Long Watcher Poems
Long Watcher Poems. Below are the most popular long Watcher by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Watcher poems by poem length and keyword.
Some memories are a pantomime in a dolls house.
A lantern-slide show in a small old-time theater.
Each seat occupied with an audience of one.
The spectacle is painted in sunny colors
as if some skillful child had chosen fairy-tale similes
to illustrate parts of a story.
Apart from usual rooms, the turrets and towers.
Apart from the Disney scenery, it is of course
a barely true, sanitized version of a concealed
and disjointed life.
The audience of one begins to fidget,
an itch creeps up its back,
a head heavy with sarcasm bares its yellowing teeth.
The watcher arises from its chair,
stretching its ancient body, its leathery wings.
Then that audience of one soars out
of an open window clearly marked – ‘you’.
There's a light within light; flame within flame...
There's a bloom within bloom; earth within earth...
There's space in a room; each cruise has an aim.
There's awareness dwelling in my mind's firth.
My chit, pure awareness beyond my mind,
Doesn't roam like my physique and psyche;
Though my thoughts and feelings are intertwined,
"I-am-ness" triumphs like the goddess Nike.
The eye of my eye sees when I wake or sleep.
It's always aware of my awareness.
Cognizance of my consciousness delves deep
into the vast vistas of my fulness.
If inner mirror blooms with timeless grace,
Am I the watcher, or the ghost I chase?
Wet a glance as the nocturne faded. Deeply rooted was the clause of all men's fears and queries. Nonetheless stagnant to the terms of the ever growing woe-field at dusk. Nevermore would the twelfth cripple slay the beast of foundry lane. Cups of variation would beam and gawk the very presence of egotistical teas, or anything like it for that matter.
She had very much grown to like the groans of the cask watcher, as she needled him, sew. Mana waned, exalted at at the fact that a taco stand could ne'r grasp the sheer magnificence of such a blur of cosmic obliteration.
Fathers of bears DO enjoy skittles, after they have fallen to the gleaming, sometimes tripe-ridden lakes of the barbarian fist junkies of old. Don't ask me why, but scattered pie is far more delicious.
inspired by Tim Burton
All my life
Been by myself
Calling out
Don’t regret
Ever been so thankful
Fall on my knees found my life in Jesus Christ
Glorious great mercies Lord, God
Heaven bound surely
Involuntary fed
Jesus gave
King of all this world
Loose He this ole world
Merciful Lord
Noted provider
Omni Father
Peace be gather, granted
Quiet whisperer, prayer defender
Righteous
Savior
Temperate
Universal merciful forgiver peace giver
Volatile voice incarnate
Watcher of our souls
Xth to the highest power
Yours forever now through eternity
Zeal. . .
The abc’s of All my life in the Hopes of Jesus Christ
1/25/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
I escaped to a quite place to meditate
But as soon as I got there an old man in a red cap
with a wretched look on his face invaded my quiet space
I have noticed him perpetually prowling around the park
with his long range professional camera shooting from the dark
Today my spirit got crossed and I came face to face with him
I labeled him a stalker but he quickly denied and
and confessed that he was a habitual bird watcher
I felt a sudden vexation brewing and with deep sorrows inside
I took my bible and sat on the damp grass and
read a psalms from the depth of my heart.
The rain came down suddenly wetting the pages in my bible
And forcing the bird watcher to close his despised windows
His conscience started screaming at him and in a few
minutes he hurried away from that place.
Something compelled me to leave that spot too
so I rode my bike along the wet trail leading to a muddy course
and a man riding in the opposite direction crossed my path
I attempted to get off my bike to let him pass
but he said aloud "I will ride in the muddy part"
As soon as I reach around the tired bend
I pounced upon a sign which reads
"road under construction, closed"
The broken swampy road perishing from inside
with heavy equipment blocking the route kept everyone away
I felt extremely happy
I parked my bike along the broken track and walked on
a board that connects both trail and continued on the track
I kept walking until my spirit led me to a peculiar place
A tree on the river bank with roots swelling out of the ground
with no soil to cover it's body and veins running all around
caught my attention
I made my way into the bushes
and sat on the root with my bare feet dangling
above the slow moving water and flat rocks gazing at me
as if they have something urgent to show me
I kept looking all around still there was nothing to be found
But right in front of me the hidden mystery was staring directly at me
There it was in living proof five trees standing on the river bank
four trees leaning over the river in a cluster
with one almost falling to the ground
But the fifth tree separated from the cluster was standing upright
looking healthy and strong sucking up the energy from the four falling ones
I photograph the living image of the four trees
collapsing over the big dirty river.
Lingering will it be in our memories
As we memorise the memorable
Memoir of the memorial
Of Dele Giwa
A letter engraved in a Bomb
Plucked away our prolific
And dogged pen pusher
Dele, A News Watcher
Became a news
Watched under the watchful
Eagle eyes of millions of watchers
On a day better not to remembered
Sunday 19th October, 1986
Came the news of Bomb bombardment
We all woke up to the verity of a
News very sad to watch
But watched with pains and agony
There the Bomb boomed
With a letter speaking only doom
Dele, Life was abruptly seized from you
By the BBI of this world
Your dream was caught short
Orchestrated by the goons of the
Jackbooters in power who still
Want to return to power by means all
Dele, They threw spanners in your path
With the quest to kill the
Message and the messenger
But Dele,19 years after
The message lives
It leaves them
Only to live on them
For your message lived on truth
It feeds only on Justice
Adieu Dele!!!
