Long Bifurcated Poems
Long Bifurcated Poems. Below are the most popular long Bifurcated by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bifurcated poems by poem length and keyword.
At night, when I remember our love once more,
Us, stained by the shadow that glides in, trembling beneath the gentle star,
Held tight in embrace, like two nomads under the infinite vault of pigments,
Eternally swayed by the time's carousel, in the deep of the shadow we catch.
Asleep in the heavy veil of sleep, secret and profound,
We travel in spirit on primordial paths of lava,
Whispering eternally about the calm echo that gives peace to the heart,
In dreams, we sail on an azure sea that swallows us into the vast.
And there, on the thaumaturgic beach of uncertain dreams,
In the ignorance of tomorrow, of our bifurcated presence,
We wait for love to be the alchemist, spinning lead into gold,
Yet still together, still eternal, with the end always a step away.
Our love, a painting in the shadows of Caravaggio of souls,
Does not ask to be deciphered but dreams to fly without bounds,
And if we shall wander among the days, the love that bound us,
Will perish, not beneath the starry canvases, not under the celestial spark,
But will fade in our mistake of putting it to the test.
crushed at rock bottom he gathered the fragments of descent
slow motion agony that started at a plateau of deluded deceit
free falling sadness spiraling out of control beyond fast repair
the black dog on his shoulder had survived the fall and barked
another round of sadness an insurmountable sorrow cheered on
‘you are useless and even void and oblivion are having a laugh’
a tunnel with no light and the canary asphyxiated in the mine shaft
another panic attack unable to ease the landing of a scarred mind
scared and confused he gathered the pieces and stabbing shards
with broken bones and un-abating accusations he collected his guilt
fears and shame about yet another defeat at the foundation of evil
demons and miserable clairvoyants spoke in bifurcated obsessions
possessed by the mother of all depressions he reached for a glimmer
of hope he searched for a message from science deities and reason
yet unable to guide his emotions all efforts crashed without rescue
the rope had twisted once more and he dangled helpless face down
just enough slack to disfigure his angry face that featured disgust
and yet as the blood flooded his brain he surrendered his objections
one final attempt and he severed the noose with the open fracture of
the razor sharp dislocation sticking out just below the palm of his hand
with a further snap of his wrist and life line he surrendered lost dreams
if life gave you hemlock but the vessel had cracked on the impact
of the smash and grab of lifeless cycle of disassociated insanity he
resolved to drink his own blood and call upon autoimmune response
after all the medication had been useless and hours on Freud’s couch
had only imprinted more festering pressure sores on purulent skin
cognitive explorations had only dragged him further down self-denial
religion mantras and science had failed to invoke sanity and healing
levitation would not emerge when he fell from the edge of madness
the cross lay in pieces and nails had lacerated his heart and resolve
just when he felt the pulse getting weaker and with delirious gaze
he succumbed to a last ditch attempt to reassemble a piece of his soul
wrote an ultimate will on the wall and vowed to hand over let go and live
15th June 2020
Let them say I was a simple, stubborn person,
hypersensative or insensative, a dispenser of partial justice,
a person of particular patience,
may those who encountered me in moments of bliss or blight,
in instances of charity, charisma or condemnation speak of me ruefully & beautifully,
some will surely say that I was apolitical, asexual, atypical,
an atheist an animist, a racist or an altruist, a want to be soldier,
a combatant for my liberty,
others, I suppose, that I was selfish as sin,
courteous like kindness, and furious as a frustrated phantom,
maybe they'll say I was gay or anticompliance,
I do not dare require truth, fact or fiction from my bifurcated biographers,
I only ask for their breath,
their rosey & ruse recollections of my life so stark,
let them say that they knew me,
let them say that I lived,
that I lived lovingly, lonesomely, and learnedly,
let them witness my reality like laughter in the dark -
J.A.B.
This is when the old and the young,
beasts and confraternal drunks
damn the consequences of death
lying porous on crossroads upon
bifurcated paths, fractured junctions
and ceremonial cul-de-sacs...
The time is immaterial,
so long as the traffic lights — the veggie-green,
the claret, and the urine-amber —choose their slow
blinking and rapid-eyelid movement carefully.
And moon might decide not to power its own light.
Tenebrous tracks then fill our eyes with the age of
sea monsters blinded by charcoal waves.
Need I hail the neon signs of bordellos!
And the city’s restless constellations!
They sparkle with rage and with the brio of rioting stars,
thus adding celestial films to our already overloaded eyes....
But that’s another story.
C’mon... we are no Deer or Asahel descendants!
