Long Wade Poems
Long Wade Poems. Below are the most popular long Wade by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wade poems by poem length and keyword.
Written: June 07, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
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The Phantom Choir
In the quiescence of last Sunday,
Prophecy heralded the hour past two,
I heard a whisper at hibiscus dawn—
a seamless voice I swore I always knew.
In blissful flutter—it said night was wide,
Chrysalis sorrow stirs a bed for fools,
that in the hush, when hearts collide,
The lost willows are left to wade in pools.
Facing the kernel until the street thinned,
And my shadow’s sepals bled away,
Rusted voice strings within me spoke again—
It's hymn frills poised for slow decay.
The Hollow Pact
Will I wake to descry my cracked mind,
emptied of all its sharpened teeth?
Will murky echoes break their binds,
Or gnaw beneath the sheath?
The alchemy battle sparks, but I am dust—
wispy strands, a soldier tied in flimsy chains.
Each idea erodes the periwinkle ones I trust,
while the weight of stress remains.
You graze me with a maze—why do I stand so still?
Resurrection of the soul—so why shake your hands?
But dread can have its way to fulfill—
The transcendence of love is lost in vicious demands.
The Third Mourning
Wise chakras buried beneath the walls I built,
the zen voice still scrawls its wordless plea.
It concedes my yantra’s vulnerability, my guilt,
peers where peacock pleadings wane into a spree.
It hums inside the tremors of sapphire light,
I close my eyes as it runs over lily-filled shorelines.
Bits of lunar-glazed silver dust grow in quiet nights,
and procrastinated pledges become lies.
In my dour dreams, it tells me not to resist—
“You know that silken shivers favor sound.”
Amid cyan azure peace, I learn misery persists,
for flickers of love fear the burial mound.
The Acoustic Waltz
In nocturnal dryness—sing soft verses in the dark,
claims the enamored inked words are not hers.
She plucks cerulean hymns without leaving a mark,
The tune of her carved kohl was lost in slurs.
She sways in the russet yarns of neon glow,
bows beneath the ricochet’s wild haze—
a phantom waltz in katabatic motion, moving slow.
a cosmic voice garden, too faint to truly be a maze.
Her pocket holds a ring of black gem glass,
won as a child’s dare, a piece of smitten ink.
She warms it, sighs, and watches it pass
through flaming flecks—hands that fight to sink.
(1.)
Dare I Compose, This Heartfelt Poem For Thee
Dare I reveal, dare to my soul expose
No longer hide behind life's hidden pose
Return to Southern roots, a simple man
Forget this dark world's constant wicked plans
Remember her, life's most beautiful rose
She the sweet goddess, that this poor man chose.
Dare I compose, this heartfelt poem for thee
Pray to Heaven to one day again see
Together walk those streets paved in gold
Hold each other always, never grow old
Wake each dawn, with Heaven 's love all around
With you darling, forever by my side
In divine paradise wading love's tide.
Dare I ink the words, darling I love you
Just to hear you say, yes, I love you too
Return to Southern roots, a simple man
Forget this dark world's constant wicked plans.
Robert J. Lindley,
Romanticism,
Dedicated To Blessing Of And Precious Memory Of-
( My Most Beloved Wife Clarisa, She That Saved Me )
*****
(2.)
As Length'ning Shadows, Filter Thru These Aching Hours
As length'ning shadows, filter thru these aching hours
Seeing flowers bloom, I lower both sword and shield
Yet in the black-distance still loom angry towers
For this world its angry powers refuse to yield
Dare I, beg this cursed world for a peaceful sign
As if this moment, Karma and golden moon align
Nay! To do such, what a great knave fool would be I
For Karma rang no bell and day holds no moon sky!
Standing alone, this soul seeks happiness again
As a wasted form, worn down by epic grief
Here walking through life, with overloads of pain
Crying out and at moment devoid of belief
Dare I, in such a state, again raise this sharp sword
Wade into battlefield, a brave soldier to be
Cutting and slashing the dark-cast and evil hordes
Tho' knowing, more will arise from a hellish sea?
