Long Arrowing Poems
Long Arrowing Poems. Below are the most popular long Arrowing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Arrowing poems by poem length and keyword.
Aw shucks, I did sustain
moderately serious injury
series of unfortunate events
ludicrous and quite insane,
yours truly did previously explain
while crouching (think
Tony as papier mâché Tiger),
aye fell backward, where sharp
desktop corner didst train
ground zero right side rib cage domain
punched thru L.L. Bean Autumn jacket
zapped, tattooed, lacerated... bloodstain
proof positive bow tocks sing
arrowing, fletching, notching,
piercing, searing targeting ... pain
prestidigitation went awry
courtesy "fake" legerdemain,
yours truly incapacitated plain
vanilla and simple
found me mortally slain,
more tortuous than spelunking thru
eye of needle size tunnel,
no bigger than sand grain,
and/or trumpeted by suzerain
arrogant, boastful, contemptuous...
arid, barren, cerebrally desolate brain,
a definitive liability,
(not just from Ukraine
stormy din yelled brouhaha), profane
but..., I wholeheartedly ascertain,
the commander in chief
an absolute zero inane
purpose twittering acrimonious, disdain
calamitous, egregious, gangrenous..., arcane
rumbustious, venomous,
zealous... carte blanche
bigoted, misogynistic, racist..., inhumane
blathering, excoriating, insulting...
seeding, planting, muckraking... dogbane
demanding obeisance till
henchmen verstehen
unwittingly declaring himself
jejune bloodhound August huss
preening, primping, proofing
orange-blond mane
more attentive to applying
gray matter to strain
Midas coated self
important fiery propane
verbal quid pro quo
explosions inevitably spray'n,
nothing but antisemitism, barbarism,
demagoguery, hatred...
diatribes roiling the masses
til rabid rantings attain
intolerant decibel threshold
usurping totalitarian refrain.
Memories of Bach
At 17, I performed a solo ballet to Bach
Below a sparkling sky,
On a park’s open green grass.
The choreography flowed.
I was well-rehearsed.
The opportunity, special, before
Some of our gathered city’s spectators.
This genius: Bach.
This glorious cantata:
“Jesu,]oy of Man’s Desiring.”
And, I, the young ballerina,
Wrapped very Grecian-like in an ivory, silk tunic,
Stepping out to
Meet the first notes,
Humbly opening my arms
— first right, then left —
To invite the music to my dance.
But, barely a quarter-minute into the piece,
I was overwhelmed —
As my first dance ever
Out-of-doors —
The sky was my ceiling
And it was too high,
Making my reaching upward breathless.
There were no stage wings
To mark the arrowing points of my arabesques.
My memory lost all upcoming moves
To the sparse clouds
in their swirling crossing of the sky.
I let Bach choreograph my choice
Of upcoming motions as I
Let myself become his music
On to the end.
About a decade later,
On a cloudless, August day,
(the hottest day that year).
I asked for Bach
To sound, again.
Dear Bach’s
“Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring,” rose
Meeting our ears so magnificently
From the organ, as
I stepped into the church,
Wearing yards of wrapped white silk.
I stepped gently down the aisle
Toward my waiting groom.
My own joy carried me
Into the cantata
In celebration of
Our wedding day and
Of our decades of love
Together, on that day
Just beginning.
————————————————-
(c) sally young Eslinger 10/21 poem
Thanks be to God
PEACE
Bergs dot the ocean, even in June, and
Thick fogs clothe the Labrador shore early each morning.
The sea ice rocks slowly in the harbor from wind and sun.
As I roast my fish on the warming gravel beach
The air grows clear and crystalline for miles to the horizon
And I hear only
The seagull cries
Over the lone level water
And tumbling streams laughing their way over mossed boulders old as time,
Streams known only to me and the fish.
We know the splendor of the yellow arctic poppy in bloom in the long days of July,
The wild goose arrowing south high above the shore before the sun-dogs of October,
And the incandescent rainbow of the aurora in bloom in January.
Polar bears hunt ringed seals along the coast, whales call in the bay,
And caribou herds migrate to their calving grounds among
The ankle-deep turf of tundra with mushrooms in an abundance of sizes and colours,
Bilberry, red mountain cranberry, and crowberry, which bears graze in late summer.
There is life here - and pristine growth, primeval and pure.
I need only a simple cabin - black spruce for walls and white birch bark for roof,
And a boat - and my trap line mended.
And I shall have peace here
Among the evening green and white of this cold coast
With unnamed summer streams running warm into unnamed bays and hidden coves
Between high cliffs rising straight from the sea,
Their wind- and wave-scoured faces looking straight east over the foggy Atlantic.
BEGINING, none that I perceive;
where that dot in time
where the dot or seed,
where the trigger
and the stripey tiger
that leaps ahead of itself?
Then
the linear sprouting’s
along an arrowing line
see how they are mine
yours are invisible,
you must follow your own thread.
TIME_______________
was there really a backwards
was there ever a forward?
