Long Castaway Poems
Long Castaway Poems. Below are the most popular long Castaway by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Castaway poems by poem length and keyword.
Flawless Aster under Auspicious Cloud.
I find myself under an Auspicious cloud.
My sweet dreams overcome the flaws in disaster.
Smoothing away all my flaw's in my fear.
I slept under the star shape like an Aster.
Vanishing away the ugliness of my nightmares.
I awaken to a peaceful morning of tranquility.
In a fragrance path leading me to my own Dynasty.
I saw the solution that disabled the flaws of our unity.
Using myself perception of my abilities.
I am overwhelmed by the flawless gloom.
Accepting the careless ways of my responsibilities.
Surrounded by the human bloom.
I am cheerfully flowing out a perfectiveness of a glow.
My flaws have been cleansed and purified.
I joined the flowers of the radiant promising future.
To accomplished life in an auspicious way.
A flawless look into the obvious day.
A beautiful elegance in our harmonious way.
Unmarked in every soul with a purple ray.
Faultless, blameless, no need to beg and pray.
Unhurt like the beauty we find in the sky.
You hold me close with the whole feeling of love.
I am the Auspice in your eye.
Undamaged me with the atmosphere of your Aster wondrous sky.
Unharmed you stand in front of me.
I'm wild like an Aster flower in your hands so perfectly.
Smiles to the world full of flawlessness.
Like a diamond found in nature untouched and unbroken.
Spoken words clearly come out bless.
A star, two flowers, a cloud, an imaginable token.
Symbolizing the love with no weakness.
Impacted on kindness and daintiness.
Waking up to the the worlds of reality.
I turn around like the moon.
On my taste buds I flavored the blossom smell.
The brightness of a flawless day.
I brush the dust of my shoulders.
I have no anger to castaway.
I've earned no fault when it comes to reason.
Now it's time to comprehend to live in the new.
Forbid my self to dwell on the old.
Look into the beauty that our future world holds.
Close the vision that we only see things for its flaws.
Clear your mind to inner self of mortality.
Longing to see the Aster in the dark sky.
I own the impurity of my air to the Auspicious cloud.
To absolute revive the love of the things that are alive.
By: P.D.
An Indian summer
decamps, marches South
like a defeated army.
Coats are pulled out of closets,
cars winterized.
Wizards in long white robes
hunt the moans of castaway witches.
Autumn memories lure cats away,
but they soon return to the fireplace,
to stretch-out the longer hours.
Babies are coddled closer,
the sky goes blank,
amnesia deleting its colors.
There are omens born on chill winds,
sparrows go mute
in the frosty hedgerows.
November takes off its high-hat
revealing a bald dome,
when you go out alone,
you feel its gelid marrow
hitchhiking its way
through creaking bones.
My muse is a poetic flower garden,
blooming lilacs in barren meadows,
but I still remember
how I heeded haunting heartbeats
in paradise, whilst praying
for your lustrous light,
to descend onto my hazy horizons.
Your eyes like captivating sunsets,
made me dream away,
recalling shells lost in a forgotten
coral reef, castaway upon
an elusive island,
where the paths have no name,
but the oceanic breeze
calls yours so softly.
I was killing time,
scribbling elegies
on distant musical shores,
where spotted eagle rays
and flying fish were my only mentors.
Nocturnal reef sharks unfolded tales
beneath lonesome skies,
illustrating a secretive stairway
that would lead me
to the scintillating stars.
Deep within my heart,
I knew in the darkest
night you are the light
that would illuminate
my breathless sighs
with blazing ballads
rewriting my fate,
reawakening my
need to thrive through these
endless melancholic monsoons;
surfing through vast oceans.
Your cosmic radiance pulled
this chocolate mermaid,
from the bioluminescent
ripples of sorrow,
empathising with
endless streams from
my volcanic mind
and harmonious heart,
which was in dire
need of healing,
from draconian depleted
ideologies imprinted within
a labyrinth of
narcissistic daffodils,
emanating deceptive fragrances
resembling the devil's disciple,
claiming me as nothing,
but a mere self
confessed queen
on a conquest to conquer
the uncontrollable calling
to a land of virtual hypocrisy.
