Long Vii Poems
Long Vii Poems. Below are the most popular long Vii by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Vii poems by poem length and keyword.
Waking up to a blazing idea
As it takes off on the page like magic,
And when doubt spreads its fire,
Their smile is there to extinguish it
Falling into pages and pages
Of breathtaking philosophies
And haunting stories—flurried in fiction— With no one to call you to earth
Solitude in the vastness of time's motion,
The caress of the pages to the fingertips
The ancient scent of the old book wafting
In every page flip
The leaves dancing in the movement
Of the world in glowing beams,
A breeze that reminds you that wind
Exists—just as love exists
2.7.2020
Note: Thank you sincerely from my heart for taking the time to read these. I hope you like this one and that you are enjoying the Weak Spots February series.
The snow covering the ground
Out my window
Goes on like torn-out pages
From my empty journal
Striped with a shadow from an old Red Maple
A bookmark
To the Monarch’s migration
From the mountains of Mexico
To here
Where we wait the four generations
It takes
For the butterflies’
Arrival
To drink from a cup of Michigan milkweed
Pedaling their wings
On the lakes of our wind
Weighting the Earth just enough
To keep the orbit in its gentle place
Rippling around the violet sun
And from these passing quiet gestures
My book of pages stirs and flutters
I look up
Find a prayer of words to move forward.
I feel as though my soul came from your soul,
giv'n birth by some great miracle of God.
Though long have been the paths that we have trod,
we are at last together and made whole.
I only know I yearned for some high goal,
to find the heart I came from and the broad
soul with which my own soul could itself shod
and wear against the world. O, sweet soul,
I was from birth of you, heart of your heart,
and long I searched to find my way to thee,
to freedom from the world and all its smart,
to sure release from all captivity.
Ah, now I own it all, the whole, not part,
in you, my love, my life, my liberty.
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, 1987
A sponge,
I will take into my hands and dip it
into water.
For a while, I will let it soak
till
its thirst manages, finally, to quench
and then, with it,
all little things that have bothered me for years
with a single stroke, from my memory,
I would erase.
Things that in the past,
have hindered my efforts to advance,
so
from inaction's dungeons, my imprisoned mind to liberate
allowing it, with new energy, forward to move at
an increasing pace
for
all my slumbering dreams, at last, to awake
and
the goals of my destiny I, eventually, to reach!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
02 January 2020
- Readers, I hope you forgive me.
I’m retracting some words I once said:
I'd planned to write just five of these tales
But I've added a sixth tale instead..
Night
The preacher was searching for Duchess
Also known as 'The Tabard Inn Cat'.
Scared by the storm she'd run out of the inn
And knocked over his drink where he sat.
That event brought an end to his chess game:
The first he had played in a while.
His worthy opponent who sipped water had said
That his comforting words made her smile.
The preacher had stood from the table.
Looking scared and somewhat distraught.
He felt for some reason there was trouble ahead
And proclaimed that the cat should be caught.
He'd opened the door of The Tabard
And was met by the sound of the rain.
A sailor pushed past him and into the bar
As the preacher limped off down the lane.
Later That Night
The last person to see him still breathing
Was sadly not sober at all.
A 'top-hatted' man who was heading for home
Thought he saw someone scaling a wall.
He swore that he saw something smiling
And eyes that stared back and looked weird.
It was all very dark and his mind wasn't right
Then the shadows he saw disappeared.
The Morning After
The preacher was found dead the next morning
He had fallen it seemed from a height.
Whispers and rumours were swirling around
Like the wind from that wet stormy night:
- "He had feelings for a woman who's taken.."
- "Their love was just dead on the shelf!"
- "He was burdened by guilt with his faith and all that"
- "That cat was the devil itself!"
Later That Week
A sermon revealed at his service
(That the whole town had turned out to see)
That the preacher was an animal lover
And had suffered with PTSD.
You see he was once a brave soldier
But lost hate when he lost his right leg.
He left to preach love and bring all things together:
..He was truly an all-round good egg.
He is
the perfect democrat
for
he cares less if one is:
a man or a woman
young or old
black or white
rich or poor
powerful or weak
knowledgeable or ignorant
Christian or Moslem
Who is this ruler that has
achieved this incredible exploit
that
no man in history has ever been able
to accomplish: to eradicate
discrimination?
Who is this great Caesar
that
people kneel before him in fear
and awe?
Hail Caesar,
you hateful coronavirus,
may your days be few
and
your victims even
fewer! *
© Demetrios Trifiatis
11 March 2020
* Dedicated to all victims of coronavirus around the world.
Let us pray this disease to disappear fast, very fast!
In Greece, we have close to a hundred people that are sick from this virus thus, as from today, all schools and universities and all other institutions
of learning are closed for two weeks. Italy, is the hardest hit with
hundreds of deaths. The whole country there has been closed down!
I wonder,
If ever the fruit thanks the tree
For helping it grow and becoming
ripe.
I wonder.
If the tree ever thanks its roots
For keeping it standing and for the nourishment
They provide.
I wonder,
If ever the roots thank the ground
For supplying a firm base to plant themselves
In search of food.
I wonder,
If ever the ground thanks the microorganisms and minerals,
For enriching its soil to become
Alive.
If no-one
Never express gratitude to each other
Then
A great injustice is committed,
UNLESS...
