Long Aloneness Poems
Long Aloneness Poems. Below are the most popular long Aloneness by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Aloneness poems by poem length and keyword.
A dislodged leaf my being floats away
In the serene stream of contemplation
From life's turbulent torrent
Meandering in the cacophony current.
To a remote placid cobalt lake it flows
Soaks up the aura of dulcet dust
Splashing from the sparkling sky
In the sensuous dawn of sunburst splendor.
On its bank stand the unruffled trees
The branches don’t sway in stillness
Their shadow on the lake lies unshaken
For the squall has stopped to swipe.
Motionless mist hangs static on solitude
Until the drifting clouds descend
With the whirl of the whistling wind
In the turbulent lake the leaf sinks.
Perturbed by the tumult from outside
I take my tortured senses deep within
To repose in the calm shade of isolation
The miasma of mislaid identity melts away.
I then perceive the divine artistry of soul
Weaving the tapestry of profound peace
In the sanctum of introspective aloneness
I discover the drowned leaf of me lost.
______________
November 2, 2022
For A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Contest
I wept today, longing surfaced beneath my breath
deepened movement surreptitiously crept forward
until it could no more be ignored or feign sleep
suppressed light seeking harmony dared to tread
my existence worries me at times for I no not
knowing pretends at pretension, a precisely folded
hat makes believe the world is sane, is it now?
Fear tramples right paths, heart renders useless
everything is something not ever nothing
armonicas evoking spirits of the dead as if to say
sheer walls of wishful thinking, insert pause
at a loss for words, she leaves behind her hand
pressed for something, taken for remembrance
fragrance lead me here, deduction and reason
allies in my war of safety, surety, aloneness
foraging for memories, both lucid and ambiguous
pin lights allowing just enough to believe
dipping into the ocean of life, she stands on the shore
of all that was of her and all that will become
of her in all ways, in all days, resting in peace
forever more.
Roses are red, ever redder when enraged.
Violets are blue, farcical as a cartoon page.
Those roses spread upon you’re aloneness bed,
and violets, the vigil of black and blue knees.
The redness of hair stripped of pretty petals.
A blue countenance that settles in the heart.
An infant-like scream turning crimson as the sun,
and inkblot blue with padded walls, facing no one.
Roses are red, violets are blue...you walk into walls
Like a wounded bouquet. Yet life calls...life calls.
He hands you tulips instead of death. You rejoice in his gift.
This one does not deceive. He loves you, not loves you not.
3/28/2018
“Floating on prayer hymn the journey isn’t construed amiss,
it takes life through the stillness of soul to the bay of bliss.” – Quote by Poet
The unique landscape of life mesmerizing,
shrouded by the serene seclusion screen,
spreads the sensation of surreal stillness,
swathes me as I wander on my lonely journey.
The rippling breeze of spring beguiling,
captivates me with its charming cadence.
My essence roaming in the tranquility terrain,
gets suffused with the aura of rhapsody.
I walk on the fawn forest path meandering
through the shadow of the ancient trees,
shedding the wilted golden foliage of the fall
at the end of their verdant time.
My footsteps crumple the pile of leaves rustling,
making the morose music of aloneness
for my timeless journey within,
I am yet to finish.
At the sunset time trickling away unrelenting,
I saunter at the periphery of my livid landscape
toward the hazy horizon of obscurity,
to reach the eternal sanctum of serenity.
Flushed by the final flash of twilight tinge enthralling,
I am walking the last mile
on the remnant time-track to be traveled,
for the desolate journey in the domain of destiny.
________________
March 5, 2023
Word Chosen : Journey
Contest : Writing Challenge - "J" Words
Sponsored by : Constance La France
Standing at a quadrivial on a wooded road,
knowing that each led to a mystical, ethereal place,
the lushness of the forest inspirational and incredible,
I opt for a footpath leading to a shady grove.
Far from the clamorous, chaotic world ever beating,
and beneath a weeping willow tree I find my solitude,
O, how unbelievable the bird songs each a ligure, a gem,
the forest a harmonious moan echoing my aloneness.
I behold the scented flowers unfolding and unfurling,
the murmur of a meandering stream not that far away,
while filigree clouds drift above a dark green canopy,
and in my mind is held a reservoir of words.
Closing eyes, I listen, I listen, then take up my pen,
and I write, I write, I write the lazy, beautiful day away,
that I may offer you a fleeting, momentary pericope,
of my words this summer day . . .
