Long Waiting Poems
Long Waiting Poems. Below are the most popular long Waiting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Waiting poems by poem length and keyword.
As I was sitting in the airport
Waiting on my flight
I noticed young people in military gear
On my left and on my right
I don’t question anyone’s motives
For this path they choose to take
And I felt an urge deep down inside
To get up and their hands to shake
I caught the eye of one young man
Gave the American sign for the phrase “Thank You”
He returned a smile and a big thumbs up
As if this sign he really knew
Then I got the attention of another
And flashed the sign again
She nodded her head in my direction
Wearing a big wide grin
As I sat there waiting
I did it about twenty times more
To every young person whose attention I got
In the military uniforms that they wore
One young soldier even flashed me back
With a “You’re Welcome” American sign
Made me feel that while I waited
I was making good use of my time
It’s an unobtrusive way to show our gratitude
To those who are willing to go into harm’s way
So that we may enjoy our freedom
For yet another day
As I sat looking out the window
On the flight taking me back home
I pledged to continue to give this sign
To let these young people know they’re not alone
The Artist: The Later Years
by Edmund Siejka
(companion piece to The Artist published March 28, 2013)
He hadn’t sold anything
In a long time
Arms crossed
He scrutinized the paintings
Displayed in the
Most modern of modern Chelsea galleries.
Behind him
A small group of artists
Discussed art
Glasses of wine held subtly in their animated hands
He nodded
Only one in the group
Nodded back.
Something bothered him
Pressing down on his shoulders
It was then he left
As quietly as he came.
Walking downtown
Collar up
The wind whipped through his jacket
At 8th Avenue
Along a row
Of cheap buildings
Off 14th Street
He found a coffee shop
Not wanting coffee he walked in anyway
Hoping that since he didn’t know anyone
He would be in a public place
But would have all the privacy he needed.
Sitting at the counter
He felt someone touching his shoulder
He turned
To face a Kid
In his early twenties
Tall
Brown hair
Even features
Good bone structure
Curious eyes
Strong hands
Paint splattered jeans.
Are you an artist? The Kid asked
He was tempted to tell the Kid to go out and play in traffic
But the honesty in the voice
Was convincing
“I thought so” the Kid said
The Times did a retro on artists of the 70’s”
The Kid looked closer
“Except for the white hair you haven’t changed that much
In my art class they still mention you”.
There was something bold
Yet real about the Kid
Grabbing a corner booth
They discussed art
He giving pointers
About the New York art scene.
Returning home
The Artist passed under the Dome of St. George
Strong and defiant in the afternoon sun
Taking a deep breathe
He went upstairs to his studio slash apartment
There was an empty canvas
Waiting
A north light
Beckoned
Holding brushes in his hand
He was an artist once again.
I walk alone and that's ok because no-one has walked in my shoes
No-one has seen exactly what I have, breathed or lived it
Whether it was pain or joy I feel or intolerable change I face,
I walk alone in a world that is no longer what I knew to be
The colorful flowers are still standing in growth and beauty
The mountains still wait for the sun to sink and rest
Where must one go for peace, nestled in the trees, waiting?
Never let go of the good things you know, hold on tightly now
I walk alone with choices I have made, from what I know
There is always a simple gesture to find...
a way to smile, a place to be free, far from all constraints
I walk alone and as I walk, the music of life carries on
Heidi Sands
8/16/24
(C)opyright
She’s an everyday woman
And she’s every woman
Check your watch to see if she’s fashionably late
Consider, mull it over, contemplate
What’s the alternative to waiting on your babe
When you were led to her by astrolabe
Sometimes the pending storm will cover the stars
As the past is covered by scars
When the torrential rains, when the flashing storms
She’s hanging on, Damn right! Your heart conforms
So, I want you to take note
“Find a woman and you’ll find love” a Skynyrd quote
You’ve found the one, and there’s no comparison
And while she’s not a very good dancer
She does everything Fred Astaire does
except backwards and in high heels
A secondhand heart and romancer
And the way she looks gets you in "the feels"
She beat Cancer
And the birthing pangs for Heaven’s sake
Need I go any further
Writing outside the body,
in the control room of the mind
The blueprints of our D.N.A.,
left for me to find
The root cause of the madness,
‘where thoughts and feelings meet’
No blood yet spilled, no demons killed,
free will lay sound asleep
The choices raw and waiting,
to be right but often wrong
My pen writes down today’s decree,
in the lyrics of a song…
“With eyes on fire you’ll see your way
through darkness that belies
“While remembering the sanctity,
this womb did once provide
“Decide with what I now endow,
your heart, and not your head
“To faith proclaim, yourself ordained
—and love your soul to wed”
(Rosemont College: March, 2020)
There was a great incline of stone, weathered
amongst the sparsely green valley
whose feet lay at the door of a thatched cottage
and whose head I was treading over now.
