Long Watchful Poems
Long Watchful Poems. Below are the most popular long Watchful by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Watchful poems by poem length and keyword.
He roars from the distance, instilling in everyone, terror and fear
Approaching stealthily, though unseen, somehow you sense he's near.
Then, in an incomprehensible instant of time, before you can react
The lion lunges at you, the unwary prey, in an outrageous attack.
The roar is intentional, skillfully utilized, to inspire fear, to paralyze
Shaking, quaking, fearing imminent death, the hopeless ones realize
The time has come, ready or not, for their premature earthly demise
Perhaps unaware, that God has prepared for all, an earthly paradise.
The lion is a beast, an enraged animal, with an insatiable appetite
Targeting humanity, especially the innocent, inexperienced in the fight
Hatred and extremism, promulgated by evil men, wicked schemes roar
Propaganda machine running full steam operators tabulating the score.
Wicked people brutalizing others, committing atrocities are inhumane
Deceived human agents of a malevolent unseen lion who's gone insane
This diabolical lion, is on the prowl, ever watchful, seeking to devour prey
Righteous humans will survive unharmed, if they humbly seek God and pray.
John Derek Hamilton November 18, 2015
The ground under our feet shakes, shifts and sways,
A steady stream of queries haunts our days,
Who are we? What`s our source? Which way we tread?
A cloud of doubt does shroud our mind with dread.
The distant stars simmering silver bright
Do not enlighten us with gleams of light;
A string of probes still lingers in our mind,
Unclear, foggy, misty and undefined.
Are we just dust moulded in human shape
Or infused with a soul standing agape?
Is the soul undying or death ends all?
Is it divine-sent on earth for a call?
Is our end-goal in life to cleanse this soul
Birth after birth till it can join the whole,
Free from the rusted chain of death and birth
That obdurately chains us to the earth?
Is the cosmos a godly creation
Or an act of lengthy evolution?
Is there a master plan, a grand design,
Framed by the mighty hands of the divine?
Is universe`s end a certainty?
Are we fated by hands of destiny?
Do we carve our journey by our own hands?
In life do we fully shape our own stand?
Clear-cut replies rest unknown, a vast sea,
Reflecting existence uncertainty,
Such queries cross the altar of the mind
And a clear-cut response, it`s hard to find.
The tapestry of life`s a complex weave,
A drama of joys and pains, as perceived,
But when we cautiously untie the threads
We discover complexity with dread.
The search for truth, a never ending quest
Exhausts the spirit longing for some rest,
Yet rest is denied when doubts multiply
Beneath the vast and ever watchful sky
The restless heart, it yearns to understand
The fragile footing on this shifting sand,
But understanding, like a distant star
Remains an illusion moving afar.
So let us walk, though paths be undefined
With open eyes and unwavering mind,
Embracing all, the beauty and the fear,
For in this journey, life itself is here.
Thinking, seeking, searching makes us to be
And delve deep within ourselves feeling free,
Not just living, but at immensity
Gazing with soothing sense of bliss and glee.
One dark, blustery night with storm clouds thickening
I peeked out of my window, but couldn’t see a thing
My hands cupped as blinders, and squinting very hard
A brilliant flash of lightening lit up a dark graveyard
The sky became a lightening show and thunder it did roll
Displaying in that graveyard a massive totem pole
It boasted such a dignity and stood there as a guard
Crested with an eagle that watched the whole graveyard
Storm clouds threaten to explode with tears of lament
For all buried in that graveyard is to someone heaven sent
Dad got back into the car as the angels began to cry
We drove from that graveyard under the eagle’s watchful eye
Each night before I sleep, lying in my bed
With exciting sights of the day dancing in my head
The memory I recall the most, the one I can’t discard
Is a flat tire on a stormy night, totem pole and graveyard
Randy Steele
August 13, 2011
Things That Should Grow on Trees
Things that should grow on trees include:
big sea birds with
extremely long wings, old-fashioned shoe
horns, tape recorders who
play sporadically cries of
grief, blank
photographs, stamps with
printed eyeballs, people with
colourless or
very nearly colourless hair and
skin and
pinkish eyes, the word
unfortunately, the word
regrettably, the word
even though, miniature
pianos, vampire
teeth, leaf
blowers, False
IDs, illuminated loyalty
cards, the watchful and
attentive, damp
clothes, pom
poms, glass
shards, pack of
cards, rope knot
balls, plastic
trinket boxes, ashtrays (glass only), lips (too
animal lips), spines (too
animal spines), toast, headache
tablets, running
shoes, and
whores.
America has gone and its
probably not coming back.
Some see that as a good thing -
that’s depressing,
but I think in many ways
we are bereft no matter what.
Life has its challenges,
we wear masks
some are throwaway
others remain
Send out the clowns
make them mime
disorderly bonfires,
ignite the fright.
Obviously
I can’t say much
about you know what,
and it would be forward of me
to speak out and outrage
the ever watchful,
(the you know who’s),
least I find myself
deemed to be
a you know,
and maybe even
a whatever.
Wolves now roam
sniffing out the questioning.
They are leading
the disconnected and willing
into a glorious future
and everyone now is a clown show
on the edge of town.