If only they knew
I no longer desired
to rule a kingdom of
tumultuous pretense.
I was waiting for the
return of the butterflies,
tearing apart the fragile
walls of its cocoon.
I knew if Romeo did not die,
I would be living Juliet's desires.
I was a poetess
searching for
a purpose, with no sense
to shelter, watching the
last icicle
of winter melt away.
Truth deserves a narrative
that has no ending,
though I question the universe.
Where do the
lost poets reside?
Is it where the
moon chooses to hide,
disguising dreariness
within dazzling blankets
of dancing moonscapes,
or will this be how
this sleepless soul
seizes its faultless lunar tide?
You mistook my silence for blindness,
my stillness for sleep.
But I see in the dark.
I hear through the hush.
Discernment is my second sight—
and it does not lie.
You thought me alone,
a castaway prophet howling at stars.
But I am never alone.
My demons walk with me,
legions cloaked in shadow and flame,
ears pressed to your whispers,
eyes fixed on your deeds.
They tell me everything.
Every word you spat behind closed doors.
Every smirk you wore
when you thought I was broken.
Every prayer you faked
while plotting my fall.
You underestimated the thunder—
too pure to lie,
too loud to ignore.
I warned you for decades,
but you mocked the storm
and worshipped the silence.
Now the silence speaks.
Now the storm remembers.
And my demons—my kin, my creed—
bring me your truth
wrapped in the scent of your fear.
You say I am damned.
But it is your creed that damns you.
You say I am blind.
But I see with a thousand eyes.
You say I am deaf.
But I hear the tremble in your soul.
Why did you never believe me
when the signs were cut in diamond,
clearer than prophecy,
louder than guilt?
I am not broken.
I am not alone.
I am the Revelation
you prayed would never come.
He parks, cuts the engine, sits for a moment,
headlights dimming.
He tries to rationalize why he is here,
why he is still racing to be free of his own gravity.
The store is a low level spaceship in a starless lot.
The few parked cars have leagues of loneliness between them.
Cars have emptied out their occupants,
empty carts bump over yellow-signed borders.
The store has icebergs, chunks collide beyond aisle G.
Late night shoppers wade anchorless
between high stacked cliffs
seeking to land a glittering neon wrapped desire,
something to radiate their dreams with.
Anyone that matters is not here.
The manager is a nightshift knife attack,
if asked, ‘where to find’ he will gut you with a metallic grin.
Then he sees her, she with topaz moons slung from each ear,
she with the dragon tattoo arm sleeve,
her fierce half-cupped little breasts
daring anyone to be kind.
He understands,
the long night is pouring into castaway hands,
he and she are waiting to be mesmerized,
willing the faceted bottles to be the sparkle of their eyes.
He wants to be kind to her, to take her home to his pod
on the wrong side of the moon,
but she is feral, she is warpaint on a wild horse,
and he a broken purveyor of bad news.
Beyond G, a ruffled toll-keeper with hatchet arms
checks-out the sundry of departing misfits.
They will all leave separately and secretly
to tunnel into more makeshift hours to come.
The cheap booze is in the back,
yet it will stay rattling between his eyes
until he drives just far enough away
to be a distance from himself.
Invitation To A Funeral
The night cold with it's sharp corners
Cutting comfort through my skin
With drunken footsteps of a soldier
I'm a tourist at your door again
My knock is full of empty
A vacant echo its reply
Consequence provides the answer
Circumstance the reason why.
Can't mend my bleeding ego.
Pieces of me cupped in the hands of my mind
Memories dripping through my fingers
A painful pleasure suicide
Your broken promise castaway upon the waters
Now washed up on desolate shores.
