Long Afloat Poems
Long Afloat Poems. Below are the most popular long Afloat by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Afloat poems by poem length and keyword.
Salutations!
Are we all just a figment of GOD's imagination?
Or just a simple angle of schematical equation.
Perhaps, we’re just a footnote in God’s mental thots?
He’s gotta BIG BANG Universe to run, does He not?
Are we all flashing back on one of God's holy hallucinations?
Walking on water, EGGSHELLS! Raise Cain! Raising you know what and who!
Are we all just a spark in God’s expecting spectacular speculations?
Or a One-time ticking timebomb from nuclear annihilation.
Are we all just a coat God puts on His “quotations”?
Keeping us in order with anti-inflammation.
Rambling hypocrisies, babbling Biblical prophecies.
Or are we all just simply subjects of our own bad inventions?
Subjected to the whims of fanatical sabbatical radical intentions.
Getting lost in a crowd, getting lost at Sea, Dead to the world.
What’s to become of me? I’m only one but I’m not alone.
I’m only one... one amongst millions and millions of Billions!
Who all call Earth HOME! Don't we all call Her home?
Billions who just aren’t me! Yet sorta look like me. But do they think like me?
Do they love life? Do they seek out the truth, new life and Lady Liberty?
Peoples who wanna share, peoples who wanna care, peoples who wanna dare
To have a positively positive outlook on life!
Wanna little betta Light to Sunshine on, you, see?
Wanna betta lifeboat just to stay afloat, indubitably?
Are they capable. Of being civilly chivalrous, acting responsibly?
There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be freee!
Free from the scrutinizing eyes of oppression and tyranny
Free from the sympathetic lies of social suicidal tendencies.
Are we all just a sing-along of one of Gods’ songs unsung?
Justa tryin to figure out whatta hell is going on.
Or are we all just a song in a Godsong sing-along?
Just tryin to figure out what da hell is going on.
What if ...
We’re NOT all just figments of God’s imagination
But possibly, there's no other possible rationally obtained explanation
For all the misconceptions and misinformation ordained!
Are we all really looking forward for this final absolution?
Over population, crime, world domination, slimed, improper pollution
Best to jest to keep on singing songs
And just keep on blindly playing along
With God fearing reindeer games.
Oh my, time flies ...
The Dreamer never dies!
So once again, with grim countenance, the ship sailed on with all bemoaning their woes
Till calm seas prevailed, with balmy sun, sweet zephyr song, they came to Helios' shores.
Helios, calm god of the day, smiled upon the lads, gave of his land free rein, but with a caveat-
Helios pride was his golden herd, indolent and fat,"Do what you will, but don't touch that"
Well, as was their wont, like a terrible refrain, full-weathered from woes and want, but yet unwise,
The crew, overcome by gluttonous greed, slaughtered a heifer, for raucous feast, not sacrifice.
Wild was Helios at this blatant deceit, with terrible curse, banished them all, to wander once again.
So with Helios' curse (and Neptune's help), the ship was tossed and soon lost, all crew were slain.
It was Odysseus alone who was alive, afloat on flotsam, floating about, with fervent wish of death
But sweet surcease was not his lot, more plight was his fate - his tryst was due with Charybdis yet.
Perhaps Scylla was a better bet, in it's slavering jaws a definite death, I think he'd rather have it
But caught he was in Charybdis' thrall, a vortex which ate him whole, and threw him out as spit.
Past the maelstrom's outer whirl was our hero tossed clinging to life's last hope, verily a straw
Floated, the wasted carricature of a man, denied of food and water, no sustenance he could draw.
But perchance the Gods smiled on him, wearied of their devious, puerile games going too long
Odysseus fell on land once more, where restored were life and limb, bewitched by Calypso's song.
Now Odysseus, all said and done, was a man vulnerable to worldly women's wanton wiles
And Calypso was full besot with our hero's lusty frame, his wit, his deeds and charming smiles.
For seven years did he taste bliss, ensconced in Calypso's arms with thought of home amiss
But one day, after seven years, did Caypso, with heavy heart, let him go on pleas of our Hermes.
