but pierced through, a ship without wind, left to drift.
I am not the shipwreck I expected to crash into,
Yet my heart wonders, why does the first kiss of pain always know its name?
Am I a fallen spirit speaking in tongues of mud, that must suffer?
Or am I woven to live in this perpetual twilight of pain that won't be silent?
Do I actually invite this abyssal drama into my play?
Do I delight in sudden, furious leaps, in the lash of persecution?
Clearly, I should raise myself high, upon the throne of deeds,
Even though I ask myself, with fear, do I truly deserve to receive this crown?
I feel as though the sun has set, but my heart still offers scalding love.
I feel as though I should be lucid, yet in my fists hide too many embers.
You will never realize how heavy unspoken words can be,
Until you see others trampling over them, crushing what can no longer be restored.
Will I be the Dark Knight rising from a sea of the ash of time?
Or will I be the buffoon, severed from the halo of favors, eclipsed by the tired joke?
Stay close, and I will bear witness, in this tale when the pendulum hides within the fog.
Nature, in her quiet wisdom, forever mirrors this reality, weaving it into the very fabric of existence. The sturdy oak tree, in a world of ever-shifting acclimate, adheres faithfully to its intrinsic nature; it does not yearn to be a weeping willow, but unfurls its gnarled branches to the sun with unyielding authenticity.
This steadfastness is its silent promise to the forest—providing shade, sustenance, and a home for countless creatures, never betraying its purpose. Just as a river, in beautiful obedience to the call of the sea, must follow its natural course without second-guessing the twists and turns, so too does the authentic self move through the world.
The river carves its path with honesty, and in that sincerity, it gives life to the valley, remaining true to its essential character. It cannot be false to the land around it because it is, above all, true to its own flowing essence.
Observe the moon, which in a celestial dance of trust, waxes and wanes through every phase—full, crescent, new—never hiding its current form or seeking to be anything other than what the moment demands. In its complete acceptance of its own cycle, it reliably governs the tides and lights the night sky for all the world to see.
Thus, the natural world stands as a living testament: When the seed blossoms into the flower it was always meant to be, its unique fragrance is a gift to every passerby. Its self-actualization is its contribution.
To be true to one's own self is not a selfish act. Still, the most profound act of generosity, for in the integrity of one's own being, a harmony is established that resonates outward, like ripples from a single, clear stone dropped into a still pond, touching everything around it with an unwavering, honest grace.