Long Wheel Poems
Long Wheel Poems. Below are the most popular long Wheel by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wheel poems by poem length and keyword.
Dear Anxiety,
I know, understand and
inner-stand
that you are only
Trying to protect me
from being hurt, exposed ?and exploited
By the outer world.
For you’re existence in my life
is the product of all my
Life experiences up until today.
Everything I ever went through
dealing with another human being
You took the form of my inner critic
to haunt me every step of the way.
I used to think you came
only to ruin me.
A storm in human clothing.
But lately I wonder
if you are tired too.
Do you believe
if you worry enough,
nothing can hurt us?
Do you think fear
is the same thing as preparation?
and call it safety.?Sometimes you pull me so far?into tomorrow?I forget there is a today?waiting patiently for me?to arrive.
Still—?beneath your noise,?I hear something smaller.
A plea.
Slow down.?Pay attention.?Rest.
?Protect what matters.?Do not hand your heart?to places that treat it carelessly.
Maybe you were never trying?to destroy me.?Maybe you just never learned?how to speak softly.
So sit with me awhile, Anxiety.?Not at the wheel,?but beside me.
You can point at the cliffs?without convincing me?we are destined to fall.
And if you must stay,?then learn this too:?I am more than a body?bracing for impact.
I want mornings?that do not apologize for existing.?I want laughter?that reaches all the way through me.?
I want to trust the ground?beneath my own feet.
Tell me what you need to say—?but say it gently.
I am listening
Sincerely a Restless Poetic Soul
Day One – Spare Us
Oh God, of all that is poetic,
spare us thirty days of……of
P O E T R Y….
The banal cadence of the classics
The raucous ribaldry of the sonnets
the curse – of angry verse.
Spare us the reading
of the melancholy meter
the drone of the didactic
the screech of the sacred.
Save us from Satanic soliloquies,
demonic diatribes,
maniacal mantras.
Oh, God of all that is poetry
free us to be poets
to write –
of unfelt winds
to bathe –
in unseen rains
to be cleansed –
by frigid flames
to be molded –
by life’s throwing wheel
let us exhale in words
the truthful wind
the calming rain
the purifying fire
the earthy words
of here
of now
of poetry.
John G. Lawless
4/1/2014
A rhythmic thrum against the fork,
A jack of hearts, a queen of spades,
We snapped them stiff with wooden cork
Or clothespins clipped in cooling shades.
The asphalt hummed a frantic tune,
A motor made of paper thin,
Beneath the white and bloated moon,
The click-clack-clatter would begin.
We were the kings of gravel drive,
With thunder trapped between the steel,
The cards alive, the spokes a-drive,
A roar for every spinning wheel.
It wasn't speed that made us bold,
But that percussive, plastic beat—
A deck of stories, frayed and old,
That turned our bikes to winged fleet.
And though the cards would soon bend,
Their glossy faces scarred and worn,
Riding into darkness, a bitter end.
When the deck ran out, we'd mourn.
Wife's job vanished
Bank account diminishing
Future uncertain
Wolves are nosing at the door again.
My children smile at me,
Dance for joy when I come home;
Suddenly, no more fear, no worries for awhile
Funny how it takes all my concentration,
Such an effort of will,
To acheive, now and again,
The state of mind they take for granted.
The background noise of the big world is so high
One can barely think.
So I strive to rise above it,
To lift up and out of my little self
Climbing higher and higher
'Til the horizon's edges
Fall Away
And everything is Present:
No Future No Past
No Necessities
Only the one Conscious Moment
Shining here unbounded.
I see once more that I shall suffer for awhile,
But can this really touch my joys, my freedom?
- Only by my own permission.
No Joy without Pain
No Light without Dark
No Life without Death
Where are the sufferings of yesterday, of the years before?
Memories now, fading into the distance.
Troubles roll in, break over our lives
Then go, then come again
Sliding forwards and back on the tides of tomorrows.
