Long Walkers Poems
Long Walkers Poems. Below are the most popular long Walkers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Walkers poems by poem length and keyword.
Who will be first to climb the dawn light?
Daybreak stretches its gray tendons
to high windows,
dim reflections foreshadow
strings of geese -
all is a leaving.
Some wake up in cardboard boxes.
Some drive ahead of themselves,
the overheated skid backwards into empty garages.
Cops in Irish pubs drink whisky
with black morning coffee.
The night is slow to die.
There’s a virus going around they say.
Some wake up dying,
some night-walkers go home
to their daydreams.
The town will wear a different mask for a while,
on the freeway rubber rolls to elsewhere.
A limp light gutters,
shadows run low, scuttle into dank corners.
A last skein of geese has passed.
I am at my window watching,
some concrete cells are empty,
some watchers will not sleep again,
not before the next gasp of night
steals their breath away.
I walk along the slippery shore.
of the shingled beach
that welcomes the inland sea.
The sun rises slowly in the east,
lighting my way amongst
the small rocks and drying seaweeds.
There is a lift inside me
that nurture enthusiasm.
Peace and quiet reign around
disturbed occasionally by the barks
of sprightly dogs that race upon the sand,
the squawks of gulls gliding gluttonously
swooping down for their repast.
I look with sympathy on other walkers
on the beach. Thus, I meditate,
a marvellously therapeutic exercise.
Who am I, Lord, to deserve all this?
The quiet meditation calms my mind.
lowers my blood pressure,
a spiritually potent release.
My mind is tranquil,
I know who I am,
my soul is happy.
"AWOL in The Ixnayed Days"
Pieces of me
were stolen
long before
the war
cluster f****d
its way
into the
world today
The peace of me
swallowed
in the coma
that had settled
where the buried
mines and bombs
in the silent streets
of your mind lay
Triggers
for
The Others -
treason is a gift
never to be
considered
PSYOP
sleep walkers
trip wired sleepless
grenades shot
from a mouth
Spitfired Hornet
burns the well-oiled
Molotov hurt away
wired the triggers
to trip away in tune
tap dancing fingers
express
the internal glitch
a torn soul, split apart
morse code signals
over keys, notes attache
attempting
soft diplomacy,
Kalashnikov all the way
awol’d in the ixnayed days
with the poetic legion
and their gorgon demons
dreaming of a time
long before the poison
spoon fed from that monster,
Betrayal,
had its way
a note pinned
over the heart
X
target
for a clean mark
painting pictures
in numbers -
give it your best shot
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“I Appear Missing” / Queens of the Stone Age
https://youtu.be/C9OfBcjyxKY
"Shock me awake
Tear me apart
Pinned like a note
in a hospital gown
Deeper I sleep
Further down
A rabbit hole
never
to be found"
LYRICS/ "I Appear Missing", Queens of the Stone Age
https://genius.com/Queens-of-the-stone-age-i-appear-missing-lyrics
When his father-in-law got him
into the poultry biz in Rhode Island
Joe had not fully contemplated that
first day to market when he
when he failed to truss and bag the birds
properly, a holy-moly cock-up so
when he tossed them into his ’02
Honda Accord LX to parlay
the beasties down 95 South RI,
they managed to wriggle free
the chickens did, got loose
from the burlap sack
the chickens did, flapping anarchy,
and mayhem, and bad policy about
the Aught-Deux’s upscale cabin,
the mad bastard capons pocking
fine leatherette and Boze while
Bad Chicken Farmer Joe flailed away,
fowl and feathers, feathers and fowl
flailing, clawing, at the faux cherry
wheel, finally rip-cording his failed way
down exit 8A for Quonset Point,
where, at the light, the cross-walkers froze
glaciating, mightily at the cockerel mayhem
unraveling inside a popular Midclass Sedan.
The day was when the crowd came out in a massive drive for the old elephant.
The graveyard was the last day of this red associate; however, they did not lie down!
Becoming a goldened tusk with ivory and diamonds, they become the shrine of the elephant!
All the populace around the waterhole went into the small town without backing down!
Moving through the small grid to the street of many walkers, the group was on arms.
An immature girl was asked about her presence, to which she stated “that it was a revolution”
These arms were a sight of pure ignorance that the past members of truth would rather stay on the farms!
Human growth is notable when each new generation fares better than the last; however, this girl was a product of de-evolution.
Hark to the fools who believe in stupidity and the false words of a toothless chia pet!
Words of honor have never passed the lips of the annoying orange!
It is time to take this person for a check-up to the vet!
You had the world of fools believing in your words! You are beyond an annoying orange!
Was Nostradamus talking about the 20th Century?
