Long Arc Poems
Long Arc Poems. Below are the most popular long Arc by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Arc poems by poem length and keyword.
as thoughts and ideas
MELDED
and experiences
define the perimeters
so my expectations
took form
to shape my decisions
GLISTENING
like oil on water –
a kaleidoscope
of possibilities …
when memories
S W I R L
finding a new truth –
my epiphany
flowing over
river s.t.o.n.e.s
worn smooth
by norms
yet
glistening with f l u I d d a w n s …
GATHERING
the past
in a m…i…s…t…y shawl
it comforts the future –
PROPITIATING
twilight sprites
discarding a false dusk …
guided by the light of iNyanga*
we define ourselves
amongst the many dawns
we shape
revealing truth…
"Lost in a dream with idyllic abstract musing." Quote _by Poet
Absorbing a double scoop of azure,
Bottom of the golden-brown waffle
Cone, green, yellow, orange, red,
Dripping down melting, into the horizon.
Evening's laughter shatters the azure sky;
Frowning disapproval, the sun
Gently wipes away it's tears for
Harmonious promise of future
Idyllic, enormity, day of earth.
Jabbering shadow falling across
Knobby, frayed, wings and contagious
Love: power to renew universe heart.
12/7/2021
Theme-Chosen Azure
ABC Form
''A'' Forms, New Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Susan and I met in the fall of ’67,
two girls in English class
who recognized each other
before we even spoke~
the way some people do
when they share a tilt toward
uniqueness,
toward books that smell like rain,
toward movies that linger,
toward clothes that felt like
small rebellions.
Friendship was instant,
effortless,
as though we had been
walking toward each other
for years.
Then life,
with its wide and wandering hands,
pulled us apart.
Graduation scattered us
into different futures~
hers across an ocean,
mine across a state.
She raised a family in Germany;
I raised stories in Texas.
Decades passed
without our names touching.
But fate~
or whatever quiet force
keeps track of lost connections~
found us again
through the strange glow
of Facebook.
A click,
a message,
a memory rekindled,
and suddenly the years
were not a wall
but a bridge.
Now we write the old-fashioned way,
ink on paper,
postmarks traveling
from Germany to Texas
like small migrating birds.
Her handwriting arrives
with its familiar tilt,
and I feel sixteen again~
the girl in English class
who knew instantly
that Susan was someone
near and dear,
someone who would matter
even if time tried
to convince us otherwise.
Distance is only geography.
Friendship, once found,
remains luminous~
a long arc of time
that bends us gently
back to each other.
. e.x.p.l.o.d.i.n.g!
prime colours—
yellow thrown in for good measure—
call us to focus
on what is possible –
not only today
but in the future …
even the (w)(h)(i)(s)(p)(e)(r)
of Lady Crackers
alert us to the
VALIDITY
of the quieter Voice
as ego SHOUTS!!!
but wisdom w h i s p e r s
at the s!tr!o!k!e!
of midnight
sheet lightning heralded in the
NEW YEAR—
rain held off
till we had our say …
nothing needs to be shouted
from the roof tops
to make an impact
on someone else’s
LIFE
as I whisper:
‘i love you’
...Then working with the government,
who always liked more western cash,
they set up an agreement that
they hoped could contain this backlash.
Two scientists could see the arc,
and work to verify its age,
one from Harvard, and one Cambridge,
and to Axum both made their way.
The American, an old man,
Professor Hammond was name,
the Brit was a young grad student,
named Alice, with a genius brain.
As they settled into their work
neither of the scholars could know
that in neighboring Somalia
an evil man plotted a blow.
He went by the name Ibrahim,
whether it was real, no one knew,
established as a terrorist,
an Islamist, quite tried and true.
He’d built a name in civil wars,
the kind that always racked that place,
made a reputation with force,
he left death, and people displaced.
And though the man gained followers,
he was frustrated by his land,
ruined and lacking resources,
Ibrahim was an ambitious man.
When he heard the arc had been found,
an idea grew up in his mind,
Christians and Jews worshipped the thing,
a route to more money he found.
He took with him one hundred men,
slipped the border, went to Axum,
keeping his people outside town
until shadows of nightfall had come.
Then they attacked St. Mary’s Church,
stormed the building with guns blazing,
killing priests, security guards,
anyone they found resisting.
Quickly they sieved the old relic,
took Alice, Hammond, and four priests,
hostages until they got paid,
at which point they {might" be released.
Chased by police they all fled east,
back into the Somali state,
where they hid amongst the chaos,
where all involved did celebrate.
A scheme pulled on the infidel,
they would now pay to arm their foe!
They had no choice, if they did not
then to hell their relic would go!
Ibrahim put out a message,
a video, as such types do,
demanding millions for the arc,
it was seen by more than a few.
