"furlong" poems
Consider the sea’s listless chime:
Time’s self it is, made audible,—
The murmur of the earth’s own shell.
Secret continuance sublime
Is the sea’s end: our sight may pass
No furlong further. Since time was,
This sound hath told the lapse of time.
No quiet, which is death’s,—it hath
The mournfulness of ancient life,
Enduring always at dull strife.
As the world’s heart of rest and wrath,
Its painful pulse is in the sands.
Last utterly, the whole sky stands,
Gray and not known, along its path.
Listen alone beside the sea,
Listen alone among the woods;
Those voices of twin solitudes
Shall have one sound alike to thee:
Hark where the murmurs of thronged men
Surge and sink back and surge again,—
Still the one voice of wave and tree.
Gather a shell from the strown beach
And listen at its lips: they sigh
The same desire and mystery,
The echo of the whole sea’s speech.
And all mankind is thus at heart
Not anything but what thou art:
And Earth, Sea, Man, are all in each.
7k
247
What would I give to see his face?
I’d give—I’d give my life—of course—
But that is not enough!
Stop just a minute—let me think!
I’d give my biggest Bobolink!
That makes two—Him—and Life!
You know who “June” is—
I’d give her—
Roses a day from Zanzibar—
And Lily tubes—like Wells—
Bees—by the furlong—
Straits of Blue
Navies of Butterflies—sailed thro’—
And dappled Cowslip Dells—
Then I have “shares” in Primrose “Banks”—
Daffodil Dowries—spicy “Stocks”—
Dominions—broad as Dew—
Bags of Doublons—adventurous Bees
Brought me—from firmamental seas—
And Purple—from Peru—
Now—have I bought it—
“Shylock”? Say!
Sign me the Bond!
“I vow to pay
To Her—who pledges this—
One hour—of her Sovereign’s face”!
Ecstatic Contract!
Niggard Grace!
My Kingdom’s worth of Bliss!
3.2k
#Why I walk the street in a cobbler’s shoe?
What’s new, you may ask, that we all do!
But nay, this one, I had to borrow from him
Still one furlong my shoes ran out of steam!
The cobbler was visibly aghast
Doubtful looks on me he cast
Then he said in a garbled groan
I sell shoes not give on loan!
I cursed myself and the shoes I wore
Brought months back from a big shoe store
Price was high for the branded trust
A mere few months and the pair went bust!
So here I’m at the cobbler’s door
Walk I must a furlong more
Begging for an old worn shoe
My humble feet with that can do!
The guy though felt ill at ease
Seeing the misery bowed to my wish
Brought out for me a dirt stained one
Going barefoot could not be fun!
I tell you friends a story that’s true
The cobbler loaned me a pair of shoe
I could only give him good wish
Before I hurried on my way to office!
*If you ever beg love of her
This small story you must remember
She hasn’t a way but make you her own
Can either sale love or give it on loan!*#
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 4:15 AM UTC
Bliss
lives
at
one
furlong
from
me.
My
neighbors
are
anemones,
amaryllises,
roses,
lilies.
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 1:02 AM UTC
them Tennessee mountains
live in his marrow's core
them Tennessee mountains
are the place he'll always adore
it's time for that Tennessee boy
to get on back to feel its welcoming air
he so wants be amid
the mountain's wilderness of peachy fair
there his roots do belong
grounded in every splendid furlong
he's been away from this homely hearth
roaming an unsated path
Adaline his sweet gal
waits in Tennessee
she'll greeting him with a kiss
under the crab apple tree
in her arms is where
he'll ever stay
cause she's the darling
who abides in his heart's cay
he's been dreaming of returning
to hear a blue jay's refrain
that calls in the mountains
with a sunlit twain
them Tennessee mountains
beat in his bosom's emotion
their soulful essence
so blissful of devotion
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 8:10 PM UTC
1087
We miss a Kinsman more
When warranted to see
Than when withheld of Oceans
From possibility
A Furlong than a League
Inflicts a pricklier pain,
Till We, who smiled at Pyrenees—
Of Parishes, complain.
