Long Valley Poems
Long Valley Poems. Below are the most popular long Valley by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Valley poems by poem length and keyword.
"Bring Me Wine,Myrrh and My Sweetheart Daughter Anabella,
My Little Anabella Loves To Listen To The Voice Of Salome,Her Lyre and Her
Happy Serenade..
Tell My Scribes To Be Fast About Compiling The Exploits Of Their King In His
Last Battle Campaign..What Is a King Without An Updated Chronicle..
Send In My Little Prince For His Voice As He Reads Through His Texts Of
Poetry..Lures The King His Father To a Closer Salient Walk With The gods..
Tell The War Generals To Give Me A detailed Brief of Our Next Campaign.."
At Morn..
"Send In The Finest Of Thy Young Warriors..So I can Test My Stealth In The Very
Face Of Battle and Danger...
What Have Young Men Turned Themselves into..So Lazy,Wanton and Unmanly..
Off My Sight Before I Seek Thy Skulls This Very Instant..
(In Privacy With The Head Warrior)..Oh! Sarskaas Your Young Boys Are one of the
Best in The Region My Training Sessions Are Truelly Refreshing..Tell this not to
them Lest you build the Fruits of Pride and Treachery in their Young Minds..
Do Usher in My Seductive Belles to Show Off Their Waists in Acts of
Poetry,Dance and Linguistic Body Embellishments..."
At Noon..
"You The Dreaded Most Notorious KING Of the Valley..A Demi god,Invincible and
Indestructible..As I Speak Kiss The Sole Of My Feet and eat this dish of Camel
Dung mixed with fine desert sand..
Ax-Man when he finishes his dessert Bring me his Head on My 'Royal Golden
Skull-Dish'..
Usher in the Wise Men of the South..For I want to converse with them in this
same spirit of Saliency..
Stuff the roast Calf portions with a lot of herbs and Spices..You well know its the
Obsession of the Men from The south.."
At Sundown..
"Usher in the different contingents of Musicians to Entertain my Salient Guests...
Wrap My 'Lotus Fumes' Quickly so I can Smoke this Life's Troubles Aways..And
See Through the One Eye of the gods in Solemnity and Blissful Thinkings,
Head Eunuch Do Send A Servant to The Harem..He Should Tell My Queens to
get A-Ready For Their Lord is in Good Shape for Royal Rumbles and More..
Oh! My Faithful Knights your War plans were excellent..Go Now Enjoy and Excite
your souls as much..Retain your honour and have the War at the Back Of your
Minds..
Depart In Peace..Many A-Waists in The Harem are Restless..
I go in to Satisfy My Very Own.."
Welcome Again To The World Of That Certain King..
This poem was inspired by the interviews by Earl K. Pollon and S. S. Matheson conducted with native Sekanni peoples who were negatively effected by the flooding of their communal homelands by the building of the W.A.C. Bennett Dam. “This Was Our Valley” tells that story of injustice. 640 square miles of riverfront and hunting territory would be flooded to form Williston Lake. The Sekanni peoples were driven from their ancestral homeland in northeastern British Columbia, Canada and dispersed.
The Shopping Cart Injustice
People, place and spirit
All were our relations
Biopeds, quadrupeds, winged or finned -
River language told us so.
Fishing rocks spoke the run
Where the riffles and the rapids talked.
Ancestors, dead and alive, told living stories where
Running the river banks, the children played.
The land was a book written in forms.
We made our mark with love, community
Fishing weirs, aspen dugout canoes,
Hunting trails, camps and sacred sites.
Always traders, we traded furs with
White settlers when they arrived
On the rivers Parsnip, Finlay and Peace at
Finlay Forks, Fort Grahame, Fort McLeod.
We added pack trains, teams of pack horses
River freighters, flat bottom ‘longboats’
For supplies and for mail delivery.
It seemed that we could live together.
Then one day a government agent said
That shopping carts were coming
They would flood our world
Water rising everywhere
Shopping carts with electric can openers
Full, fast to check out,
Shopping carts with electric hair blowers,
Full, faster to check out,
Shopping carts with electric air conditioners,
Full, fastest to check out
Shopping carts with electric stoves.
