Long Window Poems
Long Window Poems. Below are the most popular long Window by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Window poems by poem length and keyword.
Come, let us sing a song of equality and unity;
We seek a home of peace, pledging our lives to this vow.
Upon this restless earth, a flood of blood now surges;
War drums beat in every direction; corruption runs rampant everywhere.
There is no helmsman to guide us across this turbulent sea;
The nation, having lost its way, now bleeds and burns in agony.
The soul can no longer bear the searing pain of war's wounds;
Darkness shrouds every quarter; lamentation echoes all around.
Caste prejudice and malice—these are the forces that ravage the heart;
Neither the blue heavens above nor the vast oceans below find any solace.
Barrenness consumes the soul; the heart breaks in weeping;
Amidst the blasts of bombs and explosions, sleep eludes our eyes.
A tide of torment washes over us, filling the soul with dread;
Through every window drifts the ominous roar of impending cataclysm.
Will anyone answer the call of my pain and suffering?
Will anyone heed the yearning that seeks to breathe new life into this world?
This earth is enchanting—rich in beauty, color, and essence;
And amidst it all, know that men and women are its most precious jewels.
Adorned with flowers, fruits, rivers, and streams—she is fertile and lush;
A motherly savior, she cherishes her children with boundless love.
Why, then, do war and hatred plague every corner of the globe?
Why do people weave such webs of savage cruelty and violence?
As the Earth's weeping intensifies, her dam of endurance finally breaks;
Come, let us rush to her rescue today, steering our vessel against the tide of adversity.
Hand in hand, let us declare: no more war, no more hatred!
We seek only love and affection—no more the torment inflicted by foes.
Come, let us sing a song of equality and unity;
We seek a home of peace, pledging our lives to this vow.
I take my pain to where ragers rage and writhe
in their self-absorbed gluttony on all-winter days
their tea cups are only for them
interspersed with silence and solitude
the streets are buildings without them
who are the signposts talking too?
I could have been one of them
I was one of them
and still am if hills facing the sun are cloud covered
and I don’t look out of the window to notice
then, in those un-costumed days, I am
but, and it has taken rotations of earth
backpacking through antonyms, through tropics
I have conquered tinnitus, now a comfort blanket
aiding sleep as a heart monitor line crossing a screen
I have conquered deep wells, now jews harps
jaw harps if you prefer, gewgaws, yes I have conquered
the cave of crawling space days
goblins are only a light switch and their rising finger away
but my rising finger plucks at overtones and distances
between neurons, between stars, between mees
its sound soothing, rubbing balm on a restive chest
the vibrations are fizzing and feeding me
I take my white noise and float away
sound, my therapy
Outside...
The cold rain is why my old hat
feels plastered upon my head,
and why the street has a gray look,
as if the neighborhood is dead.
It’s why I can see every exhale,
why there is a hard chill on my sin,
which seems to seep down to my bones
and take up residence within.
It’s why I am now shivering,
and why my shoes are soaking wet,
why I wish I’d worn a jacket,
this fleece was a really bad bet.
It’s why the day is so dreary,
seems to sap all vitality,
November destroys everything,
grim month of mortality.
I’d rather this rain be snowfall,
painting all in muted white,
at least then you could ski in it
and live up the wintry life.
This rain will freeze, gum up my car
when the mercury drops at dusk,
thankfully this was a short walk
’cause I’ve already had enough.
Inside…
The cold rain is why flames now roar
within my big brick fireplace,
why I feel the wafting heat
warming the skin on my face.
It’s why I’ve got this highball glass
half-filled with the spice of Rye,
makes the stomach a furnace,
a nice glow suffuses inside.
It’s why I hear a rhythm pound,
soothing patterns on metal roof,
and why I sit back in this chair
so comfortably aloof.
It’s why my dog lays on my feet,
Fido knew that I was cold,
that mutt does the job better
than any slippers ever sold.
The rain is why I’ll go with stew
instead of something light and trendy,
and it makes me glad my wife bough
our small, indoor Jacuzzi.
I suppose you can’t feel this comfort
if displeasure is never had,
one appreciates the other,
all this cold rain ain’t that bad.
…seen through a window, at least.
I didn't know you ...
not many people did,
phantom of a wakeless world,
the bastard son of mental decay ...
not even a name until recently,
but you existed -
oh yes ... and thrived ...
disguised -
lurking in the dim corners,
scratching at the shadows with
your twisted claws,
and drooling pity like a fiend ...
but …
I know you NOW, beast,
and I despise you with vigor ...
you robbed me of a gem,
(but plundered him first),
the man who raised me -
protected me,
you took that dear man -
that hardworking, devoted, truly
GOOD man, and stripped
him of everything -
his dignity, his grace, his privacy and
peace, his sleep, his joy,
his precious memories,
his kindness and character ...
his MIND ...
you left him empty,
a shell of fear and confusion,
and darkness … heavy darkness -
he always thought it was night,
even when the sun beamed
in through his window,
and out of all of it, that’s what angers
me the most, because he
adored the warm of sunshine on his face …
yes, I DO ... I hate you,
and I am ashamed to use that word,
but it is ALL I have left for the
horrid likes of you,
AND that creature who created you …
that was my last dance with
the careless, cackling phantom I
once knew as "God" ...
the VERY last dance ...
done.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, October 24, 2022
The tributes keep pouring in and my heart is singing a wonderful hymn
The lines are getting longer and the passions are getting stronger
They stormed the streets in a hundred thousand throng; people of all color and creed, husbands and wives holding hands and little children marching along with flowers tied up in bundle to express their love for the diseased queen. The flower memorial is swelling on every corner and the barricades are everywhere giving a touch to the social order.
They come from Europe, the Middle East, Australia and North America. They come from Latin America and the Caribbean; they come from Asia and Africa with gold and silver to show their respect to the queen. The airports are crowed and the hotels are full, all roads lead to London, by air, by sea on land and on foot. They come from France, Germany Italy and Spain, they are all there. The crowd is getting bigger and the passion is growing deeper and my heart is singing a silent tune
The procession began at balmoral estate when the Landrover suddenly broke through the gate carrying the body of the diseased queen and her only daughter accompanying her on the long journey from Scotland to Edinburgh and Buckingham palace in London, cruising through villages and town, farming communities and breakaway cities and the anxious crowd gather in the street showing their love for the queen. The Face of love, faces of pain, somber face, faces that have nothing to gain watch the procession as it journeyed through the winding street to its final destination. I could hear the whispers and the cries and now and again she pulled out a handkerchief to dry up the falling tears.
A sea of flowers converged in the square with a powerful message from the heart. I remember the queen from the start I can see her dainty smile and I imagine sitting with her for a while having a cup of tea. Just yesterday she was with me talking about her family and I am sitting here bearing the weight of her coffin. The dignitaries are coming to town, and they will meet at West Minister to pay homage to the queen. Everyone will meet at west minister Abby to pay the final respect to the queen and so the legacy of the daffodil lives on and the story of cactus hang on the window is showing its sorrow, And the lotus is dancing in the stream.
I woke up in the shadow of a dream.
Left me wonderin' are things what they seem.
Daylight not yet shining any light.
I rolled back over to let my dream take flight.
The days and years fade steady in the mirror.
As I face the facts with another glass of beer.
An empty pocket devoid of any change.
Hope fly's out the window completely out of range.
I second guess and feel the stress.
Which causes me dismay.
But I digress, it's just a mess.
It seems everything's grey.
This afterglow of aftermath bores me to the bone.
I never know if it's my path or just unanswered phones.
It seems I'm stuck here in this rut of endless emptiness.
Unable to find my way back to a place of happiness.
My Neighborhood Gang
Colorful drapes hung alongside of my narrow window
A small one/bedroom apt. my first - from delivery of newspapers
overlooking a park - past a spider web - made by a black widow
planted on one pane - I would peer
Children tossing hoops laughing an bouncing ball would alert me
Time to exercise an maybe get into a game myself
our usual gang - tough competitive group - scrappers see
someone hurting after each game me too
Now at dusk, all this would change - you could hear those voices echo
Off buildings nearby - these same rough guys would sing
singing is what we did in that old park - after dinner with chicko
that boy from Puerto Rico was our leader an could hit all high notes we sang
Windows opened on all the surrounding buildings - families listened too
Only when our sessions were over - we hear Bravo! Chico Bravo!
We sounded like angels in a choir - made us feel proud - cool so true,
without a doubt we were on top of our world - couldn't wait for tomorrow
Three word prompts used = Window - Angels - Singing
As I wait for death amid the calm.
I see through the window all of you.
No one can see me and the hearing is dying.
Ring in the New Year and my limbs reach for the warm.
Help me make one last stand.
I love the rain and your food for thought.
I wait patient , youthful and my sap stretched.
I long for your cool breeze and like a dog I bark in warning.
And as the axe falls I shudder and am diminished.
That door slammed angrily and while I wait the rain washes me.
No longer do I feel my age, I see your reflection and your sadness.
And as I slowly die I am placed on the stretcher and I drink my last drop.
But as I lay quivering.
You bathe and place me at the door.
I am no longer naked as you dress me.
A light blinks on and the glitter and charm works.
The clothing is your finest saved by generations and my balls are hung.
Life is not always filled with cloying contentment.
There are taunting trials and things I'd rather not do.
Those tedious tasks that steal my smiles and my time,
but not the joy of life's most endearing moments
found within the confines of my happy home.
It's impossible to leave all my worries outside,
nor can I hide from them each time I enter through
the front door, but my home seems to cradle me
inside its welcoming walls. Each room comforts me
with familiarity, offering safety and solace from storms
of both the physical and emotional kind.
I am at peace in the serenity I find surrounding me,
even when I hear voices in another room, I know they
are my loved ones. My family's laughter assures me
that all is right in my world. There may be furniture
that needs dusting, or floors that have been scuffed,
but memories made in these haven halls are treasured.
Conflicts and controversies, struggles and squabbles
taking place in the world remain outside my refuge.
When my workday is done, I seek my family hearth,
the warmth within its sheltering roof, making it the safe
stronghold that I claim as my citadel. Trepidations
drift away when I walk into my garden and find seclusion
waiting there for me. I find peace and consummate
placidity in the sound of the koi pond's waterfall.
There are no horns blasting with impatience, only a bed of
colorful impatiens blooming in profusion beneath the
sweet scent of white magnolia blooms that soothe
my weary mind, blocking out stress and anxiousness.
I feel as if I'm in an innocuous world inside my fortress gate.
Protected from the chaotic cacophony of worldly woes.
Standing at an open window as night falls, I enjoy the song
of a nightingale as a myriad of stars surround a full moon.
At the end of the day, these moments are appreciated
for the assuasive effects that I need in my life.
This is the anodyne I seek. This is my home.
In that place close to my heart where my soul rests like a white dove ,
I keep you .
I remember the embraces that were honest ,
And my heart soaring with something very similar to love.
A sweet passion all involved in color blue ,
Hard not to remember those scant good moments .
The anguishes shared , when we had no clue
about this life relentless in its destiny .
The locked door, the black stained window…
I remember your arms embracing me
lulling me to sleep, my own weeping willow.
Your branches extended and a terrycloth melody ,
absorbing the tears I dropped in our pillow.
Never mind the changes propelled by time
and even though not all your actions are good memories…
Our journey was the task that you never resigned,
together hand in hand confronted all our enemies .