1.2k
The ocean current was strong
I could not find my way home
I was floating for so long
in this ocean, alone
The wind, it's not a zephyr
I'm almost to sever
Could not fight the wave
So I have to face and be brave
Sometimes its dragging me up and down
One moment I almost drown
Sometimes it leads me nowhere
And I'm feeling hopeless I swear
But since I've been floating for so long
And able to breath for another furlong
Maybe I just have to go on
Stop battling, just hold on
If this was my fate
and I could not escape
Maybe I just have to go on
And just watch how my show goes on
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 2:43 AM UTC
*November mist wraps a wet blanket
as I walk the falling day’s labyrinth
beneath neuronic trees of a waking forest
along a river dying in hyacinth!
the boatman sings a home going song
floats happy at the end of the ride
the river is narrow a few furlong
and his home is on the other side!
oil lamps flicker from the bank huts
winds carry their laughter and cries
grow darker tree barks as darkness shuts
all but the sky’s heavy sighs!
I hasten to escape this melancholic gloam
an alien in this forbidding night
the boatman must have reached his home
and the river is lulled in starlight!*
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 9:36 AM UTC
Whatever may cometh,
You carry on, oh sailor!
Whatever you may lose,
Move on, oh dear sailor!
Oh, I swear by myself,
And I do not utter lies.
Carry the memories along,
To the umpteenth furlong.
May them be good or bad,
Just prize it what you had.
Oh, I swear by myself,
And I do not utter lies.
Howsoever may be the day,
You have to move on today.
What you'll get in your life,
You'll play the relaxed fife.
Oh I swear by myself,
And I do not utter lies.
Whatever may cometh,
You carry on, oh sailor!
Whatever you may lose,
Move on, oh dear sailor!
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 1:22 PM UTC
Stutter, stifle my words and thoughts...
...I shiver.
In this endless need to fill my quiver...
... of racked up jargon
To contend to the meaning of my affection...
...I sought direction.
I found that the notion had no meaning...
...to placate your dissatisfaction
I alone hold dear to what I felt was quality...
until you bridged the gap of enmity.
Now we both trace a furlong of doubts...
...which I had ended up seeking no clouts.
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 4:07 AM UTC
I have been to verdant hills
watch moonrise on sea at gloam
nothing compares to what it feels
when I am back to my home.
Have trekked faraway mountain pass
caravaned on rolling desert
gone to icy heights where grows no grass
coming home I found my heart.
When travel bug bites my feet
eyes beg for the unseen shore
I wander far but soon retreat
beckons me sweet home's door.
I roam the unknown in wanderlust
weary of the cramped furlong
but end of day in twilight dust
feel the home is where I belong.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 1:01 PM UTC
We metaphor rivers
as the flow of life,
mindful of willows who
cast shadows on furlong banks.
Riverboats with tilting berths
temporarily knock stability.
But focus strengthens the steadfast.
Bulrushes hide the deeper pain
from our eyes
dark algae de-oygenates currents,
and as a metaphor again
I begin to feel
the up wind carrying
us to our rightful destiny
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 7:13 AM UTC
At the last furlong of the race
The leading horse lost his place
The third horse in the field ran past him
The jockey aboard this horse was named Jim
Jim rode the horse to a treat
The trainer knew he couldn't be beat
As the horse neared the finish post
He decided to give up the ghost
The crowd sang out to Jim
The horse's chances of winning are slim
Give him a taste of your rider's whip
With that he tapped the horse firmly on the hip
Then the horse got his mind back on the race
As the rest of the field were gaining pace
Jim's horse responded to the encouragement
And flashed home to triumph in the event
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 12:03 AM UTC
Keep walking on, until your legs are strong,
I'm waiting for the sunrise, but it won't be too long.
The ghosts that are draped in paper,
float along; room to room, heart to dreams.
Taking a longer route, because it's safer,
but more hazardous, than it seems.
Keep walking on, until your legs are strong,
As long as you are living, you're not doing wrong.
The lights that flash in our eyes,
keeping time; second to minute, minute to hour.
Living as a cloud in the skies,
blocking sunshine, taking life from the flower.