A fair stream, no wider than a meter,
had had its pulse dried up by the sun
leaving moss strewn on florid rocky deposits,
ran down the length of the valley
transforming eventually into a river that
sent the local watermills cartwheeling
like ecstatic gymnasts.
In one stride I was over,
hopping onto a small ledge
and (rather regrettably) crushing its treasured plant
underfoot.
Springing upwards, I skirted the boundary of the valley
rising doggedly above the craggy edge
and there, waiting in all its recklessness
was the wind.
Throughout the ages of time
men have marched
men have fought
men have bled
men have died
For a field of land deemed strategic, an advantage, even holy
ghosts of wars past cling to the soil waiting to welcome
those of the future.
Dead, the old men to the young boys
for glory for victory for peace
The fog fingers it way to heaven as if it was the smoldering smoke
of cannons firing.
A flash of lighting strikes as a blade of steel cutting into the flesh
forever scaring a young face.
Roar of thunder cracks and booms as rifle fire in sync mowing down
rows and rows of advancing soldiers falling into the muck of war.
Flags falling onto the field to soak the blood from dying soldiers
bleeding their souls into the earth.
Listen and hear phantoms of combat from mortal souls, hand to hand
fist to fist, bayonet jabbing, swords slashing, spears piercing flesh.
From sling shots to arrows to bullets to bombs
on and on and on constant wars
Fight for survival
for conquest
for greed
for victory
for glory
Reasons enough for young men to believe
War claims the sons now seduces the daughters
death is the great equalizer.
Quiet and calm, sounds of peace
a soft breeze blows through the waves of grass
The field is beautiful
wild flowers grow through the rust of shrapnel
haunting whispers echo the sound of beating drums
The drumbeat of war marches on for generations gone and arriving.
Are British Politicians a Little Potty?
At the end of Faust Part Two
Goethe wrote something most true.
The eternal lies in things of time,
the stone you throw, the mount you climb.
the little bird that chirps and sings,
the honey bee that flies and stings
This logic, to its end pursued,
the British teapot must include.
A teaspoonful per person tot,
but, don't forget: one for the pot!
Boiling water then pour in,
Tepid water, 'twere a sin.
Now you let the teapot 'stand,'
or else the taste you'll get is bland.
but let no other danger lour
by waiting more than half an hour.
Soaked too long tea leaves release
what may disturb your stomach's peace.
Persistence, up to a point, does good
Beyond that point you're stuck in a wood.
Roman Politics.
The coldness of the night merged seamlessly
with the coldness of daybreak.
A weak sun did nothing to raise temperatures
or spirits.
The Legionnaires leather coats creaked and cracked
as morning dew met forest mist.
At the edge of the giant forest they all stood,
lined out and disciplined.
Waiting.
Far across barren scrubland
taunting voices shouted abuse and threats.
Hidden deep in their own forest fortress,
sporadic German tongues were cursing
Rome.
The battle was about to begin.
The shouts turned to chants,
the chants to howling.
Weapons clattered sheilds,
the waiting was over.
Fire was primed and archers drew,
calvary waited in the wings.
Three words echoed down
the infantry.
"Strength and honour."
The uncouth hoards burst forth,
all the tribes united
as one.
Screaming out for murder.
The Legion stood, waited, disciplined.
Brought them on,
waited,
formed.
Unleashed hell.
One half day later
Rome could cheer.
A nice piece
of involvement
was again won
for the Senate.
The tribes were undone.
For now.
Form:
Let someone's light shine everywhere,
darkness must not prevail when hope becomes
the candle that flickers waiting to die,
but somewhere a rising voice sings
and makes pretty roses bloom and butterflies fly:
come out of your hiding and dare
to defy anyone who doesn't care!
Like most of us, you have gone through hell,
beaten your chest, and cried from pain and dire:
isn't it time to make amends and restore inner peace?
Put love first and listen to the sweet sound of a bell,
when harmony is missing: life becomes a sky without geese...
a meadow without flowers, a face without a smile!
Let someone's light shine everywhere, let it scatter
shadows that hide every star insight, and the nocturnal visions
we seek in surrealistic dreams not limiting our fantasy;
if Earth is our home, let's live here peacefully...
caring for others and taking care of each other.
Nobody must be neglected, even without possessions;
derelicts can fill up their paper bags without revenues...
don't look at their worn-out clothes that resemble rags
and might tell us a pitiful tale, let's consider their values!
Like many who have put their ultimate faith in trustworthy people
and got disappointed, they show anger, discontent, and mistrust;
when all else fails, you have God to rely upon: he's your last resort,
He will not dishearten you but make you strong and not tumble!