All of the above is one,
And as such, all work in unison for a single purpose:
To serve the divine will maintain life!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
29 September 2018
VII.
Reid’s eyes widened with the realization,
she was with child? How long had she known?
His mind reeled and more men gathered outside,
by this time his cover had been long blown.
He glanced down upon red Wolf struggling,
then at the woman who haunted his dreams,
forced to chose between revenge or his love,
just minutes ago so simple it seemed.
He glanced at Mink, and she looked back at him,
said, “If you will spare him, I will go with you.
Take me and our child far from this place,
just please do not do what you came to do.”
Red Wolf argured back, speaking in Cheyenne,
traded words with both his daughter and wife,
then Mink said,”He says he will let me go,
that I bring shame to his lodge and his life.
“He says we should both ride away quickly,
that if we do so he’ll delay the chase.
He says a whore daughter is bad enough,
but bearing your son makes me a disgrace.”
Tears streamed down her face as she said the words,
her mother joined in with an acid tounge,
Reid felt something break through his burning rage,
asked, “Do you truly carry my little one?”
When Mink nodded, he pushed Red Wolf forwards,
keeping his knife at the neck of the chief,
the whole band stayed back as they walked through the camp,
Mink ran ahead and two horses did seek.
She mounted first, Reid pushed Red Wolf away,
leapt on a horse and away they did sprint,
the two kept riding for hours that night,
pushing their mounts through second and third winds.
Red Wolf, it seemed, kept his word to the two,
no pursuit was launched by the Cheyenne braves,
but Reid knew now he could never go home,
he had failed to get revenge for the raid.
In the end he took her to the white world,
back to the people he’d not known since youth,
and I see from your looks that you have doubts,
but what I’m telling you is the plain truth.
I know because my father told it to me,
of how he came to Kansas with his squaw,
I was not that child, I came later,
Mink made Gray Fox ten times over a pa.
He doesn’t talk about it all that much,
most of the details mother told to me,
but when he does, a look comes to his eyes,
a look that’s haunting too all who might see.
It’s not that he regrets moving out here,
he’s lived a life that is worthy and full,
but sometimes I think, when he gets like that,
he regrets not slaying that damn Red Wolf.
The former blond model pouts and primps
Swinging her hips
Down the splashing catwalk of shoreline
Sand caving to her imagined heels
Wheeling to her awaiting Israeli mogul
Her shoulders set so far back
It’s as if she’s walking backwards
Puts herself square
Between
Him
And another thin woman
Launches a laugh and offers salted peaches
Wraps her skinny arm around
The other woman’s string bikini of waist
Holds her tight
Upright
You don’t have to go away
She seems to be signaling
And a young Salvadoran girl
Is curled up at the side of the tide
Beached to that surf-beaten sandpaper
Only a towel of brown skin beneath her
People stepping over her
Looking
Shrugging
Walking on
She is homeless of any self-absorption
No cell phone bag or jewelry
An unclaimed seashell
Another time
Her brown round body
Was plopped down wet and sticky
To mounds of dry hot sand
Hands stretched above her head
Handcuffed to the sun
And when she finally stirred and stood
She squeezed her boobs like sponges
And the grains of sand crumbled from her body
Like Cinderella’s gown
Shaken loose and fallen to her ankles.
The crashing waves
Humiliate a man with a beach ball belly
Rolls him to shore
Legs tossed over his head
And also, though much more kindly,
Scoots a little boy at his butt
Back to his worried mother
Who’s holding a towel
Yelling from shore at arm’s length
Her worst fear.
I mean her husband.
Muslim women are wrapped in black
From toe to throat
As they swim and laugh in the ocean
And that’s ok too
For I smile at one beauty
As she emerges
And pulls uncomfortably
At her taut and soaked nylon dressing
She sees me watching her
And since it was not for the usual reasons
Her lips part
As she unleashes a smile across her face
Un-shy.
Yes, we’re friends.
How would these subjects describe me
If they were also voyeur poets?
They would not
I am certain of that
Being invisible
And old
Fashioned
Pen in hand
Reading a novel.
Fighting hard to heal
To care, love again, to feel
Here in hospital
Here where you put me
While I live in fantasy
With Daemons dancing
Dancing in my head
Mind racing with the devil
The Monster’s evil
Time in here drags on
But short is the time with you
The moments are few
Only one hour
To visit one another
Chance to feel normal
For the time being
While you smile and share with me
The Monster takes sleep
But when it awakes
My mind and spirit it takes
But it cannot keep
Don’t want you to go
I’m here to get help I know
Though it may not show
Crying night and day
Trying to sleep missing you
In my heart you stay
Soon I will be well
I’ll get my life back again
My escape from hell
Recognize its face
When my mind feels out of place
And crazy thoughts race
When courage has fled
When comes the feeling of dread
Thoughts I should be dead
I’ll take all my meds
And therapy for my head
Do what doctor said
Monster’s appealing
A death blow I’ll be dealing
The Daemon’s squealing
The Daemon’s in chains
The Monster’s back in his cage
They both cry and rage
Doppelganger gone
I'm no longer the Zombie
Yes, my mind is free
On the floor kneeling
Against the storm I’m stealing
The bells are peeling
Though my mind’s reeling
Now I know what I’m feeling
It is the healing…