Check out, check out, check out.
They would make our rivers into a lake
We would move or drown.
Our elders did not believe it.
That was the only consultations!
Soon Saskatoon berries all under water
Next, the banks sloughed back to graveyards
Next, cliffs crumbled, and banks fell into rising lake
Houses of the villages slipped and floated
Coffins, bones and bodies strewed the shore
Where tangled trees, debris and more
Eddied with flotsam in the wind.
We wept for our ancestors!
We weep for our children.
We had to flee the destruction
Caused by tree grinders, D-9 bull dozers
The dam construction.
Now they want to take more
Another dam for more shopping carts.
Please stop Site ‘C’.
Heartbroken lass bereft of eminent beau
papa doth vicariously experience her
(mine daughter's) grievous woe.
Unfair a budding promising relationship nought
going to incorporate wedded bliss,
when for all the world
the strong humble lad
absconded to Puerto Rican his homeland.
Thus pained University
of Pennsylvania alumna
("star student") since grade one
at Belmont Hills Elementary
whose high school alma mater
i.e. Harriton High School,
now glum Oakland California transplant.
I (biological father),
who helped beget offspring
writhes with agony,
cuz he and the missus
sowed wild oats
during prime time,
when irresistible call of the wild
overtook wisdom to shuck contraceptive
yielding the miracle of life.
Parenthood never ended
just because declaration of independence
and autonomy witnessed natural propensity
for progeny to reliant become on self
forced shoulder living expense
no only for herself,
but deux darling
tortoiseshell dappled
five month old kittens
most certainly a constant reminder,
when she and he "two peas in a pod"
shared so many college campus memories,
whereby appearances hinted
and predicted a shared destiny
between two love birds.
An abrupt cleavage
rent asunder never witnessing
mutual graceful dotage
figuratively saddled once ebullient psyche
unnecessarily bogged our engineering minded lady
with cumbersome equipage
after they spent precious
young adulthood years together
emulating how married couple live, I gauge
such scenario, cuz talk of wedding bells
filled the (telephonic) airwaves,
whereby yours truly feeling blessed
potential prodigal son in law
his earning hand over fist big bucks
employed at Silicon Valley company
geared toward marketing fitness application.
Unsure how said high achiever
bolstered with you go girl refrain,
(who ofttimes communicated with Zayda,
i.e. his demise a crushing sorrow),
which inevitable prolonged decline
sundered special rapport
since more'n threescore
Earth orbits around the sun
papa acquired mechanical engineer degree
working within Aerospace Division
at General Electric.
Impossible mission not to care
despite mein kampf punctuated
with mine wanderlust flair
marital covenant garden variety
wordsmith did greatly impair
triggering hostility within mine humble lair
adulterer letter forcibly donned as outerwear.
I live on the mountain
Below the silver mist
In the valley, full of magic
Where the sun has rarely kissed
I am called a smudger
I live on what's left behind
I have been here near forever
I'm the last one of my kind
Below the mountain major
Lives a dragon, fierce and bold
Sleeping now, and dreaming
Of it's hoard of stolen gold
Eleventy years plus twenty
I have been here on this earth
Cleaning up the dragons droppings
It's how I justify my worth
The dragon's ruled this mountain
For a thousand thousand years
The silver river that flows through it
Is full of snow melt and of tears
Once a generation
Someone comes from down below
Gets the villagers all riled
Says "The dragon has to go"
They go and fight the dragon
Try to take his hoard of gold
And that is why, it's me the smudger
Who knows how the story must be told
The fighter leaves the village
Full of gusto and incensed
Saying "justice for the village"
or close to that....condensed
The dragon then awakens
Flys around and burns the town
Leaving nothing left but ashes
everything gone or burned down
Now, I, your local smudger
Cleans up the dead and done
It's a profitable existence
Since I am the only one
The dragon knows there's nothing
Much more of value to behold
The villagers were poor folk
Owning neither jewels or gold
I've cleaned up more destruction
Caused by villagers who go
On up to face the dragon
And get killed with just one blow
Now, I make candles with their bodies
I use their skin and body fat
I weave the hair not melted
And I make a nice new front hall mat
The bones I grind and scatter
On the mountain in the trees
It helps the ferns all grow strong
And keeps the trees free from disease
What little money I find
I leave half by the dragons den
Over time I have left there
Money from five thousand men
I've swords I sell at auction
When I travel, but that's rare
There is really nothing for me
That's not near the dragons lair
It's a relationship existing
On destruction and of greed
The dragon burns the village
And I get the things I need
They rebuild and they recover
And a generation may pass by
When once again some young, strong fighter
Wakes the dragon, makes him fly
I guess we need each other
That's the way it's always been
I'm the smudger on the mountain
I'm the one who's never seen
Stella Williams was eight years old, living with her widowed mother-
Happily, though a bit lonely, like powder blue skies, sans sunset color.
