Long Westward Poems
Long Westward Poems. Below are the most popular long Westward by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Westward poems by poem length and keyword.
Within a 14 year period, I went from a Dixie delta farm
To a Chicago asphalt jungle, to a dairy land farm in Wisconsin.
From dairy land back to the jungle and from there, I returned to
Dixie land. From there I pushed westward to the streets of
San Francisco and on into the central valley of Sacramento
Not far from where someone looked towards the foothills and said,
"There's gold in them there hills". They did find gold in those hills,
But I have lived in this gold-fevered land for 33 years, and gold is not what I have found here.
I have lived in these United States from the south near the Gulf
Of Mexico, to the north near the Great Lakes, and on westward
Some three to four blocks from the Pacific Ocean. I have been
Rewarded with good people everywhere I have lived, but none
Have I been acquainted with more than these among whom I live
And worship.
I tell you, I have found a land rich with most loving and beautiful
People ever I have seen. They were not discovered on a street corner
Nor at a place of employment, but scores of them have been found
In the sanctuaries of churches.
In my church a few years ago, the speaker said, "The best people
In the world are those sitting in the pew next to you". I am fortunate
To be among such people, and I could not agree more. My wife and
I were with two of them today. I could say more about them, but
Two words best describe our experiences with them. They give
Themselves MAGNANIMOUSLY and love LAVISHLY.
092719PoSoup
American Osmosis
Jamestown was the source of this
Movement that swept across the continent
At first the ships were left behind
And people used what they could find
A mule, an ox, a Percheron
Whatever they could sit upon
They loaded up and west they went
Some went north and some went south
They filled the land e're which they went
The Louisiana Purchase was the big event
That sealed America’s destiny
Soon the country was spilling westward
To be the first to make a print
Where no one else ever went
They hoped for happiness as their destiny
The Donners never did find any
There were others rushed by gold
With hopes of riches they would hold
But mostly what the immigrants found
Was this great nation which was bound
To fill her borders sea to sea
With citizens like you and me
We owe thanks to Conestoga and Civil War
Beaver hats and railroad cars
Pulled behind the great iron horse
Of muskets bore and coon skin caps
Horses and cattle and leather chaps
Cowboys, six guns and barbed wire fences
Rangers, Marshals and bar maid glimpses
Pony Express and long coach rides
Wagon loads of buffalo hides
And the Indians who gave their homes
Of mountains and prairies where bison roamed
To live among us brave and bold
Absorbed by the manifest destiny told
Of the American Osmosis
Life greeted Death
with an epoch
from the depths of dusk
with a dawn,
the sun rose lucid
with it's soft spotted infant rose
now awake,
hanging heavily harnessed
in the steaming swaying sky,
the sun's aura
lit the sands of the silent Sahara
liked an aged ocean of butterscotch beauty,
and the starch strung clouds
maneuvored like vanilla lace
avalanching outward
kissing the hips of the woven horizon,
my sight probed to ponder
the powdered blue glow
of the desperate distance,
where the shadows
of the dune's palms
insult the posture
of the ivory sanctuary
that sat balanced for sake of Bethlahem,
I sat megerly meditating,
watching the subtle creases
in the Meditterraniean Sea absorb the sliced brass shingles
that weave the waters wealthy,
as the morning properly transcended Westward
manipulating nature's maturity
by rambling roughly to the seas
for wandering waves of bolted blooms of blue
for the twinkle of a jewel
which sits on a stool as a star
as far as North,
soon the violet velocity of night
approached the set,
electrifying the ending day,
and the Sister of the Sun
landed on the sky's chest
like a sheild on a knight,
as I listened lightly
the Moon politely announced,that evening is back to stack
the black symphony -
J.A.B.
