Long Wilderness Poems
Long Wilderness Poems. Below are the most popular long Wilderness by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wilderness poems by poem length and keyword.
Homeward Path 11/08 Roger M. Landry
Wise men say, stay out of the fray,
And perhaps that is logical, and even soundly psychological.
They advise, do not go my son into the dark wood; you will only come to no good.
And I ask, if the road is less traveled, it will leave me baffled?
The trail in the forest tall could it leave me feeling forever small?
Alone, will I not even hear the sound of the stately tree’s fall?
In my craven travels, shall I perhaps see the pellucid pillars of heaven seven,
Or experience the depraved depths of perdition?
But, what if there is no one there to tell?
No singing angels, or laughing demons from hell.
Shall I be weary of my iconoclastic dreams?
Because, in my youth, I had magic visions of being the princely toad,
Of crossing elegantly the paved road to fame.
However, carrion birds now read, feed on my bloody entrails strewn along the lane.
Now, I only wake up in the fevered night, no princess to soothe my stifled screams.
Beaten and torn, shall I become the salacious stripper of old?
That, with nagging words, expresses my vulnerable, and sagging soul.
Like a lost muse, shall the tiger burning bright, in the forest of the night,
Become my one and only frightful and guiding light?
I can see quite far from the gritty solitude of a lofty mountain.
But, would rather sit with my smiling children by a bubbling fountain,
Have someone park my expensive car,
Or sip beer, with friends, in a quaint neighborhood bar.
Going on a shopping spree and wearing designer clothes,
I think, is superior than to society loathe.
To have opulent gold is better than writing poetry in poverty, wouldn’t you agree?
Or, would it be better if I contemplate my fate, eternally alone, under a frigid night star,
While I pluck loose strings on an out of tune guitar?
They say that if you favor the glacier-blue, the flavor will get inside of you.
Now that I have made enough bad choices, because of those niggling internal voices,
I am eternally lost, my mind unloosing in a wilderness of my own choosing.
Like a pharaoh, I know there is a divine treasure in my head,
But, I work and work, feel dead, and just can’t get out of bed.
The road has its own agenda, to which I know my heart must surrender,
Therefore, I shall curb my shameful wrath,
And trust that my soul knows its homeward path.
Form:
The land is soaked with blood
The sand is soaked with tears
Oh
How many barrels of blood must be spilled
to know that so many souls are gone?
How many basins of tears does it take
to have more than enough tears?
.
I am the voice of the little child
crying in the wilderness
I want to caress the flowers that spring
out of the ground of my homeland
I want to watch the ripples when rain falls
I want to play with my mates on the sand
along Chu Ngoke street
I want to sit at home and watch my parents returning from a bountiful yam harvest
I want to stand at the playground and watch the traditional wrestling
I want to hear the sounds of Egelege and Egoni talking drums reminding me of yesterday and a great future ahead
I want to chase away goats from eating the maize in my mother's garden
I want to open my mother's pot
and pick a meat out of the soup
I want to see my homeland
Sweet little home of ours
Please take me back to Alode
Please take me back to Alode
.
I am the voice of a man
Whose hope lies in shackles
Whose homeland lies in broken images
A town deserted and forgotten
I am tired of being a stranger
in another man's land
I am tired of begging for crumbs
When my barn is filled with yam
Mudskippers can still be found in our swamps
Please take me back to Alode
I don't want to die in another man's land
I want to die in Alode, somewhere in Eleme
I want to be buried near the grave of my father and see my ancestors usher
me home with a shinning crown
Take me back home
Take me back home
.
Take me back to Alode
Let me see the beautiful women that
toss about the streets
Let me admire their buttocks
Let me stare at their breasts,
those two round objects protruding out
of their clothes, breasts that could make me feel like a child again
Let me kiss Nyime Owa Eleme, that beautiful lady of my dream
Let me lay her down on my bedside and
make life worthwhile
I want to go back home and see
the sunshine with it's illuminous rays
and the tender droplets of the rain
Oh Please take me back to Alode
Please take me back to Alode
.
