Long Withal Poems
Long Withal Poems. Below are the most popular long Withal by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Withal poems by poem length and keyword.
Criminal
waste,
critical mass
materialized warfare
city dumps pile-up and fall
burnt offerings amid
clumps of Caesar salad.
Roman Empires of crud
that roam no more.
Walmart still spills over,
parachutes hung from pot-belly roofs;
air-drops from a plastic heaven.
A few old men
are found asleep at the wheel
of long buried cars.
Homeless are the pigeons
that carry a crusty canker
from pit to heap,
pitiful the pawing fingers
that pounce now upon
the once new branded,
yet more paltry
the poached mounds
of porch-pirates,
their petty ill-gottens
all unpacked alike as empty nests.
When the sooty dark
fumes and blankets,
then rust will clang
in the yawping mouths
of tin-cans,
aluminum bells that clatter.
Then the rodents,
the red-eyed night-shifters
will comb through the tangled beards
of threadbare dreams.
Then withal,
just as the ditched dross have fallen,
dregs shall rise again.
Cold and icy passageway to trudge through.
Ships and warships sailed thru the Bering Strait.
In limbo 'tween two nations, iced, staid too.
When I first set out, for thrill I await.
Where ferocious beasts can hunt and roam thru.
Gray clouds with puffy tops hedge their offspring.
Calmly shifting layers, like a stack shades.
Wet and wild park made of stone tectonics.
Not to mention a beard made of green trees.
I saw two black wolves on Eagle Brook Road.
Mountain trails are plagued with random people.
At the outset, there were rocks and small stones.
There are blooms on the young pink rose jungle.
Here, among green discord of willow vines,
Aspen trees clump joined, stay comfortable
Alaska: home to the famed "midnight sun."
Where kids play and grownups lose track of time.
Reminds them that it is time to wind down.
When it gets quite dark they call it nighttime
Bright toughness is a trait with a tough tone.
The place where the Moon is second fiddle.
Matanuska vale's snooze-fest of a town
while moose and caribou withal trample
Move across the railroad ties one side down.
where the grass is green and soil is ample.
Alaska: home to the famed "midnight sun."
The place where the Moon is second fiddle.
Written: June 21, 2022
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 4 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Toney
Checked by: HMC.COM/ 10 Syllables per line
Rhyme: Rhymezone.
The pleasure distilled from those hours spent
Seep down to my heart and soul ever pent
So that all the night my eyes might endure
Thy supple form and softly sweet demure
What ails a man might thou proffer cure
Thou art what makes a man love the lure
And would take thy hand as his and withal
His heart giveth to thee as would a thrall
By the rim of the lake the cherry blossoms fall
By the rim of the lake I confess all
My love beams like the sun upon the lake crystal clear
This moment will remain for me, timeless and dear
And whence I wake a part of me remains here
Where honesty and dream dwell free of fear
For whence I wake, I know thou wilt not be here
And though thy suffering has ended,
Avails me little cheer
Sorely I miss thee
And wish thou wert here
Once I had a nightmare haze,
Where I walked into a garden,
But it turned out to be a maze,
And it soon began to darken,
I walked through the sinuous paths,
Twisting and turning this way and that,
Must have been built by psychopaths,
Even the uneven ground wasn't flat,
I bumped into a big hedge wall,
Right when I thought I'd found my way,
I realised that I was trapped withal,
It was an unending puzzle to play,
Just then I saw a beam of light,
And I began to follow with hope,
I believed I could come out right,
With this tangled mess, I could cope,
Somehow I came out that night,
Saved at a labyrinthine cost,
For I woke myself out of that plight,
Still feeling entranced and lost.
06.25.2020
Old friend I fear no peace, no life’s atone,
only silent condemnation disguised -
this misfortune is mine and mine alone
and to that end I have philosophised.
To the wider picture of death and woe
and to the same fates of unventured love -
to life’s grim audit of joy and sorrow,
to dream to unknow what I am sure of.
We are a hostage to our tyrannies,
prisoners of old hostilities.
Locked away for life and time
and I fear the years have outlived mine.
That I be ambushed in early gambit
for my king was a sacrifice too great -
just a pawn in a game and I am it
plays out its capture and stalemate.
He not bared to his human desires nor
fruit on the essential vines thirsts alone -
and in the great fu*kening at my core
is an ache and fate that I must own.
We are a hostage to our tyrannies,
prisoners of old hostilities.
Locked away for life and time
and I fear the years have outlived mine.
Now a debt of faith is ransomed this day
and worse, a debit of an endless morrow -
a usury I must now bear and pay,
and from the heart this I had to borrow.
Yet I know only the end redeems all
but is late reprieve to a suffered heart -
there are no happy endings but withal
my spirit is gentled should I depart.
We are a hostage to our tyrannies,
prisoners of old hostilities.
Locked away for life and time
and I fear the years have outlived mine.
Written: September 1995
The Storm uttered his vengeful voice
Breathing threats on all mortals below.
With power he showed his flashing bolts
And shook the earth with his mighty hands.
The trees cried loudly as they were rent.
The rivers drank more than they could bear.
Creatures hid in quivering protest
As the storm’s soldiers marched quickly by.
When he passed there came a gentle touch.
His life was squandered in his fury.
The sky shone forth his bright epitaph
And mere mortals spoke ill of the dead.
Upon the earth renewed life sprang forth
And nature was blessed by his fury.
The hatred of the Storm King withal
Became the source of much grace below.
Ode To The Hourglass
E'er spent in the margin of its clutch of us,
We breathe its granules in nighttide befallen,
Wanderers adrift campaign design to thus,
Daytime withdrawal of star hole we crawl in,
Be of that horizon art great plentitude,
A minuscule scope be a grand solitude,
The vast separateness, still, purposed value,
Withal, dissolve in its depths, I and shall you,
Sands prey unto gravitational split palm,
smattering contributions from character,
exfoliates abruptly the sedate calm,
genteel indiscernible that surrender,
the retired bit is given in chambered rest,
that visualness measuring of time's quest,
allowing the said duties of weightiness,
do the essential action of sublimeness.
2020 March 02
Howmanysyllables;
16 lines x 11 syllables per = 176 syllables total
Jack just had a big fight with his son Zach about it. He said
I’m tired of hearing how you’re too tired to do your homework. You’re
not too tired to play basketball or Xbox. That was that after Zach said
Whatever.
Visiting the nursing home you think Never
will I allow myself to live long enough to end like that, that’s
a fact. But promises are broken all the time, to others and the self,
and that one probably will be too unless your face is shattered
into shards of broken glass, by accident. Then it will be quiet,
too quiet.
Day by day goes by until the day you receive news of your disease,
personal, unique, irrevocable, musical and factual, withal.
That’s that you think but in fact it’s not. You discover dying’s
much like living. That’s true until the body just stops barking, breathing
forever.
Salvation’s in the details (sub-atomic particles). Granite
or sandstone, ash or oak, Odysseus or King Lear. That being
the only answer to the hyperorganization that is a cancer
on our insufficient organization. Jack’s anonymity runs deep.
His work sunk in a tar pit or peat. Meditate on that, accept
and repeat.
my Lord middle name HE'S Relentless
give me solace in your breath
speak of mercies I've confessed
give me Grace
upon my face
let me be witnessed
of your Amazing Grace
statue tall standing straight
still I mount look up towards your Face
Mountains High, Valleys low
present point of contact envisioned Joy
hope deferred Faith is blessed
I have arrived I have nothing left
all the PRAISE all the GLORY
I speak valiantly of your Story
I refuse to fall I stand
ever TALL
in your hearts beat I am withal
So surely unworthy Yet REPENTIVE
My Lord my SAVIOR JESUS so forgiving He's RELENTLESS
4/20/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2023
Shimmering was the air nearby, I know a man who did such descry..'
To point it out after a space.' before he could; things changed apace,
Compressed..? this glistening..' the air more 'white'..?
Then in a twisting flow, of a flood..? it did alight..!
The appearance was liquid, filled with shining bright,
'Alive to forever' such an arresting sight.'
It chose the hood upon to fall, like water on tin; its noise withal.'
Displaced the metal, this liquid light, flying forward speed of sight..'
His passenger was of many years, from testing times of strength and fears
An atheist, he knows this well.. He gazed transfixed; to times shrink & swell..'
He wondered did she see or know. but He could not turn from what was so..!
A ripple began from the hood fore, ran to the edge. Then up into air till 'twas no more.'
Still stunned,from out the corner of his eye, he saw his aunts face heard her low cry she said .'did something hit the car at all? yet no one was near, and he thought no earthly thing by did fall..
He wonders still did she see light as well, or only hear & if she did will she then tell.?
Her years are 90 she was sitting bent low, it only fell when He intended to show.'
He keeps his silence..' yet should he ask.? she is old and frail it would be a task
To her son he spoke, he said 3 times I've asked she's vague, she thinks there was something, then says she's not sure..'
It may be to much for her, let things stay this way..'