Long Candide Poems
Long Candide Poems. Below are the most popular long Candide by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Candide poems by poem length and keyword.
"Cerberus Uncorrupted"
Every day I go to that box ...
at the top of the page,
left side, upper
its entry reads:
“What are you looking for?” -
waiting for an entry…
the brain presses a full stop,
the fingers hover and ripple
like a maestro leading a chorus
the fingers tap dance
poetically buying time
the heart tracks,
its silent voice speaks
piercing the suffocating silence
"the ability to read
what is meant to be read
front and centre, after all...
is said, and done"
the vision sits still in front of me
like a quaint loyalty and a strong desire
to understand it all
the innocence
of a mind uncorrupted
wide open
to the Light
that opens a heart
viscerally corrupted
waiting to be loved
waiting to be patted
the sun always setting
the sun always rising
calls unsilently
to me
Candide Diderot. ‘24
" ... "Do you love me yet?" Cerberus said..."
Sharon Osbourne, Short :
"Today my dog and I went to the beach and I caught her taking it all in"....
(this is the video you need to watch).
"kamikaze"
Isn’t it odd
how you always gravitate back to me,
I circle your mind like a helicopter
you watch me
like a moth
attracted to flames,
lit in succulent tender air waves
the others will state their absolute grievances,
it’s a force majeure for preconceived
unaccountable and unavoidable catastrophes
but We,
persist, We,
kamikaze
all artificial
and unintelligent,
other side of the wall
reasoning
bows,
to Love,
always
Love,
gravitates,
persists,
calls us all in
just as debutantes,
there We are,
our insides shining out,
illogically
semi-public
so un-upperclassed,
We are, barefeet dancing
under eye-glass boiling,
serious insects
quartered illogically
'neath microscope petri'd
kamikaze
Love
calls Us all in
debutantes
illogically
troped
“Juliet is the Sun!”,
espouses Romeo;
little does he know,
She is more
than a
soft black-holed velvet galaxy
She's a
Universe, diamond sharp
turned inside out
Candide Diderot. ‘24
"Abracadabra Purple Doors"
Abracadabra
boo!
Coo coo ca choo
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Some think abracadabra comes from the Hebrew phrase “ebrah k'dabri,” and means “I create as I speak,'” - while others think it comes from “avra gavra,” an Aramaic phrase meaning “I will create man” — the words of God on the sixth day of creation.
“When God created Woman, he was working late on the sixth day. An Angel came by and asked, ‘Why spend so much time on her?’ The Lord answered, ‘Have you seen all the specifications I have to meet to shape her?’” “‘She must function in all kinds of situations."
Peering into your eyes
is like witnessing
a Carravagio master
for the first time,
not quite clear,
hazy,
the Narcissus halo
reflecting in those
twin pools of deep
azure moire silk,
falling
into their reach
one remains
secure for a while,
above it all,
assessing
your cloud strewn
sun dappled rivers,
oh the temptation
of it all,
to touch what
lies untouched
underneath
below that shining
calmly moving
surface
carrying thoughts
and feelings along,
it's high tide,
the fingers gently touching
teasing the no go zone
rippling a wake,
break the anticipation,
the thrill wet and electric,
the gently touching, shocked,
pull back again, momentarily,
played like a puppet on a string,
like a harp being strummed,
like a bow and arrow aimed,
the high tide's current -
its pull dark molasses,
strong and magnetic, yet
it's not Eventide -
the moment,
one senses,
will arrive,
to confront,
to dive in deep,
to meet you
within the emeralds,
to stroke you,
stir the waters
for longer than
the trip,
oh the temptation,
the dissipation
of a dissolving halo,
to breathe life
back into
your beckoning lips
Candide Diderot. ‘24
"fast falls the eventide..."
“Morning Star”
There, a Morning Star rose in the East
and reclined in the left side of my brain.
I called them Morning.
They called me Butterfly,
pinned me to the wall like I was an example
of what they thought love was like.
Prisoners are us, in this state of undress.
There is some pleasure in the pain
of a heart in full thrust, bursting open
like a dark, dark red rose.
The perfume piercing all senses,
intoxicating in full bloom, soft, full of dew,
inviting a kiss at close quarters
in their hard velvet time.
Face turned upwards
towards the wide smile of a burning sun,
arching Morning Stars and the immolation of fiery whispers
against the neck of a Van Gogh mind, the eyes fragile green stems, Monet irises swaying,
flecks of ultra-violet scryed within the treasure-pools of a twin flame reflected.
Gold stamens leave their trails like honeyed addictions, deliciously wicked;
Ochre-yellow ribbons tied around the tall stories of a whispering Oak forest,
the boundaries breaching the fire-shot hares and their blue-grey ghostgum sighs.
The ancient laws of desire -
distinguishing lust from love -
swallow us undigested, swept under the rugs of their Gideon pages.
