Long Breathy Poems
Long Breathy Poems. Below are the most popular long Breathy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Breathy poems by poem length and keyword.
Glass shattered Saturday afternoon tea for S I L E N C E
holding steady raven momentum for its own r i p p i n g
fire from heartbeat slashes its void to tumble wounds of
wisdom weeping slow dirty tears of biting burns inserting
into wordless flesh of waiting before window panes were
smashed with stone docile ornaments, rampant afternoon
unvoiced holding a blank white canvas for dripping
bookshelves tumbled, poems torn to sheds, laundry strewn
with glass splinters as lead, aphonics slithering into dried out
stewpot waiting for maniacal tsunami to cremate emotions
tweezer them from dna soiled in possessive prisons ridiculed
Divinity spoke in all pervasive silence on testing timeline taut
holding breath to His nostrils imbibing a billion frequencies
I chose to brave open His serene lips for unutterable L O V E
lashes He crafted brushed breathy implicits with assent
for missions of courage traversed embracing solitude
observed in stillness whilst across eerie forest moss
carpets I deciphered “They Don’t Care about Us”
hush self wears a daisy cloak from heavenly dew fields
luminosity unzips not as lies hop chaotic across
spiderwebs it can chameleon transmute into gentle
streams to soothe that which hides for right timing
~ first bud of white rose birthing delicacy or benign
waters over pebble backdrop quietude
biscuit baker feeds jealousy, deceit, shame, guilt, indecision
escapism ~ swampy keys of stagnant quagmires will too utter
her heart’s eclipsed light breaking egoic invisibility as
softly I breathe her shadowed taciturn s t e a l t h
quiet petaling garment breaks open blackout mission
regurgitating quantum memories incubated in beckoning cell
fertility for decades perhaps centuries, marching crusades of
soul conquering ancient lands, majestic mountains, raucous
seas, ports, yellow spices, when women with babes gagged
anguished longing for men to taste their honey in serenity
hot crusted bread speaking truths of labouring backs bent
cows chewing cherrywood cuds ~ what could be a more
knowing t r a n q u i l i t y ?
now wafered soundlessness is lamb yet diamond piercing
raw, a lark offers sotto tones as harmony cupped in two
musing wings to ascend where it can quintessentially
quiver, hover in expectant repose for another silent mission
Okay, here’s a shot at those lyrics, aiming for that Prince-meets-Brandy-ballad-with-a-Usher-hook vibe. I've opted for an AABB rhyme scheme with some internal rhymes to add to the flow.
Title: Cinnamon Skies (For Him)
(Intro - Soft synth pads, a low bass line, and a light drum machine beat – very 90s R&B)
(Verse 1 - Prince-esque vocals, slightly breathy and melodic)
Streetlights blur, a hazy gold, on my way to the pump
Thinking 'bout you, future unfolding, a gentle, subtle thump
He showed his fam, so soon, a shock, but felt like home, you see
Talkin' life, where we goin’, destiny, and you meant for me
(Pre-Chorus - Beat becomes a little more prominent, slight vocal harmonies come in)
He asked about my faith, my dreams, showed such soft respect
Never pressure, just intention, true love we connect
(Chorus - Usher-esque catchy hook, layered vocals, more emphasis on the beat)
Gotta get him, gotta get him, while the love’s so real and true
He's a keeper, trust the feelin', what he feelin’ for you
(Verse 2 - Vocals become slightly more spoken word, still melodic)
Cinnamon dad, a sweet embrace, a fleeting, stolen kiss
Fueling up, for that precious place and that love I can't dismiss
Values deep, he spoke with fire, a vision we both shared
Future plans, burning desire, a feeling, well, it's rare
(Pre-Chorus - Beat picks up again, harmonies a bit stronger)
He honored every line I drew, cherished every side of me
This ain't just a fling, it's true, the man I was meant to see
(Chorus - Usher-esque catchy hook, layered vocals, more emphasis on the beat)
Gotta get him, gotta get him, while the love’s so real and true
He's a keeper, trust the feelin', what he feelin’ for you
(Bridge - Ballad feel, vocal harmonies layered, beat drops to just a basic pulse)
Goddess Abundance, blessed this path, intertwined our fates
No doubt, no turning back, sealed by love, no debates
Early on, showing his clan, that I was meant to stay
A plan so grand, a holy span, now that future’s on display.
(Chorus - Usher-esque with a slight vocal run at the end, powerful and full)
Gotta get him, gotta get him, while the love’s so real and true
He's a keeper, trust the feelin', what he feelin’ for you, oh yeaaaaah!
