Long Weight Poems
Long Weight Poems. Below are the most popular long Weight by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Weight poems by poem length and keyword.
The morning breaks, but brings no golden ease,
Only the gray and unforgotten road.
Before the rushing of the waking breeze,
A quiet spirit gathers up its load.
Not with a shout, nor with a rebel cry,
Does strength awake to face the heavy day;
Beneath the vast and indifferent sky,
A single footfall measures out the way.
The shoe is worn, the quiet heel is old,
The ankle aches from paths too long and steep;
A story told in silent, heavy mold,
Of promises a weary heart must keep.
It is the step that knows the rocky ground,
That feels the pressure of an unseen stone,
Where not a single cheering voice is found,
And man walks through the valley, quite alone.
Weighing the arch, the sinew, and the bone,
The gravity of all that must be borne—
The secret griefs that cannot be outblown,
The silent battles of a life outworn.
Every single movement takes a hero’s grace,
A slow descent, a pressing to the floor,
To set the footprint in its destined place,
And push the heavy hinge of time a bit more.
Yet in this weight, a quiet power grows,
A dignity that lighter feet ne’er find.
For deep within the soil the pressure goes,
Leaving a mark of courage far behind.
The earth receives the impact, deep and true,
A signature of suffering turned to might;
With every heavy step it struggles through,
It carves a pathway toward a softer light.
So let the journey test the aching limb,
And let the road demand its heavy toll;
Though all the distant mountain peaks are dim,
The pace is kept by an enduring soul.
No winged flight is needed for the brave,
Who find their triumph where the shadows crept—
And conquer time, and cross the open grave,
Upon the turning of a burden step.
It's a matter of pressure, the weight of exchange
Affection we share now, in a different ballgame
I won't leave you red faced, embarrass, or shame
Tho' my impulse commands to squeeze you the same
But your school chums are watching, so I keep arms restrained
You've been climbing the ladder, to your middle school days
And I'll admit that the changes are much harder for me
Than for you who resolves to grab hold to each year
And wear them like badges, on your way to be free
My cherub remembered, is no prize you would own
Yet my feelings, regardless, are the same as before
When I rocked you, my baby, how I cherished dark nights
I never once pondered, how soon wings take flight
I would cradle and hold you, my lips on your cheek
I sang nursery stories, and called you my sweet
The world of surprises with each passing while
As you wander a tightrope, between a man and the child
So I hug you now gently, I must stifle my gushing
But the touch of you fills me with rushes of longing
I can’t swallow you whole, like I did long ago
But the love hasn’t changed, and the touch is much lighter
But the love is the same , we both know it, somehow…
..................
For Deb's Contest: "Touch"
Fifty nine inch tall wife
once willowy wisp
postmenopausal galloping gourmandiser
playboy centerfold girly
figure ain't no mo,'
which superfluous weight deterrent,
love life yours truly
took Kamikaze nosedive
arousing, exciting, stimulating...
as romancing the stone statue,
but seen thru Tom
gobbler beady eyes
butterball babe resembles hottie
female turkey on steroids without feathers,
spouse already qualifies as Hen pecker
not admirable characteristic
to encourage physical intimacy
whew, which allows this husband
to redirect pro creative pursuits
where English language
beak homes muse,
which amateur philologist
attests to literary penchant
most likely garnering posthumous fame
revving up avast surge
necessitating Barry yore
to deter den of thieves
against stealing precious
documents - sold at auction
avid fans snapping up
bajillion tattered staind scribblings
indistinguishable from chicken scratch
interlaced with gobbledygook
(unbeknownst to John Doe
who faintly resembled me dead
drunken grizzled shabby skidrow
anonymous deceased wordsmith),
mortuary performed makeover
courtesy same Joseph and the
amazing technicolor dreamcoat
academy award winners
unexpected set couture club craze
suddenly everybody and their ilk
including grandmother goose, pink panther,
porky pig, Scoobie doobie do, ugly duckling...
triggered feverish buzz feeding frenzy
even cosmetic surgeons experienced
boomtimes, cuz ma
eternally sleeping pose
inspired cottage (cheesy) industry,
the global economy witnessed
unprecedented unsurge
ending world wide poverty.