The Williams lived in a rural area, with no child Stella's age, nearby.
A farmer in the valley, was the only neighbor, like waves of no reply.
Still, school hours were fun for Stella, like rollicking days of summer;
When plum sun, waltzed with stars of glitter, often going undercover.
Stella, at times, threw coins in their well, to wish for a special friend,
Besides the birds and blooms of beauty, and rolling hills of never end.
As faint rays forgive after furious storm, distant family came, finally;
In fancy days of dinnerplate dahlias, of gold, pink, or maroon vitality.
Stella lived in the house of empty rooms, that recollected sunny joys;
There the nostalgic past, argued with hopeful future, making no noise.
A purple path close to their front door, seemed painted with petunias;
In amethyst days of evening sparkle, and sunrises, the hue of peaches.
Numerous nightingales sang at hiigh noon, when new neighbors called;
In notable, precious moments, not ever forgotten-redolence enthralled!
'String of hearts plants,' trailed love petals, as 'oyster plant,' culled gems.
The rich pink, 'quill blooms,' shot daggers, like vexed queens, in diadems.
'Enchanting hostas' charmed summer moon, as 'elephant ears,' harked;
Then 'rising sun redbud' trees sang, with dawn on gloss petals, marked.
Stella still wandered to the well to wish, some afternoons and evenings,
As some yet gaze at mysterious stars, to uncover astrological meanings.
Stella was reading in her favorite spot, on a day of hot, persimmon sun;
And she looked up and saw a girl her age. A new friendship was begun!
Veronica was the daughter of the farmer in the dell, who was divorced;
And she was now living with him. Stella was invited to dinner, of course.
In time, Stella and her mom got to know, their nearest neighbors, well;
For Stella got her wish, when her mother married the farmer in the dell.
'The farmer in the dell.
The farmer in the dell.
Hi-ho, the derry-o!
The farmer in the dell.
The farmer takes a wife.
The farmer takes a wife.
Hi-ho, the derry-o!
The farmer takes a wife.
The wife takes a child.
The wife takes a child.
Hi-ho, the derry-o!
The wife takes a child.'
A Determined Devil -
As I lay another cedar beam plumb for our home
smoke plumes, serpentine and sulphuric, interrupts the sunshine,
I look below the ridge, Eve standing silent
with weapon in hand,
a woman so grand,
panic has no rest in her person, fear has no finger on her pulse,
I move like lightning, to war by my Lady's side,
Valley vandels have come, scortching field fruit,
searing insidious signs into our peach and apples trees,
incarnate, the Devil disheveled with a defunct posse of three
approaches me, hailing not from a city of Angels but from a ghetto of ghouls,
mean and ugly like ignorance injured by the ivory tusks of innocence,
a madman desperate for the destruction of Divinity,
unskillful and wishful for lies to come alive,
he's a scribbler scribe, a dribbler riddler
a stereotype simpleton, frontin' and gruntin'
fallin short of the great gangsta idol,
just a stereotypical imbecile, a pencil with no lead,
burpin chicken feathers claimin them to be the silk quill of Angels,
I turn to Eve now
with eyes saying now is the time for demise,
briefly, before I strike steel across the throat of Hell itself
our first promise to each other repeats in my memory,
"I forever fight for you"
as her brown eyes convince me of loyalty, love royal,
she rips her blade through his groin
as I open a river across the throat of this terrible thug...
