Long Basalt Poems
Long Basalt Poems. Below are the most popular long Basalt by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Basalt poems by poem length and keyword.
Melee, mire, mad mistletoe.
Amiss, misconstrued?
Meltdown reactor, mellow?
Morning, dawn miscued?
Urgency, how you came in.
Blanch blank lightning pin.
Sycamore the serried sin.
Crater's rim, blind bin.
Abscond, pond, wild wizard's wand.
Lizard idol weird.
Boundless basilisk, braid bond.
Doubtless disappeared.
Bay leaf, beckoning light, bent.
Apostles in black.
Berserker, the basalt pshent.
Chasm dark, the crack.
Tympanic temper-fount, sound.
Sonic fire, coat nerves.
Little mountain, mound resound!
He who avoids swerves.
Mechanize, our armies!
Together stand and fight!
Belay, malaise! Trees, trapeze!
Otherwise good night!
Immortal! The portal prays!
Languid legs a-splays!
Lachrymose lark, sing always!
Grizzly bears may graze!
Mackerel falls, thy seas! Salmon:
Better that you live.
Setting, rising? Sun, on stun?
Grit, pittance? Safe, shiv?
Falcon, flight. Polite, fright? Why?
Good to listen up.
Welder's arc, do or die? Lye.
Code crayon covenant's cup...
Ragazze o Pagliacci?
The lavish lips, exaggerated eyes
are painted on an hour before we meet you.
The art lies in our impact, when we greet you.
You see emotion, but it’s enterprise:
The punter gets the treatment while he buys,
but not for long. The trick is to repeat you:
to suck your proteins out, and then excrete you.
There’s nothing real about us – colour, size,
emotions. All prosthetics, patches, dyes.
Before we pull you down, we overheat you:
distraction is our tactic to defeat you.
You’d blame chameleons for their disguise?
Go rail at Nature. We’re designed to cheat you.
The static smile, laconic laugh, are lies.
A Functioning Drunk
Let no-one doubt that Canio’s in control!
A true-born leader, that’s how he’s perceived,
relaxed-but-ready, square-jawed, rolled-up-sleeved.
Protagonist his predetermined role,
in pole position (emphasis on pole!),
the sort who, should he feel himself aggrieved,
turns vicious. Preternaturally peeved,
not unacquainted with libation bowl
(or arma bianca, so the clown alleges),
as blunt as basalt, brittle as obsidian,
he might at last have passed his high meridian.
Look closely, and he’s frayed around the edges.
His pack, who’ve started driving in the wedges,
will turn to Baal-Berith on the death of Gideon.
Wanting the Shaft On
I think I’ll name your thingy “Solomon”:
the Queen of Sheba really liked his wood.
I love it when I get your column “on” –
it’s all to do with stimulus and blood.
I serve you in two offices, like Taft.
The other? No, he’s never understood.
Good skippers keep a watch-out, fore and aft:
I know he’d like to, not so sure he could!
I’m built for seamen. Such a nimble craft,
impressive hold for such a shallow draft,
and very steerable at either end
(one thing that he will never comprehend).
You want to move me? Make me feel the waft
of wanton winds, and see my sails extend!
O wind, have you been waiting?
O widow, wailed for long?
O wasteland, silver plating?
O will within, burn strong!
Nicker, wicker, ichor.
Fate, Fortune, fancy-free.
Blood of heart, run thee thicker!
Gibbous moon, smile at me!
Golem, shall we pack the bags?
Well, we're wearing rags.
Singularity, smile a-sags?
He who loses, brags.
Yes, and when we older grow:
Carrion feeds the crow?
Lava bursts from, volcano?
Unsteady its flow!
Elder race, did you leave trace?
Basalt towers. Doors.
Panels in the sky, thy face.
Falcon? How she soars.
Weapons wild electrical!
Blast them through the drains!
O causality, thy call!
Wait not for the rains!
Rematch. Planned. Numerous. Strong.
Eyes of glass, thy spark.
O eruptions, last thee long!
Help them fear the dark!
Chaos, steps of pyramid.
Ancient orb thrown down.
Forbidden zone? It got rid!
King without a crown...