Take me back to Alode
Let me touch your borders
From Alesa to Ogale
From Echieta to Onne and
From Ebubu to the Onu Nmu where they say the hands cannot reach
I want to touch the land of Alode
I want to touch the Eleme soil
I want to touch the soft green grasses of home
.......
A Man of Strength and Courage
(A Man Of Beauty And Respect)
A True Story
Who was he? He called himself the
unknown Poet, my great great great
grandmother's uncle Joe. He lived
a long exciting life, loving one woman
in time of war.
A Martin Trapper he was, an artist of fine
design, a poet in his time, a fine gentle
soul of the universe capturing each
thought writing them down in journals
and poetry.
If you should ask him what he believed
in! he would say; “I believed in God, sounds
of nature, love of mankind, love of words
anything to do with nature is where my
heart roams best.”
He was true to his own beliefs, a man
of heart, determination, a man who
would walk a mile in another man's shoes.
He was the heartbeat of the land, a
true mountain man of the wilderness.
He wore leather, long hair, beard a loving heart
for all animals including the bear, he grew
closer to as he traveled the mountains
year after year doing his Martin trapping
for food. He was a God-fearing man
of courage and strength all his own.
He was truly remarkable, who
fought with George Armstrong Custer
and the men of the 7th Cavalry where
they met their fate and the Sioux on June
25, 1886, at the Battle of the Little Big
Horn'. Uncle Joe was sent to get
reinforcements at the age of fifteen
when he returned, they found them all
mascaraed. Including (George Armstrong
Custer).
Many of his journals, poetry and
sketches were burned in a trailer
fire, but to this day, still remember
at a young age trying to read his poetry
I do remember seeing some of his sketches
he had sketched with pencil by candlelight
in his cabin in the winter in the Canadian
Mountains.
One sketch I remember well was of
a lovely lady dressed in a long gown
with hair piled high upon her head
she looked lovely.
That winter was long and cold and Joe
never returned home from his trapping
the Royal Mounted Police found him dead
next to the creek by his cabin. He died
of starvation.
This is just part of his story my great great
great grandmother told me of her uncle Joe. I
wish she would have told me more about his life.
I want to pass this on to my family so they can keep
passing it down from generation to generation.
Copyright ? DerenaBree( All Rights Reserved). Publishing ? Man of strength and Courage®( All Rights Reserved.)
You’ve met me,
but you just don’t know it yet
The dream house that you want,
I once polar bear hibernated there ...
two winter moons ago
The summer fruit of relaxation
that you’re tasting now,
I planted it
two prior vineyard cycles
I’ve always been double moves ahead,
my checkered past
taught me keen ways
to escape poverty dread
The slum lord pitchfork
tossing that Ebenezer heavy eviction bale,
tried to do the Scrooge pinch
But me knew da Judas outcome of da sell
You’re a patsy-come-lately,
a puppet bought for sure foreswore
Tho’ a couple chiggers too twenty-something slow,
worms like you
got oasis left in the wilderness dust forty years ago
What you wanna see,
I already seen
I’m always two pillow turns ahead
in your dream
What you wanna do,
I’ve already done
Me always be two rabbit hops ahead
of your turtle run
Here’s the six-digit green lumber
you need to cellblock 8 learn
The lockup combination number
to make those tumblers turn
My moves are two steps ahead
Me be a r-Evolving, double smoking barrel —
twice-pulled trigger click hot lead
You’re a patient zero, broken wing sparrow:
double goose egg, game over dead
I’m always two giant steps ahead
Where I’m ultra solar at
is where you really orbital wanna be
Meesa is a quantum grasshopper high five,
and you’re a gravity locust low three
I live in your twin borrowed tomorrow,
two steps above your ire paygrade
Truth trimming lie bacon is how I get paid
Two floors down at prime usury sorrow,
open pawn shop roasting in shade ...
