Long Watched Poems
Long Watched Poems. Below are the most popular long Watched by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Watched poems by poem length and keyword.
I cupped my hand over you butterfly
so you wouldn't fly away,
Soothed you upon my fingers
till the day wore its black cape.
On my pillow I released you,
Wished to hold you,Wished to keep you,
But we knew that it was time,
It was time not to be present
in this little life of mine.
And I whispered ; "Spread your wings"
as my heart fluttered in sync.
It was time to leave my hand
Forget the dream...
Get off my land...
From behind the misty window
I just watched you fade away
My one only companion
was a griefing nightingale
I just watched you glide in distance
to a garden of fresh scents
Sucking nectar from each flower
Dipping into sunken beds.
Other journeys await for you,
"Do come back! Do not return !
Unless a spell would transform you
from a monarch to a man."
Breezing trees heard the whispers of leaves
in the fardel of branches as they trembled
beneath the relentless breath of april's storm
i watched them from my window
this paned glass smudged over
with the splatter of lashing rain
pulsating against my hands
as i struggled to see clearly
through the ambages of drops
gliding down in an oblique trail
as they fell from ashen skies
and sullen eyes the same
this window has become my passage
to the forbidden outside world
where society once traipsed freely
upon these cobblestone streets
yet all i hear are the echoes of rain
as it plummets downward
all i see are these trees
struggling to remain grounded
in the lash of storm's fury
forthwith i see
you, me, a society
clinging together
likes these leaves
in the midst of this storm
trying to break free
april 24, 2020
* Breezing trees heard the whispers of leaves*
line credit to Vijay Pandit
Poetic lines Contest
Sponsored by Silent One
Dearest Ann , today the world completes a soft, golden circle 'round the sun, and in that warmth, your name repeats as if the stars know what you have done: Loved me through the fires,
Kissed me through storms,
Held me when I broke
and rebuilt me to what I am.
Ten years, my love, and still I learn how you fold forgiveness into fire,
how your silence sings, how your eyes burn with a holy, undying desire.
You have bled and bloomed,
You're grace in motion, a garden that grew in droughts of emotion.
You are the moonlight that unbuttons the dark, the ache in my chest when we’re apart, the hush in the house that feels like art, the echo of God’s own beating heart.
Your breath is a hymn I rise to each dawn, your skin—like silk where my soul is drawn.
I have watched you weep and not wither, watched you laugh with pain still in your chest, watched you give more when there was little left,
my love, in every way, you will always be the one.
Ann, if I could make this moment a rose,
I would press it in time where no one knows.
If I could write this love on your skin, you would feel how deep it goes within.
So on your birthday, beloved Ann, let me unwrap your soul tonight: not just with hands, but with reverence rare, to honor the fire in how you care.
To thank you with touch, with eyes, with breath, for every “yes” you gave through death.
Through heartache, hope, and holy repair, you stayed. You stayed. And you are still here.
Let me love you slow like rainfall dreams, let me hold your name in sacred streams, let my words bless your life with love that you are not just a wife—you’re my life.
So happy birthday, my Queen, my flame, my every whisper wrapped in our name.
Sweet Ann, the years may come, but this truth remain:
if I were born again, I would find only you.
Happy birthday my love,
Your Roger.
A coronation, watched by our entire great nation,
Some with trepidation, others boisterous jubilation.
Trump feted, his fawning family silhouetted,
Basking in his light, his confidence and might.
This Grand Old Party, it's followers vociferous and hearty,
Anointing their chosen man, to rule their ever-growing clan;
No harm to love a cause, giving thought and sometimes pause,
To what this passion brings, the words the siren sings.
Whereas strong leadership is good, it can be tainted just like food,
For democracy renounced, cannot then easily be found.
Let’s be careful what we wish, lest it be a poisoned dish,
Our founders crafted choice, beyond just
one resounding voice;
Autocracy is not a word, that in our Lexicon is heard,
We must vigilance ensure, for our country's story to endure.
Unity the dream, but like salmon in a raging stream,
Needs fortitude and grit, knowing when to fight and for the greater good, submit.
Daylight soaked my face with memories of the human race. I don’t know how I got here but as I watched the sun burst through the clouds, I know that answer will be profound; it is this strange sensation in my stomach that caused my spirit to disrupt and the vast ocean in front continues to ride with the wind and something began to churn from within. Oh, sweet morning filled with delight, come and minister to me and set my spirit free. I watched the clouds drifting over me and the birds gathering around singing a sweet melody and I wrapped my arms around the fear as I grasped the realty that dissolve in the atmosphere. Come and tell me the story of how the eagle ascend into glory and how the sea opens its gut and expels all the ruts.I was here and you were there as we watch the morning conquer its fear and the spirit of hope with good tidings rises from the earth. I could feel something running up and down in my gut but the morning was all that I could bear as the hours drew near and I tried desperately to come out so I leaped over the wall and shout, and a magnificent element lit up the sky and I see hundreds of people walking by in a straight line waving at me and suddenly my spirit was set free.
I was born on July 20, 1958.
Being one of seven children and having a mid-summer birthday, even as a young boy, it was
not uncommon for my birthdays to come and go without much fanfare.
In the winter of my Fifth Grade year at school, we had an assignment to write a short-story.
I was already in love with writing way back then. My short story was on a topic that was
very much in the news at that time and a very interesting and exciting theme for a young
boy. I wrote a short story about me being the youngest astronaut in the space program and
being selected to be the first astronaut to walk on the moon. I was aware at the time, that
the US and USSR were in a Cold War race to be the first country to achieve that lofty goal
and I knew it was bound to happen soon. To make my story even more special, I wrote that
this wonderful event would take place over the coming summer, on my birthday!