From Calypso's isle did Odysseus sail on raft, through storm, as was now his habit, and came to Sceria
Where Nausicca, on Athena's urge, gave succor, till he sailed with Phaecians who had trade with Sumeria
The Phaecian ships soon landed Odysseus on fair Ithacan shores where Penelope had travail,
But my dear laddies, I must hie hence, for the Dawn is nigh, of Penelope and Suitors, is another tale.
Concluded
She sprinted through a rugged woods
Away from free loading fathers and filthy no-goods,
Away from tear soaked teddy bears and lungs filled with smoke.
She found herself unmoving, crying in the arms of a weeping willow oak.
She is what remains of a fractured household,
A rotten tapestry of liquor stains, bruised bodies, and secrets untold.
She imagined what lied beyond the waterfall of misery that cascaded infinitely over her,
For she was stuck observing the world in a melancholy blur
Her blistered ankles fell weak and she crumpled towards the ground,
Peering up at a glistering light that left her wonderstruck, spellbound
She made out the shape of a body descending from above
They gazed at each other, her eyes as doleful as a mourning dove
He whispered in her ear as softly as the whistling wind,
Leaving her once perpetually dark world seeming only to be dimmed
He held out his hand to her and urged her to run away
To a place called Neverland, a world where all somber thoughts are kept at bay.
Though it seemed of her to be giving in to her broken mentality,
She longed for an escape from pain and poison personality.
As they floated above her home town,
She suddenly couldn't hear bottles shattering or doors breaking down.
She felt the pain lift from her small frame,
And the inferno of sadness that burned interminably was but a flickering flame.
They sailed across the second star to the right and flew straight on ‘till morning
She hadn't prepared for the wondrous sight before her that came with no warning
She broke through clouds that brushed her face with cotton candy kisses,
The world of true happiness and ephemeral sunshine was once real only in her wishes.
It was in the land of everlasting childhood that she was freed of all regrets,
And she held flowers between her fingers instead of cigarettes
Her face was flushed with shades of pink instead of black and blue,
And she decided it was time to write her story anew.
That night she traded her tattered nightgown for rags and a dirty fur coat,
She chose put her past in a bottle and set it afloat.
In that moment she could feel her true identity come unbound,
They called her Lost Girl, but in that moment she never felt more found.
Take The Dagger From My Heart, Please -2- Poetry Contest
N/A- 100 in a ROW contest--15 9/24/16
Character.
That's where the biggest measurements,
truest tests of worth
should lie.
And yet, 'tis not so.
Sometimes, mostly, I believe
that it's indeed enough.
That being a good man
is enough to keep me afloat.
Sometimes, rarely, . . .
I don't.
How many good men die?
How many great people, nice guys,
saintly women, shining paragons of humanity -
are shunned?
People don't always look at you
with virtue in mind,
don't gaze through honor's eyes;
too often they look through you, into you,
to what you can do for them.
Too often they choose,
not to see the real source of light in front of them,
but instead just the glow of fool's gold;
warping your worth to mean usefulness
instead of selflessness,
utility instead of altruism.
Or they misread you entirely;
focusing solely on your looks,
or your wealth, or your mannerisms,
your attitudes;
one is chosen, only one is seen -
the one made to blemish and demean.
Very few gaze on the whole picture,
take in the whole work;
these are those you treasure.
The ones, also, of value,
the ones who are what they claim
and claim little more than living
in a respectable way.
But still, in this life,
character matters oft too little;
gathers all but nothing corporeal.
In the end, one must make a choice;
tangible wealth, or wealth of pride?
What matters to one more -
the character of the substance,
or the substance of the character?
I strive to continue
to believe that great people are there;
that who you are
makes a damn bit of difference.
But throughout that strife,
ever am I haunted, shadowed,
by one ceaseless question.
How many good men die?
That's it. That's what I want to know.
That's what follows and taunts me.
How many of them fall, without ever knowing
just what they've meant to those they've helped -
those they've served, protected, assisted, befriended?
Whether it was a much-needed pat on the back,
picking up a dropped cane, searching for something lost;
or something bigger -
a life given, an oath fulfilled,
a love or a friendship began and striven for -
how many never believe they've made a difference, however slight,
never realize what they truly were?
How many good men die,
having once or more asked a question of their own -
am I a good man,
was I a good man-
without their answer?
