Long Bind Poems
Long Bind Poems. Below are the most popular long Bind by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bind poems by poem length and keyword.
Free At Last
Summer birds now have flown, to escape winters chilly loving embrace. Little creatures that once across glens and fields did scamper and hide from the hunters above, now snugly settle in deep holes awaiting springs return.
Jack frost his skates readying to glide across rivers, ponds, and streams, long days slowly give way to starless crisp cold nights. Woollen gloves and scarfs reach out and replace cotton and silk, hug bodies in ways now remembered as a lover new and past.
Squirrels red and grey scamper with finds of the day as owls come out to play. Starlings that once filled the sky under the golden light of the fading sun, now lingers on the mind as dreams of a happier time.
Thin wisps of clouds drift aimlessly in skies of pale blue light, no place in mind, thoughts look towards the day when children shriek in glee while inside, I weep for one who’s side I no longer stand. Tears not of sadness though alone I be, but of relief for the pain longer I hide.
Happiness is my gift, wrapped in bows of freedom and to be able to live my life the way I feel. New joys I’ve found, things forbidden anew I’ve found, joyous wonder my feet bounce’s upon the ground. You held me back for your pleasure, this now I know through the time that has passed, when I left it was my fault you told all who would listen.
Carefree my spirit soars wonderous joy like when I was a boy, this experience this part of life, has helped me grow. Being alone if that be my fate, face I now knowing sometimes that’s how it may be, what for me fate has chosen, on two feet standing not bended knee spirit broken, the shackles you thought to bind me now in my past, free at last to live as me.
By
Patrick D
Form:
It is good on this island
Where such hands good to hold
Warm pride for hearts cold
Poetry many men band.
Great men, great IQ
Flourish my time with meaning
Myriad thoughts in a simple Haiku
A wonderful feeling healing.
Bard friends hold my hand
In you, I find solace
Every criticism, a sweet gland
It's poetry, not a race.
On your reviews, my points build
They tell me 'Reach for the sky'
Glad I in your poetry guild
So much love I may not buy.
I 'll never leave this land
So much poetry circle bind
Great feats on time's sand
My love of poetry is blind.
Butterfly Ballad
I draw my world unto myself
With silken strands – a silent chrysalis
To sleep, to dream, of golden moments past
Then bind deep wounds in salve of isolation’s bandage.
I spin a private world’s protection
Around this bleeding, tattered heart
That hides in darkness
And begs for healing reveries to ache no more.
Lord set me free to fly – to reach for your higher heights
Amid the melodies of life spinner’s living things
My soul drifts toward new harmonies
Where my anguish, shed in teardrops,
Hears new songs outside this crucible and beyond.
The borders of this world of mine grow too small
To hold a fresh expanding joy
The binding silken strands once strong
Dissolve like sea foam on the ocean’s wind.
Lord set me free to fly – to reach for your higher heights
From midnight’s bonds I am thrust
This tottering soul blinks - startled by resplendent light -
To unfold new kaleidoscope wings of rejoicing
Before the Creator of my new mystic songs.
Gently rising into the singing sunrise
That flows from this new dawning dawn
I seek anew life spinner’s face
To ever sing the Creator’s song of renewing grace.
Lord set me free to fly – to reach for your higher heights.
1-6-21
Contest: “B” Forms
Sponsor: Constance La France
Blind from birth she saw the light,
but no darkness in her soul,
broken, guided, hands outstretched
but her faith had made her whole.
Self taught and skilled with hook and thread
her handicap no bind,
plus literate, she learned by rote, and knew
her worth, her mind.
Child of parents Protestant, eagerly took the word,
paid pennies to the readers of her Bible, gladly heard.
At odds with the high Church on points doctrinal
she was tried, sentenced to hang over the flames
rope maker's daughter died.
Thus cruelly taken in her prime, her age just twenty two,
her Martyr's grave unknown, but place of death
now given to a Church of the religion that
she'd found herself at odds
in a time when gross intolerance blocked
so many paths to God.