You’re a pet loan shark getting chum made
I’m always thinking two steps ahead,
delivering ancient sayings that was future said
Meesa gon make your puffy jaws red,
two steps backwards is where your hubris bled
Where me be perched,
is where you’re trying to DNA air flow
I’m four wind birthed,
you’re a deuce snake eye on a belly roll
Me two steps ahead,
just so you know
You’re frozen in place,
minus-two below
I’m living at the kiss end of the Snow White story,
and you ain’t even got a singularity event Black Hole clue
Me 9 generation Lives looking thru a supernova rearview,
your Seven Dwarves tardy situation is inert glory
Two slave wage fettered steps ahead,
is how it’s always gonna be
Eating my Thanksgiving meal on your Labor Day,
is so Easter morning worthy
Bullies are the politics of this universal world
who enjoy the smell of war inflicting endless pain
Who put others down in the presence of others
leaving you to bleed out stranded in the rain
Bullies only bully for they refuse to understand
what it's like to go through something and fail
Through choices they made leading up to that point
leaving them a drift in the wilderness to sail
Bullies attack you with broken hearts caused by
how they were brought up as no one really gave
Them discipline to teach them without abuse to know
the dangers of creating a political wave
Bullies will try and make you change the way
you think and feel about opinions regarding you
The most hateful words without any description
of explaining why they feel those words are true
Bullies are like wolves some as wild as bears
animals that are hungry always looking to feast
Off the people who they see as weak or vulnerable
as if your a lifeless person who has already been deceased
Bullies think that their power is beyond any person who
is trying to progress and move forward to make
A better life for themselves so others can see that
it isn't impossible to turn from a past or present mistake
Bulllies walk with pride in the seeds that they sow
apon others when really they are the ones that
Say you are ugly, no good, uneducated, mind twisted,
a wanna be thug, you're race or call you fat
Friends a bully is a person who has a life like you
though they try to believe they are better in some way
Yet they don't realize that karma really does exist
which will come back on their life somehow one day
Let no words from a political bully bother you for
their words are meaningless with nothing but hate
Which is something we as people shouldn't let at all be
a self label from others trying to predict you're own fate
Bullies be prepared shame on all of you that go
around thinking you're all that with no good news to share
Being the one who doesn't take life seriously or simply
become grown to the point that you really don't care
About what you say to others or how you treat them at times
regardless of anything you choose to do or claim to speak
Words that are foul with judgement that seems so everlasting
towards people who are really strong who you only think are weak.
Written By: Joseph Darryl Boca
If you have a story to tell of how the birds met under the tree, if you have a story to tell of how the wilderness submerge into the sea, the coastguards were not around and destiny could not be found. I stood on the mountain of hope and watch the seagulls circle around the trail trying to pull up the fishermen boat from behind the vail but it was already at the bottom of the ocean and making way to join a thousand more missing souls. If you had a story to tell of how you live for ten years beside the dry well, no food to eat, no place to sleep and your body becomes a punching bag for stranger and the unknown but hope keep you confound. If you have a story to tell, let me hear it now, let it out and let the bitterness walk about; get ready for the big show, I will show you where to go. The story of life is filled with life; the story of life will tell you where destiny dies. If you have a story to tell of how you confront and defeat twelve vicious enemies, when they surround you with guns and you had nothing to defend yourself except for the wisdom in your head, they attacked you from four sides but compassion was among the lot to save your targeted life. They could not raise a gun, they had to get up and run when you stare them in the eyes and faced the sun with dignity and pride. If human could fly many would build their sanctuary in the sky, and the heavens would die. The story of life is not about paradise, the story of life is not about passion and pride, the story of life is about life and how I survive. The music in the air is what I have to share, it reminds or life in a faraway cold country, when the birds and the beast were living in harmony, I had no shoulder to lean on when the temperature was minus zero degrees and the sheet was so thin, I got up in the middle of the night and start to sing but I kept my focus and rub my hands together to keep warm, the story of life is about life, it is not about your materialistic bride, it’s about how I started from nothing and came out to something; I remember those days when I was studying alone and it was the music of life that comforts my soul, my days quickly fades into night and the moon light was my only guide , I could not explain how I feel but all I know, my emotion was real; If you have a story to tell, tell it now and set you spirit free. The story of life is just about life.