**~~**
She seemed to be like a delicate portrait
which had fallen from its gilded frame
Abandoned, lying face down on the cold winter floor
An elegant portrait once painted
In resplendent hues of indigo blue
Her eyes told a story of bittersweet
magenta colored sorrows bathed in tears
that etched themselves throughout
The frail intricately, woven canvas of her soul
Over time thoughtless hands had subtly
Contrived to manipulate the beauty
Of her painted portrait into a resemblance
Likened to that of a cold, chiseled statue
Carelessly molded by calloused fingers
Lancinating the fragile fragments
Of her spirit leaving her heart
With etiolated worn fabric - called her life
She dreamed of Icarus soaring down
on silvery wings of steel shrouded
in cobalt and lavender clouds
with outstretched, feathery fingers
lifting her up to dance a Stravinsky ballet
As it was meant to be - not how it was
She was a beautiful, fragile butterfly
bruised by a world much too harsh
for her diminished spirit
leaving her unable to fly away
from the skis thirsty rains
making it difficult for her to fly away
from the skis thirsty rains
It left her struggling to stay afloat
In the springs melting snow
Life had bruised her tender skin
Gnawing away like insatiable insects
On her delicate pink frescoed soul
Leaving her feeling
Like a fabricated manikin on display
For all to pose her as they may
Muddied soil was the blood that coursed
through her veins, holding her tethered heart
in fleshy, mounds of chocolate brown earth
It held her helpless in its hold
clogged by the silt which descended down
Into spaces of her soul…
Like murky strings of yellow tattered maize
Leaving their ragged tassels tangled
Throughout her life flowing veins
Choking off the blood she needed
To nourish her hungry heart
Mighty winds toppled her willowy limber tree
Snapping the delicate boughs
Of her outstretched arms
As they pulled at the tender fleshy bark of her skin
She stood cold and alone
In the icy winter night wrapped
Only in her wounded, naked flesh
With open, bleeding wounds
Under the icy blue mist of the winter moon
Her heart and soul painfully revealed...
In shades of indigo blue
**~~**
Oh, I have become
Satisfyingly numb
Conceal the way you feel tonight
Oh, I have succumb
To a saturated crumb
Deal with the pain I feel damn right
I...have...become...undone,
A neglected, sad boy
Ease the dread frustration
Just give me some joy
Give me this bravery
Give me attention
The right that's loverly
Feels like I'm in detention
But, Lithium gives a helium high
This rum and coke, I can't deny
Give me something more
Not this feeling of sore
I will soar somehow
I want to, want to now
Not another pill to swallow
Or I'll feel less than human and hallow
Heartache and sore throat
Got me by the gravity afloat
Got me in your grasp once more
Just let me free through that door
I have been down with the fever...
Yet, I survived and am a believer...
I...have...become...undone,
A neglected, sad boy
Ease the dread frustration
Just give me some joy
Give me this bravery
Give me attention
The right that's loverly
Feels like I'm in detention
But, Lithium gives a helium high
This rum and coke, I can't deny
Give me something more
Not this feeling of sore
I will soar somehow
I want to, want to now
Not another pill to swallow
Or I'll feel less human and hallow
Just think for a moment
Don't you want freedom?
Gotta start to repent...in my only tent...
Captivity makes us feel numb
Don't you want me to be happy?
Instead, you make me feel crappy
I...have...become...undone,
A neglected, sad boy
Ease the dread frustration
Just give me some joy
Give me this bravery
Give me attention
The right that's loverly
Feels like I'm in detention
But, Lithium gives a helium high
This rum and coke, I can't deny
Give me something more
Not this feeling of sore
I will soar somehow
I want to, want to now
Not another pill to swallow
Or I'll feel less human and hallow
Oooh...let me feel love above all
I'm sick of being as stiff as a wall
I wanna belong, so I made this longing, tear-jerking song
Hoping someone out there can relate and sing along...along...
I wanna be gone, so I grab remaining hope
I wanna belong, so let me sing as I hang on this radiant rope
Boy, I...have...become...undone,
A neglected, sad boy
Girl, ease the dread frustration
Just give me some joy
I never meant to annoy...
I want to...I want to bring you joy...
Hm, a bravery
That's loverly...
