Long Buoying Poems
Long Buoying Poems. Below are the most popular long Buoying by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Buoying poems by poem length and keyword.
Is depression a band playing?
Always jeering at my brightest sets
Blows off the smallest bow leaving me a husk
Depression cat calls behind the veil
Dark days alone with my ever-present God
Hopelessly kneeling to my sad nature
A dead mane of a palm tree stripped by squalls
My rot rooted by reality's check ever on stage
Pop Seroquel to quell me to sleep
Teach me patience in this depression
Teach me the meaning of petite mort
Keep me practicing dying on stage
If not for love's tethers I would gladly exit
To my ancestors behind the ol’back stage
With my relations in line to come to Jesus
Barred by chemical prescriptions
Pop lithium and lamictal to unite polarities
Lurasidone to sway my psychosis to tunes
Trazodone for slaying me to sleep
This time I'll stay adherent and penitent
Drugs are courage buoying stage fright
Chemical messengers knitting neurons
Exposing me to paper cuts from the crowd
Shrouding mania with suppressed dopamine
Sadness in the background overwhelms me
Remember dust to stardust gravely falling
Those dark days twisting without love
Sex and drugs are cheap distractions
Cigarettes just crutches in the limelight
Without drink and weed on center stage
I want to go back-stage when love recedes
Then I would not feel my heart racing
Keep me above ground as life grinds on
The accretion of well-intentioned lies
Another day another poem
Like broken records on repeat
Veils of depression weighty as curtains
Knowing doesn’t tear the thread of identity
When I cross the veil, leave it all behind
But, it's not time to go back-stage
If not for love I would cut Fate’s twine
Stay alive long enough without disguises
Endure hours naked under the spotlight
Hold moments of joy without expectations
Confetti dismissed by peppered depression
Killing time while crooning cruelly alone
Waiting impatiently for the curtain call
Depression waiting back-stage as usual
Breathe laden islands rise and fall
beneath the steam graced surface of clear water,
capped with rosettes, red-brown, silken, warm,
beaded with water running in rivers
down mountainsides of flesh, puddling,
in the darken depression of navel.
The water rises, about kneecaps
pristine and alabaster in hue.
Angular shoulders hug the far end of the tub.
A slender neck held aloft, crowned with auburn hair
and hazel eyes, changling orbs, of green and gold
an a oval face rivaling Modigliani’s Madonna.
A ruddy glow spreads across high cheekbones.
The rising water submerges all,
but porcelain neck and upturned face,
tendrils, tresses, coil, splay on still water.
Lids droop languidly, lips pout petulantly,
and still the water rises
buoying delicate arms, ending in fingers
...avidly playing.. upon
the pearl white key to desire.
A stroll down the street of gold
in a garden city rich with roses,
I saw poppies and lilies on a drill,
smiling like a bevy of beauties,
facing the sky. Soft gentle breeze
caressed wings of bees buzzing on top
the bloom: scent and sound waltzed
while honey dropped on lush lawns
as on black and white keys. Music
welled up, flavored with virgin
love in rhythmic flow. A rolling
expanse of orchards yawned; trailing
vines laden with clusters.
Red fluid dripped & rippled, buoying
to the shore of a vat, vast as sky.
I looked up: no sun, moon, or winking
eyes in the bald blue. No clouds
nudged up from sleep; no sparrows
searching for a summer perch.
Reeds bowed, spelled by the soft wind
from four ends. A white dove hovered,
alighting with a twig of red rose.
Eyes stole around, cupped whisper:
prize-giving time’s in session. Music
was fluid—serenade of a life in love.
Bright as crystal, the river streamed
on both sides of streets. Fruit trees
sprouted; fresh leaves budded and shot
out, bore fruits shaped like a heart.
Animals and humans fed on them;
I stood straight, looked straight,
turning like a turning wheel. The air
smells good, my breath, too, I mused.
We queued up, decked in pomp: silky
white, linen red, and gorgeous purple. Eyes on the golden crown, on the end
of a race—’rough and tough.
I looked as the scene rolled aside
for rows of mansions painted white
and red and purple. A man stood in front, clothed in white, in purple,
in red, handing out sparkling keys.
Mine! Mine! I held mine—pretty gold.