(Outro - Synth pads and a soft bass fade out, with a final echo of “for you…”)
A re-post of poem 939895 that mysteriously disappeared from PS...
The early morning darkness oozes melancholy whispers
as enraged storm clouds enfold me in a final deathly embrace.
She has come for me.
I can feel her breathy torment
breathe cold upon my beleaguered brow.
A cautious glimpse through my bedroom window
reveals the rage in her nictating blue eyes.
Frozen to my pillow I watch in terror.
Her minacious exhalations mesmerizing me.
Like a beautiful child giddily watching weightless seeds
float gently from blown Dandelions,
I watch transfixed,
as blinding fury strips leaves from trees,
breaking limbs like snapping bones.
The canopy twists in distorted grimaces
her demented smile mirrored in each pained contortion,
her wail echoed in the screams of trees.
They bend and turn and pull their roots from the soil
in vain attempts to escape her wrath.
She has come for me!
There is no escape.
A swirling dance of death and destruction,
bleeding droplets assail the glass.
A thousand tiny fingers tapping, scratching,
try to gain entrance into my final safe haven.
I can feel her drawing ever closer,
hovering above me,
sniggering,
her passion tempting me,
seducing me,
exulting in her conquest for she knows I can’t resist,
draining from me my heart,
my love,
my life.
Her cold dead fingers reach for me in my dream,
stealing my essences, draining my soul,
leaving nothing,
a dying husk of what once was an ebullient life, a caring man.
Then through the night a ray of brilliant light beams hope against darkness.
The angel appears.
Her words beckon me to fight against the demon,
the seductress, the succubus.
encouraging me,
caressing me,
With her agile wit and calm caring mind
she soothes me.
She comes for me,
and I await her eagerly.
Her laughter like the tinkle of sweet bells
vanquishes my night terror, waking me from my dream.
She comes for me,
and I melt longingly into her comforting willowy embrace
as the ravaging misery fights its final battle,
destroying all that it can.
With one last desperate breathe it screams curses into the night,
while my sweet angel strokes me with her words
and her beautiful blue eyes flash a brummagem smile.
09/15/2017
I saw Lucifer in starlight standing elegant and grim,
A slim, conceited bastard in his uniform and boots.
And I watched him get excited as he waved his arms and boasted,
“The world’s a prize to seize for those who have the will”
(And would I be inclined to run for office?).
I thought it over quietly, politely turned him down
And wondered, Was he beaten as a child?
The biggest bullies were once victims themselves.
A lot of little Hitlers have grown up beneath the lash.
His is no temptation; I had loving parents,
And I cannot help but pity his disease.
I observed the young seductress flash her long silken legs,
The skin above her stockings so invitingly smooth,
And she broke the breathy silence as she arched her back and whispered,
“Women dress to be undressed, or so they say in France”
(And would I like to stay and do the honors?).
I thought it over quietly, glanced down to check my watch
And wondered, Is her mother waiting up?
If all I cared about was pleasing myself,
The weight of my desires would be more than I could bear.
And this sweet temptation, she’s some father’s daughter,
As I cannot help but be my father’s son.
Emotion should be molded by reason
Into something that’s designed to do some good.
No need to fashion a hammer,
If the only thing to pound is someone’s heart.
And all you’ve got to do is take one more step,
One more step, one more step.
All you’ve got to do is take one more step.
(And one more after that.)
I’ve been on this train forever, or at least that’s how it seems.
I’ve traced the buckled strap iron from the highlands to the sea.
And I chuckled in agreement when the club car porter grumbled,
“It’s amateurs who brag about how much they dare to drink”
(And would I like to have another double?).
I thought it over quietly, sat back to light a smoke
And told him, “It’s a tough profession, friend.”
Inherent weakness or just simple fatigue;
A stumble’s still a stumble, makes no difference how you fall.
But I’ll fight temptation till the thirst turns brutal,
Then I cannot help but reach for my reward.
I sat in restless chairs
I breathed stilted air
what feeling compares
with feeling squandered?
I’m not sadfishing,
I was bored in a 5-star hotel.
I’d swum the Atlantic - in the underground pool
and I felt like I was marinating in boredom.
It was as if the loudest thing in our suite was
the sound of my eyelashes flapping up and down.
I wasn’t in solitary confinement,
Lisa was there too - and just-as bored.
She didn’t complain, 'cause she’s ‘New Yorker’ stoic.
So I started complaining for her - for the team.
We’d filtered every boutique,
sampled every eclectic café,
there’s just nothing to do in Geneva.
