Long Adjusted Poems
Long Adjusted Poems. Below are the most popular long Adjusted by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Adjusted poems by poem length and keyword.
An Exchange Without Record
The room had practised silence long before
We entered it. Rain thinned itself to thread
Along the glass; the radiator bore
Its breath like iron learning how to shed
A memory of heat. You smiled. I felt
The timing miss by less than one could name—
The way a step, once taken, must be held
Mid-air, then yielded back to weight again.
Between us, air revised itself—its tone,
Its temper—cooling where our shadows met.
Our hands obeyed the grammar of the known,
Then paused, as though the rule were incomplete.
I pressed. Not asking—testing, as one tests
Warm wax that waits for judgement to be cast:
Will shape consent? Will meaning bear the stress
Of touch, and not collapse when touched—too fast?
You felt it where the body turns aside
From language—there, before the mind arrives.
Your gaze adjusted, then remained, as if
Something had shifted weight and chosen not
to fall.
The room went on. A floorboard kept our sound.
Light slipped a fraction on the distant wall.
The quiet altered shape without a wound
And did not trouble itself to call.
Later, my phone
Lay face-down, dark with trust. I sent a line
Exact enough to break if held too long—
A sentence shaped to fail if over-read.
Read this with care. Then let it disappear.
Outside, a signal changed. A door released
Its pressure. Somewhere, steps forgot their haste.
My breath miscounted—then corrected course,
A human error, briefly left in place.
The letter worked—not in what it confessed,
But in what cooled, then could not be retrieved.
The wax set. What was sealed was not preserved.
Next day, you met my eyes—no more than this:
A held delay. No promise. No retreat.
The world continued—accurate, unchanged.
We live, it seems, by what we let remain
Unprovable—
and do not touch again.
“Chasing Ghosts in Cars”
Like automata
we walk inside
winding up the stairs
it’s all mechanical
the romance
programmed
by steep degrees
in the
well-routined
we can walk
through walls
anywhere
to look out
our windows
towards the better view
each cell in the body
and mind renewed
we expurgate
the misplaced
misconceptions
of others, of ourselves
it’s fair-weather sailing
out there,
the transparent come and go
best to turn
a blind eye
a swift kiss on the cheek
make it brief
then close all
your doors
to their artful dodger hauntings
friendships and felicitations
their joyful gleaming commiserations
whole oceans
full of souls
walking and swimming
treading water
all the floating
poesies planted
mindfully fragrant
fresh bits thrown
parlayed introspection
deliciously blooded with the sharks
such hungry poets
with a well-adjusted
deep knowing
and a quiet
unthorough
understanding
of another
unknown equation
in the real world
never making
premature
judgements
outside is a risk
we all take
we write what we know
we know what we write
ghost written
in the Daily Phantom
in the gloaming fantasy
there still exist
real ghouls calling us in
hungry for kindness
burying pity for
the honesty it lacks
inside we are listing
the volume we turn up
to hear messages better
we are
listening
to cars
lyrics
we wish you
to know
to be understood
when you are
chasing ghosts
some say
they’ve gone too far
they’re too far gone away
forget-me-knots
hanging loose
chasing ghosts in cars
Machiavellians
gone astray
the naked minds
of
undressed nuns
and
sanctimonious preachers
oiling their guns
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“Here in my car
I feel safest of all
I can lock all my doors
It's the only way to live in cars
Here in my car
I can only receive
I can listen to you
It keeps me stable for days in cars”
listing/nautical.
“Listing” is a nautical term to describe when a vessel takes on water and tilts to one side. A ship can list either to port (left) or starboard (right). By contrast, a ship is said to be “trimming” when she tips forward or backward.
(after Alfred de Musset)
I take the view that travel gets you wet.
There’s also wind and dust. And in the morning,
your clothes are crumpled. Is this tete-a-tete
worth all the hassle? I would end up yawning!
I take the view, there is no greater folly
than starting an affair far out of town.
Don’t go by Madame Laide or Missy Jolie,
for hotel plumbing always lets you down.