© 2017 Celestine Ikwuamaesi
Allow me ~ to be your dream of dawning
When song of love the robins are singing
While rustles of trees whisper to soft winds
And golden morning is rising ebulliently
Etching purple skyline tinged in amethyst
As halo of its luminance is glinting the sea,
Allow me~ my dear~ to dream your dreams.
Allow me~ to be the guide of your journey
While despaired emotions come dreading
From forgotten yore of discarded memories
And hope that once was, starts hesitating
In aches of today and tomorrow’s warning
Reluctant to traverse the path of destiny,
Allow me~ my dear~ to dream your dreams.
Allow me~ in longings of intimate musings
When you are reveling in alluring fantasies
Buoying passions romantic on magical wings
While stars of night are zealously twinkling
And crystalline skies are gleaming moonlit
Allow me~ to be the Venus of your galaxy,
Allow me~ my dear~ to dream your dreams.
Allow me~ to be the pulse of your heartbeats
Strumming lovingly the sound of their music,
Allow me, my love, to be voice of your lyrics
In feelings of ecstasy crooning tunes euphoric
Lounging by your side in paradise heavenly,
Allow me~ the opulence of just you and me,
Allow me~ my dear~ to dream your dreams.
May 12, 2021
Say it again poetry contest
Sponsor: William Kekaula
WAITING – for contest
They marched.
Full pack, heads
fighting the urge
for one more glance
last sight of those
they left behind.
We watched
hands held
hearts touching
as the buses rolled
out of sight.
We cried
as we walked
through the empty space
left in their absence,
the presence of
a lack of presence.
We raged beneath
the obvious anger
the dread of nightfall’s
sleeplessness
the heaviness of daybreak.
We prayed
each as they could
buoying the fragile
bubble of hope
voicing thoughts
denied expression.
We waited
in porcupine pose
wearied by
waiting’s onslaught
aching for the touch
of presence
exhaling the pain
of absence.
John G. Lawless
9/4/2015
Breath laden islands rise and fall
beneath the steam-graced surface of clear water,
capped with rosettes, red-brown, silken, warm,
beaded with water running in rivulets
down hillsides of flesh, puddling,
in the dark oval navel of desire.
Water rises about kneecaps
pristine and alabaster in hue.
Angular shoulders hug the far end of the tub.
A slender neck is held aloft, crowned with auburn hair
and hazel eyes, changling orbs, of green and gold
in an oval face rivaling Modigliani’s Madonna.
A ruddy glow spreads across high cheekbones.
The rising water submerges all, but the mounds
and the porcelain neck with its upturned face, full,
full of moans as tendrils, curl and coil splay upon
the rocking water.
Lids droop languidly, lips pout petulantly,
as the water invades, buoying delicate arms,
lending slip to fingertips, fingerstips
...avidly playing.. upon
the pearl white key of desire.
Grim reaper scion donned as nodule on lung...
Lodged squarely upon corporeal property
(i.e. necessary soft tissue)
of Amelie Beth Harris-McGeehan
mine eldest sister,
when medical technician informed
aforementioned unpleasant tidings
earlier today February 25th.
Utmost grievousness grips
analogous to invisible
strong hands strangulating
"I can't breathe"
while grappling trying to process
apocalyptic forebodings
(impinging on mine corporeal
fifty plus shades of gray matter).
Impossible mission
(insync with absent impetus),
thus renders feeble attempt
crafting poem,
yet unbridled (hyperbole
employed to accentuate emotion)
regarding brotherly love
upon being informed
most unpleasant tidings.
Laughter and sunshine
eradicated in one fell swoop
absolute zero peace of mind
until fortune teller
peers into crystal ball
and invokes divine intervention
whereby life, liberty
and pursuit of happiness
buffets thee along
countless additional Earth orbits
around the sun
granted second lease on life.
Auspicious signs of
early birds taking wing
(in an effort to feast
upon diet of worms)
to celebrate advent of Spring
will be uber twittering
glad tidings of your
clean bill of health
ditto chattering squirrels
buzzfeeding unearthed
soil, mushrooms
and animal bones,
while yours truly delights
reading within partially secluded
outside triangulated nook,
(a favorite alcove of mine)
to bask under sheltering sky
feeling restoration of vitality
courtesy Herculean strength
of Mister Sun's powerful solar rays.