__________________
July 9, 2013
Poetry/Narrative/O, The Solitude
Copyright Protected, ID 107-491-409-09
All Rights Reserved, 2013, Constance La France
I verse the barren cemented sidewalk
listening to shoes and soles and souls
speak their tired tongues, tortuous
aloneness my name, garden free
solitude my drops of watering
I’m rooted tough against storms
I wave my arms as breezes bring
messages you will not hear
awaiting fertiliser I will not taste
nourishment from glances of the few
still my resilience will aid imbalances
as my core emits survival frequencies
ticks suck my fluid for always He sends
rays of light into my breasted stamen
cracked spaces my choice turf
rejection strengthening spinal stem
away from acclaim I listen clear to
unsung heroes, heroines tempestuous
in concrete fissures of new beginnings
____________________
4th Placement : Standard Contest
Sponsor : Craig Cornish : March 26
Contorted cloud of fleeting cotton clumps
Sad to see the contours of changing shape
Tells the wind to stop blowing across the sky
The face adorned with the shine of silver lines
As the spent sun sinks below remote skyline.
The last sunrays paint the leaves auburn
In the scorching summer heat their faces curl
As the essence of youth is lost in the air dry
In the fall wind they fly away from the bough
Tree waits for the spring to usher in the green.
The lilting lean buds open their dry eyes
The sleeping petals wake up to shape the bloom
The flowers soaking the colors of the spring air
Share the hues of the sunset sky with butterflies
Until the spectacle of splendor withers forlorn.
In the quietude of the serene silver moonshine
With my shadow trailing your fading footprints
My aloneness walks me in the desolate track
It’ll saunter until I find you engraved in my soul
And you see me still in the shadow of silence.
________________
October 28, 2022
For A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Contest
From here to the edge of everything,
From there back to an unknowable beginning,
All things are in intimate contact.
No island isolate,
Though the sea be infinite.
Superimposed, we ride the light
Stretching throug gulfs all around
We touch and move through one another
Caught up in the swarming particle dance.
Self extends to other Selves
Aloneness made illusion in the end.
The lines of lives and loves entwine,
Reshaping the past, rebirthing the future.
We pass through one another
Coming out of nowhere
Going towards nowhere
Yet always together in a strange Everpresent
Drawn into one another's wakes,
Themselves a part of the floor of fields that makes the Now
In all directions,
Sometimes, by design of chance,
Two living forces will entangle;
Once done, they live the Unity,
They are One, even if the whole breadth of the Universe
Should come to stand between.
When entanglement is welcomed,
Isn't that what love is?
When the sum exceeds its parts,
Isn't that what love is?
When two are born to share time,
To shape it to the perfection of their balance,
Isn't that what love is?
When one can't tell where one leaves off
And another begins,
And both find that the way things were meant to be,
Isn't that what love is?
And if it is,
Then perhaps, some moment in some eternity,
When all the forces have entangled properly,
Love will be everything, everywhere
The Ineffable that has patiently waited for this
Will smile itself to sleep
To begin a new and brighter dream.
Even the pang that duskfall leaves me
is a slow fire in itself
that burns like oil on my pores
till the falling of another night,
when once again aloneness steals the luster
in the sky to burn within my heart
like a treacherous destiny,
burying me from adventurous trails.
I should have known...
there is no real dream between
fate's seemingly empty promises
and the runaway moon's brief goodbyes:
With this damn thought; life is a play,
a flavor bitter as an aftertaste on my tongue
when a groan washes tears away...
never shading me from this coal of isolation
that I am gone, done unto dusk's remains.
--------------
Contest of Edward Ibeh: Misery
01/01/2019
I do mind it but it is getting easier to be in economy when my mind tells me I deserve first class.
The careful management of available resources has somewhat dimmed but with manageable.
My life is a season or a sunny day compared to the Earth and as each cell betrays ,gravity beckons.
I see friends and family and they are departing. And their song goes with them but I listen still.
Listening in the night and crickets salute my aloneness. I see my father, hospital gown as his companion, I hand his waiting mouth a lollipop and a smile.
Mommy snores and speaks her own language and I listen anyway. Kissing her face I know I’ll see her and she mumbles and eyes alert looking at something. Brushing her straggling hair I see the youth and a drink of water goes far for her parched lips.
All is quiet as I wake and the Fourth Watch. God is here and has to tell me importance. I must move constant of the plan. Alert and at the ready for the fugitives of the Watch. I was salvaged from the heap so I must keep a look for those. Willed for the weak and alone I must carry across the line to redemption. Never weary and never falling along the way. Together we will.