Keep walking on, until your legs are strong,
go a little further, you're almost furlong.
The pillows that trap our visions,
soften blows, keeps our secrets, absorbs the tears.
Wrapped up in the sheets, and all decisions,
of the next coming years.
Keep walking on, until your legs are strong,
live for everyday and love the world's song.
Keep walking on, until you belong.
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 2:18 AM UTC
Dark night, dumb fright, furry foxes howl
Shy moon, hides soon, barn owls sharply call
In thickets, chirp crickets, mew nervous cats
Above meadows, paint shadows, low flying bats.
From soiled bones, rise the moans, of souls buried deep
Clothed white, in low skylight, you hear a spectre weep
The cottage light, now out of sight, the dark is denser still
You want to run, to safe someone, but frozen is freewill.
A few furlong, but seems so long, now turning back
Your heavy feet, can't do the feat, finding the right track
You can't run, you'll be outdone, and it's not a myth
When you move too far, break the bar, winds stop their breath.
The hood of dark, makes its mark, you're nomore seen
It's too late, to change the fate, not let the fear win
You forget fright, dive into night, it's turned a good game
A foxlike howl, a hooting owl, you're happily one of them.
Mar 13, 2024
Mar 13, 2024 at 11:47 AM UTC
Falling Stars
Looking up into the stars of heaven
shining brightly
Brings wishes for
another level of love
Loving me
Laughing with me
not at me
not about me
Compassionate soul
forgiving
forgetting of
wrongs long since passed
Love lost furlong
Empty emotions
Desire stub
starts a life
each star could light
a fire in my heart
And let its light shine deep within me
Gaining back the youthful lust
Laughter’s fuller
Believing in the unbelievable
Entering into a world only
dreams could bring about
Feeling the warmth from a fire long since burnt out
Never holding with deep emotions
Lost believing things could be different
As the stars fall
falling down
on meadows of ashes
© Bernice Mendoza, 8 years ago
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 3:18 PM UTC
at the last furlong of he race
the leading horse lost his place
the third horse in the field ran past him
the jockey aboard this horse was named Jim
Jim rode the horse to a treat
the trainer knew he couldn't be beat
as the horse neared the finishing post
he decided to give up the ghost
the crowd sang out to Jim
the horse's chances of winning are slim
give him a taste of your rider's whip
with that he tapped the horse firmly on the hip
then the horse got his mind back on the race
as the rest of the field were gaining pace
Jim's horse responded to the encouragement
and flashed home to triumph in the event
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 7:55 PM UTC
Walking alone, even if it's only a mile--
Though you'd have wine, bread and cream--
The journey would be weary, and very dreary
Would life to thee be without a lone smile;
Howbeit if you've gotten by Grace a deary,
A companion sweet, though you should walk
A thousand miles together; yet it would seem
Like a furlong as you both are cheeringly talk-
Ing sans the comforts of chocolate and chicken,
Save for water and crisps into pieces broken.
Feb 1, 2012
Feb 1, 2012 at 2:25 PM UTC
You cry in letters of the distance,
Of correspondence in poor fashion,
And of the memory of better times
That still haunt you.
But as you cry, I step away
As your letter arrives, I ready the match
As you recall old memories.
I glance at the forlorn grave
You dreamed a dream long ago,
Of a family, large and warm
But that dream, was an anchor
That drowned any hope,
That might ever visit here.
So, you sing the songs of your hope,
You adorn the walls for its arrival
You put on the glasses of rose
All the while you take no notice
Of the distance that proceeds
At every banner hung, and song sung
A step is driven, a furlong added
I hope you one day see
This family you hope for
Will never be
But there is a family here
In need of acceptance from thee
Dec 2, 2017
Dec 2, 2017 at 10:47 PM UTC
I would like us to think about the assignation of blame.