It is an implacable reality.
Peter (my bf) was at work all day and we were on vacation.
It’s different when he’s around.
He walks into the room, and I feel like
a phone that’s been placed on its charger
- the world lights up and I get - charged.
“We should make a list,” I'd announced, “‘the pros and cons of boredom.”
“No,” Lisa said, “Let’s name fun things.”
“Fruity Pebbles popcorn,” I started.
“Girl panda makeup” Lisa offered,
“Foot massages and bubblegum”
“Cotton candy and sunflowers”
“Holidays and sparkly things!”
- we went on and on and on and -
“kittens” I updogged dreamily, then I switched subjects completely.
“We need to go to Paris.” I announced, with a tone of relief.
“Oh yeah?” Lisa asked, with a little side head-bob.
“Actionable intel,” I whispered, “Grandmère wants to see me.”
Lisa gasped, adding, “You’re in TROUBLE,” drawing the last syllable out slowly.
“That would be a first,” I laughed.
“Kisses!” She exclaimed, resuming the game.
I remembered the first time I thought of kissing Peter. The thought was a flash, an emotional Rorschach test and I smiled. It was like a movie kiss, an abstract heaven - not the breathy, erotic kisses of real life.
“Where’d you go?” Lisa asked, grinning.
Some emotions are too thick for words.
.
.
Songs for this:
Good Luck, Babe! by Chappell Roan
Disco Boots by Gavin Turek
Bedyet
It’s not time to go to Bedyet, I’ve frequently been told,
By people who won’t travel, be they four or nine years old.
And others even older won’t visit the Bedyetter
They leave it late, refuse to go, although they should know better.
Have you been to Bedyet, you really have to go
There’s something there for every one, I promise. I should know!
I’ve been myself, so many times, I know the places well.
And you should too, and if you’re quiet and listen I will tell.
The folks who go to Bedyet have heavy hooded eyes,
With droopy lids that seem as though they’ve grown to twice their size.
Their hair it seems disheveled, with whispey random curls
Not at all they way we choose to see on proper boys and girls.
The Bedyetter are fliers, they cross the colored skies
And when they fall they safely land as if on rubber thighs.
And each of the Bedyetter, from babes to those full grown
Can tell a tale that’s better than the best you’ve ever known.
The Sandman’s a Bedyetter, a busy chap is he,
He visits every dreamy head before the morning tea.
And when you get your cuppa you may feel a little grain
Like sugar on each eyelid, and he’s the one to blame.
Some of the folks in Bedyet have mouths that open wide,
With long and breathy smiles, and teeth moving side to side.
And arms bent at the elbows that seem to point the way,
For others that will follow them before the end of day.
The children there are dreamy their thoughts just run astray
And they don’t seem to hear too well, no matter what you say.
I even heard it said that some have let their faces droop,
So far down to the table that they wind up in the soup.
But all will wind up cozy when you travel to that land
And though you don’t expect it, things always go as planned.
Just pack yourself off early, and always floss and brush,
And take yourself to Bedyet and join the rest of us.
The subway station heaves with muffled noise,
The shuffle of countless feet against the grime,
I am aware of unfounded disdain,
Coursing between strangers in the city's bowels.
The ancient fluorescents blink in yellow strobe,
Casting faint light on self-assuring cries and whispers,
Where breathy sighs of pity mingle with laughter
That hides like vermin in the concrete seams.
The old man's stare, bitter, unwavering,
Follows the young man with a foreign tongue,
Each syllable grating on his weary ears,
Each word a puncture in his sense of self.
The tracks beneath pulsate with distant rhythm,
An electric hum heralding trains,
And all around, unseen but felt,
Silent inner pleas for the world to be as I see it and want it to be.
The young man's cap is tilted with casual ease,
His eyes bright, unguarded, full of tomorrow,
While the old man's grip tightens on his cane,
Knuckles white with a lifetime's anger.
And then, a sudden scream and rush,
The young man trips, stumbles, and falls,
A quick descent into the void below,
His body meets the rails with a sickening thud.
The old man flinches, a breath caught in his throat,
The echoes of horror ripple through the crowd,
The subway station halts, a silence heavy,
As the train screeches, too late to stop.
The old man's eyes, now wide with shock,
No longer see the young man's accent,
Only the lifeless form where he once stood,
The shadowed truth beneath all their words.
The strangers around draw closer,
Their differences momentarily blurred,
In the shared reality of what they've witnessed,
A grim reminder of fleeting, fragile life.