And there was a bunch of chatter,
amongst talking heads on TV,
talking of how such a relic
just found, could soon be history.
Religious types the world over
spoke of how it would be a crime
if such a thing would be destroyed,
the loss of a wonderous find.
All knew some action would come soon,
too many folks were up in arms,
talk of commandos, and or raids,
to Ibrahim it raised alarms...
CONTINUES IN PART III.
Sunday's cold feet
My mind can go out for a journey
It will relate to things I've seen and fill in the gaps how I would if I couldn't see
As I see things I see no good and I see no bad
I need not tax my mind with have or have not
I prefer to struggle as I can not be seen any bit greedy and I was brought up as a hand me down last of a large 7 sibling family and always walked the edge of poverty and a class removed neatly and ugly by the system
Witches won't talk of the souls who run free
Joan of Arc thoroughly trashed and burnt by a church I shall never respect and the deaths of millions because someone won't except other beliefs has made our paradise a special place called hell.
Stories told and answers revealed
Tortured spirits wandering souls seeking spirits who journey to visit loved ones or people who made a mark deep in their soul
They may be blind
They may not have thought or body
But they are no bird in a cage
You will feel their chill silver sliver shiver through your spine
The eyes to stories from the heart the ears hear all calls for help. The mind is only capable of responding just alittle more than enough to keep us surviving
Line of inquiry:
“joy, empathy, compassion
on an upward arc
an effervescence eternal
causes bliss ignition to start” Unseeking Seeker
_______________________
Purity is dissolution complete
subsequent to passing every octave
spirit within spirit resting blissed sweet
peaceable compassion but concoctive
Through life's craving roses or fearful thorns
empathy, forgiveness remain a must
to tread challenging course blithe or forlorn
fortitude points luminary bow just
Above us arc stretches calling our name
irrepressibly chaste serene its zest
sorrows, anxiety, goals mere mind games
transcendent patient is Beloved’s nest
Reverent spirit willing with reason
travels curve in own orchestral season ~
________________________________
5th Placement : Premier Contest
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
May ‘26
A sprinkling of fairy dust early in the morning
an airy dawn arrives on the wings of an angel
music of nature flutes by with all its first bring
I own daylight quills and Longfellow's archangel
While the rose sleeps beneath the moist earth
safely beneath the snow waiting for rebirth
guardians of the galaxy are closing in on stars
I don't hear a sound not even the tooting of cars
Outside the breeze is slipping through the trees
as quietly as the memes of God's silent smiles
I own hopes so big they bring me to my knees
and a belief that will help me through the miles
Dance while you still can He says to my heart,
as I hear the sound of music, ... I do my part.
1431 and 1555 The Cow and The Moon
Life on a bagel with memories and cheese
Beyond tragedy
The way It brought you to your knees touch you
The way I am
Talking to the girls
People shame me as a man
Build light and build card houses straight
The Final dance to help rescue me
Mysterious fool
No escape
No Proof without a sacred stance
I have made a mistake or two
Living more or dying less
Music's little sensors captivated audience
Being gentle with the times makes me mad
Guided by nature
Into future disasters
In this hood they yell out
Give us more
Liquid cigarettes
Talking appears as a game
The listener always wins
Looking through the peephole of the insane
Cheap love or no at all
Go back to the Bible
Think back to when you were a child
Faking the innocent
Taking a walk down the tracks
With some cigarettes
Ice cool iron
Screaming to keep out the heat
Out of luck out of shade
Right through the summers night
Holy shoes with everything unmade
And a stick like a bindle
Id like to take you across the skies
Ill just let you go cares and crys
Standing with no base
Something new
A perfect time
Wearing new souls
Trading liberty for gold i hate it i hate it
Bring the ship about
We are heading south
Diamonds demon poor seedlings
Feed the laughter
laugh at struggles
Laugh cause we don't know
Purple tears so thin
Naked is the night when all is hush
Party's dim their lights, Amongst the nocturnal shapeshifters,the deepest of lusts jetters
and shakes
But nobody sees
Nobody knows
But the moon which tells the cow
The secrets of the night
The cow lives for these stories
Then he himself has many dreams of human beings
Their character and appetite for lust and romance
The cow has accepted its fate
To dream the events of any given night
Produced by the Moon
KATAUTA:
Her: eyes brown, like choc’late,
swooning like the stars unglued —
yours mad as the moon
Him: pistachio eyes —
the gaze of a soulful cat
sea swept in zephyr
Her: swallowed by the pond —
our shadow imitates moves
of tender years
Him: silk like a spotlight,
the moon pouring forth its milk —
you invite my thirst
Her: sway of tropical
palms, your cradled in my arc —
hammock’s impression
Him: blow kiss from purple
lips, the pitons like your breasts
and the valley split
Together: laughing and weeping
present immortality —
generosity christened
12/14/2020