Here wherein twilight shades are forever falling
And darkness its turmoil dances into my head
I cannot help but hear heartache and loss calling
Do I, do I thus choose to run away instead
Dare I, fail my raising, deny my Southern roots
Speed ever onward past grief, fears and bitter years
Absorb the poison arrows the enemy shoots
As they whizz on through this volley of falling tears?
Here wherein twilight shades are forever falling.
I cannot help but hear heartache and loss calling.
Robert J. Lindley,
Rhyme, ( Looking inward, Hoping to Life again Find )
Even Dawn Cried About Death Of The Poet
They that see dawn in softest crimson glows
Having sought to embrace the golden moon!
They that ink paradise as a true gift,
Sings praises of the gentle month of June!
Whilst feeding at midnight the hungry crows
Sometimes with iron, and with eager breath
Oft each stands alone, watching dark world turn
Then she that inks paradise as a gift,
With compassion, romantic flames that burn
Wrote faithfully, even unto her death!
Dawn that foretells of living and true love
Helplessly seen as the poetess died
Cast its brightest rays to heaven above
So angels could see how too few cried!
R.J. Lindley, Jan 25th, 1987
*******
Dare We Pray, Humanity Wakes To Be Redeemed
From blacken hills into magical woods we wade
Where golden mushrooms ring shrouds of ancient trees
Praise God, that this earth and humanity he made
Although from great divine wrath it so often flees
In morn's mist, airy shadows rise and slowly fall
'neath hopeful promise of resplendent future state
Whilst those ever beckoning hills heed Nature's calls
Same as man bows to ravages of horrid Fate.
Therein comes immense pleasures of paradise dreams
Too often laced with folly of human schemes
Were it not that love may gift that which hope redeems?
Aye. Love and pleasure are as candy to a child
And thus sweet blessings flow unto those meek and mild
Whereas thistles and thorns pierce deeply those too wild.
Dare we pray, humanity wakes to be redeemed
From evil wickedness, that mankind daily schemes?
R.J. Lindley, March 6th, 1987
Rhyme
*******
From The Virgin Light Into The Dark Mist
There within such immensity of solitude
Rests a billion threads but a sad solitary thought
Of life, earth and barest naked soul therein nude
In worldly prison, dying entity thus caught.
Oh but, tis not that tragedy our daily bread
Fodder for rampaging fires eternally lit
We but sacrifice for those gods long ago dead,
And bawling mass for Hades and its burning pits?
Tis not mankind a true enigma and a bit more
Far, far more than a fallen fly in the hot soup
Once stuck down below but by own hand now can soar
Risen up by vicious might in one dark fell swoop ?
Aye! One may fear to such reality admit
As it leads backward, to thoughts of hot burning pits!
R.J. Lindley, March 22nd, 1987
Rhyme
There once was a couple who lived a peaceful unit until one day they designed to have a mystery party. Little did they know it will turn out to be the real deal.
It all started when the guest arrived with bong.. A gunshot they heard. The couple looked at one other and asked "Did you hear that? Did you change the plot." They both said no and went ago with it. Little did they know there was cold blood on the floor. Harsh killing, shooter on the loose and no one knew where he lurked.
Could be Wade the butter, could be Billy, the chef that always carries a knife in his suit? Could be Sue the maid, Sugar sunny the exotic dancer, or could be the happy couple? Thunder lurks booming sounds like if its was coming from the inside. The lights turn off and everyone shouts now no knows where they will end up. Feelings of fear and smell of blood in the air the lights turn and the suspects and killer all in the same room.
Flames were rising blames flying claims thumping but one one screams. Stop! Stop! Stop! Lets figure out what happened. Clues to the sense she had a gun in her hand was pointing at her but the gunshot was right through the heart. There was no letter to say it was a suicide. Meaning only thing there was murderer on lose but everyone was a suspect at this point.
Everyone started asking questions Could be you? Could be me? Who killed Sue the maid?
Everyone gather together just one person was out the group. He feeling guilty and guilty he was. The lights flickered like if they were winking at the him. Nervous- very very dreadfully nervous had been and is. He breaks down into tears. "Okay, okay!" It was me, said Wade." But she asked me to. She was my life. She was my wife. What could I have done? Sue was diagnosed with lung cancer. She had one day one day to live. She took out a gun. A gun out of her bag. She took it in her hand and she took mine as well. She said goodbye my love and pull trigger I know I didn't pull the she did, But the guilt was growing knowing I saw it all and I didn't call for help knowing she would be suffering through the night.