Sheer, well-adjusted stockings, white as milk:
a pretty dress, decked out in watered silk:
your toenails clean, and painted: what beats that?
Or do you think I’m talking through my hat?
I might as well speak Japanese to mice:
what lover ever listened to advice?
a crowd of visitors line the walls while children
adjusted hats scarfs slips and garments
many mother's were distraught
the infamous feelings of it all barbwired fences
surrounding the entire place my mind
felt gruelsome as thou Alcatraz was in view
in an empty revealing way surrounding me
in a tangible animalistic calm the time came
he was brought out in chains
in a matter of seconds I lost my breath panting
slowly holding onto unfelt emotions
beyond the gates a few coke machines
seemed to be deecorating thee intriguing breakroom
silence sounded as I spilled my drink
creating an out cry of shameful sighs as I notice
the clock on the wall and the watches on the wrist
of overworked guards my heart sang out
a quiet song of thee sheer absence of humanity
humbly we embraced awaiting visiting hours to final end
Long before the whispers
fell down
upon your solemn shoulders
as with new day dew's droplets
dangling so delicate, so free
I heard all about you
what was resting within
your beauty, your vision's quest
speaking thru shimmering light
placed so magnanimously
right in front of me
slight touch, curls to the sight
enfurled in more than mystery
an elegant flow
blinking under seas of blue and green
filling deep into a guise
somewhat larger than you, than me
before there were tumbles and spills
where fingers adjusted heights
where hopes hinged then swung open
passions, that melted upon minds,
sated lips and springtime wishes
there were romantic vignettes
ready to be written, to be read
marked down in time, for futures
not to look past, moments holding hope
where hearts connected
and feeling felt would forever last
—After the Reasons Are Gone
The morning held its breath.
Cold iron rail of dawn,
air tasting faintly of dust and leaf-mould.
Somewhere a gate complained;
somewhere water counted stones.
I stood where the path once decided things
and now only stood.
The sun rose wrong—
a cracked egg tone, pale yolk leaking
through thin cloud,
light smelling of metal.
It touched the roofs, then withdrew,
as if remembering an appointment
elsewhere.
I felt it on my knuckles,
then not.
Wind moved the hedges by inches.
A bird rehearsed and stopped.
I adjusted my sleeve;
the gesture meant nothing
and meant it fully.
Then a bus passed.
In its window,
a damsel’s lucent eyes
met mine—
and the glimmer sparked
like a live wire
brushed by accident—
brief,
and already too late.
The bus kept moving.
The eyes did not.
They traveled farther than the bus,
carried a heart with them,
and let it slip out—
light,
unclaimed—
onto the road beside me.
By then the sun was gone entirely.
Only weather remained:
coolth on the tongue,
the faint oil-slick sheen of asphalt,
my breath learning its own pace again.
I bent, not to retrieve anything—
only to see
what stays
when nothing calls it.
The drinks were brought before us,
The rusty pretzels dangle,
Tonight we were exquisitely attired,
Long silk threads and spangles!
Tablecloths in toasty ecru,
Flowers floating in water,
Candle holders lending light,
Loose sparkles; no bother!
The band was playing soothingly,
Strings kissing the atmosphere,
Black and white piano keys,
Spreading music, without peer!
Without a perfect spotlight or
Other prominent disclosure,
They entered, sat, and ordered
Something fruity, perhaps ambrosia!
The splits of champagne followed,
They chatted, giggled, and pranced,
The rustle of their dresses,
Caught our attention, as they danced!
Through glints of light
When they returned,
We watched their coming in awe,
Very sure of what we’d see: So attractive!
We dropped our jaws!
As each of their dress folds fell,
Red and green satin covered by lace,
We adjusted our ties and realized,
How elegant their taste!
"What are you all quacking about?" squawked Reginald Cluck,
Peering from his coop, quite out of luck.
A drizzle had started, a timid, soft weep,
While others still snoozed in feathery sleep.
"A little rain never hurt anyone!" chirped Pip,
Whose splash-prone spirit rarely would slip.
