Long Welds Poems
Long Welds Poems. Below are the most popular long Welds by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Welds poems by poem length and keyword.
it must be near the forest beds -
near! oh, near the forbidden beds
of ancient pigeons and sacred doves
that flock’d along the lofty niger beds -
and came she – sudden and sullen
came she with throat song-swollen
like some sands of fast and fluty men
singing like some sword-beak'd hen
that flock’d along some weird river beds -
and well-wrap’d were her strange signals!
and came she – a sinister creature wild
of baboons and monkeys - a like-mind
who must twist-blew in the wild songs!
who must sing and dance baboon songs!
and father thot a monkey could sing
drumming on the native ancestral drums
and mother thot a baboon could sing
dancing to the native ancestral drums
and death came, oh! young death came
wearing a cloak of fiery ferry of primates
oh, the stretch of lands under this tame
plung’d into the great wisdom of primates
and this death welds a sledge hammer
each son and each father along this niger!
some harsh bombs in a hand-shake
with my forests chas’d rest out of town
and in turn the baboon’s good estate
took such a lifeless state of a leaf-brown
where baboons and monkeys drench’d
in soft-humour of bloody strife
where whole villages lie fully sack'd
from ancestral lands by a new lord of strife!
and father a-jok’d of such a lifeless figure
and mother smil’d at such a lifeless figure
but the harsh bombs of lifeless bombardments
brought a silent vacuum in the forests!
oh, stubborn lords of my cut-throat gentr’y
my niger beds a-crop the sly seedlings of beauty
tho’ baboons and monkeys a-swim like the swine
in blood of self-immolation, a-crying … crime!
Form:
She strains to find her footing in orthopedic shoes
my grandmother's clop-clop walk to me
unbalanced
steadied by a backbone of faith
She bears a tattered, red carpet bag,
solid wooden handles, worn like her marbled hands
Grandma removes jam tarts and her Bible (smell enticing)
to tutor me for my Sunday School verses,
Psalm 23, that welds to memory
Her diligence that I adhere to the lines
despite my craven pull to tarts (a riveting obsession)
Unfussy delight when I learn the verses
Her glow, free floating,
a small harp ovation
Grandmother's carpet bag, stitched by history
brimming with the sweet lure of baking
upheld by her faith, like a pulse that hums devotion
in a drawn body softly folding into itself
Nothing can be swept aside
when a grandma voices validation
when generosity extends itself
when her walk thaws the ground
when words embroider love
ensuring preservation
Poem revised: April 25, 2021
A warship she is, this ship of gray,
Underway, underway, making way.
The decks vibrate, the tone, the sound,
Un-der-way-un-der-way, the pistons pound.
On the horizon stands a singular mast,
Un-der-way-un-der-way, make her fast.
Increase her speed, begin the turn,
Un-der-way-UN-DER-WAY, prop and churn!
Balanced and deadly the guns do slew,
UN-DER-WAY-UN-DER-WAY, the radars too.
Fire first one, then pour on the rounds,
UN-DER-WAY-UN-DER-WAY, competing sounds!
Blast and shards upon the bow,
Into the waves strike and plow,
UN-DER-WAY-UN-DER-WAY, welds and steel.
UN-DER-WAY-UN-DER-WAY, man on keel.
UN-DER-WAY-UN-DER-WAY, oil n’ fire.
UN-DER-WAY-UN-DER-WAY, smoke n’ ire.
On the horizon the mast a tilting,
Over the side the splashes wilting.
Now all alone is this warship’s sound.
Un-der-way-un-der-way, the pistons pound.
Turn hard then steady, away from home.
Underway, underway, my ocean to roam.
Caught up, dragged, pulled,
Between silence and word.
Now a loser, next a winner,
Now a winner, next a loser.
Beyond the shields,
Beneath the welds,
Tossing, catching, musing,
What is said, what is unsaid.
Above the prick,
Below the trick,
Trying, thinking, guessing,
What is fair, what is unfair.
Over the pride,
Across the stride,
Sliding, gliding, toiling,
What is heard, what is unheard.
From layers of strain,
To veneer of restraint,
Fighting, yielding, throwing,
What is seen, what is unseen.
Tugged, torn, ripped,
Between silence and word.
Now a winner, next a loser,
Now a loser, next a winner.
The holes aren't equidistant
and the spot welds aren't spot-on,
the varnish on the handle over sixty years has gone.
It lies with all the modern stuff,
their plastic and brushed steel
but for all it's vintage shabbiness
it has a pleasing feel
and does the job time and again
as it's supposed to do,
no reason after all this time to swap
for something new.
Dad made it in his lunch breaks,
such tinkering fulfilled him,
sadly in an environment
that eventually killed him.
Some show their love to their fair wives
with flowers, which is nice,
but true love comes from lasting gifts
like my late Mum's fish slice.
