Long Webs Poems
Long Webs Poems. Below are the most popular long Webs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Webs poems by poem length and keyword.
Halloween man what big teeth you have
Why are your eyes walking all over me
So take your tip toeing ways back to your grave
I don't need your invite, I need to be free
You came to my doorstep for some treats
Unlike all the ghost and goblins out tonight
You've rage the pumpkin patches and streets
My haunted house scares of your sight
You have your witches, spiders and cats
You can ride their brooms, webs and tails
Please, please go back to your habitats
There's no room service for you on my trails
I'll run from your candle wax and ties
I'll run from your cluttering teeth and dismay
You may suppress my life and vacant cries
To my husband did you enjoy your role play
10/12/22
12-16 Lines of a Scary Halloween Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsor-Tania Kitchin
4th
It stood there
looking empty and old,
neglected and sad
with windows shuttered,
covered in shadow
both day and night,
hovered over
by trees whose branches
disguised the house
and made it seem
a part of the
overgrown landscape,
completely surrounding it,
keeping strangers and unawares
at bay.
It stood there
shrinking from the present
almost lifeless,
a house with no soul
no face, no breath,
as if it started out as a ruin
and was determined
to remain so for all time,
unwanted, unkempt,
shunned by passersby,
its roof looking tortured
its doors uncertain
as to whether they opened at all
and no one knew
and no one asked.
It stood there
talking to itself
in a silent conversation
that no one heard,
talking about things
that used to be
as though the Past was in the Now
and the Now belonged to the Past,
and who would dare
to knock on its doors
or tap on its windows
to see if anyone would answer
or show their presence
to the world outside,
a world gone by.
I stood there
on many a night
along the side of the road
just endlessly peering
at this lonely old place
wondering, waiting
for a light inside
to be turned on
at the same appointed time
emanating from behind
heavy and yellowed lace curtains
that looked like tattered spider webs
in only one crooked window
and one window only
hung with spidery lace.
I stood there
on those moonlit nights
bewitched by this house
listening to calls
and breaths of wild things
that roamed all around me
under ink-black star-filled skies,
but no light from moon nor star
could illumine
this clapboard-covered curio
from another day and age
concealed by branches, vines
and bramble,
bushes and nettles
and mystery.
I stood there
wondering
who turned on that only light,
who roamed the house by night
who walked its tilted floors
who locked its uncertain doors
who hung the curtains of lace
who built this unsettling place
who called this abode their home
and how many hallways would they roam
and are there secrets that lived inside
and what was the bramble trying to hide,
was there anything for it to reveal
anything for it to tell
this house haunted that knew me so well?
copyright © 2019 Gregory Firlotte
He placed a strong arm
Around my small form
Carrying me to the darkness
The dreaded, musty
Cellar, where canning jars
Lined the clammy shelves
And I felt the caress
Of spider webs falling
Near my naked face
I was always a little reluctant
When riding his waist
Into the damp, cool room
Where a dirt floor
Left me fearful, loathe
To entering the feared place
Alone, but I was with him
My gentle defender
He would never let that spider
Get me – would he?
There were moments
When I felt the worry
Radiate on my skin
Dank as the vault where
We found the delicious
Grape juice I would carry
Back home with me
From Granny’s storehouse
Of yummy treats
The leftovers from a garden
That had dried up
And turned back to dirt
And Pa was just kind enough
To remember how much I loved
That sweet nectar flavored
With dark purple grapes
I don’t remember when it started
And I don’t remember how long it went on
I only remember the mouthwatering
Sweetness meeting my tongue
Flavoring these moments
With whispers of love
Galactic curls in spirals swirl, entwining twisted mystery,
where time unrolls in blackened holes, no longer bright and blistery,
but writ like runes on starry dunes enclosed in cosmic history
Galactic dust, from novas' gusts, congesting empty spaces
once fatefully flung beyond the tongue of burnt out astral traces,
may recompress and coalesce in distant times and places
Galactic dwarves, like ancient wharves with silent planets mooring
yet still in spin though long done in, hide flares no longer soaring -
magnetic webs of eons ebb, in thermal fusion roaring
Galactic tides warp space divides, call forth sublime creation
while bending clocks in rippled shocks, unfolding time dilation
that seems to crown the flowing gown of pulsars' pulsed gyration
Galactic stew, a seething brew, midst background noise and chatter
like Chaos reigns, the sole remains of missing antimatter,
with just a trace to form a space-time, curved or somewhat flatter
Galactic glue holds something new: dark energy and matter
that interacts and counteracts the ancient Big Bang splatter:
a cosmic soup of strings and loops, a universal batter
Galactic life's replete and rife 'neath lactic milky wafer,
though solar gales leave unseen trails of cosmic rays, the strafer;
but nonetheless, one must confess, it seems there's nowhere safer
Submitted 21 Aug. 2016
Autumn comes, layered in dust
from summer winds
And a a drought parched earth
A path leading up to the porch is
not as welcoming as it was in May
Now overgrown with patches of thirsty devil grass
Brown and searching for a drink
While weaving it's tendrils between the slate
As I sweep the porch,
I spy a chipped terra-cotta pot,
Still harboring a forlorn geranium, all legs...no blossoms,
Forgotten, discarded, and has shriveled away
Piled high now, a wheelbarrow,
With remnants of summer's bloom, now faded.