Closely related to sloths, millipedes and snails,
we drag our feet, which in turn drag the volumes of
stupidity in us, aggravated by drams and midnight parties
held between a flowing weekend and a stagnant Thursday.
This Sunday,
Before noon,
In my community church,
Wedding bells ring?
Rosemary,
Daughter of our land,
Weds!
Grand invitations
With ancestral R.S.V.P.
To be spoken with flutes,
Dressed in yellow palm fronds.
The invitation cards spread like
Wide fire in the harmattan,
Fluttering with the strength of
Flirting confetti
Between the navel of the earth
And the heart of the village square.
The living and the dancing —
Kinsmen assembled —
Speaking alien tongues.
Some wearing flowing gowns
And scents of communal petals,
And others in foreign garments
With smells of ceremonies . . .
The procession?
A long ground column of assimilation,
Speechless, yet full of
Local canticles.
Winding ways of the church
Bifurcated enclaves . . .
The procession halts,
And, like two-headed paths,
Splits ?
One leading to the market
And the other to the tavern below
The flat bowel of the town.
At the stroke of twelve
When the church bell peals loudest,
Rosemary weds
And becomes two fleshes-in-one.
There was feasting and wine-ing,
As well as gisting and whining,
From the break of noon till the
Spell of midnight.
The inebriated hardly could
Distinguish between June and July,
And could tell not between the bride and
The groom.
OK, mindful class,
past time to reopen our nurturing nests,
our nutritional mouths
and good-natured ears
and fertile reverse reserves
of not Lose/Lose
EarthMother Health-Wealth Care.
First,
we define our variables,
bilaterally co-arising
recreating
bipartisan dipolarities
Depolarizing
bipolar competing aggravations
replacing Old School co-gravitations
cooperative structured spatial out-forms (x-Yang)
and compassionate temporal in-flow(y-Yintegral
Organic green growing secular BodyLeft (x)
and sacred MindRight felt (y)
x/y brilliantly resilient body/mind co-investments
Where x presents Integrity
of enlightened LeftBrain solid form,
And y represents CoInvestments
of empowering RightBrain synergetic flow.
Please respond as I call:
X also Here presents...
Universal
space without sufficient time
And Y again Now remembers...
Unitarian
wealth of time without severing
Universal health care space
Very good.
And, thereby,
resurfaces reverse appositions
between Solidarity (x)
and Synergy (y)
Of non-zero
Open Whole Living BioSystems
for x/y Gaian NeuroSynthesis
Green Tao Energy
CoPassionately coalescing
inside mindful listening classrooms
while creolizing cultures and religions
outside indigenously integral
win/win peak experience
polyculturally robust
HealthCare Communication
Wealthy EcoPolitical Systems
As Golden Rule understood
and appreciated
by AnthroPrivileged students
of LeftBrain empowering
nonviolent ecofeminist
secular (x) communicating forms
sacred (y) peak communion flows
In economic
and political conclusions,
co-invested and co-operative
Universal spatial solidarity (x)
Yang bilaterally double-binds Yintention
Unitarian temporal synergy
exponentially encircling (y)
Emergent
Mono(x)/Poli(y)-Theistic
Gaian felt panentheistic
inside RightBrain nonverbal
nonviolent win/win communication
Unconditional warm-flow
womb-formed pre-traumatic
universal/unitarian bifurcated mindfulness
Original prime matriarchal attachment
(x/y) ego/eco-systemic harmonic
EarthTribal resilient ch'i-balance
harmonic wisdom circles
for sharing resonant wealth
of resilient health.
Written: September 24, 2023
Apple Picking Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
___________________________________________________________
In a farm adorned with autumn's grace,
Where saffron sunbeams slightly trace,
A bountiful orchard, a wondrous sight,
Where apples hang, kissed by sunlight.
Apple-picking crate handy, we venture near,
To savor apple sweetness we hold dear.
Picking apples, a cherished tradition,
Every fruit is a regalia of nature's provision.
The branches sway, whispering secrets untold,
As we gather the harvest, worth beyond gold.
Their vibrant shades are a feast of delight.
As we pluck them, a symphony bears flight.
Crisp and succulent, every morsel is a treat.
We burst with delight as aromas never deceit.
The harvest of the fruit, nature's abundance.
Reviving our bodies and souls via indulgence.
From Granny Smiths to succor Honey Crisps.
Every apple utters a tale, every tidbit is bliss.
The orchard's opulence is a perennial treasure.
Connecting eras is a string that we can measure.
My extended bifurcated ladder pokes the tree still
I'm also picking the finest fruits I can foresee.
As sunset draws near, the barrel will fill.
I may have left two or three apples on a tree.
