Long Wadded Poems
Long Wadded Poems. Below are the most popular long Wadded by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wadded poems by poem length and keyword.
You came to me
As an enemy
Feared, Dark, Revered
Steering me toward uncertainty
Avoiding, annoying, destroying
Trust in men
Pricking me to hate
The desire within
Just when I determined
To make my escape
You clung to my words
And wadded up my hate
You threw, withdrew, renewed
The tender love breaking open
Mounted your white steed
And took to loping
~through lavender lily fields~
I cast aside
All restraint
Mounted my paint
Galloping through open gates
We rode upon
Unexplored land
Discovering hearts
Devoted to understand
It rained, stained, made it plain
Love has flowered here
Then, the sun arose
Bringing shadow to fear
Vagrant, thief
Out, get out....humiliated
I gathered my soul about me
And ran into the night
Caring not if death took me
...away...no hope, no love...no fight
I cried out in colossal grief
Love, you are my enemy
I will not look for you again
You only discovered how to leave
Me, lost in the heart of intimacy
Where I can find the arrows of men
At times it gets hard to talk.
Instead of rambling about anything.
Most times I sit without saying a word.
Just sitting in thought.
Most times different conclusions are drawn.
This at all doesn't mean that anything is wrong.
Sitting in silence.
Admiring the space around.
Different noises are heard.
Finding their way between the lines.
Indented in brief moments.
Spurts of randomness.
Wadded up thrown to the side to make room for the next moment.
Often left blank.
Without a single use of expression.
Without a trail of lead or ink.
Just empty lines stacked and spread across a thin layer of cardboard.
An bent aluminum spine.
All stacked up waiting for a love worthy of notation.
Signatures of fluttering pages.
Familiar names and phrases.
Blank pages filled up in a parade of paragraphs.
If you listen close you'll hear the band tuning up.
Marching down empty lanes marked just for the occasion.
Inside there are large bold words filled with tubas and small lines felt with the mark of snares.
The procession of pen to paper.
In proclamation to one of the greatest loves ever found.
Sold in two different packages.
All in perfect silence as they travel down the same lane
She or he
In this case it really doesn’t matter
The figure is an indigenous figure
Parka with a cinched up hood boots mittens
Nothing but tip of nose
Sniffing this bitter cold as a name
I am too far away behind an office window
Anyway
To figure it out
Nonetheless a human soul
Most definitely alive
And surely with a childhood and toys
And a breakfast table and a teacher that one day
Saw something in them
And told them that after class
Has battled with the paddles of his/her arms
Their blue tarp
Puffed up tent on the other side
A fierce angle of river embankment
Invisible
But now exposed
With the trees and invasive bush gone
And the river’s current stopped in its backstroke
White and icy as an old man
Over the wooden river trail bridge
It pulls yanks kicks
A shopping cart piled high with that folded blue tarp
And assorted other frying pans and lanterns
And chains for whatever reason
Wheels don’t work in the deep snow
But know
The figure keeps at it fighting the narrow railing distance
Until they reach our shore
An hour it seems
How much time I’ve wasted
Watching it
Haul that contraption up and over a chest high snowbank
That doesn’t give despite the hot breath of hollering
Parks it all itself a neat fit
Between our parking lot line
Space
Ready for work
I thought about this
As I waited in line at the oil change place
To re-inflate my deadened tires
The Jiffy Lube attendant
Is ten years older than me at least
And I’m old
Or so I thought
He shuffles toe to heel wheel to wheel
Around the four corners of the car ahead of me
The neck of a hose dangling from his fist
Squeezing air
His brow cursed
His lips a clown
His hair gone
I had wadded up five bucks
In anticipation of a small thanks
To some young man or woman
For the favor
But I couldn’t bear to insult this guy
To intrude with such a gesture
I drove away.
(An Abenaki Legend)
Prologue...
After the reptile people had been devoured by fire, ice and flood, Kloskurbeh the ever creating Spirit, sighed, and thought about the worlds he had made across the multiverse, how his breathe had brought life to so many beings. Layers and layers of reality seeded into existence, but many had failed to hear his voice and in the end they had withered.
Legend...
One day in the Dawn Land
a boy came walking.
Many times the boy passed through me
without seeing
eventually I placed a question into his heart.
The boy explained to himself
that he had been born
when the foam and spume
of the sea were heated by the sun.
The next dawn, a girl appeared -
she explained
that she had come from the earth,
a green plant had bore her as fruit.
Time passed, the Dawn children
found each other and rushed to
be together, many morning babes where born,
and by the works of their hands and minds
they thrived.
Then hard times came (as they always must).
Famine came, meat was hard to find.
The mother could no longer feed her children
and she despaired.
I saw all this,
I prayed to Sophia the Great Womb Mother -
for yes even I am created from woman
and all souls are thus female.
I knew also that Nature once seeded, must not be
altered by any good intentions.
The woman ran to the river
wanting to drown her sorrows, the waters rose,
almost submerged she cried out
to whom she knew not what.
Then as her tears flowed, between her legs
green shoots came forth, she felt them, then wadded
back to the river bank to see.
Looking upon this miracle the woman had a vision.
She returned to her mate, and demanded that he
kill her and plant her bones in two piles.
Horrified he objected, but she explained her vision to him.
She insisted, so it was done.
For forty moons her partner stood over her bones
and sorrowed much.
Then one morning the piles sprouted plants.
one was maize the other root tubers.
The Great Mother had seeded Her ‘Will be Done’
upon the soul of the earth.
To this day children are fed by the Earth Mother
and the dark womb of Sophia
where all light and nourishment emanates.
The Algonquin people (after a good catch),
still bury a fish in the fields to honor, I Kloskurbeh
and my Great Mother.