Come and join us in our bonding moment
Building-up dream houses midst amusement
Through "legos" … bright plastic construction toys
Showing creative skills while we rejoice.
Together, let’s build our family house
Where we stay with love, along pets; not mouse
We first have firm foundation --- strong and great
On wide ground floor that can carry our weight.
There’s our kitchen where food is cooked so well
And dining room to feast, while stories tell
Living room is comfortable indeed
And bed rooms give us our privacy need.
Oh, we thank the Lord for houses* to stay
Blest homes we dwell in safely night and day
Let’s make them beautiful with all our best
Building them up through kindness and care’s zest.
*Psalms 127:1 Except the LORD build the house, they labour in vain that build it...
November 14, 2023
1st place, "Legos Nursery Rhymes" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Eve Roper; judged on 11/29/2023
altered state of mind
take a puff
A puff from the hookah pipe
Gives a trip of a different type.
while you're on the ground
your thoughts are floating around
take a puff
A puff from the hookah pipe
Gives a trip of a different type.
© 6 months ago, Bonnie J Hollywood-Cutts
the poem above won silver. but my thought was stunted with the few words I could write. so I expanded that thought in this one below
Continuing the thought
taking a trip outside this world
Inhaling deep from the hookah pipe
Takes the mind to a different plane
People go crazy with all that hype
For with this thing you feel no pain
Though the body is heavy in weight
Your mind feels lighter and lucid
The troubles of the world quickly dissipate
Breaking free as if they were fluid
The world thinks this thing is bad
That nothing good comes from its use
Those tightwads think it's a fad
Something we outgrow, if we choose
In the mysterious Wonderland, Alice found out.
it's opposite. down became up and up became down
Loud became quiet, a whisper became a shout.
A perplexing endless trip in the crazy hidden town.
I wake to the sound
of my own ribs humming~
a thin, metallic music
as if someone plucked me
like an instrument
left behind in an abandoned room.
The moon hovers at shoulder height,
caught in the curve of my skull
like a thought I can’t shake loose.
Its light pours through me,
filling the hollow places
with a glow that feels
almost like memory.
I walk, though the ground
doesn’t behave.
It moves like a living thing
rippling beneath my feet
soft as breath,
then hardens suddenly
as if deciding
whether I deserve passage.
A bird made of dust
lands on my shoulder.
It peers into my empty sockets
and seems satisfied
with what it finds.
When it flies away,
it leaves behind a feather
that whispers
every secret I’ve forgotten.
Sometimes I pass mirrors
that refuse to reflect me.
They show forests,
oceans,
rooms I’ve never entered—
as though they’re offering
alternative histories
I might inhabit
if I weren’t made of bone.
But I am.
And bone remembers
in its own strange way.
It keeps the shape of laughter,
the weight of sorrow,
the echo of footsteps
that once belonged to me.
Tonight the stars gather
inside my ribcage,
settling there
like travelers seeking shelter.
They pulse softly,
a constellation
trying to teach me
how to feel again.
I sit with them,
quiet,
letting their light
thread through my marrow.
And for a moment—
a brief, impossible moment—
I am not a skeleton
wandering the dream.
I am the dream
wandering me.
She sacrifices herself,
on an altar of secrecy.
Leaving the best of her,
on the cold stone of iniquity!
Hidden behind a smile of "I'm okay",
she says she can't remember yesterday.
Yet those scars on her bitten lip,
have a different message to say.
She shuns her femininity,
the reminder of her misery.
Locked within an artist's mind,
freedom exchanged for insanity!
St. Peter offers some treasured relief.
Yet in her mind she's trapped underneath,
the weight of a man now dead and gone.