"I am weaken in mind but not by spirit, I hope she forgives me. I am calling the cops I have proof of what I am saying its true. Now its time to let her go. Moral of the story is it wasn't a murder but a mystery in a way a person that knew it was her time to say goodbye.
Selected by the swift sound of hand to shoulder blade,
The bells upon their ankles sounded like seven trumpets
to me. I had been a chosen sheep among the Shepherd’s flock.
Lead me my Pharisees, I wish to see feel the glee in following
the Lamb within me.
The weight of my new necklace, crudely crafted of twine and timber,
swayed in a schism'd rhythm between my shins
bruises born from my steadfast faith. For I have never fasted
Before, all there was in my Ziploc bag was a single raw egg,
Two slices of wonderbread, three matches with no book.
I heard fireflies bounce in the air between my ears,
I could not see, you see I was blindfolded, but I felt no fear.
The marching sounds stopped, balsam trees surrounded me
and the rest of the chosen tribe.
Night befell the evening, the stars jumped and danced for me
For the Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty, His strength
flowed like the river Jordan in my veins. I had no chains.
Never had I felt grace like this before.
We awoke with gnats in our nose, centipedes between our toes
We arose, and our trials we must undergo.
Silence is the sound of our worship, broken by the
wood bashing between our bitten legs.
The kindling was wet, the bread was stale,
forging for food in the raspberry bushes, hunger flashed
in front of my eager eyes.
Memorize second Corinthians, some stories
I no longer care to remember. I felt the splinters
in my shins, the twine singed the hairs of my neck.
The breeze swung between the leaves and sung chants
that worshiped the King amongst kings.
The counselor crept out of the brush, and with
immense embarrassment I flushed
any of the chances of becoming one of the chosen few.
I could not immerse myself within the verses.
His eyes struck disappointment deep into my gut,
his knife drawn I knew I was cut.
The log crashed to the ground like lightning, the
twine left my skin red and raw. It felt like the
sting of a thousand roses thrust upon my nape.
My cross was no longer mine to bear, it was the end
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care.
I descended from the shining hill, back to
the cabins and basketball nets. I had failed.
There is a creek I will never wade, never cross,
I drowned in my disdain, my faith may be lost.
Another camper, another kid, lost in the flock
of the Shepherd’s failed kin.
Psalms 118:22-24 - NKJV: “The stone which the builders rejected Has become the chief cornerstone. This was the LORD's doing;”
**************************************************************
Wisdom in Decrepit Stones
With bones and skin wilting away with age
Like withering stem and leaves of a tree
Like a house reaching a decrepit stage
I wade a few steps stooping to the knee
With the whole frame pining with stinging pain,
Treading a hundred steps a task in vain;
With a decrepit frame and ache in breast
Climbing some steps of my decaying home
Leads me utterly to gasping for breath
As battered by wild winds of a weird storm
I feel the need to take forthwith some rest
Like the twilight sun on its way to set ;
With a frail, feeble and mouldering frame
I feel like tumbling down at any time
Without any appalling stamp of shame
With my time ripe to kiss the earthly shrine
As the battered roof of a crumbling house
Forsaken to face its own fateful vows.
Yet my mind feels like waltzing tall and strong
The spirit simmering as ever fresh
The self shining as ever bold and young
The soul sparkling bright as ever blessed
As a house stone base that does not decay
But remains firm and does not fade away.
The mind retains insight plucked over time
Gleams with remembrance gathered over years
That ever remain valued and sublime
Like memories enshrined in walls` whispers
Like undertones relayed by cherished moans
Like wisdom captured in decrepit stones.
Ever since I was a kid in college
something troubling has been on my mind,
put evolution near morality
and many contradictions you will find.
Our instincts versus our sentience,
blood programming pit against free choice,
and now matter how I looked at it all,
there were hard truths that I could not avoid.
