Long Blade Poems
Long Blade Poems. Below are the most popular long Blade by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Blade poems by poem length and keyword.
Mariana in the South
Oil Painting by John William Waterhouse
Mariana is a melancholic contemplation
painted after she was spurned for another.
Fetching in a silk gown except for the frown
she wears on the clear perfection of her face.
Portrayed with a look of grief and gloom,
the artist wisely chose to embrace.
Into a mirror she stares with daunting eyes,
barely able to take a brief look
for she is haunted by her own reflection
where there is the conception of tears.
Pain dwells on her fragile features
as she prays for the return of her love
but her happiness has been felled
as if cut down by the blade of Bunyon's axe.
Waterhouse detailed longing and soulful sadness
captured in each brush stroke of oil on canvas
Unrequited love finds her in front of a looking glass,
forsaken and abandoned by her fiancé.
With arched, furrowed brows, and long brown tresses,
Mariana stands alone and forlorn.
If she were able to speak, perchance she would say,
"Love is bitterly cruel and should be scorned
for I have been forgotten, left to weep and mourn."
If she were to write verses while in deep despair,
these words she may have tearfully scribed
with the trembling hand of Mariana, the fair.
I will have no one to hold me in dark of night
and never will my faith be restored in love
I am too heartbroken to face morning light
My heart bleeds like a pensive mourning dove
I cannot face the harsh wind when it blows
There is no hope left within my woeful soul
I will be alone, freezing in frigid Winter snows
for my heart is the part of me that love stole
*J. W. Waterhouse painted 'Mariana in the South' in 1897, inspired by
the poem of the same name, written by Alfred Lord Tennyson in 1891.
And in the nights of moonlit days,
She captured the shattered windows of pains
The ending nights into the caves,
Where she went with the shattered pains
Made her thought of a trance of hope
Where the hate whisper the beauty of shades.
But to the hate of deadly gaze,
The darkened waves, off the solace into the wavy grane.
Into the heart of shady trace,
She goes with the movement of rage.
The aches of heart makes her deep,
Into the soles of fiery sleep.
Where she ended the eyes of race,
Met into the graves of shadowy traits
The final night meant in the dark of a creep,
Creates a flame of dancing deep.
Went by the lights into caves,
Founded herself with blazes of blades.
All that flames met in the eyes,
Carved her heart into the shape of glaze.
The burning steel made her alive,
Into the veins of reels of live.
Wavy shades of teary bloods,
Kept in the shiny phase locked blades.
To herself, in the midway night,
Kept her eyes by the molten steels of teary fate.
And in the garden of shivers, down in the alley,
Inherited powers of teary blades of fiery,
Slotted the awaiting eyes into darkened sea,
Where the canvas feared and flee.
The apricity of blood shaped the blade,
Into the heart of sinking sins of fade.
And into the face of clearing shades,
She made a new way of creepy blades.
To the moon of scars that slotted fairy games,
She ended up making her own canvas of rains.
Wholly the depth of shades that resides,
Went into the phase of fears of decides.
A flame that flickers reared her eyes,
Met into the ways of teary ice.
The bleeding words shown into the ways,
But the slotted jar ended up in the depths of days.
The burning blades sheared and fade,
Where the melting steels cleared and shade.
Heart of race kept in the plane of dying days,
Worn into the cases of bleeding tales.
The movement of rage kept into the plane,
In the nightes of shades of pain,
The scars talked to the wavy ocean of rain,
The amidst shown the wholly creation of gain.
Flippancy
Projects held together,
with tiny threads of hope.
Cut with sharp scissors,
a knife, or razor-blade...
Putting hard work into a thing...
each giving their all,
days without end.
Trying to make it,
turn out...
right.
And...
Then at the very last,
one side not the other,
does a funny action.
Just,
leaving a small mess,
making new marks from carelessness...
chipping the dishes, or at least just one.
Placing books out of place,
cards out of file.
Anything at all to make it,
less than it should be.
How sad...
How true...
How real...
No answer at all
that makes any sense,
as to the "why"?
Ann Foster BooksbyAFoster
Along bosoms of maiden moon
Embroidered wings adorn the pond;
As fairies sidestep from beyond!
Where curtsies in the forest bloom,
My breath abates until they gleam
Into the gentle trellis scene.
Soft flicker chases tinted June
When pixies wink for one invite,
To gaily waltz in vines of light.
I loop in spells like hazed festoon
On lacquered weeds, the child in me
Answers the lure …so ever free.
Bewitching flights, now gone too soon
While impish waves begin to fade;
That in my dream, eyes slit like blade.
Along bosoms of maiden moon
Where curtsies in the forest bloom,
A flicker chases tinted June.
I loop in spells like hazed festoon
Bewitching flights, now gone too soon.
Can You Constanza Contest
8.29.12
The little beads rise to the surface of her skin.
The skin that seems to have
'gotten scratched by the cat'
One too many times.
But as she goes to erase all evidence of her deflect
She feels it sting.
A sting she knows all too well.
Her blood feeling the tension of the gleaming blade against her skin
The sting comes and goes,
But here comes the hell hot waters,
The little voices in her head screaming for her to yell in pain, in anger,
something to tell people she's hurt
But she just sighs as the
demons come from the shower and cause havoc on her skin
Her fingers graze against her
scars as she is reminded of the the pain, the agony.
But she will sigh, as she know the hell hot water demons,
will soon meet her skin again
What is your poison ?
Is is drugs , sex or booze?
Maybe something sinister.
Something, you hide,even from your muse.