Maybe he was speaking about the 21st Century!
WALK IN THE PARK
a lovely late afternoon
sun and shade at eighty
perfect degrees
my toes curl up inside
my sneakers, not
in shape for this season
of walking
surprised to see
a baby bump
bopping along
with expectant runner
i walk steadily toward the wooden bridge,
cross over the creek,
take a little dirt path,
loop back
as i cross the green grass
a huge American crow, leaves
his perch
with a snack
as long as it’s not me
i’m okay
a little too close for comfort
‘he’s the alpha...he’s the alpha!’
i have no illusions, i
tread lightly
not meeting his eyes
keeping mine on the trail
and my trek continues
without peril
i round the path
where a lady sits
with her two huskies
under a tree
i say hello to several walkers
the general
“nice weather we’re having”
one lady keeps to herself
to her cell i should say
but that’s the prerogative
of the introvert
and shy
we have gone around a couple times
passing face to face
so i finally have to ask
the pregnant lady
and she pauses
perhaps
prepared with an answer
“so i just have to ask, how far
along are you?”
she tells me 39 weeks
says it’s any day
i give a warm blessing
and i head for the car
thanking God
for this early Autumn day
spent with strangers
in the park
9/25/2017
There has to be a sudden sunlight
breaking the mist and clouds.
A shaft of dazzling brightness
that lifts the murk completely
off the landscape.
Conditions must be just so,
then there it is
you are looking down
from the high moors into a lost valley.
A place unrecorded on any map
yet many claim to have glimpsed it.
A sweet verdant expanses of rolling hills
through which a rivulet sparkles as it flows
over chalk white stones.
Yellow-green is the pasture
and gold the tips of the corn grass
but this is only a transitory vision we see,
a momentary mirage,
then the clouds mash together,
mist covers the view once more.
We are left with just these tall tales
that we swap with other walkers
in the village pub below.
You were empowered by striving
for an ideal nature potential to another,
more intuitive, your inspired psyche.
A dualistic inner child.
A sister if you will,
or brother, of conscience.
The fragile critic of your ego
twinning being and discovery
wicker work woven into identity.
Jungian campfire archetypes
and coastal forest epiphany.
Dawns chorus, dew walkers
wise dumb, and moon guided.
Myth whisperers and sacred smoke diviners.
You have become one with the tribe of
Anthropologically informed Atheists.
Book readers and thought provocateurs,
engaged by the zeitgeist.
You don't want to play at the game?
You seek no comfort in their death cult.
For you the apocalypse is a shattered dream.
Reflecting their allegiance to delusional rapture,
while clutching self-fulfilling lists of disasters.
You are a threat to their device.
Enraging them by your very existence,
by networks of increasing number and influence.
An abuse they contend is their God's given to prevent.
Yet you persist? Offering humanitarian precepts
as the alternative for generations of:
genocide, war, and thought persecution.
Rebel defiance enforcing struggle and community.
Breaking through the concrete of their institutions.
Seeded in cracks of commitment and enlightenment.
Poet's words swept by love and dissent
across vast tracks of sterile pavement.
Ethereal shadows impress themselves
upon upon stone walls.
Beneath the bridge,
a river rolls upon his journey;
miles of crystal crests,
collecting unpublished stories
he and friends will enjoy.
Among the many stories,
footpath pebbles trod upon by
history’s children;
mostly unknowns living
solitary lives of struggle and heartbreak.
Leaves catch a ride on a wave,
as they flit from their trees
on a engaging afternoon breeze.
A broken tree branch,
with offspring may take a swim today;
if the swifter winds
decide to challenge it.
A few mosquitoes or flies
will hitch a ride on the back of a bullfrog;
trying to enjoy the show.
A doe stops to take a long drink
of this cool, embracing life force;
not fazed by the bridge walkers.
These are Nature’s stories,
whispers only the water hears
as it gathers them for its
ocean-bound anthology;
oh, the wondrous tales marine life
will share when it’s finally read;
sacred.
A hypnotic effect is possessed by this gadget
It could even lead to a syndrome called pagets
Bent over and private its user spellbound
But unsocial and rude to all those around
Multiple noises are deftly emitted
With buttons to press and assets unlimited
Texts dispensed and news accessed
Leaving conversation to certain death
Ring tones abound in public spaces
Phone chat like barkers in public places
photos and selfies posted here and there
All manner of games to further ensnare
Thus putting the user in greater peril
When mobile phones become a menace
To drivers and walkers all absorbed
A selfish misuse to be abhorred
And a blight when the charger is mislaid
And constant debit to be repaid
This amazing gadget should remain in pocket
Until really needed, then out of the closet