That so many things we think are moral
give us no evolutionary edge,
that the only place some virtues work
is in the world that’s inside our head.
The nice guy always does seem to finish last,
functional bullies get all of the girls;
men are not loved unconditionally,
only for what we bring to the world.
We like to think we can talk it all out,
but sometimes people do need a smack;
we study hard to make things better,
then just get farther and farther off-track.
We give to help those people in need,
then it just ends in dependency,
so many thinks that we think must be right
just seem to deepen the tragedy.
The things that we think, the things that we feel,
seem to drag us all until we’re insane,
what we want to build, and what the world allows,
are not exactly one and the same.
When I realized this, and other such things,
I spent many years just trying to think
of why evolution would produce a beast
whose brain would contradict its own instincts?
Why can we think of things that can never be?
what good are goals we can never achieve?
It seems like we’ve been set up for failure,
there had to be some reason, I believed.
For those reasons I chose biology,
got a professorship and did research,
probed deeply into the depths of the mind,
won countless accolades for my work.
Ran across endless theories of why
we contradict ourselves at such cost,
but every bit solved brought ten new questions,
all that toil, and I was still at a loss.
But the need to know remained every strong,
and though it nearly cost me my career,
I started probing the faiths of the world
to see what older wisdom might appear.
Though they have their flaws that one must wade through,
and their practitioner so very human,
they also retain time-tested ideas,
that have proved their use again and again.
I focused on the archaeologists,
combing over lost texts and old sites,
and at first it seemed I was stymied again,
until I got a phone call late one night…
CONTINUES IS PART II.
Truly ... .
What-an-honor, this-sweet-grace ...
perfect a righteous gift-it-is.
The day waiting patiently-in the morning,
coffee-in-hand moccasin slippers-
waking-up-to-it-the-gentle-waterfall-awaiting-me ...
cascading-into-a-shimmering-crystal-
still-fresh-rippling, gently-churning-pool-of-dreams,
the many-wonders-of an alliterate life.
Breathing ... breathtaking-to be sure-it-is-a-chore-itself ...
it-takes-time.
Round and round-a throw-down-
in-and-out-tic-tock-goes the clock-
knock-it-down-drag-it out-
though-it-may-be-a-crucial, bloody,
treacherous seemingly listless brutal ...
bruising, got beaten-up-again, lowdown hoedown-
gasping-for air-sometimes-
discouraging ... kind of-a-thing ... .
Sill-so-it-gets-up-early-raring-to-go,
continues fighting ...
with mercy in hand-
forgiveness-taken-into-the-battle with-it,
it-can't be-lost.
Can't be lost.
Tender tales tall tell-timely
in-earnest the-fervency ... divinity-relevancy,
reality of-the-story.
Stars shine-cast-their-beauty-liberally ...
sheen's of glassy rays-of-overt light-
sparkle-freely-in-their delight-
under-the-moon-laughter ...
fills the-night ... .
Swallows in their benignity ...
wade about puff-up-full-and-billow ...
shadow's in their whimsy way,
cast their welcoming ...
in-the-warming,
as the weeping tree weeps.
Cool-pools shallow of-crystal-rock-and-alabaster-sands
promote their-gentle fondness upon the pond floor.
Kindred the swallows in-their-promise,
beauty-benignity ...
in-the-moonlight-they-are one with love,
and running felicitous ...
touched by the union
follows closely the dove ...
divinity has found a home.
Liberty residing-evolving-
evermore-abounding well-
beside desire,
the heart-makes-haste.
Peace stakes its claim in faith,
in-the-Son's-glorious-arrival, abandon,
absolution, return.
Cast-about-in-the gesture,
blowing-free-in the wind growing-
abundantly like the humming bird-
sipping on wild-honey-dripping-
fresh-in-the-rising Summer-Sun ... .
Splashing-onto dew-drops-
glistening as you-know-
they always do lying upon lilac-
flower petals, dandelions-
growing even-more-
elaborate-carried along-
with-the-blueberry-
cakes-popcorn-soda-
I've-just-consumed ... .
Written: July 09, 2023
______________________________________________________________
Jump in the cool water for a chilling time.
Where worries are forgotten and spirits climb.