A voice weighs a ton a stare takes a shape forlorn is the game
that we play alone so in conversation please consider
the nature of stones. Left prone they sleep but thrown at glass figures
they damage our home replete with possibilities we know
only a few outcomes what we know not is which way to go
let us end this conversation which has now gone one furlong
past the point of return, for we will never know who was wrong
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 2:34 AM UTC
A smooth and straight, an ordinary road
But in contrast to the houses of the area with trim hedges
Round their gardens with their cherry and apple trees,
That smooth and straight, and ordinary road, was an outsider
And ditto to re-occupied Nissen huts.
Heath grass had been cut short up to the edge of the road.
Down the centre there were proper markings
And cat's eyes. Now, I retain a picture of a squeaky clean
Smooth surface, colour a silvery, smoky grey.
Cars, trucks, some US military,
Would pass you by, grouped or singly, brusquely,
An air of unconcern native to them,
Engines' noises punctuating dominance
And if you ever thought to walk, even slide
A foot onto this road, vehicles
Would not stop and there would result outrage.
Sometimes I dreamt of a distant city.
I figured plain buildings hard to get to know, imposing,
In my mind it would be a quiet place
And, of course,
Important. Fifty miles; what
Anyone would do there, beyond imagining;
It all meant something different
At less than seven years old.
Those days we caught a bus, which went the other way,
To go to school. We had to cross that silver/grey road,
That inflexible road, then walk
A furlong or so up a gentle slope
Across the grassy heath to a winding
Road shaded by a deciduous wood, with crows;
A bendy, friendlier road.
With some of us larking about we went in a group
To wait for the bus.
Anywhere near that first road,
I walked close to the parent escorting us.
I would always feel unsafe near such an unkind road.
Apr 5, 2021
Apr 5, 2021 at 4:00 AM UTC
All I ever want to do is dive deep into the darkest blue where the eyes belong to you and if I sink I think that might be heaven falling through the seven fevers and if I swim,
it will be to that distant shore
where the promise of the night owes more to hope and faith and charity,
but not to me.
Touching on the second base, a touch of make up on your face and we both know this is not a race, we
let the radio play on until the final furlong and pass the finish line in time for tea and toast with marmalade,
what made this match
how did we catch that butterfly? when all I did was ask you why, and you, the one who makes me die each time I look into the deep,
of your blue eyes, eyes
that make me want to keep you here with me, forget the charity for I have faith and hope.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 3:55 PM UTC
I'm on my way to luncheon.
It's only down the hall.
But at journeys end the shortest way
Seems the longest road of all.
It's most peculiar. These old walls
Were decorated plain.
But the fog dissolves to a distant shore,
As an Emerald Calls my name.
I've journeyed through the decades
Where I've heard the Church bells peel,
From the beachhead of June '44
To The factory gates in Theale.
I grew a garden proud and fair,
With a weeping willow tree.
Where my family played in its summer shade,
It still remembers me.
My trips to Ross have long since stopped,
But the earth salutes them still;
With the ghost of a car, on the shortcut
Down the side of Birdlip Hill.
My travelling days are now long gone,
But my family still recall,
That a ship came back from Guernsey
With contraband alcohol
I don't know how they'll judge me,
When my final furlong's run
But an echoing stranger’s voice talks
Of a gentle Gentleman.
I was a handsome charmer, now
I've supped time's cruel pill.
But that glint in my eye, as you pass me by
Is shining from me still.
I learned it from my father,
Snooker was my game
Now friends have all gone home
I’m tired; I've played my final frame.
I'm on my way to luncheon.
A familiar smell wafts by,
The scent of overcooked
Roast beef, the tang of apple pie.
I'm on my way to luncheon,
I drop my frame and fall.
I hear the siren whisper
Of a distant dancer's call.
I'll leave you all in peace now,
But I don't want any tears,
And I don't want any fuss now,
When you toast my passing years.
Mar 7, 2022
Mar 7, 2022 at 2:34 PM UTC
we're strapped in our places
as roller-coaster races,
the ride has begun,
with driver none,
we're hurtling along,
our trust in man strong,
we believe the merry song,
choo-choo, ding-dong,
but our faith though strong,
is blind and wrong
we're diving headlong
in last furlong
so sing swan-song
farewell! so long!
May 2, 2021
May 2, 2021 at 9:23 AM UTC