PostScript: my humblest apology
if word first choice constituting title
caused undue agitation,
cuz only genuine expression
courtesy unwavering optimism
insync with sixth sense intended
to trumpet Taj Mahal high hope
buoying your body,
mind, and spirit triage.
In embrace of your love, blossoms my eager night,
Strumming themes romantic fervid passions recite
Invoked by scarlet-eventide glinting arc of twilight
As final breaths of dimming-day golden rays ignite
Signaling to emotive vibes twinkling on starry skies
Now’s the time for constellations to bedazzle eyes
In magenta, red nebulae buoying upon stellar seas
Navigating tides of joy as smiles of Venus appease
When enamored we stroll lauding exuberance of glee
Bequeathed by dreams, mystiques of desires spree,
In missives of forever-love verses of hearts decree
Responding to overtures, aspirations intimate plea,
Giving voice to latent hints echoing proffers of soul
Vying reveries esoteric sensuous heartbeats cajole
Prodding us to waltz, to rhythms of nocturnal tune,
Attuning beats of hearts beneath love-struck moon.
May 10, 2023
Placed 1st: Couplet Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Sotto Poet
It was a clear, beautiful evening
The sun still ablaze, a tad too brilliant,
Playing out its last moments,
The sky, a ruddy glow of luminescence!
I was stationed on a park bench
Lazily watching the stir and commotion
The park was alive as usual
With the young and the old- a motley crowd
The children’s park was equally vibrant
With excited noise, the young on swings n’ see saws
Near a slide, I watched two small kids;
A girl of about seven and her little brother
The girl had already gone down the slide
Seeing his sister’s adventurous ride
The boy too began scampering up
But with each step, his courage seemed to fail
And the higher he climbed, the more timid he grew
The thought of sliding down from such height
Totally unnerved him and he sat down gingerly
Wondering what to do, hesitant to take the plunge
His sister stood waiting at the foot
With hands spread wide and coaxing him to be down
But the boy remained unmoved, totally confused
The girl with patience, continued to coerce
After a few minute’s pause, mustering courage
He at last gave himself a wild push
The slide came down crashing in a second
The impact almost knocking the girl down
But she managed to keep both from falling over
How like the little boy, we too rely on others in strife
For their encouragement to do the hard things in life
People need help, with generous souls buoying them up
So why not use our words and gestures to lift someone up!
If a casual word of ours can make one life brighter
Speak such words to make laden hearts lighter
Let us all strive thus to be party to a new ministry
Of lifting others and watch the wondrous mystery
Placed Fourth
Jan.3.2022
Encourage Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Regina MacIntosh
After the Occupational Therapist told me I’d never walk again (see my poem “What She Said”); I was in shock, but my being turned to my ballet days to recall when my legs were strong and I immediately wrote this, while listening to The Butterfly Concerto. It is a poem of my courage.
“THE DANCE OF THE BUTTERFLY”
Oh! How she sparkles through her dance!
Tchaikovsky himself gazes from the stage’s wings
Applauding the height and instants of hesitation
Of her punctuating arabesques. He applauds
With his hands in his pockets, tapping the sides
Of his thighs and a tear of appreciation rises
In his eyes. There can be no doubt she has caught
The audience in her fluttering net, in her crossings
Of the stage so carried by the violin’s sweeps
Of the scales and the flute’s endearing notes
Of imitating a breeze-buoying flight.
But it is the ballerina herself who sets the gold
To crown his composed inspiration as she
Performs a pas de deux with his concerto!
The violin marks each pointe set to her chines.
The orchestra is a narrative riding her eclipses
Of beauty. The timpani exclaims her leaps.
With port de bras, from bow to extending reach,
Her arms become marigold wings...and
Her elan lifts her heart to address the stars.
The young girl, with her head above, yet sunken into,
The soft, cloud-like folds of her pillow, listens
To the riveting Butterfly Concerto sound up
Through the foam of her pillow
(Where her radio will not bother her parents)
...And her shoulders
Slightly rise with each crescendo. She inhales
At the peak of every releve, and, with a lifting of
Arms to barely cross above her head —
In elegant elan — before a rapid circling of the stage.
The music’s tempo mounts to conclusion. She
Takes an instant to feel she is performing her
Best...Surely, oh, surely,
Tchaikovsky, stands rapt
Aside the curtain wings, applauding.
**********************************
by sally Young eslinger 8/25/2020
Thanks be to God!