Does the smell of blood,
Make you sigh in release?
Do their frantic cries,
Fuel your unending need?
Does the slice of a blade, excite your soul?
Leave you weak in the knees and make you soar.
Or is it the sharp edges of bones,laid broken,on the floor,that make you
complete.
Yes,they make you whole.
A mother , a daughter , a sister, a whore .
A father , a saviour, does it really matter anymore .
The faces , so seamlessly , merge into one .
And when death comes , it frees you , till the next one .
The proof they leave , your battle scars.
You wear them proud ,
Compared to you what you’ve done
Their’s is nothing at all.
Day,weeks,months.
They all go by ,
You don’t need the moon.
The numbers tell you how far you have come.
Do you feel ashamed when you look in the mirror,
Or proud and in control .
Does the madness in your eyes ,
reveal the insanity you withhold.
Does the voice in your head,
Tell you what to do?
Guide you,
Like a mother with the infant of her womb.
That voice in your head.
How sweetly it dwells.
Initially, pleasing.
The soothing sounds, it makes, when they are bleeding , your dead.
But then the sounds turn angry and vengeful
No matter what you do , there is no pleasing.
You thought you were in control ,but they played you.
Haha, all this time you were being ruled.
The doctors they tell you ,
You’re Evil , you’re doomed.
To rot in hell ,
Haunted and marooned.
So hide behind your mask,
A regular ol’ John.
While in hiding you keep,
The monster ,your true form.
Why would you want to be normal,
If normal isn’t you .
Does lying and hiding make it easier .
Or does it make, a reflection, that keeps humiliating you.
So set it free,
The killer in you.
What is your poison?
Mine is your ruin.
By
Amanda Miller
Form:
I looked out in a forest
and the constellation Taurus,
searching for some sign of He
who made this world and you and me.
I searched the fields that grew the grain
and peered inside a drop of rain,
trying to find the illusive Mind
that made the universe, and time.
I searched high hills and mountain peaks
and dug down low to hear earth speak,
about everything I was looking for
but nothing opened wide the door.
Then I looked inside a flower petal
and atoms flying 'round in metals,
and took to reading ancient history
but only found more misery and mystery.
Then I swam in waters deep
where oceans end and sailors' sleep,
then up again to sky and wind
finding no answers, there again.
I searched the sunshine and the shade
and every blade of grass He made,
and all the birds that I like best
but nothing quenched my futile quest.
Until I closed my eyes one night
and prayed to Him to give me sight,
to see his face and lift me up
to give me strength and fill my cup.
With all the faith as a child I had
but lost along life’s winding path,
until found again one prayer-filled morn
in a whispered voice, I was reborn.
Tattoo Belly is coming, the army whispered, clearly disturbed by the idea
Yet excited too, for we had heard how many heads he loped off in the last war.
I looked for my trust squire. Her face was as long as her name, Potawatameah
Can you do anything about him? I mouthed. She bit her apple to the core.
Chewed rapidly, but did not commit in front of the well-armed others.
I watched her spit out the seeds, and then she took off in an elongated run.
I knew she was pondering whether or not to return with her brothers.
If they came back with her, this devilish monster ogre would not have as much fun.
Do you think she can help? Another quivering, scared-looking young recruit asked me.
A loud roar happened at the front, and we heard it way down on this side of the line.
Not sure yet, I responded. Calm down, young buck, let us just wait and see.
Then Tattoo Belly came over the hill carrying a jagged sword, all terrible and fine.
I nearly swallowed my dentures, he was a sight that turned my blood instantly cold.
I figured it is because this is my seventy-second year, and I am getting kind of stiff and old.
Heads started flying this way and that, flicked off by the edge of his terrible blade.
When another roar happened, from deep within the dark verdant green glade.
The earth began shaking, as if elephants were stampeding closely to the battle.
I heard a roar that sounded like it came from the disengaged head of some cattle.
Potawatameah came racing over the hill with her brothers, giants with pure ferocity.
One picked up Tattoo Belly, and ate him in one gulp, and boy, did his army flee!
Chi ha colpa del vento che piega la sua vela now raggiungera mai il porto (1)
He lies about the past as it it never came,
My faults,my frailties he magnifies by sly eyes;
He calls me a drama queen,shames when I cries
I never loved him,my being here was just a game.
His friends now and his false idols parade for fame
While every scar,every pain I bear becomes a blade;
He calls my care a fake,the one so unafraid
To drown,overboard,in fire-is assigned the blame.
Now I rise,take back the dignity that'ts mine alone,
March to the river and the mountain for my soul';
Mend my spirit Jordan,bone by ageing bone.
Deny the lies that aim to tighten control.
I am human and mortal,but strong and steady I shall be,
And break these evil chains that cruelly gaslight me.
Thin are the lines between love and hate,
Between life and death...
But I'll tell of your fate
With my dying breath...
I open my eyes wide
To see through the windows of your soul
All those long nights I've cried
Longing to know all of your traumas untold.
You may bleed for me
As I long for you
Dry those pain filled tears
Replace them with the mornings dew
They may hold a blade to my throat
And a gun to my head
But betray you? I won't
Not even after I'm dead.
Weave all your lies
Brew all your secrets
Hiding from the truth breaks ties
And seduces lowlife miscreants
I walk these dark streets nightly
Dressed as a man
Keeping my act up and my truth locked tightly
As secure as I can
The skies may seem to change
From day to day and stage to stage
But the city below
Ebbs and flows
While I alone remain
To observe the possibilities
Of bringing beauty out from the stains....
-Caitlin Rockey