Well, lo and behold, as the winter turned to spring and spring turned into summer the Apollo
11 space mission launched from Cape Canaveral carrying three astronauts, two of whom
were targeted to walk on the moon.
As my 11th birthday approached, without any notice from anyone else, I watched in awe as
the Apollo 11 made its way to the moon. On July 20th, 1969, the lunar landing module,
Eagle, set down on the moon! I remember expectantly waiting for the astronauts to be given
permission to exit the Eagle and step foot on the moon’s surface as the hours of my birthday
ticked down.
It was about 10:00 pm eastern time when my parents finally sent us all to bed on the news
that Mission Control made the decision to wait until the next day to send Neil Armstrong out
of the lunar module. With tears in my eyes, I went to bed thinking that I missed my chance
to share my birthday with history and to have had my short story prognostication come true.
At a few minutes before 11:00 my parents woke all of us up to come watch as Neil
Armstrong could wait no longer and talked Mission Control into letting him walk on the moon
without further delay.
So, at about 11:00 pm, on my 11th birthday, the men from Apollo 11 walked on the moon for
the first time in history. One small step for man and one giant link to history for one small
boy in Charleston, West Virginia.
And, that is when 11 became my favorite number.
In my end days I hope people visit me,
For I have been lonely all my life.
The room is lit up yet I feel being in dark.
My heart is still pumping
but it might stop leaving a mark,
If the last seven minutes recalls all human memories,
Would it only recall my sorrows and griefs?
Would it show the doors,
I watched but never knocked.
The words I held, the love I never spoke?
The heart that stayed empty, the calls that never came,
A life lived in waiting, that too without a name.
And when the light finally leaves my eye,
No footsteps will echo, no one will cry.
Just a silent room, A window left open,
a chair pulled back, the hallway humming
until the morning realized no one was coming.
The toy boxes empty, and yesterday's thrills
Are buried together in mountainous hills
I still so remember the virgin land sweet
They deemed it would hide all that treasure discrete
And way back, I think around bout '67
Began hurling trash there,
Now a hill mounts toward heaven
Many a purchase, many a thrill
Couches, and washers and toys in that hill
Purchased with sweat and such toil of a brow
For loves sake, for Holidays purpose allowed
All of that love, so much hard-earned cash
Forgotten, forsaken in hills full of trash
And so in my lifetime I watched the hill grow
Blocking the sunset that we use to know
A million sweet scents from that desert once rose
Now the air smells of refuse, and much trash disposed
As Christmastime comes with her visions serene
The lights in a twinkle on the evergreens
Casting our eyes to the dear Saviors Birth
May we remember God's gift of our earth
Repurpose, creating our gifts for loved ones
A gift of an Earth to our future grandsons
A gift of clean air and pure sparkling waters
To all of creation, and our future daughters
A pure wish for merry, though we've less cash to spend
The truest of love lasts beyond our lives end
Merry Christmas is coming, may we choose to pay
It forward for Earth's sake and much brighter days
Did you ever have the felling you are being watched?
The night is dark with a subtle light softly glowing through curtain windows
the outside porch light shines and gifts a shy radiance into the room
I lie in my recliner sleeping with my legs up in the air helping circulation
An uneasy feeling awakes me as my eyes squint open I see her white face
She is sitting tall by my feet staring at me, her two ears, nose and body a
dark brown but her face and chest are loud white. her face glows
against the softness of the dim light while the rest of her wrapped into the
darkness. Somehow I can see the glitter of her brown eyes embedded
on her white face. Like a statue she stares watching me as I sleep
Her constant stare somehow awakens me as if my senses could feel her
glare. Sleepy eyes of mine open wider and I look at her face softly I whisper
Sassy, a little stronger as I lift my hand and she pounces on my chest
to lick my face and wag her tail and roll upon me as she playfully chews my
hand and arm.Suddenly she leaps off the chair and is swallowed into
the darkness. Sassy is a peculiar dog. When the alarm wakes me for the day
I find her sleeping by my side her head nestled upon my shoulder. I ease the
recliner down and she is startle and jumps away returning as I arise to dance
about me happy to go outside and she knows time to eat.
The darkness emits her face as Sassy stares upon me.
The Holy Cross Church with its neo-Gothic facade was too beauteous and too rare,
so clustered among the aristocratic neat palaces,
choked by the shadows of less ancient buildings;
I often looked up to glance at its tall bell-tower with a chill in my curly hair!
When I was the altar boy, I had to climb a thousand steep steps
to pull the rough cord and make that brass bell merrily ring,
and it relentlessly tolled far into the fertile valley kissed by spring,
and its resonant strokes summoned all to Vespers at six!!
By all means I should have wisely chosen the priesthood...
wine and bread I placed on a silver plate to be offered
before the altar, where the invisible eye of God watched me;
I worshiped Him and He blessed me for my sincerity!
The Holy Cross Church still stands there and its steps invoke my footsteps,
the gentle footsteps of a fine boy who turned his faith into a fervent creed;
and even if sunshine never hit my cold face slanting upward like a shield...
through the glass-stained windows it dazzled to restore the presence of grace!
How I would like to hear that huge organ play the lovely," Ave Maria" by Mozart,
making the gathered faithful cry and moved by its inspiring sound I contemplated an art ,
which revered and honored God in His glory...so exuberantly expressed by Man's spirit!
No other place, more beautiful than this, can make me forget the awe and joy that I felt!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci