Long Careened Poems
Long Careened Poems. Below are the most popular long Careened by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Careened poems by poem length and keyword.
I've often felt quite helpless..Although i would fight hard, against the ocean of life
With its often; errant strong surging tides.'
In twenty twenty five we saw Los Angeles
Besieged; many areas were set ablaze; a great
City upon its knees.' The factor of bad
management of water not held in the
Ammount, that would really be needed
when on it; services had to count.' Also the
Arsonists did their job, a nasty crew indeed
I like others felt asized, of the helplessnes
As the Santa Annas careened.' No respite
Came the news reports, I saw many people
Had died.' I sensed defeat and could
almost taste the charcoal, it was fraught
; and yes I felt a tear in
My eye.. Yet all at once I thought of
God.? who was bigger than any disaster..I said a prayer then put up a blog, and requested prayers to 'the only Master' others joined and but a day and night.? A sea mist rose and rolled in early light.' Then on this improvement rain arrived..The
worst danger over and the remenant survived..'
Now i arrive at year twenty twenty six..A similar tale..My stomach felt sick twenty eight fires in
Victoria my 'home State' hit Again not
Accidents all.. A lot i'd guess were lit.? I decided to ask the Lord again, wondering would He
Have mercy this second time my friends?
All un-worthy i appealled for help.' Others
Answered, i continued and hoped.. For betters trends, again
Weather reports said no respite maybe dry
Lightening ( would more evil arrive? ) another day past I checked the news.' The
First I read was disaster.' My heart went to
My shoes..So my prayers were unaswered.'
Still i decided to look.' To face my chastisement and repent by the Book..Then I was shocked it was all turned
Around He had flooded out the fires people
Were heading for higher ground,
All Praise throughout the heavens all thanks to my friends..Who with me had enjoined..And we saw Himself His Name defend.'
My car.
I had just filled it with gas.
I had just bought a snack for the road.
Candy in my hands.
Too much sugar, but it’s better than dying in a crash.
I had a pair of sunglasses.
But they flew out the window.
I had the sunglasses in my hand.
Reaching my arm out the window.
I regret all those horrible things.
Then I turned the air conditioning up.
It was hot that day.
I had nothing to say.
I waited in line at the toll booth.
Candy was gritty against my tooth.
I closed the window.
Then I turned, then I turned…
I think I died for a second.
The car behind me bumped against mine.
I was feeling warm.
Now I'm feeling hot.
We exchanged information.
Then I turned the air conditioning up.
Just ahead, a semi-truck careened.
People screamed.
The casualties didn’t include me.
I was pulled over by that tree.
I never made it past the toll booth.
My candy melted in my car a bit, that’s the truth.
They took my statement and sirens rang.
I felt a horrible pang.
Then I turned, then I turned around.
Then I turned the air conditioning up.
Then I headed home.
there is a gravity to you
whenever crossing the room
it is an existence that bends light
into an aura capturing my every breath
a plasma that penetrates every atom within
with memories of long ago
when you first walked into my life
from across the room
as you drew near me
my heart counted every step forward
lost in erratic rhythms as they lifted
and returned to Earth
in that face a beauty
causing a full moon to glance
and pause in envy
lips possessing a kittenish smile
driven like a bee to pollen
a promise of being crushed by roses
born from Athenia's brood
and in your eyes a dominion
from which i would be forever held
in John Donne's Ecstasy
these passing years
i still tug on the pigtails
to remind the playground
how much i adore you
just an average man
who stumbled into the arms
of the above average
and careened into eternity
now there will be those of you
quickly to point out
surely there are far too many flowers
packed lovingly in this bouquet
i said average, not stoopid
you take the bolt of cloth down
measure three to four-times
twice and cut is for mechanical thinkers
love has never been a well-oiled machine
a bit more for unexpected contingencies
roll the bolt of cloth more than a tad
in life, one never knows
the lady may have just discovered
she now adores puffed sleeves
i said average, not stoopid
and the lesson i learned from Mr. Darcy
when you open your mouth
let the brain stay idle in speech
and let your heart sing
to the soul, she has in her eyes
therein the permission you seek nests
only the heart can free those wings
and there are never too many flowers
in a bouquet, or a tad more of cloth
be prepared the scouts' teaching
fashion with women are like the seasons
guaranteed to change
did not John Donne ask his love
not to stare into the sun
lest she blinds it
above average, also, not stoopid
OKC 2/14/22
“Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love .” William Shakespeare, Hamlet
"But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity."
Sonnet 14 If Thou Must Love Me
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
One spring day meandering in a meadow,
I saw a butterfly whose beauty matched that
of May's azure sky.
With blue silken wings like that of a fairy,
she flitted here and there -
aimlessly as butterflies seem wont to do.
Oh, to be that butterfly,
alighting on any pretty flower whose scent delighted me -
unhurried and unworried.
I would be that butterfly breezing through the meadow
meandering . . . meandering . . .
to where – I did not know,
but soon I found myself beside a brook.
My heart became the song of blue bells
which danced with the wind beside the brooklet.
And as my little friend fluttered on,
I careened behind her with arms outstretched,
laughing as the long grasses through which I leaped
tickled the calves and shins of my legs.
Soon I was approaching a grove of tall green trees -
meandering . . . meandering.
I kept my eyes on the bright blue wings ahead of me.
Freely I flowed like the wind that swept through my hair
as it fluttered the leaves of the tall green trees
until suddenly – the butterfly
was vanished from my view!
I knew not to where I’d wandered,
but in my heart I had no fear.
All things come to an end eventually,
but also all paths eventually lead
to somewhere.
Turning myself back toward the direction
from which I’d come
and with my arms spread wide,
I let the butterfly in me
take me eastward -
meandering . . meandering.
Written: August 14, 2025, for Contest Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
*******
I writhed in the womb of a necrotic hush,
a stygian silence where barghests lurk—
My slack-jawed soul, sodden with oblivion lull,
clanged against the obelisk of despair.
The wound, a molten mouth of aurora,
sizzled with sacred suction—
a fipple of fire, ineffable and fecund,
where pestilence pirouetted with puissance.
I danced—yes, I danced—
in the desiccation of my demise,
a gavotte of soulfulness,
My blood is a rubicund aria of rapture.
Alabaster bones bore the torque of truth,
Each fracture is a triptych of ephemera and flame.
I was a poltergeist of my former self,
grappling through the noosphere multivocal maze.
The stench of bygone hexes clung to lava rock,
But I, stalwart and sinewed with mettle.
careened past the clamor of puerile pabulum,
past the gossamer glamor of grief.
I was broken—yes—
but bold enough to resuscitate,
to regale the necromancy of my rebirth,
to supplant sorrow with the sacred sizzle of self.
Now I stand, an empyrean echo,
a veridical vestige of velvet versatility—
my heart, a burnished niche of noble hope,
My spirit resembles a smooth, celestial sunset.
Let the world scrutinize my scars,
They are not grotesque—they are garrulous.
They speak in tongues of alchemy and amaranthine ache,
a quixotic quiddity, a quintessence of comeback.
Sweet baby, I bought you a soft blanket -
vanilla with tender dots, a llama attached,
to welcome you into this chilly world.
And darling girl, I whispered prayers for you,
on nights you spent in the dark womb -
with rumbling of voices and pulsing heartbeat.
Your mama dear, they told her to abort,
but we held your wee hands as we hoped
because we believe in life not death.
Your mama miscarried your sibling,
swept away to the lullaby room in heaven.
I see he or she laughing with glee upon God’s lap.
A mama’s love so strong but body weak,
a mama who carries you in every thought.
A father, with pride, and provision, who waits.
A mama who’d close her eyes but did not die.
She slipped and careened off the road, passing out,
and you tumbled, wondering what it was all about.
You, baby, wanted to live with all your might,
even with a hole in your heart and fright.
Looking for the light, to pass into another world.
Thus tossed and turned, with emotions worn outside
your trusting birthday suit, oh angel dear, you died.
Mama, daddy, and grandma cry, affected inside.
And your grandma dear, my best friend, so strong.
With tears, I say, you take after her, you tried.
Two of heaven’s gifts, they wait for family, they play.
12/19/16
The Silence
We were on that school bus,
a big yellow one with black letters on its sides,
spelling out Whittier Union, and you and I sat next to each other
talking, arguing and giggling, you not caring if someone told your boyfriend
about our larks aboard that bus, long ago in 1970,
while on a field trip with our psychology class to Pomona State Hospital,
aboard that big yellow bus filled with white kids from Whittier,
except you weren’t white, you were Mexican,
and a beautiful one at that, with high cheek bones and
brown eyes complimenting your mischievous smile.
We had just met Ray, a microcephalic, inside the hospital
and his miniature head made us wonder how such things happen to people.
You were wearing your usual school dress that day,
and your brown smooth legs were crossed
as the bus careened down Highway 10 exceeding the speed limit,
past burgeoning towns with cars passing by at seventy five miles per hour.
And the young voices on the bus increased in loudness like a storm rising,
and you flirted with me like there was a chance we could get back together,
but, “what about your boyfriend?”
“Take me away from him,” you pleaded.
Then a silence erupted like a firecracker of impossibility,
and you just sat looking out the window all the way back.
You shifted your legs only once.
I saw you as a sign
A diamond in the sky
Brilliant and beaming
A beacon of hope
While I was entrenched in a battle below
My days were worn like a badge of courage
My thoughts reached out
Like a baby's arms for their mother
My steps careened between stillness and surrender
A story unfolding visibly worn at the pages
The spirit dances circular around the sun
Lifting me up and planting me on a caravan of clouds.
A channel of promise that pain could be relieved
And so it was,
A moment of incredible wonder
Without the weakness
That strapped me to the temporary world
I lived in
When wings fail
When doors close
I called out for mercy
The only way out was in
I entered and believed
Keeping the energy saddled and direct
Point me forever forward
Turn my heart into gold
Above the decay that feeds this ground
A Destroying Angel strode and gazed around
His carrion birds careened in flight
Above the broken, spectral sight
Of the lost, abandoned city.
An ancient prophet counseled from his mountain,
"Drink not, my son, from the tainted fountain
That flows within that city's walls.
The blood yet wet within its sunken halls
Will poison all who walk its silent streets
With whisperings and dark deceits,
From Furies there shall come no pity."
The Stranger knew, and yet he came
To deliver its Infernal name.
Its people, strong and scornful of the Fates
Missed the traitor at their gates
Who for his price let in their doom
Turned their palaces into tombs.
As yet the air sings songs of violence.
Reflected in his empty eyes
There moved above the bloodied skies
Of sunset or of dawning.
His dusty boots rang through the yawning
Desolation past the city gates
Through which Hope fled to other states
To leave behind this awful silence.
As the bus rode
through the molting pine forest and
the crumbling ochre rock formations;
bits of colorful cellophane litter brought the only relief to the eye.
Inside, behind a profusion of people,
boxes, backpacks and assorted baggage
babies slept.
The bus creaked, shook and groaned
its way down the serpentine,
asphalt, mountain track.
Passengers chattered away in Indian, Nepalese, Danish and English,
abrasively punctuating
a Universal discourse;
As the vehicle draped from roof to bumper,
careened from rock walls
to sheer ledges, beeping.
Stray pets and wayward cyclist dodged its downward flight
Into the valleys maw.