Raising A Tribe -
Eve, this land is already populated by persons whom seem like us,
although different too, like seasons in soul,
divergent in their dreams for dynasty,
they have dialects from a depth of Dawn
that awoke long before we arrived to thrive here,
customs peculiar as shapes to stones,
Father never spoke of these klans
who strive to survive outside the mercy of His guarded Garden,
competitive as clouds in a shrunken sky,
I met a merchant, a servant to trade,
he told of banners and blood, laws and legacies
cultures savage and cities of crime,
gleamed from telling stories of wealth and wonder,
said they worship their Gods more ways than gold folds,
consider what we have encountered Luv,
will our children slay or be slain, war or work
love or get lost in conquest,
you, as a Woman of God's glorious gambit
have a harvest of futurity's face in the balance,
will you deliver the destiny of our union into this drama...
Justin A. Bordner...J.A.B. 2021
My heart is broken for our dear Texan dears
Happy campers
Then flash flood washed way
in earth's tears
Words escape me as I write my heart
That grieves with you whose hearts are torn apart
The yellow rose of each precious soul
A childhood dream was summer camp's goal
And oh, the glorious Fourth of July
Turned from delight to "Oh, Dear God, why?"
What words could I lend to each of you
I pray that God will see you through
In tears I reach across the miles
That somehow God would gift you smiles
Of those who now in heaven's wake
Above the heartache's of sorrow's quake
Gaze in glorious wonder and awe
At Christ Himself and angels they saw
Far beyond earth's pain and deception
The safe Haven of Heaven's purest joy
and elation
Father God, comfort dear Texas tonight
Give them heavenly visions
God, hold each soul tight
In Heavenly Father's sweet loving arms
Above sorrow and pain and earths
Flash flooding harms
Please hold them dear Father,
All those mourning here
Give them comforting visions
Holy Spirit, draw near
Far above sorrow of valley and glen
Our prayers reach to heaven
Again, and again
I pray Thee, send comfort
In Your Name Lord
Amen
He was born with a bushy round follicle-free head
and walks with two legs, because
he is a Neanderthal(1) mutant,
for he is a mutational product,
he is an android(2) not found in the evolutionary tree,
and that’s why he was so sad; he began to roam the surface
of the earth, he climbed up the mountains, crossed the rivers
and traveled over the expansion of fields beyond the horizon;
to soothe the sorrow of being alien
he labored to find another android similar to him;
and if he finds one, he is forced to lay her down on the ground
and sow the seeds to establish a new genealogical table;
the seeds grown to Hominidae.(3)
As time goes by his hair on his head became thinner
because the roots of his hair decayed from no follicle
and at last, he became bald;
each time a sun-ray reflects on his head
his anguish grows in the valley of misery he is trapped in
and leading his poor life. He escapes from the valley and crawls
into a cave(4) peculiar from all the other caves he’d seen so far,
and he fixed a flag.
As the wind rises the flag streams,
when the flag flutters the sky roars to pierce the ears;
then the sky falls to the ground from a gap between
the roars gushing out ashes and fires. The fire heats
to burn the stones lying here and there by the water’s edge.
When sky, earth, fire and the stones intermingled in one
it tortures the Neanderthal with the red-hot iron of death,
then, *****Sapience survived from breathing the oxygen
that Neanderthal left behind; and as day grows taller and taller
*****Sapience finds the way to preserve oxygen;
thereupon, Hominidae mixes this excess oxygen to produce
black powder with the ratio of 10KNO3 + 3S + 8C,
and stuff it into a bamboo-tube;
tomorrow therefore explodes, time stops,
the sea swallows the earth. As things come this far,
though there may be worse things waiting in the future,
the crippled time, comes with quick steps winding a malfunctioning clock.
NOTE: 1. *****Neanderthalensis and *****Sapience are different *****species, therefore, though *****Sapience Sapience is not a mutated species, but just so regarded in this poem.. 2. Android: in this poem this phrase is synonymous to synthetic organism rather than electro/mechanical robot. 3. Hominidae: this term is used as existing modern Human. 4. Francis Bacon, Idra Specus.