Stepping over the threshold
Locating the floor buttons
I press the 3rd floor
~ my brain images still flashing ~
Disfigured long flames curl around
Cherished memories-
Dry spruce branches smoking and crackling
Glowing coals cooking steaks in a fire
Above the crashing waves on the North Shore
Of Lake Superior with mom and dad
Laughing and sipping root beer
Spying a twisted piece of petrified oak
most likely a plank
From an ancient sunken vessel splintered
In the Gale's of November
Loosening the piece from the grips of glistening
Basalt boulders, etching our names and place
Of discovery above striated agates embedded in
Crevices a millennial ago
Proudly displayed on the mantle above my fireplace
Gone
Now
Only precious memories remain
I flash the card lock on my hotel room
Entering
The
Future
2/18/23
Out at sea on the flimsy raft
My Zorro mask and Tarzan pants can't help
Used only to wipe my brow under the punishing sun
I lost them too after a while by a crashing wave
What could be worse than losing your clothes
Monstrous charcoal clouds mount heavier than Basalt
Weigh on me like planet Mercury
Storms on the ocean can be mean and fierce
Hunger is my next best friend
It clings to me like a lover
Memory escaped as well without permission
I must have lost it somewhere else through negligence
But those are long term problems
Surviving immediately arises here and now
Seas come up and churn on mountainous waves
Thirty feet high and rising, agitated against me
If a cruise ship should happen by right now
I wish they would avert their eyes away
Being lost at sea is one awful matter
I don't want them to see me naked
And I would feel shame if they ask my name
The one thing I can't remember
Form: Séadna
The hawk hung high on heavy wing,
Above the grey, gasping tide;
Where gorse–gold fires fiercely sting,
And the pale–faced changelings hide.
A silver breath on basalt stone,
Where the cold, keen waters climb;
The sea–caves hum a hollow tone,
A rhythmic reaching of time.
The Fomhóraigh stir in the peat,
Where the dark, deep bog–pools sleep;
With rhythmic pulse and restless feet,
A secret, old watch they keep.
One–eyed kings in the iron mist,
They rise from the shelf of salt;
With a heavy, crushing, blue fist,
And a step that makes earth halt.
The rowan bows it's berried head,
To the wind's wide, wintry wail;
Where ancient kings and heroes bled,
Beneath a torn, misty veil.
The currach dances on the crest,
Of a salt, soul–shaking swell;
The sailor seeks a silent rest,
Where the deep–sea giants dwell.
A lightning fracture splits the blue,
Over jagged, iron shore;
The old world breaks and births anew,
In the Atlantic's wild roar.
The emerald pulse of Ireland's heart,
In the rain's rich, rushing scent;
A landscape torn and pulled apart,
In a wild, green wonderment.
Born of fire.
Black water.
A singular spine—
I learned how to live unkissed, until...
The Tasman bared its teeth,
A cold, crushing mouth.
The moon is an honest Manipulator,
pulling the tide
like a noose.
grinding the heavy ocean
against my spine.
White surf choking
my basalt throat.
The sky tears open,
it's raining roses and love riots,
soft ruin
on wet basalt.
Let the gale howl
its wrath.
Against my ledges.
I filled the night's chalice with knots of desire.
The tempest cracks
over the peak—
Tie me to your Tongue;
make the storm's voice
the only thing
holding me above the waves.
A fossil of fire.
That gouged the dark.
I ask the heavy air:
If time turns, will scars stain the sky?
Lake Superior
Strong- shouldered waves crested
the rocks below Split Rock Lighthouse
with frothering glee-
happy to be home among the orange-lychen,
basalt-boulders and Gulls-
high above the lake, mountainous columns
of clouds drifted in legions towards Canada,
against a sky so blue, no reasons were needed-
where the sun peaked through, sparkling
diamonds scattered across the lake……existence was enough
existence
was enough
08/16/10
© All Rights Reserved
Mist feathery drifts
last night’s breath loosening
above basalt slopes of Huatung
Pacific swallows trace morning brushwork
over Fuli’s rice paddies
new green scented with rain.
Xiuguluan River flows jade mountain-born
among ancestral stones
white willows in Ruisui weep
dew-kissed
cycad fronds catching first sunlight
Leaf pearls gather on my thatched sandals
Walami earth holds stories in its coolness.
Bihe Pond rests hidden in Wanrong’s stillness
waters reflecting the tribe’s quiet prayers
Bamboo leaves in green and gold
crested mynas gather in quiet repose
wind moves with the chime of a temple bell.
Ancestral path wanders into the Central Range
oolong tea clouds drift
above Qilai’s blue ridges
A white egret lifts over Guangfu’s terraces
air clear as poured Longjing.
A bulbul calls
blue magpie glides
the slow unlayering of day
Huatung Calligrapher’s span warm to newborn light
time unspools—
bright
unmeasured.
Light widens
dawn follows Yu Shan’s shadowed valleys
the world in quiet promise
soft light
drifting into morning.
(In the 17th century, when thinkers
were first getting to grips with gravity,
they named it "kindly inclining".)
Seeds adrift on water
coalesce:
fueled by affinity,
they form a community.
Last pearls of wine
combine:
electing against space,
they cling to the curve of the glass.
Berries stain the fingers
that rupture them,
their plasma clasping the hand,
rather than leave unthanked.
We scraps of matter
are emboli,
swimming in Not-Being.
An impulse in the void
coagulates our Something.
Swathes of stellar gas contorting,
slab on slab of basalt pressing,
horses on the hill cavorting,
algae in the swell fluorescing,
ospreys on a rock face nestling,
children tumbling and wrestling,
matter moves to matter.
We are starstuff all,
and motion is our purpose.
We are aided on our journey
by the steady pull
of starlight.