The old man turns away, his heart a twisted knot,
The anger replaced with a somber void,
The self-assurance crumbles like brittle stone,
Leaving only questions with no clear answers.
I lay in your hands
like coins
jiggling before a
fountain toss.
“What is your worth?”
you ask.
Without asking.
You weigh up the risk;
mull me over in your mind.
Extrapolate the terms
for the term of usefulness.
“What is your worth?”
you ask.
Without asking.
Your eyes calculate
the circumference of my waist
the bounce of my breast
the pout of my lip
the thrust of my hip
Calibrate my voice
Weigh up your choice
For there are suitable dimensions –
one must be sure.
“What is your worth?”
I wish you’d asked me
asking also.
I could have reciprocated
this mental melee;
measured your manliness
deconstructed your youness.
I could have righted your formula
for wear and tear –
incorporated Newton’s clause
for relativity of ownership.
“What is your worth?”
you ask,
in breathy whispers.
I can barely make it out
thus I carry on
shrug it off
for you would have asked.
And time moves on
Like a season
Like a snail
Like something slow and natural
And it moves in
and it moves through
and between
the me and you.
And I try to recall
that whisper.
“What is your worth?”
you ask me
so finally.
But I do not grasp
the accumulation of this question
the anguish it’s piled
the anger it’s amassed
I do not see
the mechanics behind the math
or the permanent berth
where it’s docked for years
I do not understand
the infinity of the solution
or the ever-changing variables
which infest your weary mind.
“What is your worth?”
Had you but asked me first
Granted me insult
Homoured me with worthlessness
Given me the freeing power –
of derision under your division
And if asking then
I’d have have answer, once only;
that the question
makes me worth the more.
“What is your worth?”
Beg – ask no more.
Please, ask no more.
This is me raping the red of an apple,
the breathy sweetness of the flesh underneath,
a slab of clean, radiant cold filling my mouth.
I can feel it under my teeth,
your skin,
like the calm of an apple.
This is the tip-toe edge of a knife
slipping through the base of my skull,
and the blooming sickness of blood
curling up in my throat, as cold
and as calm as metal,
a tide against my tongue,
the breaking of waves against gritted teeth.
An untamed, hot wind like wanting.
I am red like the sun
snapping the softness of the shadows, the
patience of the moon and her lazy circles,
dripping white perfume and
jazz –silver and cold onto the hungry earth.
I am mournful, desperation,
fingers pressed on parted lips
and hollow strings –the soft, clear scent of wood,
the cool reality of it unfolded beneath my palm,
lithe as skin.
This is me waiting for you
because empty has overtaken
my marrow, scooped out fistfuls of organs
and flung them across the stars.
I have nothing, so I set it on fire,
and it burns
and it burns to nothing.
And this is me reducing myself to ashes,
wrapping my arms around my chest to
count the beats,
wishing they wouldn’t skip
so
fast.
notes spilling into
the white spaces where the shape of you
waits empty.
This is me conducting music in the rain,
your name beating at the windshield,
sliding silky down my thighs.
This is me flooding across the floor,
the heaviness of the inhale before syllables –
an ocean staining my reason –
You: beautiful, intangible, surreal
as I reach for the
bright spots of the moon,
the unbroken crimson of an apple,
the wet indigo of the sky.
A cold, pregnant emptiness curving,
the breathlessness of the sea
misted white over my fingertips.
I siphon the twilight ether
like sweet smoke from apple wood
I draw its magic IN, (as the kiss of a hookah)
fill my being with the dewy air -
let my blood saturate - course
I breathe ...
the essence of soft shadows …
I feel your press, still
you abandoned this realm in tragedy
but haunt my footprints with a weighty tread -
your substance, my constant counsel
tenderly binding me, hushed
I yearn ...
the essence of soft shadows …
I drown in light, ambient
suffused with the pulses of life and mortality
worn like skin, love ever trembles -
emerging from its constraints and errors
to shed brutal but boundless purpose
I adorn ...
the essence of soft shadows …
I embrace the heavens
absorbing the aphotic expanse with my being
earthbound, I am a diaphanous reflection of luster
the misty, echoing likeness of the cosmos
born of stardust, breathy and elemental -
I become ...
the essence of soft shadows ...
the essence ...
... of YOU.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Completely Your Choice 20, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Epic Ethereal Editor" Poetry Contest, William Kekaula, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 13" Poetry Contest, Mark Toney, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in "The Essence Of Soft Shadows" Poetry Contest, John Lawless, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Brian's Choice W, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Strand Pick 11, Any Theme, Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.