For one full year I have been thrown in the lion`s den
And the lion has been running and jumping
And pulling savagely at my leg
The philistines also surround me
with a hidden weapon dancing beneath me
And the church with all it`s hyprocrasy and
white hats barking down the hill
looked at me in dismay as I ran virougsly up the hill
If I am hungry no one knows, if I am sick no one knows
If I am sad, no one knows and when I am at peace with them
They throw tissue paper in my face and called me the Devil from hell
They call me names but I stand looking at them without shame
If only I could get through this day,
I would hold up my hands and say
This is just another day.
Yes this is just another day and you have
to embrace it before your heart goes astray
The meeting and the dealing
The cheating and the underlined feelings,
The signiture on top of the dollar
And the hour that dosn`t look proper
And when the day is done
This is the place where they shout Amen Alleluia
This is the place where the devil is enraged
My spirit is flaming inside me
And the birds are flying about me
Oh what profanity,
Oh what desolution when the windows of heaven breaks loose
And you have no one to bend down and lace your shoes
And when you cannot minister to my innate cry the earth will open
its guts and penetrate all the rust with the passing of time
I cannot release this welled up tears that has been
watering my eyes for over one year
It is the daily despositon that make me sigh and
the lack of understanding that they cannot deny
A gang of men and a pack of wolves speaking
above their voices with no vision or insight they
are just working daily for a bligh, and when
the evening is done they go to bed with saw dust on their front
I still cannot feel at peace here, and I will not live in fear
I am going to get up and just walk out of here
No finger to burn and no message to return
It feels like a wilderness surrounds me
And a fire is raging above me
And just around the bend,
It feels like the lion is grinding in the den
The month is coming to an end when
And I wish that the sorrows will go away
The day is absorbed in its own horror
And I wish for a better tomorrow
When knowledge will clothe the face
And wisdom will prevail over the race
Remove the covers off your face and strike
a deal before it is too late.
Tell all the worlds about the treasures found
Renaissance trace spellbound in the ancient form,
Tender and haunting; an era of time curves around
Past the present to a future beset with tech charm.
Historical pages cling romantically to our eyes,
Each epoch defines a sparkling gem of surprise,
Their fluttered rebirth is like stars changing sizes
Release by time flown from the damp demise.
That dip their limbs to bow unto gloss modernity
Like the artist and sculpture, they paint a world.
Of aesthetic peculiarities and lofty discovery,
Longing to find a place soaring free in the soul.
A vault of citadels says much; then said no more
Deep within, ancient wonders rise from the ashes
Talented beauty weaves from centuries we adore,
The time and place asleep in a waste wilderness.
The plague of colors survives in medieval triumph,
England, a literary monument of architect literature.
Finds the noble heart to express cherished breath
Creating the etiquette claimed by French culture.
Such dept alone could not be paid by metamorphism
Humanism fading in a mist has its place in society,
Heightened with extreme lust and erotic mannerism,
Italy removes the conscious veil from bizarre reality.
Ceiling significant through music strings serenade,
Renaissance dazed; allusion lay dreaming half awake
The inquisition of fate went on pilgrimage made,
German sentence commute through the classical gate.
The Netherlands explore and navigate all the distances
Byzantine adherence goes beyond impregnable walls,
depict faces of the Tsars persist in the military hypothesis,
And labyrinths take refuge in Russian banqueting halls.
The richest measured proportion of distilled beverage,
Vodka values more than all the dull limited senses,
Spanish religion repository of the myths and rage
Set the path where new western experience commences.
Portugal selfie, the pinnacle piece that thirsts for commerce
Lisbon flourished paints and medicines with Flemish.
Poland concept and conflict gain border land dominance,
Spice trade rises high and makes indiscreet allusion flourish.
We travel far beyond renaissance to the greatest monument,
When the transition of culture from the middle age evolved
Mesmerized art is a rediscovery of an enduring cultural movement,
The monarch of the Roman Empire renaissance man inspired.
Like riding on waves wavering
not sure where it takes me
searching for a log just to hold on,
but helpless, and alone in an abyss.