What small rodent
nibbles this moment?
An imaginatively decorated
string, an intricately sewn
long-bone
that has walked you.
everywhere but here.
ENDINGS\\\!
The crunch is staggered, vaguely certain.
Some call it a pause, some, a full-stop.
All ‘what ifs’ are handicapped
by reason and chance.
Believe it or not
we must let go of our legbones,
leave and relieve ourself
of so many of those good things
that have danced us
down blind alleys,
backed us up
beeping like empty trucks.
Though the end be
a may be (maybe)
it is always shrouded in hope,
for the end will begin again somewhere -
anywhere
it must surely be
further than a pointing finger
and that could be an END
or another barrel
of swimming fish,
all dreaming of larger WAVES.
late in the night
when I am so tired
thoughts of my bed
and me trying to sleep
saying a mantra
trying to empty my mind
trying to hold at bay
thoughts calling to me
my windows closed
cannot withhold
the thoughts that clatter against
like pebbles cast
out in the dark
beneath bright stars
pale light of moon
casting silvery light
I feel a longing
of something unknown
of a deep hunger
that I cannot feed
if I should slip
back into my clothes
go out into the night
and into the cold
bright stars twinkle
bright blues and reds
cold wind does whisper
through blowing leaves
dark empty road
arrowing into the night
perhaps going to somewhere
that I need to find
cold breeze does whisper
through my graying curls
cold chills that tremble
shaking my soul
whispering voices
carried upon the wind
rushing about me
with words I can’t hear
oh that I might
the curtains draw
closeout the thoughts
that call unto me
slip into my bed
and darkness find
closeout the thoughts
that call unto me
Harrowing the heart
“Will you be my Valentine” she stuttered,
lips melting in a heart-shaped blush.
“Yes sure” he lushed , clasping her to his clement chest
And sure…
the red god, collapsing in the west
spotted him, arrowing
in frenzied abandon
the furry labiated heart,
wedged tightly between another’s heaving hips .
Homing the heart
A spotted butterfly
flutters breezily towards its nest of whirring wings .
A coral train
snakes electrified towards its station of expectant workers.
And I….
sit here harping on a hapless heart without a home
Harrowing the heart
“Will you be my Valentine” she stuttered,
lips melting in a heart-shaped blush.
“Yes sure” he lushed , clasping her to his clement chest
And sure…
the red god, collapsing in the west
spotted him, arrowing
in frenzied abandon
the furry labiated heart,
wedged tightly between another’s heaving hips .
Homing the heart
A spotted butterfly
flutters breezily towards its nest of whirring wings .
A coral train
snakes electrified towards its station of expectant workers.
And I….
sit here harping on a hapless heart without a home
A Blue Heron unleashes itself from a
surfing wind and flowing sky.
Wings spread it rides, almost hovering,
as it seeks a nestled place to land.
There, the long reeds
have been hollowed out by its mate,
but she has gone to fish,
gone elsewhere.
The bird lands,
for a moment its long legs are buoyed
by the merest whisp of gravity.
The heron settles, folding its wings
like a cloak around him,
now as the wind ruffles its feathers
he seems only a scrawny effigy,
of the bird in flight,
a plumed twig planted in the disturbed shallows.
The pond ripples with silver whispers,
small fish dart, their heads
arrowing deeper.
The Great Blue
strides slowly to the shoreline
becomes a living statue,
a patient presence
amid the rushing blow.
That is when I saw
how the world is stirred around
by a stillness,
how an unmoving center
can turn within a heron's eye.
S olemn strikes the hour of society’s discontent
I see angry fists rise up with shouting and protests
G hastily grave disasters, ISIS terrors mark headlines
N ation against nation, shootings and high crimes.
O nly the naive live in blindness to it all
F uture fears and worries, will mankind finally fall?
T he Apocalypsis scenario plays often in my mind
H arrowing events will come to usher in End Times
E ver watching, God above is Sovereign, not surprised.
T o look ahead and see, from this world to the next
I see increasing chaos, until God fulfills His quest
M arvelous will be the day when Christ returns again
Every knee will bow, He’ll reign and judge the deeds of man
S in and suffering will cease, peace and life will never end.
Written on 4/28/2018
CITY GEOMETRY
I’m on big town
Inserted
Yea, transplanted
Within its swaying wave
Of box and angle
Where my self-identity
Is something throbbing
Upward gazing
Arrowing
To sky points
So, it’s confusing
The hate-love factor
Stiffness
Restriction
Formal sharpness of angle
A quite eye bewildering sight
This swirling circumference
Of a giant
Fractured
Circle
And oh!
The Stravinskyish
Jagged continuity
Of line
Of dissonance
For distance
I follow parallels
Lines receding
With absolute straightness
There a promise of
Those cherished
Fading meadows
Of nature’s roundness
Her natural sweetness
Suddenly!
I take a ninety-degree angle of turn
With mandatory city goose step
Toward sanity
Toward home
Dave Austin