Endurance is not of your nature,
Solidity glides in wavering motions upon my pitiful neck,
Now brazen silver does linger,
Trite lance, ravenous knife does make one last,
Sorrowful trek...
I know you'll adore each compassioned endeavor,
And your canvas lay pared, splayed and sculpted tissue.
You've rendered such precious jet-black clouds...
They drape their vile vined misted shrouds...
Within my gray eyed gaze,
Such hues temper your violent palette...
Vanished breath-flickered candle haze.
Lifeless wick, gurgling crimson wax.
Your beloved paint trickles in balmy clotted puddles,
I shudder adorned in radiant rubies rolling from my fingertips,
I feel your veteran-mastered art pouring from my throat...
Am I not your first? What imaginative vision you possess!
For it is not to say mine is fading, fleeting plasma afloat.
They told me of your gift,
How endowed you are,
Able to plunge, plunge, plunge,
Your hands into the crevices of torment,
In your swayed, celestial delusion,
You heaven's exile, wicked-bound and hell sent.
Engraved in lifeless form ascending from tip to hilt,
Still I lie mesmerized by the atrocity,
Of apathy jaundiced guilt.
Predator, what is your name?
May I slip your ill-willed syllables from my lips,
for you have brought my tamed veins shame.
I value your corrupt knowledge found pledge,
As you mar my shivering body to your own image,
Ingenuity, you said was the plight laid upon razor's edge.
Poetic justice you explained was reason to heal,
Mankind in his errors,
Of humanity's devil-signed, soul-phantom deal.
If I could speak I'd ask for the pen,
Should I sign in ink? Skin pricked red-wine?
Rolled parchment, contract or covenant?
Sign here along the dotted line?
I lift the golden-feathered needle,
And pierce, finger signature in place,
Advocate of Satan take my soul,
Where we are then,
Vaccuum-voided into fiery space.
I look back up at you with word choked reply,
Sputtering the eruptive branch volcano,
You snicker an exaggerated pain cry,
You tell me my soul's been granted,
I was never given choice,
You said, "You gave that up when I slit,
Your moral stained choral-voice...."
How I regret your wicked lures...
Your profound and deafening words,
The afterlife has no meaning,
Only death does gleam,
On Steel Sharpened Spurs...
Form:
Next of Kin
She had never been taught the trick.
To the men such things were granted.
Air filled pelts, breath under water.
To the women was left the nest.
Near ashore she saw them panic.
Her father among them scrambling.
All overboard clutching bubbles.
With chilled heart she waded in deep.
The river rose swift over head,
but what could one see inside it?
Living shadow, curious beings.
Frightened hands did lose the surface.
Writhing desperate seeking soul,
chest bursting, inflamed with fate,
she ceased to struggle, resigning.
No more sound but mothers calling.
They heft her aboard grins forming.
Quaking limbs of wet ebony,
the Nile had delivered a jewel.
An able kick freed the water.
Eyes tight, she curled as a fetus.
Then covered with appraising hands,
in lustful chorus of strokes and jeers,
Insistent prods displayed her gifts.
A fine catch fit for the priming.
But pleasing to God, It ends there.
A word of one voice repelled them.
This voice offered hands that cradled,
and kiss moist cloth to cover dried eyes
stung red from the strain of dying.
Twice saved, survival's heart still pounds.
Her health did come in one new moon.
Put to task she oiled the wood planks.
Always watching that merry one.
Who, tending others as herself
with whispers in the others tongue,
so wild of hair and lengthily,
seemed a contradicting body.
For crew, song, frolic, constant talk;
for hers, hymns of healing murmured.
And for the newly captured prey
she talked away the crude of mind.
Why they obeyed one such as I?,
was wondered on that rolling barge.
She learned the trick and many more,
through moon and stars and sun down gold.
Schooled by her sister half in blood,
they blew new life into cub skins.
They tied them to the men waist round,
who dove in long to find lost spoils.
In want of that sustaining breath,
they pulled from bubbles left afloat.
My father's home - she’d smile at ease
when eve they rest hid from the sun.
That merry one in silence waits,
for the land is scrolling by now.
Her serenades now prayerful sighs,
as they’re rowing out for dealing.
Strong ordered hands do sever them.
Half in blood, they’d stood together.