I feel my pain, and close behind it
The world's far greater pain screaming
From its thousand daily wounds
Yet every day we go on, regardless
Fight the strain and it strengthens,
Let it break, then it recedes.
Do something, or nothing
The Wheel turns just the same.
Easily said, yet hard to do;
Nothing's more difficult
Than doing nothing.
My love runs deep, my senses alive and vibrant with her,
Countless small delights lay near to hand.
I've two children more beautiful than the stars
To gaze on as they sleep; drunken with love of them
- What matters some struggle, next to this?
Yesterday is lost to time, and tomorrow yet to be;
All I can hold is this One Moment - I must not let it fall!
I look within the Moment
Horizons Fall Away.
Reach for It - It slides away
Listen for It - no sound will come
- But glance away, be still awhile and wait
- It steals up in the wind and blows right though you, Singing.
It is like deep water.
On the surface everything changes, flows
But down below abides a Great Stillness.
Horizons Fall Away.
You were a thief, with a potter's worn wheel
stoled with artist's hands
what your eye demands
and claimed every lover's mould you could steal
to be washed away
with your potter's clay
and the pots love formed, from your lover's zeal
when the fire grew old
and the kiln turned cold
every clump of their clay, that you would repugn
you would darken the floor, with lovers you'd strewn
all that was, is now gone
With each counted tear, that rolled down a face
that's now a long line
a faded design
read through the night with memory's embrace
of deep tearful sleep
when hearts felt so cheap
for love is a cruel game, played always by one
in times of your lost soul, and only for fun
to never account, for the sadness you've done
all that was, is now gone
what's left to look upon?
5/15/18 Qarinage...Any Topic Poetry Contest
*Image of Global Positioning System by Rankr.
All Roads Led to Hell, Until GPS
An attempted refolded map resolved itself against a ruffled sort,
the championed driver -- not of cars,
GPS constants a dashboard as a storm flit to nonexistence,
ado about the guy at the wheel flits with it,
chuckles as dawn speaks and sunrise glints at a trustful eye,
an oiled motor now runs cooly, slightly fresh tire scarring rolls on,
a car stops on the side of a country lane,
an idling engine idles a bevy of doves perched on a limb,
opts for a U-turn as an all clearance was taken,
a mouth forces years of hardened cells upward, donning anew emerges,
whistling attuned to a suite medley of birdsongs while fingers push a fedora near a car ceiling,
stops at the florist, the candy store, and longer at the jewelers,
sounds of a car parking in the drive,
a woman wiping to dryness look sees a mirror,
a throat clears and coughed to a soothing, and hair is being fussed,
a trembling stand eases to absence, a door being faced down a hallway opens,
a bouquet of roses, a candy box, a gift box, and a rugged man fall in unison fronting an entry doorway,
weeping in glad tidings calls outwardly, "Look what my GPS said!" a shocked woman rushes forward to kneel,
The solid man raised his GPS to her ever-widening eyes,
GPS read out, "God Promises Salvation,"
Two souls lived contentedly until their hereafter in bliss.
2022 August 18
—Tale of a wanderer who goes with a piece of myth—
The wanderer drifting in the wilderness searching for a long absent
darling leans against the moonlight at times. Wet with dew, is there any chance; you will one day, lay your exhausted body on a cold bed to slumber? But instead of a sweet dream: you will hang on a sharp edged axe; while crying and moaning, hunted by a nightmare. You will, then, wake up in a cold sweat, swept by surging waves.
Then: as a bright star appears in the sky; along with
the gleam of daybreak; light driving moonlight away;
the crystallized water drops; the star brought in the window,
will become the deadly poison of a viper and bite into your flesh,
in the blink of an eye.
It’s neither Eden nor Eurydice’s heel. It’s the calamity
upon yourself. You didn’t decline, but laid your weary body,
one night, on the bed offered by Procrustes. Bleeding from the ankles, both feet chopped off by Procrustes’ axe, with no way to turn your misfortune or to blame but yourself.