Eutectic water ice with a time-extending elixir,
Casting a trivial covering of aqueous freezing.
In the puncture spirits of an exquisite spritzer,
The Esophagus of a beat glass, sublimating.
Casting a trivial covering of aqueous freezing,
Wadded ash fills slander odious minds' breath.
The Esophagus of a beat glass, sublimating,
Vast flows of roses were built by the breadth.
Wadded ash fills slander odious minds' breath,
Feudal grief waves of cosmic spirits slayed.
Vast flows of roses were built by a breadth,
Memory eye is blinded by the soul conveyed.
Feudal grief waves of cosmic spirits slayed,
Her blood pours odorless love glass blossom.
Memory eye is blinded by the soul conveyed,
A silk heart buried in the onyx city of bloom
Her blood pours odorless love glass blossom,
Ice-cold skin, the disappearance of the spirit.
A silk heart buried in the onyx city of bloom,
Melding in the red rain of the horizon demerit.
Ice-cold skin, the disappearance of the spirit,
In the puncture spirits of an exquisite spritzer.
Melding in the red rain of the horizon demerit,
Eutectic water ice with a time-extending elixir.
Written: May 17, 2022
your countless lies leave a sour taste on my tongue
“i love you” you claim
yet it’s muttered using all of the air in your lungs
your breathing stops
and you have nothing left to give
yet i catch myself screaming out
“please just live”
stay with me awhile longer
i can’t face reality without juggling your saunter
the tear stained pillow cases mean nothing anymore
as long as i can hold onto what i think i adore
“i love you” you mutter one more time
and a bead of sweat drips down
worry,
because you’re aware you’re my lifeline
the wadded up blankets cover your face
as i lie awake with a trace of your dna
the painful silence hurts my ears
i know your heart stopped beating a long time ago i fear
so i take a deep breath
and give you what’s left in my lungs
so you can have the last reminisce of what i call
“love”
The older I get the less that I fret
With my panties wadded up in a tizzy
As anyone could see I used to be
A mini-me of Dizzy Gillespie
I'd huff and I'd puff when I'd had enough
Like some Big Bad Wolf in a fable
Then let it all fly as the steam in me would rise
Right on time, here comes Old Faithful
No one hanging around at the bubbling sound
As it came close to the rim
No need to wait for the show, see you later gotta go
Afraid by flying debris they'd be hit
Thankfully those years are long gone as I've learned to calm down
Although I still have my moments
My family looks at me quite suspiciously
When I turn on the news at 6
The napkins were cut and woven in her dad’s barn that he and his dad built from the broken oaks.
Each clump of cotton piled up in front of her
Leave and left
She thought
The warp was fixed on her loom
And that was easy because it stayed
But the weft was the lateral thread that moved
Leave and left
The barn was brown and gray, yellowed with hay
And dotted with specks of cotton that she lay
She was 12. She argued with her mom to wear her newest Easter dress for work that day.
She was crying as her little hands worked the loom.
She was thinking about the rock she found under the wheel of a stuck cart trying to pass by on the sandy road by the green border of her farm house.
She had removed it earlier that day so the boy driving his horse carriage could go on and get unstuck. She cried because she loved him.
She never wanted him to be stuck, so she untucked the rock from his cart. It was as tortuous as the itchy bits of cotton she forced together.
She could hear his cart still leaving in the wadded cotton she was weaving
The sun oranged the weft
in its movement from right to left
That she made as she wept
It was time for dinner. And her mother had cooked a meal.
So she folded the napkins
And sat perfectly in her bluebonnet dress in front of the cotton napkins
Ready to be opened again.
The jewelry box
I kept for safe keeping
Has become the land
My flesh keeps reaping
The store around the corner
I travel each morning
Makes my breath of life
A lot less boring
There sits my buddies
Around a table of carded hands
Money is just wadded paper
With the pull that understands
My darling pushes my buttons
Even when she knows what's comin'
The shame and guilt gives presents
Buying time to keep her guessin'
There's a pleasure in little things
But the secrets must not speak
Lest the bedroom of energy
Makes the boards start to creak
Snacks in the morning
At noon, and after dinner time
Who cares about a body
When habits tickle my mind
...to stagnation
Written by Trudy Schrader on 06-23-2026
I dreamed I accidentally bought two expensive tickets to a musical play about Thomas Jefferson, then figured, what the hell, Rhonda and I might as well go. Then an ex showed up, someone I get along with fine to this day, but I was surprised in the dream that she screamed horrible curses at me.
As I was walking over a drum bridge at a zoo, I realized I had to take care of the Jefferson tickets which I'd wadded up and put in my right-hand pocket, the one with the hole in it. Fortunately it hadn't fallen through the hole, so I took the two attached tickets and tried to unwad them and smooth them out on the bridge's railing, but the tickets preferred to stay wadded up.
As I was waking up, something smelled like it was cooking and I momentarily wondered if I'd left the stove on the night before when I made spring-burgers. But the radio was on and they said the reason the atmosphere stank of barbecue was towns around Puget Sound were being "smoked" by forest fires in British Columbia. So good, I hadn't left the stove top on, I could relax.
I'd been up most of the night and hadn't gone to bed until about 4:30, so I fell back to sleep and dreamed I was wandering the countryside with the ghost of Johnny Cash. He was so pleasant. I was so happy to be with him. I wasn't sure he was dead, because here we were together, I must've misremembered. It's not my usual sort of dream, a happy one that is.
I didn't wake up until ten. Went down stairs and discovered the oven was on! Rhonda had put a big slice of apple pie in there hours earlier, then went off to work forgetting about it. Surprisingly it wasn't burned. It was dehydrated and flattened into a crispy apple tart. So I ate it.