Her eyes were full of want to tell,
but the living tells it better
Amazing Animals in Art
Next of Kin
She had never been taught the trick.
To the men such things were granted.
Air filled pelts, breath under water.
To the women was left the nest.
Near ashore she saw them panic.
Her father among them scrambling.
All overboard clutching bubbles.
With chilled heart she waded in deep.
The river rose swift over head,
but what could one see inside it?
Living shadow, curious beings.
Frightened hands did lose the surface.
Writhing desperate seeking soul,
chest bursting, inflamed with fate,
she ceased to struggle, resigning.
No more sound but mothers calling.
They heft her aboard grins forming.
Quaking limbs of wet ebony,
the Nile had delivered a jewel.
An able kick freed the water.
Eyes tight, she curled as a fetus.
Then covered with appraising hands,
in lustful chorus of strokes and jeers,
Insistent prods displayed her gifts.
A fine catch fit for the priming.
But pleasing to God, It ends there.
A word of one voice repelled them.
This voice offered hands that cradled,
and kiss moist cloth to cover dried eyes
stung red from the strain of dying.
Twice saved, survival's heart still pounds.
Her health did come in one new moon.
Put to task she oiled the wood planks.
Always watching that merry one.
Who, tending others as herself
with whispers in the others tongue,
so wild of hair and lengthily,
seemed a contradicting body.
For crew, song, frolic, constant talk;
for hers, hymns of healing murmured.
And for the newly captured prey
she talked away the crude of mind.
Why they obeyed one such as I?,
was wondered on that rolling barge.
She learned the trick and many more,
through moon and stars and sun down gold.
Schooled by her sister half in blood,
they blew new life into cub skins.
They tied them to the men waist round,
who dove in long to find lost spoils.
In want of that sustaining breath,
they pulled from bubbles left afloat.
My father's home - she’d smile at ease
when eve they rest hid from the sun.
That merry one in silence waits,
for the land is scrolling by now.
Her serenades now prayerful sighs,
as they’re rowing out for dealing.
Strong ordered hands do sever them.
Half in blood, they’d stood together.
Her eyes were full of want to tell,
but the living tells it better
Amazing Animals in Art
Next of Kin
She had never been taught the trick.
To the men such things were granted.
Air filled pelts, breath under water.
To the women was left the nest.
Near ashore she saw them panic.
Her father among them scrambling.
All overboard clutching bubbles.
With chilled heart she waded in deep.
The river rose swift over head,
but what could one see inside it?
Living shadow, curious beings.
Frightened hands did lose the surface.
Writhing desperate seeking soul,
chest bursting, inflamed with fate,
she ceased to struggle, resigning.
No more sound but mothers calling.
They heft her aboard grins forming.
Quaking limbs of wet ebony,
the Nile had delivered a jewel.
An able kick freed the water.
Eyes tight, she curled as a fetus.
Then covered with appraising hands,
in lustful chorus of strokes and jeers,
Insistent prods displayed her gifts.
A fine catch fit for the priming.
But pleasing to God, It ends there.
A word of one voice repelled them.
This voice offered hands that cradled,
and kiss moist cloth to cover dried eyes
stung red from the strain of dying.
Twice saved, survival's heart still pounds.
Her health did come in one new moon.
Put to task she oiled the wood planks.
Always watching that merry one.
Who, tending others as herself
with whispers in the others tongue,
so wild of hair and lengthily,
seemed a contradicting body.
For crew, song, frolic, constant talk;
for hers, hymns of healing murmured.
And for the newly captured prey
she talked away the crude of mind.
Why they obeyed one such as I?,
was wondered on that rolling barge.
She learned the trick and many more,
through moon and stars and sun down gold.
Schooled by her sister half in blood,
they blew new life into cub skins.
They tied them to the men waist round,
who dove in long to find lost spoils.
In want of that sustaining breath,
they pulled from bubbles left afloat.
My father's home - she’d smile at ease
when eve they rest hid from the sun.
That merry one in silence waits,
for the land is scrolling by now.
Her serenades now prayerful sighs,
as they’re rowing out for dealing.
Strong ordered hands do sever them.
Half in blood, they’d stood together.
Her eyes were full of want to tell,
but the living tells it better
Amazing Animals in Art