I also feel blasé today February 19th, 2024
Linkedin to being lax,
and shirking house cleaning tasks,
which negligence cost us
(yours truly and the missus)
a golden opportunity
to relocate to Hillcrest Village
in Boyertown, Pennsylvania
another HUD subsidized property
under the aegis of Grosse and Quade,
one of the larger residential
property management firms
in the Delaware Valley.
Physical unwellness
(insync with racing heart) arose
because Kathleen Bergen
the new property manager
here at 2 Highland Manor
voiced absolute zero positive feedback,
upon taking lock, stock, and barrel
of appalling living conditions,
her blistering vocalization
(from wuthering heights)
translated as a foregone conclusion
against our hopes
pinned on moving into
two bedroom apartment
referenced above topmost lines.
Said plummeted disappointment
(courtesy blunt admission
out the mouth of
(humpty dumpty sat on a wall)
frumpty recent hire
identified in a previous poem
as new warden)
verbosely predicated upon
gross appearance of living space
immediately dashed cautious optimism
citing unkempt state
within no crater than
moonwalking unit b44,
whereby we wished to skadaddle
far away from obligation
to be mindful of rules and regulations
codified within a binding lease.
Unlikely home ownership
will ever come to pass,
nor the lesser prospect
to rent more spacious domicile
larger than a one bedroom apartment,
no bigger than a bread box
den me and the missus,
(a hen pecking spouse)
might befriend Bugs Bunny,
who might guarantee
adequate sized rabbit hole
constituting large enough wonderland
receiving stamp of approval
courtesy Alice in Chains
subsidized lodging money back
plus additional warren tee
granted by Mister Michael Fox,
who took me back to the future,
when the pace of life
plodded along at leisurely rhythm.
Only within outer limits
realm of twilight zone,
where dark shadows
inch along edge of night
(while two thumbs and index finger
belonging to separate good sports
grab hold the furcula
(or wishbone) structure
formed by the ventral fusion
of the right and left clavicles
and the median interclavicle
silently mouth invocation)
holds at bay, the inexplicable phenomena
moored, harbored, and docked
awaiting lucky recipient,
whose merrythought bestowed
upon he/she, they/them.
The train, halted under the shade of sacred hill
They flowed out, and, wandered here and there
holding big, small, colorful, old and new packs of belongings
To, find comfortable chests and knees
some carelessly slept on un-desiring places,
but many there stood still
to face the misty, white clouded sky beyond the ridge,
Perceived their feet had reached
the starting point of adventurous tramp
Men, women, young and old with little ones
crept forward Just like a bunchy row of ants
filled with amazement; some stood, and watched
the vivid green forest canopy and flowering ferns
swinging in the frosty breeze!!
The minds filled with compassion, harmony
and respect each other
By murmurous chanting, that oozed into their veins
in the morning twilight
Tenderness of beams brighten the white dresses
of devotees
Time passed slowly
And the far valley down, a string of people moving upwards
on the zigzagged narrow path
Surrounded by thick green vegetation which
being the habitat of bees, birds, butterflies and
variety of big and small animals
Oozy willows dropping pearl like cold water drops
But few of moving people put a glance
at the phenomenon!
What a peregrination, having a cool gust thrill
which each body and its soul begird
The strenuous walk will bring to a halt at the noble foot print
Some managed to reach the desired end
but some could not attain the will
they stopped hopelessly, stepped down
with forsaken aspiration
those who topped the hill, huddle together
engaged customary rituals,
The eco of the ringing bell spread over the chilled atmosphere
through hill tops, forest, and the moving folks
Excitement broke out
Devotees squeezed catch a glimpse of sunshine!
The sun appeared slowly with a trembling smile
through the glistening horizon
Sunshine! Miraculously radiated across the mountain range,
forest canopy and everything
open to tender beams of light
What a huge strength,
Noble hopes and wishes
fulfilled the pilgrimage!
J.Weerakkody
(This poem is about pilgrims who climb the summit of breezy sacred mountain of Sripada, the holy mountain of Sri Lanka, where suppose to be emblematized the footprint of Lord Buddha. After worshiping the sacred footprints the devotees anxiously watch the panoramic maiden sun rise over the sacred mountain. The poem is vividly realized descriptions of nature.)