Preying upon us, strange cardinals in their cloistered nests
in such complex states of red unrest, shake the boughs, to move leaves like fingers
that trace noughts and crosses over our naked hearts, sowing seeds in our breasts,
sliding their weathered veins all over our minds, shattering the blanched crystalised,
making the limbs of our stories flesh-borne, come alive.
We kiss under fresh, poisonous holly like it’s a new year.
The risks that we take for love,
the road to hell is paved with good intentions –
wearing fleece o’er wolf’s skin –
as below, so above;
The course of a full day never lets up.
The Sun rises in the east,
The Sun sets in the west.
We burn in between.
The embers of fire glow within the Moon’s luminescence,
ignis et aqua arriving like a tide hushing the prescient ocean
rocking the slick undertow - lux noctis aeterna sub silentio -
like a clam to be opened, a pearl to be plucked
from the fathomless depths of another dimension.
Over and over again, small victories are given up.
The shell discarded.
ex tenebris lux
Candide Diderot. ‘26
"Rising"
In my blood, the words swim.
Like heart beats, they speak
through walls of water —
life and tears.
I’m drowning in poetry.
It boils like waves, pounding
into the crux of me.
There, in the meeting
of simple minds,
the body overtakes
too much,
that is forgotten,
like a speeding blue memory —
such a beautiful, naked thing
bound in ink bleeds,
two souls in one another
could somehow be free
in that far removed place,
singular, unforgotten, met,
in the distance
of the beige In-Between,
where the bleeding poets
inside us rise, removed
from disgrace like Gods -
to call Life in,
for the romance
it truly means.
Our words race
like water bleeds.
Candide Diderot. ‘26
I can’t disarm this horde of army
Won’t try arresting the police
Can’t judge the judges by a jury
Can’t get a cold on foreign breeze
Thus, I was meant to sail on fool’s ship
That’s how they probably see it
Blamed just for my citizenship
I am the fact they won’t admit
“Stay where you are”- they say to me
I’m smiling back - “stay as you are”
That’s not a tragic disagreement
But more a comedy so far
So cloud my weather, make it sunless
It’s still not dark enough for me
I'm playing cards to hide from sadness
While sipping ever-tepid tea
Too many things went out of use
The old world dies, seems that we get
The most efficient little truth
That can improve the worst to bad.
“Reverse Cyrano”
Reverse Cyrano
new wave poetry
straddles the ruins
milked
with two sugars
dark Tea dreams
red leaves laquer
the vain roadmaps
that stain the ingrained
with pommegranate poetry
the bejewelled heart
sweet and tart
and thick
skinned
sliced and skewered
each granate
a sparkling
hidden gem
within the ruby
words written
riding astride those worlds
like wolves
in those comforting
dicomforting whispering woods
for Cyrano reversed
so easily contracted
a hidden god and a poet
that lost lovers
may find submerged
in disoriented time adrift,
eyes open-wide undestracted,
the ravenous misunderstood unmissed.
Candide Diderot ‘25
"Hieronymus Dipped"
The neurochip sucked me like a lollipop ... mind first into the dream,
squeezed my thoughts out like tubes of candy coloured toothpaste
all over the deus ex machina, Hieronymus dipped his brush in
an attempt
to artificially convert me
call it, a “do-over”
I was his primary binary by all accounts
he liked my shades of light and dark
he led me further in,
This he painted on my tongue, “You a muse”
“me?”, I said
He tut-tutted, exasperated
to be exchanging such inane pleasantries,
“this could take some time to complete, I see.”
“how so?”, I smiled
“Dali expects a masterpiece,
and with you in mind,
this will never be...
no easy dream.”
Candide Diderot. ‘24
The foot remains pinned to the metal, fast to the floor,
She grips the gear stick hard in the left-hand lane, watching the highway,
Watching back through the glass: as above, so below.
The rearview catches jade eyes that dream and soar,
Through the Queen's land's heat, approaching each Christmas, gone insane and raw,
The foot remains pinned to the metal, fast to the floor.
A middle-finger salute offered to what came before,
She shifts up to targa 7 to breach the physical plane on her spiritual flyway,
Watching back through the glass: as above, so below.
Angels and Demons, drivers perched on each side her shoulders, steering through the roar,
A rock spider for roadkill while she holds onto the reins on her skyway,
The foot remains pinned to the metal, fast to the floor.
Blue sky nods a tepid discourse along to this sworn internal law,
A long-suffering witness that stays in its right-side my way,
Watching back through the glass: as above, so below.
Accelerating past the karma borne, hell-bent on freedom
has no fury like a woman scorned, no time to refrain on this byway.
The foot remains pinned to the metal, fast to the floor,
Watching back through the glass: as above, so below.
Candide Diderot. '26