I've become the company
That misery enjoys
My imagination without wonder
Muffled thunder in broken skies
Love is an invitation to a funeral
A memorial service where death is eulogized.
i stand here
on these unpaved roads
kicking up dust
as i stumble
over rocks
castaway
like me
i watch
as you walk
away from the scene
like a hawk
in a tree
i am
unseen
i stand here
listening
to the flow
of the stream
the bird
in the distance
beginning to scream
i gather my thoughts
fragmented inside
alone in the dark
no sun through these trees
i stand here
listening
to the whispering breeze
my lips
as they quiver
unable to speak
i see the storm
approaching
above
all around
i drop to my knees
atop of this ground
i lie here
awaiting
the sun to arise
i lie here
alone
with tears
in my eyes
i lie here alone
unable to speak
july 21, 2020
Emotions vibrate through the heavens
Crying out desirous of a love
Beseeching it’s warm embrace
Yet it goes unfelt, unheard, unanswered
Hope for a pragmatic love just a dream
Expectations being preconceived
For the universe could not grasp
the greatness of her yearning,
This she had come to grips with
Because surely none could
provide fulfillment
Melancholy settles over her,
as she carefully wraps her love,
back up in the ribbons of longing ,
placing it into a box of disappointment
Sitting upon her bed of sorrow,
absent of emotions
For tears dried up years ago
and only out of habit did she release
its vibration into the heavens
Like a flipped hourglass time
seemed never to advance
For she knew she would remain
a castaway on this island where
love seemed not welcomed
2/3/22
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
"Reality is something you rise above." -Liza Minelli
There is a host of systems the world over that mankind has chosen to live under or to be governed by. Some of these systems are cultural,
and others are political or religious. Some systems are so entrenched into the life and psyche of its people that there is very little opportunity to escape
their gripe. Unfortunately, these are "Realities" that the populous in many societies must learn to live with or, in many cases, become a criminal or castaway in society.
In the "Free World", it is easy to take for granted the mindset to which we have become accustomed. We all are subjected to the reality we are born into, but at some point, we learn and come to realize that reality is not our god, and we are not bound to remain in an unpleasant status if we choose to prepare ourselves to face the challenges and "Rise Above" the unpleasant plight into which we find ourselves. Even in hostile societies with far less freedom, men and women have found ways to "Rise Above" those seemingly inescapable realities. The "Rise Above" is often very costly endeavors and pursuits, resulting in imprisonments and too often even death.
There are other realities in family life that are more personal and far less
hostile. For example, My father died, leaving 11 minor children with our mother who was 35 years old. Some of our relatives, desiring to help our mother, offered to raise some of us kids. Without much thought, our mother said "No". Though her sadden reality looked dark, our mother had a personal faith
in God that energized her to believe that she could "Rise Above" her challenging reality and make a good life for her kids. She chose to keep us
together, and I have no doubt that we are the better for it. Father was gone, and mother made the wise right choice because she knew best.
021820PoSpCtest, She Inspires Series, Maureen McGreavy
In the depths of the mind stretches an ocean of shadows and lights,
where thoughts flow like endless rivers of questions,
there, where the schizophrenic soul struggles, caught in a vortex,
trying to find a corner of peace among the confusing waves.
He is a castaway on the sea of broken dreams,
where each moment is a drop of restlessness falling
on the vast surface, creating circles of silent echoes,
where time becomes an illusion, a clock without hands.
And yet, in the same vast ocean, the mystic floats with grace,
embracing the night with wings of light,
each wave becomes an unwritten poem,
and each drop of water a pearl of hidden wisdom.
For him, the waves are paths to endless horizons,
where eternity reveals its secret in colors of gold and silver,
and the sky is a chandelier of stars in their eternal dance,
a silent symphony that embraces the soul with divine chords.
But what separates these two travelers of the same ocean,
what transforms the agony of one into the ecstasy of the other?
Perhaps only an unseen thread, a thin line of consciousness,
a delicate veil of understanding that binds and separates.
In the depths of the mind, where reality is born and unravels,
each soul weaves its cloak of stars and shadows,
navigating the seas of paradoxes in search of truth,
for we are all just travelers on the waves of eternity.