Cool windy air
Rustling bamboo leaves;
Nature whispers
~~~~~~~~~
Warm sun beams
Light through bamboo;
Morning silhouette
~~~~~~~~~
Overcast sky
Gloomy ambience;
Flash of lightning
~~~~~~~~~
Blank page
Splash of e-ink;
Words gate crash
~~~~~~~~~
Change intervenes
Abrupt shockwaves;
Bloody bookmark
~~~~~~~~~
Prismatic light
Colour passage;
Rainbow dazzle
~~~~~~~~~
Food court tryst
Four for company;
Meal time conversations
~~~~~~~~~
Hair salon date
Sculpting new textures;
New looks emerge
~~~~~~~~~
Westward track
Mix food menu;
Stuff meets fancy
~~~~~~~~~
Cheer comes easy
Mundane happenings;
Poise entertains
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
19 September 2016
Singapore
Already noticeably marked
increase in daylight
yours truly courtesy affected
qua heliotropic phenomenon
finds me noggin gently being tugged
upward and westward ho toward sun
after dark mine talking head
rests downward and eastward.
Soon very indistinct
environmental intimations
regarding onomatopoeic
ubiquitous murmurings,
whereby old man winter
ever so faintly
relinquishes, loosens, forsakes...
Judas Priest iron maiden grip
upon emergent biosphere
suddenly awakened when
Mother Earth generates
invisible signals transmitted
across world wide web
analogous to conductor
standing on podium
with baton in her/his hand
orchestra playing on cue
perhaps choice selection
Rite of Spring
work by Russian composer Igor Stravinsky
or Flight of the Bumblebee
written by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov.
Soon dormant species will exhibit rebirth
out their linkedin hibernation
flora and fauna tentatively
begin to issue forth out their slumbers
shoots poke thru across terra firma
insync with twittering tweeting creatures
hint viz verdant and/or fecund potential
ready to burst forth and proliferate
instinctively trumpeting joie de vivre.
Sensational show stopping, eye catching
breathtaking... parade of sights and sounds
await buzzfeeding eyes and ears
about six weeks hence,
within mine home box office
here at Highland Manor apartments
quite affordable rent
allows, enables and provides
radiant quiescence, preponderant observance,
nonresistant magnificence, jubilant innocence,
exuberant deliverance,
concurrent buoyant abundance.
Accordingly and allegedly other than
meteorologists plenti schooled
ascertaining onset of temperate air
more particularly otter den non humans
unassumingly (ferreted out), who bear
the tidings, when that season
of rebirth dawns with crystal clear
blue skies, and terrain where deer
and antelope eagerly play without despair
purportedly realized, reassured, recounted...drear
re: days vamoosed foretold by
Punxsutawney Phil on Groundhog Day
Embrace sweet night the air
Divine the scent of sweet jasmine
Gardens line the streets of Pompeii
Eve's delight wafts on a westward breeze
Only the stars dare compete with the distant rumble
Flashing their pedigree when all seems calm
Naive we be thinking we are safe
Intoxicated with our sleepy dreams
Gargoyles and ghosts meanwhile dance amid a cauldron
Hades from below will soon let out his roar
Tremble Pompeii the night envelops this sudden moment cast in time
AP: 3rd place 2026
POTD August 19, 2026
11/23/21
Regardless of what you heard in town
There'll soon be a turnaround
No need to have it all burnt to the ground
First thing I got to do is put the alcohol and herb down
Girl we can still work it out
Don't think otherwise, we both deserve it now
Saw it coming
Doing something
Not only running
Towards success I am gunning
Got no time for fussing
Always careful on who I am trusting
Because it all can be disgusting
Which is why I'm adjusting
While particles continue fluxing
Often it's no quarter
Grow up instead of calling others a foreigner
Few if any truly in my corner
I remain an explorer
Not fearful of horror
As the planet stays cold or becomes warmer
Realize our lives over time become shorter
Meaning live it up on any side of the border
Because it's not all set in stone or requiring a mortar
Instead of always diving in head first
Don't just make the best of it, make an effort
Getting better with experience and putting out your best work
Going in all directions not just westward
Endless questions remaining
Quit always doing the same things
And complaining
Start changing
Toward a better path you may be paving
Ground is what you are gaining
After taking time for training
Eventually you'll be prevailing
After having gone astray
You might feel like it's not okay
But please don't throw it all away
Show love and have a happy holiday
"Westward, further out ..."