Watermelon treats, juicy and sweet,
A taste of summer is a delightful feat.
Bright fireworks burst into the night sky.
Colors explode, captivating the eye.
Dances under the moonlight; bodies sway.
Lost in the rhythm, worries decay.
Days at the beach with sand between your toes
Building forts, surfriding, and life's worries oppose
Sharing an icy treat among friends is so sweet.
Memories filled with laughter and light compete.
Blast in the sun, revered time with loved ones,
Building bonds and connections, as rays from the sun.
Splashing and playing, the water's embrace,
Cleansing our souls, leaving no trace.
Sun-kissed skin, a golden glow,
Feeling alive, our spirits are aglow.
The sound of waves crashing against the shore
A symphony of nature, forevermore
Seagulls soaring high above
A reminder of freedom and a symbol of love.
At this moment, we're all connected.
Nature's beauty is never neglected.
The salty breeze, a gentle caress,
Whispering secrets, we're truly blessed.
These moments reassure us daily.
Splashing into icy water is cooling and gaily.
Refreshing and revitalizing, a much-needed break,
From the chaos of life, an escape we make.
Watermelon treats, a taste of pure delight,
Bringing joy and laughter—a summer's sweet bite
Bright fireworks burst, lighting up the night.
A kaleidoscope of colors, filling us with delight.
Dances under the moonlight, bodies intertwine,
Freedom in movement is a dance that transcends time.
Days filled with beach activities, laughter, and cheer
Creating memories that will forever be held dear.
Sharing an ice cream visit with friends is a simple pleasure.
Creating bonds and connections that we will always treasure.
Blast in the sun, making memories that will never fade,
Moments of joy and laughter in the sunshine we wade
Valuable time with loved ones is a gift we hold dear.
Creating a bond that will last year after year.
So plunge into the cool water, relish the dulcet time,
Indulge in watermelon treats, oh so sublime.
As bright fireworks burst into the night sky,
We'll dance under the moonlight, with spirits high.
for Prithwin
first
left downstroke
start from the top
plane out
let the long anchor tip roof-line curve sharply upwards
at the stern down-end
pile it in stuffed in the centre
leave the bottom open
that’s where the studded boot rightly fits
Over billowing transmuted waters
the haze lifts now and then
winds amber green waft and skim
with the late light caught shimmering
no albatross circles the mast
guilt is pure guilt without wanton arrows
there are no signs of land
but the proffered hand
the wanderer knows no words of his own
Reach - disgorge with your nails
Walls that concuss entrails
Can he yet placate asylum
echo the cluck of a poaching North American coot
nestling amidst Eurasian breeding reeds
taut bunching yarrow rushes
an embattled haven
against majestic swan ships
sleek velvety rich drake
peacockish barnacle goose
come in early from the cold
Let the dards of Orion spell syllables of ease
through the congested smudge of yore
contorted fantizi ideograms
cursory calligraphic long dripping brush strokes
pale to pinyin
Simplified
the exile gasps for instant phonemic breath
under choppy waves of stuttering tongues
racy blades
extirpate langue crucify parole
mix meaning into heady synaesthesiac brew
loss of face is a loss of noodles
develop equals hair
Could René Char’s Zeit Geist
have diagnosed the myna’s Kâla-Purusha
Reach – disgorge with your nails
Walls that concuss entrails
Resources
1. This poem has to do with a Bengali translator’s first encounter with René Char at his residence The French poet questioned his translator on the meaning of “le dard d’Orion” in
his poem: “Jeu muet”. The translator interpreted the phrase as having to do with
astronomy and thus rendered it as “kâla Purusha” (Zeit Geist or literally as in
Hindu mythology: the Primal Being at the beginning of time). René Char then
picked a certain variety of the cactus flower in his garden and said that the
French “phrase” applied to that particular flower.
2. The imagery in the poem also relates to the simplification of classical Chinese
characters (fantizi) by the Peoples Republic of China in the early fifties and the
alphabetisation of Chinese characters, known as “pinyin” as opposed to the Wade and Yale systems. The simplified characters produced certain semantic anomalies.
©T. Wignesan, Paris – May 3, 2009