He’d eye every puddle, a shimmering pond,
With a gleam in his eye, quite remarkably fond.
Reginald scoffed, adjusted his comb,
"Such soggy affairs! I prefer my dry home."
He’d seen the contest poster, a splashy delight,
But preferred his reflections, all polished and bright.
Then a gust, unexpected, a mischievous sigh,
Tumbled Reginald forward, right under the sky.
He landed with grace, in a puddle so grand,
A most dignified splish across the wet land.
His feathers, now plastered, his dignity skewed,
He blinked at his image, delightfully new.
"Let's do the chicken splash!" he suddenly cried,
As the "Mystic Rose" whispered, "Don't hide your wet side!"
And so Reginald Cluck, once a skeptic so stiff,
Discovered true joy in that watery whiff.
He kicked up a fountain, a most glorious spray,
Proof that a puddle can brighten your day.
Order ...
Is the Universe ... and the YOU-niverse
Chaos is a ruse, a phantom
A word we apply to that which is yet unmeasured or unexplained
This knowledge, this perspective, is the nexus of mindfulness
Balance in ALL things ... equity, harmony, stasis
The symmetry of energy and effort
Awareness and intent, finely adjusted
Like a wolf running swift through its environs
A myriad of senses and impulses, absorbed and sifted
Auditory, olfactory, optical, and tactile
Acting upon the synapses, sending signals
Piquing the decision centers with instant adjustment, orientation
One with its surroundings, an affinity with nature
BE the wolf ...
Listen, watch, perceive, feel, and adapt
Take heed and measure of your immediate surroundings
And the rest will take care of itself
Be the master of the domain, You
Expect only the control of your personal space
But do so with concern, accuracy, and exceeding sensitivity
Attuned to the element and circumstance of each moment
While always focused and at peace from deep within
That is surely what you will project to the world ...
And most of what will return to you.
~ 7th Place ~ in the "Mindfulness" Poetry Contest, Chantelle Anne Cooke, Judge & Sponsor.
Hooray for Captain Spaulding...
though he played only a cameo role
helping me secure corrective eyewear I sport
mucho gratitude to all parties involved
including the missus,
cuz she needed to shuttle me
to and from hither and yon,
wherever I needed to go,
cuz entire bill paid
(including thorough examinations and lenses -
the frames repurposed
from one used many moons ago)
courtesy AETNA Medicare Advantra
in tandem with superb
ocular optometrist Doctor Paul Halpern,
that would be an unpaid for plug
touting outstanding kickass knowhow
insync with his offbeat good humor
without making a spectacle of himself.
Many insightful revolutionary breakthroughs
linkedin to gamut of intelligent people,
whose exhaustive mental,
physical and spiritual efforts
witnessed visually impaired
(shortsightedness affected wordsmith
since he entered second grade
at Eagleville Elementary School
circa approximately mid nineteen sixties)
and anticipated him being called
mildly derogatory name four eyes,
thus withheld donning glasses
at the expense of lackluster marks
for that half year, cuz parents moved
to 324 Level Road
initially R(oute) D(elivery)
until Donald Neilson
(if memory serves me
more correctly than spelling
of his surname, and "The Idler Wheel
Is Wiser Than the Driver of the Screw
and Whipping Cords Will Serve You
More Than Ropes Will Ever Do" by Fiona Apple),
and yesterday November 12th, 2024
happily, proudly, and zealously wears glasses
to see the webbed wide world crystal clear.
Post cataract surgery,
about couple months
after consultation at Kremer Eye Center
and finally came to figurative juncture
whereat (drum roll please...)
prescription adjusted eyeglasses
now sit squarely on my button nose -
as long as I hold them there with a finger
until cosmetic surgeon affixes a bump
on the bridge of said nose
analogous to the song titled
I can see clearly now the rain is gone
I can see all obstacles in my way
(courtesy Johnny Nash,
who raked in quite a bit of cash)
to drive our 2020 Hyundai Elantra
after dark shadows slink and slither
along the edge of night
encompassing an ever widening berth,
where the outer limits
meld with swathes of the twilight zone.