R.I.P Joan Waste of Derby, 1534-1556
Tiny tremors trigger tumultuous tantrums inside,
Like a whispered secret, that refuses to subside,
Trivial troubles trip, tender ties that once did bind,
Leaving love's landscape littered, with the shards of a shattered mind.
Fragile feelings fray, furious fists that once did clasp,
Now clenched in anger, or limp in a sorrowful grasp,
Flickering flames of love, falter, fade, and finally pass,
Like the dying embers, of a once-warm, now-cold, winter's glass.
Sizzling sparks of suspicion, set sacred spaces ablaze,
Melting the mask of trust, and revealing the hidden, hurtful ways,
Sweeping statements stir, swirling storms of bitter haze,
Choking the air with anger, and the weight of unspoken, unseen gaze.
Petty problems proliferate, piercing peaceful, private places,
Stealing the sweetness of silence, and the solace of secret spaces,
Painful pride and passion, perpetuate perpetual, pugnacious faces,
Reflecting the turmoil, that rages, like a restless, relentless sea.
Raging rivers of resentment, rush, roar, and ruthlessly ravage,
Rending relationships, ruthless rivalries, and ravished, romantic images,
Shattered shards of shattered dreams, scatter, shatter, and shame,
Scarred souls and shattered hearts, succumb to sorrow, shame, and blame.
Yet, gentle gusts of forgiveness, gradually gather, grow, and glow,
Gifted glimpses of genuine love, gently guide, heal, and help to know,
Softly shining spotlights, spotlight sacred vows and trust,
Strengthening marriage's mighty mansion, with love's unbreakable crust.
You are the dusk that masquerades as first light.
In the stillness of descending twilight,
your spellbinder's expectorant
opens the passageways of the feeble,
weevles like a gloworm
in dark fertile soil.
Whispers of memories that never were,
in a soft lament,
in a lofty raimant.
I am lost in the shadows of yesterday's song,
longing for a love that once belonged.
In risky fantasy,
I play your suspect invitation,
as a night thief with an accordion,
iron lung.
Too powerfully drawn am I,
unable to resist your decisions-
Wringing me dry.
Shift of weightlessness density,
snap-twang, propensity-thick and numb.
If I had just one last guess,
I am the cotton and you are the laudanum.
Why am I the salivary gland and the gum.
The wavering field of rye that a beast
tramples on.
Invisible chains they bind my words,
like a palsy stricken tongue,
grasping my chords with ghastly cords,
poetic enslavement,
thoughtfully borne divided by
my pasts sum.
Rosehips- tea soaked gingerly-
your spell lingers on SOS morose telepathy
morse code, telegraphed, telegaphed
to see your confident smile mockingly know,
peering into the eyes before expected wind-up
and mesmerizing blow.
Your fluiro-essences spores inliquidity,
wetness of morganite,
juices leeched,
leaving me in my parasitic derangement,
unable and unwilling to fight-
familiar arrangement.
Your jaded facet to sparkle
as a trophy against the light.
That which you neon flash to be.
From, for, to, too spun,
I am a sugar crop to make into candy
that you drool upon the lips,
as I drink you in
electroponic abomination splice of caine
and Hawaiian Punched Drunkenness.
Hey Kool aid, break through my walls
and offer your solution.
Stain my lips.
A fermented wavelength I will become,
dialing your frequency,
of restless dream,
silence of my soul's dark night,
moonlight beamer ride of twists and turns.
Some people never learn,
me being that one,
you being my classroom distraction
passing notes of gossiped ink of juicy gossamer,
till you are commanded to "release
this dumb- one, who knows not of lessons,
of touching what burns".