As the sun goes down the shades fade.
We cherish the orchard for the time jade.
We've known the thrill of plucking apples.
All these trees savor akin to snapples.
An admiring bird sings while sitting under a tree.
They favor the fresh, white crisp alongside the bees.
The jars were then filled, hitherto in the gloam.
The halcyon family cartwheeled their harvest home.
killer (suicide) wrought living corpse
fruition, while she whipped various
nutritious concoctions in blender
to ensure minimal essentials to, I
readily admit) famished body in con
junction with applying vital supple
mints into bony gluteus maximus,
thru fuel injection which submissiveness
to acquiesce, and bare buttocks did
absolutely nothing to squelch death wish.
I inexorably overcame eating disorder
deadly hunger strike essentially constituted
declaration of independent control
despite horrendous craving for food
jabbed innards like a pike bifurcated
psychic division loosed, ousted, and
routed coeval grim reaper grippe
permanent goal lyeth drink seize abated
gnome hatter reminiscence blissful child
hood over flooded self made dike
revised engendering propensity
to catapult into abysmal emotional hole
before invention of Facebook, I
mentally clicked Like sparring sword
fight mailer daemons mortally wounded
slain, viz healthy development stole.
Imprimatur indelibly etched decades
after bout with passive exit from life
crimps psycho/social skills plus
stunted physical growth butcher knife
cuts affected mental health with panic
attacks and anxiety though existence
considerably less riddled debilitating
symptoms (such as vertigo, racing heart,
profuse sweating, nausea, irritable bowels)
courtesy prescription medications.
Fresh home from therapy,
and resonate with zeal
tush air cerebral cogs a turn'n
analogous to and pinion wheel
hence attempt made to bare soul,
sans thru poetry re: veal
ling avidity, asper barreling neurological
daily kos loaded truck full
heading toward figurative
lifelong landfill deposits
on weekly psycho
logical session I unseal
manipulating bothersome issues
controlled via bot size thumbwheel,
which grave undertaking i.e.
professional counseling allows,
enables, and provides opportunistic
gradual process at selfheal
ling oft times necessitates
reviewing silent Virgina reel
comprising the story
of earlier life piecemeal
akin to a slapdash montage
chronicling existential ordeal,
now referencing adenoids
(removal first mention within
poetic endeavor, when young boy)
loosely linkedin with nasopharyngeal
pseudo oral palate
highway tucking each meal
across miniature bridgework,
ma late mum meekly
acceded to doctors orders,
said operation sub
sequently deemed unnecessary
affecting negligible decreasing nasality
predicated on split (bifid
or bifurcated uvula), viz laryngeal
utterances finds me speculating
speculating now, whether taking kneel
ling pose possibly coo dove
wrought divine intercession
giving me super powers ideal
for fighting off being bullied
gloating this instant imagining
bringing beastie boys to heel
actual reality visit my kid self,
a most convenient scapegoat
socially withdraw puny size lad
internalizing hateful barbs glom
ming up significant emotional gearwheel
inferiority complex predominating
supplemented with cumulative
anger, a potent feel
ling exacerbating anxiety prone disposition
courtesy chromosomal
(pop'n mom genes) art of the deal.
I started toddling at seven months,
Walking the roads as from twelve
Shaping my feet from sands and mud upon bumps
Frequenting the paths to hell and into which I delve
From the spittle of the seas to the flayed clay of aging silt
It’s the same old story frequently told in tears
Moaning and mourning are kinsmen in the compound of guilt
Where ancestral rocks and whetstones gather moss in pairs
I have journeyed on, night and day, stumbling
And falling, rising and schlepping determinedly ahead,
A bag of sorrows on my back, encountering no nibling
It’s a one-man tiring journey accompanied by dread
When the road is bifurcated, I gamble on my choice of route,
Searching stars at nights to guide me on paths of clearer lineage
I borrow the gimlet eyes of crickets to seek out wedges to uproot,
Knowing well what I desire in my pilgrimage
So far, it’s been one Hell of a road
So frighteningly long and sinuous —tumultuous
Harbouring wildernesses, dens and gold,
Yet those who tread on it are serious and sensuous
It plies mountains, rugged and brutal, with sweltering breeze blown
On flat land and deserts, it hurts and fries the naked feet
On rainy, starless nights, you’re on your own.
Above restless crests of sea waves, it’s like a wet, riotous street.
Trust me, it’s one road upon which I’d hesitate to tread again,
Even if the lights of the sun and the moon promise to accompany me
Oh, no, I’d prefer to board the wings of a tern, even in rain,
And keep warm with the feathers above the knee.