Long Apr Poems
Long Apr Poems. Below are the most popular long Apr by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Apr poems by poem length and keyword.
I woke this morning, lying next to you;
Contemplating your thighs, your breasts, your face,
as you still slept at rest in a dream’s embrace,
my eyes all over your fair features flew…
I lingered here and there—a glance askew
caught subtle movements in that furtive place
beneath your eyelids, wondering what chase
your soul pursued in the other blue…
You then stirred, awoke, and found me staring
at your body—you laughed and fast we fell
into a kiss, and more than just that, too,
toppling into one another, uncaring,
halted only by the alarm clock’s bell;
It was then I knew—I’m in hate with you.
I’ve come to—k(now), the sobering conclusion
that I must be a lunatic; else what
sufficiently explains the smirking smut
clouding my judgment?—what viscous illusion—
outright{(diagnosable[,perhaps)delusion]},—
persuades me to heed your haughty strut?
Each inch of every corner of my gut
is begging—not—accept—refuse—intrusion.
ah!, but I budge, I give in to temptation!
why,why,why must I make the same mistake
instead of just quite well so simply break-
-ing the cycle of you?—o’ that salvation,
in what dark nook lurks it?, which saviour holds
the key that unschackles me from your folds?
Crick, Crack,Pop!,—“Ow!”, ach… won’t my joints of ache
never relent? The tension—every move—
with each attempt to loose—a rigid groove—
my muscles,—all efforts to simply break
the pressure,—ayayaye,so,taut—,to shake
free my body, to feel the strain improve,
I’ve tried to stretch myself so to remove
the overwhelming cramps and pangs, which rake
my shambling corpse.—But ill I find no cure
to remedy such condition as that mine;
Six months’ wait ’til a doctor checks my spine,
—and even then who knows if they’ll be sure
what sickness ails my feeble, failing form?
I’ll blow it off: pain has become my norm.
Toppled by a bottle, collapsed upon
her painful past, asleep—but well awake!—,
unmoving, but for her mind stirred aquake,
the girl is yawning before her black dawn.
Alone, couched by a burning blanket drawn
over a conscience guilty at the stake,
slipping into the sly hands of the snake,
she sees not clearly the sickening con
which lures her slowly to her deathly state.
Unknowingly, she’s dozing, edging deeper
into the dreamrealm, into the hazy
murk of the promised land.
Her name was Daisy—
until, unexpected, said the reaper,
“Poor thing… if only you could now change fate.”
Attempt, attempt, attempt, I try, I do,
but find success a frightful,fretful sort
of creature.—.landing always just so short
for you,—my victories?: far less than few.
From void to verse then verse now void,—but you
reject my voice,else’y*u[ / , u ]d*stort
it, and to good will ill intent impart;
My inspiration, skewered by your view,
lies fallow in your lap.—Tell, what’s the use
of baring open heart and mind and soul
when evil’s understood the sole (and whole)
ground of my poetry? — — rather a noose
than these restraints!, ach! and the love you reek
of, it struggles with my fine nose. I speak.
A(nother) (Sh*tty) Sonnet
Cute girl who works the local liquor store
counter, I wonder sometimes how I strike
you.—am I happy in your eyes?—do you like
to speak, when daily, as a steady chore,
I stroll onto your heavenly sales floor?
(You said it was another day (yes fake)
‘in paradise’, in answer to my joke.—
—and then I left with my usual four.).
Reality looks (more (something)) like this:
biting my nails until they burn like hell,
eating my nervous thoughts,—binging and purging
on romance,—and on a deathly scourging
of emotional detachment. O’, belle,
there’s nothing more I miss than someone‘s kiss.
Love sends a signal (so intangible)
through time removed and space—more faraway
than high heavens, sun, spark of moody day
when Night her might has made immoveable.
The bold heart beats, but shyly (:¡magical!:)
hides a gross ache—(perhaps gone quite astray)—
of love destroyed by space and time. A ray
has passed and left behind a palpable
shadow.—but time’s the healer, space the fact,—
the proof? the medicine of poetry.
So know it truly, bear it in your heart:
without your gift, my art could not be art.
I mean not to entangle again what’s we—
simply I reminisce—(love? I react).
Remember, long ago, enrapt of Venus,
in college, brought to meet by chance,
how, falling into that first, most fateful glance
a straightaway spark flirted between us?
And, too, can you recall the eager shyness?
On the day that turned up next, a thrilling trance
hurled us into an uninhibited expanse
which then crackled with electric newness.
But nowadays, that’s just as far away
into the forlorn yesteryear as you
are distant now—and, almost strangers, we’ve
matured apart, growing further every day.
A curse upon wicked fate! who withdrew
her blessing and unraveled our fragile weave!
Your needs unmet and, too, mine equally
fulfilled,—I s’pose it’s best to leave this where
it stands.—what other course could feel as fair?
But deep disturbances in mon esprit,
increasingly violent unto me,
(as roaring winds and foaming omens) stir
tidal wave emotions without compare;—
breaking—in terrific fatality.
My heart adrift,—stranded soon on your shore,—
beats weak, throbs sad sobs, sniffles back such tears
of torrential regret...—and for what?
you?
Really, need I lament—this dullest score—
the abandon of your tempestuous fears?
No.,—if I capsize now, I never flew.—
O’ dear, I learned today you’re spoken for;
I asked the question, got the answer: “no”.
Ayayaye…but, considering the blow
wasn’t so bad, I’m glad I tried to score.
Oh dear,—(I must admit)—you know what’s more?,
you’ve snatched the beauty right out from this low
world; o’ diamond, why must you hoard it so?
All other charms have lost their glow, they bore
me now…I hadn’t grasped what beauty meant
’til I had seen your radiant strutting gait. ?
Nevertheless, I do not write this sonnet
that I should have something to bemoan it;
Rather, I’m thankful for the sort of fate
that sends me for a spiralling ascent.