Dusk washes over you
warm like honey
saltry and sweet
immersed in amber tones of
apricot alerts and rose
swirling unfurling peonies
the blooming silent dancing clouds
rush over white horses
crashing against
bracken green emeralds
the depths open
and unfathomable,
who can read the eyes of
an unexplored ocean,
the shallows
slide under your feet,
you turn your face up to the Sun and smile,
you feel like you’re bathing in Manuka,
it’s moorish and incurably medicinal,
the salt spray chasing northwards
up along bare legs mid thigh
on another shore
the uncertain sure calls,
the stories are a legion
in multitude of treasures
like beached shells whispering
to ears that are not listening;
you think of wading out further
where the turning back is harder,
the song calls you evocatively
further westward like a drug
you’d gladly holster star shot
drinking life in like a last shot
like a burning addiction,
your world is sliding strong
tide-drifted under your feet,
flesh and bone trying to bed
the undertow and its
neverending mystery
dragging you further out
westward
incomplete
complete
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
A retelling of Longfellow’s The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere
Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride too long unclear,
Not one lone horseman through April’s gloom,
But three who galloped with freedom’s doom.
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five,
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers well that fateful quest,
When liberty’s riders rode out to the west.
He said to his friends, “The signal’s near,
One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the road will be ready to ride,
To wake the towns through the countryside.”
Then Dawes took saddle, a westward track,
While Revere turned north and didn’t look back;
And Prescott, waiting, would join before dawn,
When the British patrols pressed fierce and strong.
A friend in the belfry, tall and still,
Hung the lanterns high on the hill.
Two lights gleamed from the church’s tower,
And the riders were off in that midnight hour.
Through Charlestown streets the hoofbeats rang,
Past Medford farmsteads the summons sang,
Till window and door flew open wide.
“Up, ye farmers, awake!” they cried.
“Arm and gather, for war draws near!
The Regulars march with sword and spear!”
And the country folk, startled from bed,
Seized their muskets with faces red.
But lurking in darkness, the redcoats came,
A mounted patrol to end the flame;
And Revere was taken, his journey stayed,
Though bravely and loudly, the call he made.
Yet Dawes broke free with his steed still fast,
By wood and meadow the night he passed;
While Prescott vaulted the orchard wall,
His horse leapt high and out sped them all.
Onward he sped through Concord’s gate,
Shouting the word before ’twas too late:
“The soldiers are marching, the foe is near!
To arms! To arms! The time is here!”
From lantern’s glow to the farmyard’s cry,
The news went racing, mile on mile;
And farmers gathered with powder dry,
Their hearts aflame, their spirits high.
So when at the bridge the dawn was red,
And the first shots of the war were sped,
’It was Dawes and Prescott, whose midnight quest
Had summoned the people from east to west.
Therefore, my children, remember well,
The truth of the tale that history tells:
Not Revere alone through the dark he rode,
But Dawes and Prescott, who bore the load.
By Rick McGrath, Ph.D.
The tale is shared
Vivid and bold,
To air old cares,
To redeem souls.
The journey starts
In old China;
So many parts,
Lost agendas!
The journey ends
On distant shores;
East-West now blend
Fond tales and more.
These women folk
Shared ancient roots,
Burdens and yokes,
Like bamboo shoots.
A common thread
Connects a whole:
Share rice and bread
From soul to soul.
Old China paved
The westward flow;
New life we braved
With much to show.
The old-world charm
Echoes and calls:
Rice fields and farms,
Smells we recall.
There was a time
Not quite the same;
Language and rhymes,
Pictograms names.
There was a world
On eastern shores,
Where peasant twirls
Inched basic core.
We bore our loads
With anxious hearts,
Survived harsh roads;
Full-filled our parts.
Old echoes call
With vivid chant;
Weary feet stall,
Life seeks implants.
Leon Enriquez
Written: 17 February 2010
Singapore
(16 May 2017)