Long Belay Poems
Long Belay Poems. Below are the most popular long Belay by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Belay poems by poem length and keyword.
The day has begun, you are constantly on the run, the day to day consumes your mind, blurry vision.
Tedium of routine sucks your soul; you sink you sink you fret you think, Sweet whispers.
What is it that you forget? Is life so hectic, a maze of activity with no end, no regret? Is that your love life? Or your future to be? Is this how you see it in 2023.?
Tick Tick Tick time passes by, your man stands obtuse with no reason why. The lady, remember gentleman, that you have denied, the passion, the fun, the clouds in the sky? Where is your passion, your flame, where are the sweet whispers, who is to blame?
Love you for you then love her for her but never forget passion is no blur. It is simply the investment in love, the wanting, the feeling, the smile, the wave, the text, the call, the tender moments never the same. The unexpected, the expected, the passion the flame, this is love may it never wane.
You are the blanket the slippers, the comfort the man, stand up be heard, show your love take a stand, Sweet whispers.
You will realize and know that love is not fleeting but will only grow, love is repeating. You have no love in your life you say, it does not matter love everyday. You have been touched by love before remember? That feeling of warmth of torture and turmoil washed away with tears of joy as your man makes your day. Love is of a repeated existence like breathing you can ignore it but it will always be there. You can not deny it, you can not delay it, you will try to control it, you can not belay it.
Once in love or currently be, future love it will always see, that your worthy of love, of passion, of flame, of consideration, of the little things in life that always explain, that you are on my mind and you will always will be, fore that is love, cannot you see? Sweet whispers. Do not fret, nor worry or fear for love is always, it will never disappear. Celebrate love in its many ways, its crazy, its wild its passionate flame, never let it be just once a year live life large and have no fear for love is always close, and not just for a day, it is forever love not just a dream it is reality if you desire it to be. Sweet whispers….Poetry by Dean.
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If I held the power of speech,
silence is never
The silent ones,
those unable to speak,
beheld
the stunning gifts
that tenderly enlighten souls
morsels for the eyes to feast
to belay absence
A blue jay finds them
and stares at their minus
and reasonably
the blue jay vamooses to airs
A multitude of lost butterflies
congregate near
a waterfall
as their wings speak
true tell-tales
their life's stories whole
in intricate fragments
Deaf study them comely
in the show of shows
fluttering wings
cascading downward equally
number of living butterflies
and of living waters
Smile upon smile
all host hushed
turns to grins
muted afoot in a mud pond
is nature's cakewalk
Statuettes of papyrus
kissing the watery banks
with their papered lips
unto their accounts of a
special day
as each bow with its crested crown
A trail of fallen stars
barren their soles to aglow
springs blindly glamor
as a jealous chord sound
awaken the northern light show
displays of awe
... as body taps buddies
a form of talk
by voiceless ...
" Revenant "
In direction unforeseen yet then 'nother am I drifted~
Winds have their way & through my whims have thus sifted~
Yet oft have been waves of similar significance~
Which may have been received with much less cognizance~
‘Tis said now & agin' were a man a bit more old~
Those truths which he ushered forth might not be so bold~
Were now I to be one o'the wiser & thusly called sages~
Methinks I'd be a'lookin' far far back through familiar ages~
Mebbe to those times of youth & greater glee~
Mebbe along those lines of women set so free~
Mebbe I'd look agin' & in so doin' so see~
Truth were so simply there right inside o'me~
‘Twere thoughts o'the mermaids all was it were~
If'n battles so waged created in mind still a stir~
I'd be a'not so a writin' this here little rime~
Nor fer certain would it be now not about time~
Nay say I naught ever dids't methinks~
Wherever whenever I took all me drinks~
‘Twere it so written in those stars way aloft~
Fer me to have grown old & verily so soft~
Fire dids't I breathe fer so so many o'those years~
Darin' & dancin' fer never a'knowin' such fears~
Damn'd so now to be found such a'thinkin'~
Lookin' yet agin' fer all maids to be a'winkin~
‘Tis silly methinks I've grown through these times~
So silly that methinks most always in such rimes~
Yet therein lies such question as to m'self must I ask~
‘Twas wha'for such a reason ye've taken yerself to task~
Aaaarrrrgh! Revenant! Thus I rumble from a'deep~
Awakenin' me ownself from greatest o'sleep~
‘Tis questions which do so bother me now all a'bluster~
‘Tis sense so common I'm a findin' hard to a'muster~
Answer me now those of ye in the know~
When where & wha'for does this wind now so blow~
I'm fer certain left with not any reasonable quip~
To any I'd be grateful fer any such a tip~
Nay nay now belay that I've just asked of ye all~
Fer were it fer certain time 'twouldn't be any such a ball~
Methinks I'll so settle back agin' in me familiar wild waves~
Takin' naught but those pleasures such as that which I craves!