Journey Journal Page
MEDITATION
By Leon Enriquez
To know goodwill
Simply Be Still
Pray with your heart
Let stillness start
~~~~~~~~~
Word aids focus
Know soul’s locus
Be of one mind
Learn to be kind
~~~~~~~~~
Discern and see
Love is the key
Be true to you
In all you do
~~~~~~~~~
The way shows now
Your heart knows how
Style sculpts true flair
No need for airs
~~~~~~~~~
Step by step know
Your path that shows
Walk your own quest
Live your own best
~~~~~~~~~
Live without fear
Keep your good cheer
Live without dread
Be unafraid
~~~~~~~~~
Live well this day
Start as you pray
Breathe love and fun
Smiles, play and pun
~~~~~~~~~
Do all you can
Just understand
Know sans knowing
What life’s showing
~~~~~~~~~
Go with fond peace
Live your life lease
Joy knows the way
To bless this day
~~~~~~~~~
May love bring grace
In sacred space
Light on your face
Binds love in place
~~~~~~~~~
True bliss sculpts fest
Blessings bind quest
Here and Now see
Love comes to be
~~~~~~~~~
In love’s embrace
Feel your sweet space
Let happy cheer
Draw love most dear
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
20 February 2024
Singapore
I've tried to detangle you
From those numerous questions
Where at times you seek refuge and hide
I've searched near and far, in silence an strife
Sometimes you are so spontaneous
And come to me in urgency
In those do or die situations
And yet you elude me at times
To make me think and ask why?
Yet at times you wake me
And arrive in the dead of night
Sometimes even giving me a fright!
Like a light switched on, without a sound
Something you've said something so profound
Like an arrow you dart, straight from the heart
And quieten those beats, in a loop
They bind and enter my mind
Till I find you sometimes in the middle of what I say
Even at times when my thoughts race through the day
You are sometimes literally, the answer to my prayer in my despair
I seek you in those far away looks as you help me repair!
I can hardly wait reading welter of books...
courtesy Karen Windle a gift horse
ponied up late afternoon May18th, 2020
over roan nay bore lee volition.
Unbeknownst how she raised (cane),
and loudly wrapped outside the door
every ounce of her eighty plus pounds
slip of elderly lady petite bow legged
spry late 60's though older looking gal
argh – I expect unpleasant fallout after
piercing eyes unexpectedly discover
references made regarding aged waif,
who inexplicably signalled presence
in toto i.e. presents to comprehend, a
bounty, nah, not worth causing mutiny
nevertheless heave on lee delight hup
pea zing helter skelter discombobulated
alienation courtesy coronavirus lockdown
concomitantly venues to borrow books
puts serious and perilous bind aggravated
assault upon cerebral cortex regarding a
forced hiatus deprivation to binge read
reduced to peruse the daily toilet paper
no stimulation for imagination to indulge
magical mystery tour thwarted helter skelter
ye silently ask rather infer "what me bored?"
Despite severely circumscribed choices
whiling away hours, who knows lockdown
courtesy coronavirus (COVID-19)
warrants near indefinite closure accessing
literary material buzzfeeding noggin,
an egg gone eye zing torture rankles
healthy predilection to binge osmotically
passion for written word all the while
authors unbeknownst evoke quintessential
pleasant provocation dredging up
10,000 leagues below the jewel bedecked
cease son bewitched (Alder time) tremendous
metaphorical pristine hinterlands
Matthew Scott's vernacular semantic
hodgepodge orientation withered away
figurative gripes wrath and rail against
series of unfortunate events ala defiant
Lemony Snicket, when despair plummeted
to all time low, who should unwittingly
telepathically hear plaintive SOS sent
none other than intrepid Karen Windle,
who's mysteriously rapping announced
dog send appearance bore deliverance
(cue Banjos), where ecstasy didst delve
where still waters run deep, nevertheless
welcome respite when printed material
weekly magazines offered scant respite.
two loving souls kissing in the rain
sharing happiness forever
one heartbeat, one body
Each sweet caress like bolts of lightning
Passion ignites together
Kissing in the rain will bind them eternally
May 27, 2013
For PD's "Kissing in the Rain" Contest
6th Place Winner