Slumber, how I wish a day's sleep
to keep everything aside, and rest,
in my beloved’s lap, that warm lap.
Hours of cuddling , sweet lovemaking
the joy of belonging, drugged in love
kissing her wet lips, warmth so alluring
And a rest in the arms of the beloved.
But now left in life's wilderness
Searching For the lost oasis.
will I reach it before die of thirst?
or be buried in unfulfilled dreams.
Night again, pitch dark, dead silent
A chill passes through my spine
Spreads and chokes me like a python.
Unable to move, pushing to oblivion.
Me not alone ,have memories so fond
enough to rekindle, like resurrection,
The memory of love and her warmth
the lingering fragrance of the past
Enough to live on but why tears still?
This silence has thousand tongues
Audible silence of a forgotten living
told in a lovers song, life of the lonely.
long ride of a dreamer, moving yet still,
pangs of fatigue, a thirst so hurting.
The morning sun, on a spring
winter not far away, naked trees shy
Rushing to cover with new foliage.
song of the cuckoos, resting on twigs
Echoes of distant church bell chimes ,
the creepers waving to the farmers
dews, shining diamonds in dawn rays
the gurgle of the sparkling stream
In thickets the chirpings of love birds
smell of raw earth, ants lined in order,
the cattle linedup, heading pastures
A silhouette afar dressed in snow
A hoof sound of a horse in its course
It's all fine dear to exalt my heart
but on a lonely day it's all wasted gift.
Wandering in search, to love reclaim
Where should I search that I lost
than in your own heart love preserved
my life, a loser's lament, a dirge-
of a priest burying the dead in cold
a whisper of the devil to the cursed
a mistake of the master of creation
Blemish on the moon reflecting sun
yet a crave to live, if she were here.
Even the mirage formed by memories
Make me wander in arid deserts
where the sun burns all it's fuel .
I sustain on dreams wandering
living! a faint feeling now hurting.
the heart is dried unable to beat
but somewhere, just a feeble throb
a throb that lost rhythmic speed.
just waiting for her sweet breath
To inclaim my life with her love.
Jacob, who swindled and swapped his stew
for the birthright, then the blessing
that he felt like were his due,
in time, his dream would be secured,
he’d marry the love of his life,
sweet Rachel, who would one day give birth
to a son named…
Joseph, brother and son, a heart undone
by jealousy, the sin beyond words
expressing the violence of a desperate shadow
silhouettes of vengeance, complicated
by sentiments of what could have been
if only hearts had given in…
then, his potential, forthcoming
victory, a vision, remembered
a dream, fathomed, fulfilled.
the children of Israel, slaves under the rule of Pharoah
who God would harden until he told Moses the slaves could go
but he’d follow – to the sea where God parted the waters,
allowing the Israelites to walk on dry land – while their pursuers
were washed beneath the sea, forever gone –
forever erased from the earth’s soft song…
Moses led them, wandering in the wilderness for 40 years
yearning for the land God had promised them when they left Egypt –
led by the cloud, during the day
led by the fire, during the evening
they were fed manna that only God could have given,
they were given the law, so they’d know right and wrong,
the ten commandments, to teach them God’s rules…
as time continues on, there comes David, after God’s own heart
playing his instruments, glorifying his God,
killing the giant who sought Saul’s army,
destroying darkness with his kindness and charm
David brought victory to the hearts who knew him,
the one who would be King of Israel…
as the story colors between the lines, there is One
who comes to live on this earth, One who came by virgin birth,
One who knows us – the sinner, the soul, the saint
He leads us to the drink of the living water, He is life
and He is the sacrifice that silences our fears,
wipes away each tear and, despite the pain of a cross,
whispers light through the heart, comforts us when we hurt,
makes a way for our heart to praise…
the love, His grace, He is the way
the second chance for me to say
when I die, I won’t have to pay
I’ll have a new life, a new day
God’s Son came to erase the past with a love that will always last!
As Easter remembers – beyond all the winters - here is hope that keeps giving
love that keeps living – He never stops forgiving!