Sweeping webs of long-legged spiders,
Which have encased a glistening tapestry around the pillars
Those spindly creatures, swiftly flee my wrath
As I fulfill my need to renew, and refreshen
Restore an old porch some dignity.
The porch swing is swaying after a dusting.
A new pillow, and a basket filled with gourds take a slow ride.
A grapevine autumn wreath is hung on the front door.
I shine a window that faces the mountains
And a new pot of bright orange mums
Now proudly sits by the door to warm and welcome.
While I have erased the traces of a dusty, tattered season...
My heart and home are now ready to embrace the rust and gold of autumn's
arrival...
Rough hands upon her,
not near, there, or where,
nor the seashell tip of a fingering care
or other
lack-lustering lapping's
but the groundless clubfooted grasping
of long incoherent passions.
A clinker of desire hammered anew
by the forceful hands
of mist shrouded Nibelungen;
a dross now forged bright
into red-eyed gleams of flame.
She who bears the weight
of such a slobber-lipped changeling
covers his paws
with a tracery of spidery entanglements
the softest spell-binding webs
that break his knuckles;
refining hot bones
into phantom kisses.
For her satisfaction (and hers alone),
she captures that clumping stray
caging him deep,
and he left with no hands but hers.
"In the absence of complication,
trials and tribulations become distant memories.
Above sapphire skies delight sanguine eyes -
inspiring forthcoming musings of the mind."
Simplicity flows in poetic verse
weaving the flight of butterflies
dancing on the wind,
as ink flows on the page
No webs of deceit
to entangle these musings
as silken threads of beauty
cling to the scented rose
And the azure sky
presents endless possibilities
as a bird on the wing
floats past a wispy cloud.
11-15-19
Complete the poem - In the absence of complication Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
Balls tumble; the stars shine bright.
Sparkling gems in velvet night.
Little hands that tossed at play,
Fold in dreams at the close of day.
Hopscotch chalk marks lines on ground.
Jumpers hop, spin, and whirl around.
Skipping feet move square by square.
Float on clouds that linger there.
Counting sheep goes one, then two.
Fluffy lambs drift softly through.
Each one bounds over silver streams,
Guiding hearts through woolen seams.
Songs whisper a sing-a-long tune.
Lilting rhymes to the chanting moon.
Voices join in, so sweet, so low,
catching webs that dream-weavers sow.
Close your eyes, let the starlight stay.
Rest until dawn brings the break of day.
All your games will wait for you.
When you wake up in morning's dew.
In the shadow of a wilted evening, where busy spiders spin their fragile thoughts,
Lacking the substance for a solid tome, losing tenure and academic appointments,
They fill their purses by spreading confusion among the naive minnows,
Seeing nothing but their own grimacing faces in a delirium of mirrors.
Most of all, I doubt the rare and sincere ones,
Masters of the pale moon, with eyes like wells of light,
What do they say in their faint whispers that fade into the distance?
What secrets do they hide in their delicate and ephemeral webs of thought?
Listen, my beloved son: I have labored all my life like a draft horse,
This house and measure of savings will cushion your future;
But if ever I see you moon-struck with the desire to write a treatise
On "Whither This?" or "The Future of Something," I swear I will leave my estate
To the Society for Simplified Spelling or some such folly.
Dear child, embrace wine, hunting, gaming—
Not theorists, not dialecticians!
In a night of dreams and unfulfilled desires, where thoughts stretch like spider webs,
I remember your words, father, and your wise counsel,
For this world is full of illusions and broken mirrors,
And the truth is often lost in the whispers of those who gaze only at the stars.
In a melancholy dance of shadows and pale lights,
I find my place and purpose, to question, to seek, to understand,
To write my own choreography, in the endless spectacle,
Ever-changing, of life and reality, a sacred dance of existence.
WellBeing,
personal and political,
economic and ecological,
comes in at least two colors,
maybe four,
possibly octaved more,
but for every listening then speaking you,
natural health
green-blue,
and spiritual wealth
red-blooded true.
Natural health
longs for individual freedom
for nutritional,
nourishing,
nurtured rights
of cooperatively creolizing life
toward more wins winning climax climates
and long-term polycultural outcomes.
Spiritual wealth
belongs securely in interdependent polypathic webs
of family extending back past historic MayFlowers
and indigenous FireCircles
to DNA eco-governing couplings
Synergy
emergent integrity
in revolutionary surprising healthy multicultural ways
and making means resilient
brilliantly safe and secure health
from generations past
for regenerating future climate win/win sustainability,
inside-ego and outside-eco
co-present awareness,
self/other conscious attachment,
re-connection.
Individual health rights
and collective wealth responsibilities,
freedoms, both to and fro, equally co-responsive
and secure wealth of health
interdependently optimal;
Two color culture faces
of one civil and communal covenant
within healthy climate
historic revolutionary multicultures,
Earth health rights
for responsible
cooperatively managed resource wealth,
Ultra-nonviolent
global communi-nation,
through less defecation
of EarthMother red co-attachments fueling spirits within
MotherEarth green-blue integrity potentiating natures without;
GreenBlue
co-inviting ReStorativeRed,
mutually opposed to dead.