SeaWolf
©
Time and again
jovial imp does succeed
at collecting aggregate of infinite moments
nabbing, snagging and yoking yours truly,
a fortitudinous erstwhile
citizen banker travels at warp speed
impossible mission to thwart tempus fugit
analogous to ambuscade by time thief
little rascal who steals
most precious commodity
right before mine myopic eyes
abstract artificial construct
hastens cradle to grave lifespan
hoping chance fellow
space traveler will read
these words, though quite futile
one skeptic could believe
he would experience salvation
prayerfully clasping hands
he doth gently plead
for nought, cuz greed
for immortality a wish
that does exede
by lightyears the outward bounds
for *****sapien breed
damned to die at birth
destroyed by space debris
aliens purportedly buzzfeed
feeling akin to crash test dummy
at mercy where asteroid
can annihilate me I accede.
Seconds, minutes, hours
days, weeks, months
and years speed away
free falling thru space/time continuum
superfluous to request belay,
nevertheless yours asks
for custom made sturdy rope
quite an accomplishment
given such short notice,
which said contrivance
would necessitate being wrapped
(while remaining rapt)
ensconced within outsize
full body jacket beltway
resembling human cocoon
after I pulled up the slack
essentially gifted to dark shadows
twenty four seven -
resembling edge of night
all the while
loosely tethered courtesy gravity
though feeling comfortably numb
zipping by the dark side of the moon
dreaming about Old rotten Gotham
sliding thru behavioral sink,
this while yahoo (me)
courtesy tenuous connection
suddenly severed Earthlink
simultaneously mouthing "Aw, Snap!"
No longer linkedin
with webbed wide world
bitta bing bitta bang
voodoo spell suddenly cast upon
uber hotmail, whereby
his poetic side tumblr unlocked
subsequently he resembles
an infinitesimal across
celestial sea ethereal
poetrysoup amidst creation,
a mere cosmic speck afloat
canvas studded heavens
starry night gallery.
Uncle soldier Sammie
is too flashback far Saigon
The bad memory withdrawals
are too ganja gun smoke strong
So he pumps up the blame volume,
saying who’s dirty napalm wrong
He’s got a shaky second and third finger condition,
a LSD (long standing delusion) induced affliction
So spaced out on
psychedelic visions of
democracy victory
It triggers poppy field decisions,
harvesting killing yields of foreigner derision
And the mushroom drum sounds,
from the Band of Brothers’ drone bong,
bangs out “Dogs of War”
Howling in the collateral fallout air, forevermore
Heavy medal addiction is a death blow score
Uncle soldier Sammie is a military basket case
in denial retreat
Accused of tour-of-duty dereliction
Suffering dishonorably from a
PSTD defeat affliction
The mine-trippy, Private Dyan head space
has EVAC landed in a heroin casket place
Platoon power puff disgraced
has a pompous, overdose face
A light brigade of reinforcements
witness the guilt heavy medal addiction
As calvary-came-too-late, doctored ambitions
belay any battlefield truthful admission
Uncle soldier Sammie has horrible dreams
of wounded pride Rambos’
giving way to hasty withdrawals
Shrapnel images betrayed by rancor rice bowl jowls
Armistice impossible,
cache cartel condoned
Crack-ed peace pipe got IED blown
More Flanders field flowers
blowing crimson petals
to destinations unknown
Triage tears dampens the runway moans,
and the mental escape hatch
has shut safely on it’s crystal meth own
Uncle soldier Sammie
self-medicates
the missing limb pain that has grown
over the daze and years for so long
Always seeing ghastly apparitions of Cambodia —
fearful flashbacks, so far sigh gone
And the hallucinatory ghosts of Vietnam
don’t give a bog-of-war damn
08-20-21
On beginning to compose a new poem...
Assaying thoughts gambol,
scuffling as in an affray
née crushing, jockeying, stampeding...
demanding equal airplay
gushing as metaphorical think
spigot turned on full force airway
thru totally tubular cerebral
microcosmic aisleway
vesicular conduit fifty
plus shades of gray
exhaling sigh of relief, cuz
transcending writer's block
innovative talent with words
did once again allay
needless panic, where yours truly
finds himself punchdrunk
in some dark alleyway,
an unfortunate fate
Matthew Scott alway
avert reminding myself
to utilize ujjayi breath
hard driving gateway
into Pranayama practices
analogous to make
emotional transit thru
golden itty bitty
teensy weensy archway
infinitesimal impossible mission
to pinpoint areaway,
yet crisscrossing meditative
zen zone an array
of utmost nirvana
will never lead effortless
mantra buffeted concentration
not lead astray
and matter of fact
lightness of being
scaling metaphorical kickstarting
rah height aweigh
up yonder within
outer limits twilight zone
re: supraconsciousness
keeping at bay
non intrusive thoughts
ruff lee collaring, mimicking belay
boring bonafide dog obedience training
pant tum miming (think) begging
for limp bizkit, thus
canine loosens seat belt buckle
one notch braving violating
no trespassing sign
despite petsmart restriction
heavy populated wall tint
head nab yule Haitian
made Christmas benday
eerily resembling voodoo
cursed poppet summoned
if anybody doth betray
not being spellbound
hence, blithely skipping
reading future poetry (mine)
magic edict I dost bewray.