Ensnared within her forgiveness belief!
Time doesn't heal,
because she never reaches out.
Frustration expressed, in each strangled shout.
Clinging to the fragments she never talks about.
Pieces of evidence are everywhere,
top to neck clothing and short cut hair.
That once carefree girl who is no longer there.
Now she adheres to rules of right and fair.
Cracking jagged shards bottled up inside.
She doesn't believe her broken needs repair,
sometimes the victim is sadly unaware.
So she occupies the shadow lands of being scared,
relief is elusive for her thoughts remain unshared.
Her a silent prisoner with soul insnared,
sacrificed by a monster who pretended he cared!
Form:
I stand in the stillness of time moving around the earth, I walked across the desert seeking comfort and a safe place to erect my tent but I was greeted with rocket and missiles blazing over my head.
The sky was too hot to contain it and my emotion could not bear it, I watched them bolting through the sky ripping up the apartment block and crashing the houses while the children keep running around and crying for their mother.
The trees stood afar off bearing witness to the misery unfolding in the dark, and children trapped behind the rubble see the light slowly diminished from their soul and the buildings that they dwell in fall one by one and swept away into the unaccommodating sea.
I stood helpless and watch it unfold in front of me and the universe with its heavy weight come screaming after me, and the woman in me pulled me slowly into her shell as I seek solace in the midst of hell, there was nothing to hold onto except for the sinews and tissues in my body and my physical endurance.
The building chopped in two is leaning in front of the alley with broken, glass and windows spread out on the ground and the reminisce of hope burst out from a crack in the earth. I paced back and forth the troubled ground as I could not express how I was feeling. I knew that something was out there that needed help but I just could not tell from were.
I felt a sudden jerk and a crack opened in the ground spilling a radiant light from above though the creases and there she was sitting in the same position before the building collapse; they pulled her out of the rubble with both hands resting across her knees and her chin pressed on her hands looking into the deep. Not a scratch or bruise was on her except for the dust that saturates her body.
I am looking at the woman in me contemplating my destiny, the woman in me will not to quit, the woman in me will not fall in the ditch. I will follow the trail until all the sorrow ends; I will unlock the boat, and organize a big love boat float and cruise for twenty-one days at sea and stop in every town’s village and community to celebrate love in the city.
The woman in me will create the perfect harmony, and make the darkness flee.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cedar fragrance floats softly in the air
like old ghosts awakening after sleep.
Inside, yellowed envelopes carry
the silent burden of hands
that never delivered their confessions.
A brittle map traces borders
that dissolved with the century's breath.
In the probing moonlight,
tarnished brass hinges moan.
Beneath folded sweaters,
apologies fossilize,
and grief settles like dust
on unworn wedding lace.
A sapphire brooch recalls
the heartbeat under a collarbone
where it pinned courage tight
until surrendering.
Trapped light holds
what daylight wouldn't understand.
Within attic walls
the lid groans echoing
how memory bends
under its own weight.
Secrets don't suffocate here~
they become the wood's grain.
A rainbow tastes like sky-born fruit,
ripened on the edge of rain,
each color melting differently,
each hue a fleeting sweetness
you can only hold in memory.
Red tastes warm, like steady fire~
the flavor of something brave.
Orange tastes like laughter rising~
a citrus burst, bright and breathless.
Yellow tastes like sunlight softened~
lingering warmth, honey-thin and gentle.
.
Green tastes like newness~
like cool, glossy leaves after rain.
.
Blue tastes like coolness~
a slow settling of breath inside the ribs.
Indigo tastes like evening’s turn~
the velvet weight of dreams unfolding.
Violet tastes like longing~
the sweet, soft ache of something beautiful.
And the whole rainbow together?
It tastes like light lingering a moment longer~
a sparkle on the tongue,
a breath of color you almost believe in,
a promise made of rain and hope
and everything that fades
but still returns.