Your blood shed will continue
To sprinkle trauma and agony
On all your killers
As we promise to continue
To truthfully push the pen like you did
Till the ink finishes
And till we can push no more.
Alayande Stephen Tolulope
October 1st 2005
9.00pm
Form:
France…
Listen!!
You were once an empire —
Your shadow stretching across continents,
But not in love, not in light,
Only in blood, only in brutality.
You came not with gifts,
But with guns and chains,
Your hands red with conquest,
Your heart void of remorse.
I walked the fields of Algeria,
And I saw them —
Three women,
Stripped of dignity,
Breasts cut off by your soldiers,
Their spirits still cry on the winds of June 14, 1830.
"What wrong did we do?" they whisper.
But no answer comes.
I passed through Madagascar,
Where you slaughtered without shame.
Men torn from the earth,
Children buried in silence,
Mothers shattered.
They still scream beneath the soil.
You left no mercy.
In Vietnam,
You raped, you burned,
You desecrated the dreams of the innocent.
Those little ones —
With soot in their lungs and fear in their bones —
Still wander the spirit world,
Asking: “Why?”
France!
Do not pretend amnesia.
I am God. I remember.
Every tear, every scream,
Every drop of blood you spilled for profit and pride.
And you, melanated children of the South,
Listen carefully.
Where there is no remorse,
There is no repentance.
France has not changed.
The same soul that colonized still calculates in silence.
Do not be deceived.
Even your own—President Jacques Chirac confessed:
> “Without Africa, France will slide into the rank of a third world country.”
He spoke truth.
Not wisdom — truth born of fear.
Because without theft,
France cannot survive.
But now—
The Earth shifts.
The winds of the Global South rise.
The forgotten are now awakened.
And justice, like a lion, walks forward.
Your time is over, France.
Those you exploited shall speak.
They will demand justice,
And no military, no nuclear threat,
No polished lie in the halls of Geneva
Will protect you.
Because I, the Watcher of Ages,
Have recorded all.
I do not forget.
France, kneel.
Confess. Repent.
Or face the fury of the prayers
You thought I never heard.
You move your body
but you can’t change your mind
To many broken bits
It’s your choice to waste your time
You wish and you want
to finally be fine
Penny for thought thinking
another glass of wine
You hide behind screens
Blinded by your bliss
Nothing could be better
Than your imagined kiss
A click and a flicker
Anticipation cloud nine
It’s just a bit of fun
You want a good time
Screen upon screen
they glow while you talk
Alien cyber moments
Clicking away the digital clock
You look at the door
While praying she’ll knock
She’s your fantasy fetish
the girl on Tik Tok
The images of sexy
Lust within the machine
You wait and you want it
the very next scene
It lives in the flickers
The bits and the bytes
Mesmerizing magic
Rising to new heights
Yet the feeling is empty
So you graduate to zoom
The need for more stimulus
The desire to consume
A watcher not a toucher
Witnessing blossoms bloom
All the while just a prisoner
There trapped in your room.
Evil abound in the dark night air,
The watcher is waiting,
As you feel it’s blood thirsty stare.
Sweat starts to form
On your brow and your cheek
As fear grabs your voice
So you can not even speak.
Icy fingers of terror
Run down your neck to your back,
As you nervously anticipate
The demons vicious attack
Palm to your chest
You feel your heart race
As the blood starts to slowly
Drain from your face,
White as if paper
Ashen colored with fright
As you imagine the unbearably
Painful first bite
Fear in your heart
And tears in your eyes
As you try to be brave
And await its surprise
It steps from the shadows
And into full view
The hideous evil
That was waiting for you
With the light you now see
A form and its shape,
Wondering what’s in store
And wanting death over rape
But to your relief
Through tear filled eyes you now see,
It’s not evil or hateful
As you believed it to be
It stands in the light
Unthreatening and at ease,
Not wanting to harm
But only to please.
The wings on its back
Are now spread wide and of white,
That shine with a pleasing
Soft gleaming light
Its features so beautiful
And wondrous to see,
Your fear and the terror
Are suddenly set free
For this is not a creature
Of death, evil or hate,
But a loving blessed angel
From heavens front gate
In that moment it was clear
All your life you did waste
For fearing the unknown
And judging in haste
Like a stalking hoarse,
Have endured shrewd days and night,
Like the physician ampoule,
Ready on my skin to pour.
flights from ignorance left these
Strawberry marks,
Eyes glued on the object
compelled to the hard brown wooden logs in art,
And the iron in room "G02".
Friends and enemies unrelenting
awaits enticement,
numberless distraction as obstacles on my path,
beckoning to the banquet of misery,
as this dangling reputation slowly pace along undeterred.
ego gangs gauged and chokes to loose the prize
avalanche of invisible darts piercing from home and abroad,
but I, a pretty piece of flesh,
Stand aloof to watch a drama
With the ointments of the supreme being
Within my bowels,
Those that see the seals, demand the cause,
Of quietude in this world of madness.
As I stood aloof to watch the wretch mirth turns to mourn
Ah weary watcher, like you, I am a mere voyager,
on the route where the delight of the peasantry
Is wept into oblivion
There are dangerous curves
As we advance,
there are dangling arrows,
The old serpent is not dead,
he hides in ambuscades
The road becomes deeper and deeper,
The shades of the precipices fall bleaker and bleaker.
The clouds gather overhead,
Doleful voices
The way hardly discernible in this gloom
The path is dreary,
our feet too often wobble,
Heart ambushed by fiercest lust,
Yet, Firm stand I.
Not in my natural element