Long Way Poems
Long Way Poems. Below are the most popular long Way by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Way poems by poem length and keyword.
Now I’m ninety solar masses and I grow as I accrete
all the inter-stellar gasses near my neighbors when we meet.
My doctor says I’ve grown too fat too fast, “… it’s unsustainable!”
But I’ve big plans for a big blast that I know is attainable:
I’ll do the Supernova Bossa Nova, watch me when I blow.
Let’s do the Supernova Bossa Nova and host a cosmic show
for galaxies both near and far, a dazzling dance display,
and I’ll blow a smoke ring where we are here in the Milky Way.
My hydrogen will all have fused and soon I will implode,
that's inward, I’m an introvert, but watch my shell explode.
My core will keep on shrinking ‘til a blackhole is created,
a wormhole linking to a world where dance is venerated.
We’ll do the Supernova Bossa Nova, watch me when I blow.
You can blame the Bossa Nova but let’s all enjoy the show!
July 4, 2020
For the “You are a star Poetry Contest” sponsored by Nina Parmenter (First Place)
Burrowing and Borrowing-
Starving but harvesting-
NOT quite charming but alarming-
Harming when storming-
More than a boring warning-
Performing and conforming-
Alluring the enduring-
Touring the reassuring-
Scurrying and worrying-
Working NOT twerking-
Twitching and itching-
Computer glitching when stitching-
Missing NOT dissing-
No hex
No mess
No sex
No stress
Wrestling with a nestled Texas style onion ring...
Castling the mastered haphazardly masked task...
Of a vaccinated infatuation ally rally for a new kitchen sink...
Getting pushed pass the brink by the former owner of a skating rink- because of drinking.
seventeen years we went before I knew your friends
names you barely know now and you kept them
absent from me as you keep yourself still, so leave
stay cradle-tucked away as a soothing, sour breast
pocket letter I wrote a long time ago and you kept it
as close as your friends, in a sense
I know you; you want me as whiskey going down easy
making you fuzzy, spitting skins of salted sunflower seeds
th-pping-th-pping—
flooding the green-glass ashtray on our mantel; you gave up
smoking long ago but held onto the equipment like a heavy,
hoard of breath waiting to be used again for anything
other than spat nutlets of the pith leftover, stripped
from our heads of picked-at stems, sneeze-weeds
from our backyard horticulture
I see you :: you want me to forget that bit too? I saw it
through the garden, you leaving the path, seething
steps' impressions follow you—though first paired
depressions, the imprints as all after them, stay
in placating place until the next rain
glazing the brown, composting ground of stage
melting your trespass
into the foreground, back at level-set
ready for another sprouting or the last grasping
seizure of breath from a neck stretching
to see over the gate looking for a new path
on the way out
The Man is lying naked.
This filthy pavement is his abode.
The Man is emaciated and famishing.
And he never begs for alms,
Proud and conceited.
The road is busier than ever.
No one takes interest in him.
No one catches a glimpse at him.
And a few feign not having seen him at all.
The time fleets on, the cars move on,
The Man is lying naked.
At the first blush, far from being a beggar
Is the Man.
He is well-complexioned with big glamorous eyes.
His face is sleek and his hair shines against
The lustrous sunbeams.
His eyes are gleeful, but mournful is his heart.
Penniless though, his craving for gold is sheer.
He ogles at the gold brought by the people around.
But he never begs for alms,
Proud and conceited.
Then someone nears him and asks who he is.
After much vacillation, he dismisses his taciturnity.
“Mankind is my name”, he replies.
The time fleets on, the cars move on,
The Man is lying naked.
This poem’s for Gary and Elizabeth,
The parents who lost a child.
I hope that what I’ve written,
Has given your heart a smile.
May I help to lift your joy,
And sustain your happiness,
For my chosen flow of words,
Have been divinely blessed.
I don’t know you but I care,
For my heart too has cried.
And when we stop remembering,
Is when our loved ones die.
I welcome you to read my work,
That I’ve written for the world.
For my words are poignant lines,
That my heart and mind unfurled.
Thank you for the opportunity,
To share my gift with you.
Keep progressing with your lives,
Don’t get stuck with I miss yous.
My name’s Raul Moreno,
And healing hearts is my goal.
It’s not about the poems I’ve written,
It's about the ones that touch the soul.
I love writing countless poems,
I hope you love what I have to give.
Let us not remember our losses,
Let us muster our strength to live.
I am a God fearing poet,
I hope you enjoy the message I convey.
One day you’ll reunite with Nathan,
And God will lead the way.