The quiet strum in the living space
It was Christmas day when he played
The struggle real but calm his hands
as he battled with his guitar
Hallelujah…sing…Hallelujah
From the corner of each eye
If we’d have known to spill some tears
Thank goodness moment captured
Saved by a watchful foreboding
Hallelujah…sing…Hallelujah
His sister near, this dear nephew sung
the stanzas as he moved imminent strings
A couple years later, I’d sit up in bed
It was such the occasion to raise the dead
Hallelujah…sing…Hallelujah
This poem not meant to be tailored
just raw, sorrowful, surrendered to
the beautiful moment before the pandemic
then hell took ground and blood spilled out
Hallelujah…sing…Hallelujah
Remembered more the facebook sage
the basking in the baptismal plunge
Before that was the Suicide Song
to his mother, father, sisters, brother
Hallelujah…sing…Hallelujah
He thought he was past this depart-ation
but at last he stepped back into the past
perhaps a legion of demons took hold
Oh how this family pulled, but alas
Hallelujah…sing…Hallelujah
He is remembered kindly despite this act
One friend spoke at his memorial - a grace
as he asked the Lord: only if the pastor asks
for more. He told of my nephew’s witness to him
Hallelujah…sing…Hallelujah
What grace this was. We would not forget
the first and last time we spoke to his friend,
for then the Lord took him too - an accident.
No accident, we met him face to face. Grace
Hallelujah…sing…Hallelujah
I am afraid of beauty
Everyone loves my softness,
Pink, white body
The shape of my skeleton
Fragrance from pores of skin
They die to sink in it!
My eyes are tired, flow in red every night
I need a deep sleep
But my heart is always watchful
The thought of you threatens me
If I defeat my beauty,
If my skin loses its soft pores
Can the dry pores create a sensual smile!
Would you still love me?
I'm afraid of my beauty
I can not hate myself
No way to escape the truth
Everybody lives their own lives
I am a simple girl
Sometimes melt in love
Love always whispers around me
I failed to fail
No one loves my soul
Now I am afraid of my love!
When she crossed her legs,
an electric silk slipped over the jewel-studded sides
of a blushing chameleon.
Sand clung to her thighs,
a tapestry of flaxen crumbs on amber skin.
Thigh orientated beguilements
spread their plush landscapes.
Her shoulders were disrespectful –
I liked that. The massed pipes and drums
of her braided hair marched out of sight -
muted instruments of mutual destruction.
I imagined an emerald turtle born from a native legend
lived in her watchful heart.
I was alone for a thousand years
drinking her inward.
I wanted to ask her
but what?
I guessed that whatever her answer,
there would be no sign of small pink wings
and cutesy fairy smiles.
Besides it was then she looked my way
with that cool ‘-you’ stare.
When I got back alone to the hotel,
not having said a word to her,
I looked at my reflected sun-slapped face,
it was as unstable as dry sand,
yet the syllabary of her thighs
had so much more to say
as my face fell apart onto the wet floor-tiles.
© a day ago
Birthday parties are fun for young teens,
long they've waited: it's time for cheers!
Balloons are dangling from the ceiling,
slow music plays throughout the Hall,
chatting girls woo boys...something
of romantic nature is rapidly brewing;
watchful mothers stand against the wall.
Where's Karen? Everybody starts worrying;
somebody runs outside, " She's coming! "
A sigh of relief runs across delighted faces.
The door swings open, Karen in a wheelchair
appears, it's a vision of a ghost much too fair:
sunken eyes, shaved head that shows her skull;
all the gests greet her, she used to be a doll!
Karen waves at them, perceiving sad glances;
she expected to see more cheerful faces...
searching inside, she feels great sadness
instead of deep sympathy for her illness.
And as planned the party goes on all noon,
cheer returns on Karen's pale face, she forgets
insidious thoughts that battle inside; after all it's
her birthday party and she wants to have fun!
Mark comes forward with a boyish shyness,
and invites her to dance: it's her favorite song,
and that makes her vibrate with life's gladness;
although it's brief, it couldn't be more thrilling!
Written on 2/ 7/ 2016
Under the enigmatic glow of twilight,
Where shadows blend into the fabric of existence,
I find myself caught in endless thoughts,
Whispers of consciousness undulating like waves,
Reflecting on lives of ordinary circles,
Spinning in loops of insignificant aims,
A tragic dance of souls chasing ephemeral dreams,
Unaware of the profound loss in their routine.
If one could decipher the horror hidden there,
See beyond trivial pursuits that consume their days,
They’d grasp the magnitude of their forfeitures,
The burden of deferred dreams,
The unextinguished fire of potential lost in the winds of time.
In the labyrinth of the mind, thoughts carve paths like rivers,
Reflecting on general laws, invisible chains that bind,
Watching lives entangled in loops of trance,
Seeing the slow, silent erosion of spirit,
A gradual dimming of a light that once shone brightly.
What matters for a soul trapped in the prison of monotony,
Condemned to the slow death of an unfulfilled existence,
But to break free, to shatter the illusion, to reach the infinite,
Nothing else carries the gravity of this aim -
Escape, to taste the true essence of freedom.
Each heartbeat echoes through the silent corridors of the mind,
Aligned with deeper desires to rise above mundane life,
To feel the thrill of unbound existence,
Following paths undictated by trivial aims,
Breathing life back into suffocated dreams.
Navigating through the sea of quiet introspection,
Seeking answers in the soul’s silent whispers,
If living means being shackled by minor aims,
Then true life must be beyond those bounds,
In vast, uncharted realms where freedom reigns,
Where the spirit soars free from the weight of empty pursuits.
In the silent embrace of night, beneath watchful stars,
Struck by the melancholic beauty of this truth,
A sorrowful yet hopeful symphony in realization,
That to live fully, one must strive to escape,
Break the cycle, venture beyond the bars of mediocrity.
In the end, what’s serious, what truly matters,
Is self-liberation from the decay of insignificance,
Seeking and embracing boundless freedom
Beyond the horizon, transforming the ordinary into the extraordinary,
Living life in its most sublime and unbound form.