Although it’s blood, it’s really not blood,
they are a line of brood of vipers forming like
a stream advancing to the woods of the delta searching for
an underground tunnel; a dirge, the tongue-less Philomela’s
piercing shriek. It’s Philomela’s agonizing shudder, disgusted
from the conception of the seed of death.
Itys’ head on a tray: reflecting in the daybreak glow; will ask.
“Why are you lodged in such a terrible inn of all inns? Though
I won’t ask you, but still, want to know
why are you. The fool Tereus? Did you do such terrible thing?
Though you have a virtuous beautiful wife at home,
why then, o thoughtless wanderer, did you walk on a path
just like Tereus’? As a consequence: you must cry; beating your breast; listening to the sound of lyre; that even stops to roll the wheel of fire; for a while, with its mournful tune.”
1. Eurydice 2. Procrustes 3. Philomela 4. Itys
5. Tereus 6. Ixion 7. Orpheus’ lyre
Sparkling springs came as the time’s wheel rolled by,
our hearts entwined we walked the garden trail.
Ardent fervor on cloud in blue, set sail,
not long, for the rain storm dissolved the sky.
My touch slid far on stream flow from your eye,
but I surely knew I’d return, won’t fail
to be with you in garden by the vale,
in the wrap of your arms again I’d lie.
You grow sapling that sprouts in spring splendor,
cradle of leaves takes care of buds of rose.
They all unfurl at dawn splashed by sunburst,
flush you with full glow of avid ardor.
You'll then find me smiling if you look close,
I’ll keep my vow because I’ll bloom, the first.
(Petrarchan Sonnet with Octave rhyme (abbaabba) and Sestet rhyme (cdecde)
syllable count 10 per line)
June 24, 2021
Contest : Contemprary Sonnet
Sponsor : Charlotte Puddifoot
Sunlight sparkles on the shimmering pond
its mirror like surface smooth as silk
dragonflies dance across the water
performing aerial acrobatics like a circus in the air
Water dipping on a fairground ferris wheel
then plunging dramatically like a helicopter in free-fall
rising and falling skimming the water so gracefully
transparent gossamer wings flapping in flight
Shimmering like a sapphire in the early morning sun
dazzling me with your infinite beauty
On summer days I wish I had wings
seeing dragonflies’ dancing makes my heart sing
This is one of my early poems and it is a particular favourite as I tried very hard with the imagery
15th May 2014
Housemates are sleeping on the couch in the living room as I come down from the loft. A bowl with a fork lies on the living room floor. It’s already ten o’clock. Unopened mail lies on the desk. An argument overheard last night lingers. There are some stories mentioned too often. Some are never told. Bare limbs next door wave in a gust of wind. I grab my keys, go for a drive.
a line of trees
Just upriver and past a foundry at the edge of Bettendorf, a diner in a red building lies to the side of a busy road. A family business, I figure. The hostess smiles and asks how many. I say one, just me. She smiles. Seat yourself, she says. The sight of a server catches my eye before she comes and gets my drink. I watch a match of women’s tennis, as I had years ago and occasionally glance at her. Conversations of families bubble through the room. The server brings me my bacon, tender, just as I wanted. We share kind words. Maybe that’s all I need for now.
the Mississippi hides
In time, I’ve learned to love each small town along the river a little more. LeClaire hosts antique shops, the Buffalo Bill Museum on the shore and a paddle wheel. I’ve made friends with people at the public library and shown them poems I wrote before I take the manuscripts home. Each time I laugh and say the piece I write is never finished. Today I stop by a craft shop, and sunlight glows through a stained-glass window. The woman who it made has moved out of town.
and whispers
Each time I drive I take in the scenes of what I already love. Sometimes I notice something new. Waters rise when a barge moves downstream, as it recalls an era of paddlewheels and steamboats. Captains far away from families navigate their way through changing currents but stay true to the channel. Mark Twain once said humans are a curious species, and I must agree.
This morning, I drove to the diner on a whim, and the bacon was good. The table set for me.