______________________________
I was inspired by Michael Torres'
Tribute "Nathaniel you Touched our Heart's"
This poem stemmed from his great tribute.
I wrote this for Gary and Elizabeth Reese.
Time does not heal all wounds,
but it gets us closer to our loved ones...
Bushes budding; branches protruding
Beautiful roses stately posing
Shady limbs slowly extending
Colorful green leaves unpretending
The sound of creeks, dams, and ditches
The wonder of lakes, ponds, and their riches
Twisting waterways shouting in early spring
Chirping birds join God's orchestra as they sing
And welcome the rushing water flowing from the hills
Every mortal and entity within sound or sight stand still
Those soothing night breezes after a long hot summer's day
Draw me near, embracing me, offering me a sweet tranquil stay.
080520PSCtest, Nature Rhyming, Brenda Chiri
7/18/21
Foot on the gas ped
Often I went fast and sped
Then crashed and bled
So there was a lot of red
Occasionally got torn up and shred
Of course, could've done it differently instead
Does no good to pretend
Got to keep on maintaining tread
While way out in the fen
Felt dead inside, would I ever live again?
Saw it through until the bitter end
No message I'm trying to send
Ain't going to budge or bend
So don't try to condescend
Because you won't be able to comprehend
Don't believe everything you read
F*** all that s*** that him and her said
Always stupid drama over bread
People quick to lose their cool and then their head
Next thing you know it's either them or the other that is dead
Got little after fulfilling my pledge
It's still B.S. on either side of the hedge
What made me condemned?
Hanging on by a thread
Always standing atop a ledge
And on the edge
Feeling closer to the end
Go ahead and allege
Typical for ladies and men
Been occurring since way back when
Wishing that you would drop dead
Foolishness led to the death bed
Had it all a house, money and a wife that was a redhead
Many best friends
But shorter than expected I met the end
Never know when to keep quiet
What a hoot and riot
Putting it out in the open instead of keeping it private
Humans these days are far too biased
So obsessed with prices
Far too reliant on appliances
And devices
Coming in all forms, shapes and sizes
Spreading like a virus
The cause of a crisis
Is it all truly priceless?
Does no good to be indecisive
On either side of the horizon
Could lead to becoming lifeless
My muse Trixie is always raring to go; she writes while I sleep.
I know because upon awakening I hear a poem often.
The last couple of lines anyway, which is truthfully rather exasperating.
She has favorite words of which I am sick.
Dancing, prancing, twirling, whirling, are some of the verbs she always wants.
Do we have to use it on corpses and gargoyles? I ask.
She insists on her own way, which explains my fear of her.
Does she ever inspire me?
I am wracking my brain, thinking hard now.
My dendrite highway has completely shut down.
I am trying hard to think of the last time she inspired me.
Possibly today when we wrote twenty poems I do not remember writing.
She takes over when she wants. I am putty in her hand.
Not sure she inspires, but she surely runs the show.
She is in charge.
I am her pawn - a peon, a Plebian.
She is blowing the kazoo and dancing now.
Extremely happy that I have recognized her power over me.
Maybe when I awaken from my slumber in the morning
Trixie will let me remember more than just the last line of a poem.
Woman, greedy woman
Have your way
Call me your king
Whilst I remain your slave
And say my darling shall so come
And no quandaries shall remain
Not even my mothers' pest
Soon from the world corners
Would many come adorned in chosen laces
With rhyming threads and patterns
All and sundry shall converge
To Grace my very feast
Let tunic brews and palm wine dance
All to congratulate me at a glance
I shall be gaily dressed
And so have a union blessed
Those were your words
When sedately love was thriving
But woman have you no eyes
To unearth my persisting woes
I can't make a paltry meal
Nor have your tongue forever fed
So shall we proceed?
If this feast shall embellish your being
Or have a lifeless love engendered
Or bring prosperity, till my greed align with yours
The climate of the world is alarming; we are at odds with each other,
divisively separated...a great divide in our society.
Peace comes through understanding and tolerance.
She carries no arms,
She speaks without criticism,
She encourages, not thwarts,
She is honest, not deceptive,
She rejoices in the communion of all lives,
She expunges divisive differences,
She exchanges anger for acceptance, and mutual respect.
Peace generates peace.
~~~
He takes her hand in communion
Together, they reach out in union,
Lateral roots they become,
Hardships with joy overcome;
No barrier too grand,
With love they heal hand in hand.
As time marches on
Their roots will bear fruits
And peace will replenish the land.
A Narrarative collaboration created by:
James Marshall Goff & Paulette Calasibetta