stumbling upon a case of a christian minister or priest
who took his sweet time to violate the innocence of
one or several little kids who will never be able to wash
themselves clean of the disease with which such a monster
crept along the sewer floor with is like
shooting
fish in a
barrel---
unraveling like an old rope, the dominos fall & story upon story upon
story of these
carnivorous
self-righteous
predators
pop up like wild fire &
then the representatives of the grand illusion come running
trying to make excuses
for a sickness which comes hand in hand with the lies told in that
“holy book”---
for those of us who don’t believe the flailing horse excrement
which is wielded upon us on a daily basis by faiths claiming to know
all the answers,
the actual documented crimes of those brave children who have come forth
later in life to reveal the true nature of these
vampires,
comes slamming into our hearts & minds
as
ONE BIG WAD OF christian CHILD RAPE---
for when the nonbeliever turns on their television
late at night,
s/he is subjected to the babblings of lunatics going on about armageddon, fire & brimstone, and all the teaching of fictional characters,
which somehow inspire people to violate children---
and if those who think that there is no linkage between the two want to
belay the point being made, saying that it is only a
select few who promulgate such horrors upon the young,
then the nonbeliever can offer up one question---
why do so many of these monsters get away with it?
your faith provides the shelter.
The facts of life, O birds and bees,
how getting aroused, can trigger a sneeze,
Weird as it seems, science explains,
this behavior’s no contagious disease,
Apparently nasal erectile tissue,
caused this quirk during evolution,
Was used to discern erotic pheromones,
isn’t that a nice upstanding resolution,
Autonomic reflex gets overloaded,
in which we have no control,
If you have a secret admirer,
an Achoo! could betray their goal,
Now I’ve opened Pandora’s box,
let the cat out of the bag,
Instead of social distancing,
sneezes might encourage a shack,
This poem has some side effects,
even strange permutations,
God bless you! never be the same again,
could construe carnal allegations,
Strange this evolutionary mixup,
is still embedded in our genes,
Contemporary signals of interest,
usually belay bulging jeans,
I’m going out on a limb here,
for better no definitely worse,
Did we humans in our primeval past,
grunt prelingual dirty words,
So many questions surround,
basic instincts of procreation,
Least of which erogenous zones,
are open to interpretation,
Like whispering sweet nothings,
a turn on, in each other’s ears,
Call out the ex’s name by mistake,
your lusty night might end in tears,
So if dressing up like Snow White,
and think someones getting sleazy,
Take it easy on the small guy,
he may just be acting out sneezy.
By
David Kavanagh
The most audacious dynasty will beget darker.
When I'm not on the moon, prefer courtship.
When a child is accustomed to bearing a light.
A scotopic vision marker to support you to view finer at night.
"Follow the Dust," I'd say.
A feeble pace at once.
Dwindle to that cognate yawning egress.
It's all around aping falls.
Soldering and thumb pinching through advent.
Grasp a deep breath and inhale the fly and its shroud.
Leopards swallow their own stripes.
In the womb, a furious fleshly critical stage.
Crushed limbs, legs, and bones
The tongue taunts, ravages, and slashes.
A blade of trouncing stirs the heart, head, and breast.
Seasonal mutations and season lapping
To belay the womb is alike extending the beck.
Slap the crying baby as the doctor lauds the progenitors.
The game probes over time, and the tape flashes back.
The infant is delivered in agony.
The cycle sustains. Opposite.
The calyx steadily shuts and unravels.
Nervous swimmers accept the offered hand.
We grasp a deep breath, cough, and rise.
I am aware of my circumstances.
Solemnities in the exploding quantities.
Fire according to man's precise maps.
The shelter and the roads linger both sites of death.
At clubs and crowds, there is death.
Death, death, and again death.
Written: February 22, 2022
(earlier this January 18th, 2019 belatedly
to acknowledge my LX birthday.)
Mine eldest sister
as I continue in the circle game
of life, (ye dear Amelie
McGeehan) darling dame
a modestly lofty poem I aim
to dash off (while riding away
high in the sky - belay
ying at Macht shnel blazing
saddles laser optic speed
in a white horse open sleigh),
and plaudits of course
without moment's delay,
your husband Richard,
one hunger re
chap, who wolfed
down his entree
(who introduced me
to fictitious song
titled Richard, Cory),
plus Harris patriarch Boyce aye
aver as gregarious soon tub be
a nonagenarian papa,
also one grand dad dee
glad this sole son did see
our father (thou wart tin...)
maintains sharp mental
a cue witty,
which does not mean he
willoughby immortal
till et tern knit tee
since the gradual
onset of death I bee
leave actually begins at
birth, but whee
ving and bobbing
(like a sponge at sea)
waves each person
closer to thee
cosmic creator, or re:
incarnate tid (three
times a day) tis key
unless otherwise specified
(if questionable issue at stake,
sans not so ease zee
as apple pie with gray vee),
hence power of attorney
in demand, cuz
this brother-hood
generated bupkis, and made prithee
coon fuse, nary a whit,
asper executor signed...
yours True Lee!