Fiction is a theatre within the mind;
Two layers down, disbelief unwinds.
My mind’s a rusted gate that groans,
Locks echo phantom steps of bones.
Half-remembered embers flicker and sigh;
Plots in slumber leap, collide, and fly.
The heart becomes a trembling compass,
Pulled by whispers across night’s atlas.
Hope is a fragile bird, born from ruins,
Its wings sewn from silver-threaded tunes.
Reveries are rivers, sometimes trash, sometimes gold,
Flowing through the mind’s cathedral, cold.
Nightmares illuminate the human fear;
Monsters recoil, yet terror feasts on me.
Ink-spilled twilight drifts through thought’s stream,
Lantern-ships sail silently on visions’ gleam.
The waking world welds fractures with sign,
Yet dream-gold lingers, silver-threaded, mine.
Nocturnal wandering walks near the feet of all,
A universal totem of the human call.
We read each other so perfectly
two minds with a single thought,
when we combine, baby it's explosive
chemistry like ours cannot be taught.
The electricity gets me jumping
and attacks the heart's beat,
this experiment you concocted
has revived the frog's feet.
Like a volcanic lava lamp
an eruption of emotion flows,
the heat welds me to you
our bond that nobody knows.
We met inside this classroom
where my opposite attracted to yours,
like magnetized paperclips
we were linked right from our cores.
We're closer than Dr. Jekyll was
to his hidden self, Mr. Hyde,
but, I can take you by the hand
as we go along for the ride.
He welds and melts, pours and molds
In his "Conversations with My Soul"
He smooths the rough steel of syllables
Into a "Portrait" graced by his "Play on Words"
Unrolling "Scenes from a Countryside" to "That Starry Night"
Whether "October Skies" or "In November" "Moonlight"
So, "If Ever I Don't Know"
which way my adjectives should go
when wandering "A Starry Galaxy"
I follow the "Sinuous Melody"
To cross the river and climb the boulder
While tapping "Gently on the Shoulder"
He finds summer in "A Piece of Winter"
As a friend, brother and mentor
He is welcoming, and when reading your poem
His comments are "To You Alone"
And if you come to say
"I Needed Wings Today"
He will weave lines in a "Distinct Ballet"
As if "It Came Upon a Prophecy"
And not from some stifled "Academy"
Dear John, please continue to "Compose"
Even when "Getting Old is Getting Old"
Without your gift
We are "Too Soon Bereft"
The "Verbal Miracles" you perform
Show how "All of Life is a Poem"
You have been my friend
my artistry sibling,
"And I Am Grateful".
12/20/23
Life becomes weighted
as stones are placed upon the backs of men,
till they bend.
Pain from the weight makes us curse
pain makes us pray-pray away.
Pain welds a frown to the face.
Eventually friends will all go away.
Nobody likes to breathe in another's pain.
A smile is a pigmented trough
where nuggets of life are often caught
shining like God's cavity and everything is ok
until the next wave takes the nuggets away.
Life is weighted.
Even in death, they weigh your name with stones
which is forgotten by the weight of time-
In time your name fades away
into the cool blue shadow of forgotten.
Life and living are heavily weighted.
Without welds or joints the "Buga Sphere"
remains a mystery. It is believed to either
be a sophisticated alien probe or a human
manufactured hoax It is believed to be emitting
and receiving signals . Interest into the device
is natural, understanding it and decoding
it is essential and necessary.
Based on initial analyses, the Buga sphere
is made of a unique,, titanium-based alloy
containing elements not found
on the periodic table.
If manmade it will be found to have
potential to be useful in human activity.
It weighs nearly 18 pounds.inscriptions
resembling ancient Sanskrit,,it's a metallic sphere
with internal layers and fiber optics. It's a flying object
containing anomalous technology
Sparking intense debate over whether
it is alien technology, advanced engineering.
It just might be a new type of machine that's in
disguise. Disguised as futuristic or alien to
increase people's need to know and understand.
Or simply put an elaborate hoax used to draw
attention to the creativity of a group or company,
hoping for contracts in a over regulated field.
it could also be a spying device by a country
who's advancement is far superior that
the area of where it was found. Or a teaching mechinism
used to create it's own culture might something
new be found in man's ned to understand it!
If it's alien where did it come from?
If it's earthly who built it?
If it's spy tech:who sent it?
While some skeptics and scientists have suggested
it is a highly sophisticated. no individuals have
claimed authorship. The object remains a topic of
intense, unverified speculation rather than a
confirmed human creation.
An art project. It is described as a seamless,
soccer-ball-sized object that displays
strange properties, including extreme
endothermic behavior.
Disguising an entity to appear human is known
as a human guise or human disguise.
This science fiction trope involves aliens
using technology, shapeshifting, or organic
deception to blend into human society.
In contrast, a "rubber-forehead alien" refers
to the low-budget, often subtle prosthetics
used to make humans look alien.