Long Adrienne Poems
Long Adrienne Poems. Below are the most popular long Adrienne by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Adrienne poems by poem length and keyword.
Dragon Anguish
Adam clenched his fists attempting to block his senses
from the growing growls that hammered against his rib cage.
The thousands of millenniums he had lived barricading his heart
from all worldly emotions.
Adam looked up at the daunting sky to flaunting dark clouds
creep overhead. He breathed in the sweetest aroma of petrichor.
Thunder grumbled breaking the silence in the coldness,
as strikes of white lightning flashed across the night sky.
He couldn't stop the desire to shift into a dragon and fly.
To feel the wind beneath him again, to stretch his wings
and weave between the clouds and roar.
Adrienne, his beloved was a mortal.
She was a lovely lithe blossom that he had vowed to protect.
Her smile would inspire leaves turn green
and flowers bloom and burst into color.
Her eyes were the color of the forest that would shimmer
like the night sky with a thousand stars.
She had a riot of long burnt umber hair
that cascaded down her slender back.
His memory's grip, craving her, again and again.
Kisses that engulfed and would open the doors of heaven.
Releasing a fiery passion within him engulfing his world.
When Adam had been gone hunting for food for several days.
Men from another clan came down from the hills
pillaged and burned the village, not a soul had been left alive.
He raised his head and gazed into the night,
never again would he unlock his soul.
Adam shifted and jumped as he spread his leathery wings
and flew in the cover of the night sky and the clap of thunder.
10/13/2018
Poetry Contest: Fiction - October 2018 Writing Challenge
Sponsored by: Dear Heart a.k.a. Broken Wings
excerpted from "For an album";
Adrienne Rich (1987)
...
Our story is of moments
when even slow motion moved too fast
for the shutter of the camera:
words that blew our lives apart, like so,
eyes that cut and caught each other...
...our story is
how still we stood,
how fast."
That still fresh old photograph of you
astride a spotted pony, bare feet
dangling as limply as your torn dress:
the background was a high veranda,
cool green trimmed with gingerbread.
A small boy sat the animal with you --
two solemn and handsome children
upon a well-fed pony, photographed
by an itinerant in the thirties --
the time frozen as long as the picture
or our fading memories of it may last.
Some say the boy, our brother,
did little in his forty-six years;
but now, we see his boy's eyes,
soft, liquid, serious, sad,
no hint of smile about them.
We weep his loss.
And you, sister:
alert, protective, girl's face
set to fend off the world --
cast so early in your role
as the family glue
holding us all together.
"The Slip-ins"
Why should I continue to write
these feathery songs,
these blanched banjo tomes,
these wilting poésies
of a lost little life ever circling
like a memory stone thrown
across a lake of discontent
into the bottom of a dark pond
where the sulphar trolls
with their attached pilot fish
of no kingdom come spin
their spindly venomous and childish reasons
along their tongues those sticky webs like a cast net
toads reeling blue flies in
smiling at all the joy stolen
where they store the chord of me
silent and vibrationally buzzing
like a good mummy
for later feeding,
I am trapped
in the blistering better knowledge
of those angry joyless monsters
who like love-hungry creepers slip in
ripping me away, pulling me down
far away from Blue Sky
Candide Diderot. ‘25
“Imagination is the only weapon in the war against reality.”/Lewis Carroll
“War is an absolute failure of imagination, scientific and political. That a war can be represented as helping a people to 'feel good' about themselves, or their country, is a measure of that failure."/Adrienne Rich
“War is an invention of the human mind. The human mind can invent peace.”/Norman Cousins
“There are not more than five musical notes, yet the combinations of these five give rise to more melodies than can ever be heard.” /
Sun Tzu, The Art of War
“Imagine”/ John Lennon (Lyrics).
It’s Sunday,
and I’m drawing myself again,
third time this week.
This version features a haunted air fryer,
a coupon for free emotional labor,
and Janice—
the shoebill, wearing my ex’s hoodie
and threatening the moon.
She’s perched
on a folding chair I stole from a church basement,
clutching a Slim Jim like a relic.
Her breath smells like copper wiring and vengeance.
She doesn’t blink.
She’s been through things
I wouldn’t survive in metaphor.
Next to us is a gas station floral arrangement
wilting under fluorescent light.
In front of us is me,
in my paint-splotched pajamas,
asking Janice if she thinks
my inner child should unionize.
She says nothing,
just tilts her prehistoric head
and sh*ts squarely on my manuscript.
I call it divine intervention.
Later,
we walk into the city wearing matching trench coats,
one of us smoking,
one of us quoting Adrienne Rich,
neither of us offering apologies.
When the world ends,
it’ll be a clerical error.
Janice will fix it with duct tape and a spell
written in cut-up tomatoes.
I’ll be there,
editing the horoscopes.
And when someone asks
What kind of bird is that?
I’ll smile, say,
Oh, she’s mine,
we found each other in a storm.