Long Castings Poems
Long Castings Poems. Below are the most popular long Castings by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Castings poems by poem length and keyword.
Seldom does the morning wake me now
Too long has there been a dream of green
Foggy with the mist of the sea bay
Filled with those small white boats
slowly bobbing about here and there
Tethered to the waters and our desires
The sun through the glass panes comes
Amorphous as thoughts touching everywhere
Castings shadows defining the darkness
Spreading the light vigorously as a summer storm
Where just outside the bedroom window sill
Hangs an aging flower box peeling off its blue paint
It has no flowers or dirt, the bottom is long gone
A reminder to another time, another grace
A traveler from the past in torn britches
And broken straw hats popping their lids
You can watch the blue paint chips drop down
To a weedy grass like petals of forget me nots
Today was another day of green dreams.
Fortress
Stone by weathered cobble I build,
calloused hands ache in sweet surrender
Mortar’d affection of a coalesced consistency,
mixed and blended, bound by love’s tether
Stacking to heights of protective design
Patterned on roaming hillsides, serpentine wanderings,
Lush green fields crawl, blue sky diversions,
as song birds whistle to the day
And I sweat, my brow now drenched,
muscles pushed to horizonary boundaries,
tattered clothes sway in late afternoon breezes
Still I push on, fitting, finding, filling this need
Something so precious as glistening morning dreams,
crystalline musings, fragile bisque castings
Destined for my world, beyond battlefield dawns,
sifting serene country settings…quiet peace
The long day ends, I marvel at my accomplishment
steadfast and suited to defend in sunset flames,
turrets of observative reachings soar above
timber and heavy iron chain…gated sanctuary
Now my love you may rest…
beneath starry heavens and comet renderings,
upon your bed of satin feathered sighs as with my love,
I have built this fortress…around your heart
**I was listening to the Sting song “Fortress around your heart” and was inspired to write this one.
And for those who noticed, yes I did make up a few words, but I’ll just invoke “poetic license” in those cases : )
In slumbering slope they lay,
their gaiety snores in rhythmic peaks of cadences,
The lily livered japes
Kings from central castings,
Heroes of one hour,
jostling for President with mere words
Resigned to bed now, save one.
Cowards, afraid of prison walls
seeking fame by fraud.
Oh Fame, how Disinterested
oh time, how revealing
motives concealed but not to all,
they were boys all along
impressing us by publicity
with drama for the surface
But the sternest stood alone
though jeered and calumniated, yet undeterred
taunted by the guns of the oppressors
marooned in their prison
confined to Abuja
denied of dignity
Yet his passion soars with coruscation of brilliancy
The quest for freedom stems from the heart
the cause for which he dared a tyrant
who sought a cause by a fraudulent jurist
to make him bend or make him bow.
unlike the cowards he never stooped,
he stirred the oppressed from their slumber,
and made some men by delayed revolution.
where are all the orators who came to bury Caesar by campaign?
They snore in the bedroom unaffected by the groaning of the people
some seeking publicity by suing twitter,
others purloining at the tables of business felons.
In the struggle for emancipation,
the boys are separated from the men.
Dedicated to Omoyele Sowore
The Nigerian Born Activist
who stood alone when other younger candidates resigned to fate after the fraudulent election that imposed Buhari
Have we dreamt the crystal morn, this day of beauteous bones,
tinkling icicles which ping, as they melt, this sun warmed day.
Lilac boughs appear egg white dipped, now over-glazed, amazed,
in the mirror-like majesty of a frosty ice draped morn.
Tinkling icicles, which ping, as they melt, this sun warmed day
licked by children as they play, sliding on a virgin crust of white
in the mirror-like majesty of a frosty ice draped morn.
All that's innocent is clothed, encased, adorned in sturdier forms,
licked by children as they play, sliding on a virgin crust of white,
the ice embraces every sunlit surface with auric glow.
All that's innocent is clothed, encased, adorned in sturdier forms
too soon the skeleton of night will melt within the heat day
The ice embraces every sunlit surface with auric glow.
Lilac boughs appear egg white dipped, now over-glazed, amazed.
Too soon, the skeleton of night will melt within the heat day.
Have we dreamt the crystal morn, this day of beauteous bones?
First Published in Mused: The BellaOnline Literary Review January 2014
A tight fist of emotion sprouts flames in my chest
and I fan the flames with a chilled smile
chiseled like the block of ice
stored in the freezer for the party.
I have stood empty as a discarded seashell, perhaps a clam's shell,
whose pearl should sparkle like the sun spattered sea, that is its home.
But it gleams like the moonlight
castings its light across surfaces- changing them to white or silver,
like the tops of carved glaciers, drifting as they change the shape of the earth.
Too heavy am I to walk on these surfaces,
even if they are frozen.
Seabirds wind up and spin lazily,
calling the wind for their flight- or at least to float momentarily,
like my spirit, needing so much to be released.
Of pale melancholy
And the infinite fall
Of broken machinery
Cast upon vast shores
Decimation reservation
The prodigal son returns
Jagged reigns of jaded egos
Amber suns stretching upon seas of sanctuary
Blue oysters cast a cult of personality
Here is where the mechanicals recoiled
Gears turned deep inside the obelisk
Onyx realms reaching to monolithic cities
Blacken the sky is on fire of desolations dawn
Volumes fills my fancies with arcane dreams
Milky white universe’s immaculate ejaculate dynastic
Covers pale melancholy machinery of it…
Drips and drains into serenity
Tides borne cryptic things from ancient depths
Fathoms different shores
Odd engines images forges, engages, enrages
Facades of the Deities
Castings from altered shores
Drudged up in desolate depths
Dark quagmires in nightmares explore
The Melancholy and pale machines implore
Something fetal feral twisted engorged
An abomination spills upon the floor
A pale machine of marrow and blood
In spines broken bones
Hooked finger Nails Nine Inches long
Pitch black eyes watch a haloed star
Of holocaustic blooms
In infernal flowers, flames, flurries
Something seeps, creeps, down deep, furies
Lurches on to heavens door
Breeds, seeds, forsaken monstrosities
Of pale machinery and mythic beings,
The melancholy of humanity,
A pale something expires
Eternal winter of
Broken Machinery
cast upon vast moonlit shores
Where am I
They say the sun has a way with searing our sights,
maybe it just might,
But stars could swoop through the obscurity,
blazing in a sea of absence,
Broadcasting its beams and banners like a school of piranhas diving into the deep,
What is it about love that makes bravery such a charming challenge,
Why do your eyes fester me with feverish flutters when I am the most feared in my forest,
I wear anticipation like a perfectly knitted glove,
And you arrive at the ache of this deranged longing that I so desperately despise,
Musing such solace without solitude,
On a shadow curved moon night,
Cold castings of wind passing by,
as if they were silk-dancing ribbons dangling to a timeless tune,
Words fall apart as they try to stand tall against the angst that spreads through the silence,
seems like you hold unwritten pages behind your voiceless mind,
Waiting for those once upon a time crashed curtains to relentlessly unbind,
Dismantled yet driven by the unknown,
For we are storytellers waiting for the harsh dawn to violently be so unkind,
Life is never reluctant to what it must consume,
It started with a blank canvas,
And then our tales will eventually turn into sand dunes.
His winds vaporized my sins
Casting them away from me once again
I am leaving myself those my sins
placing them in the ocean turning to the mist
When they disappeared blowing soapy water bubbles rise
Children rise to the air to find them
So He separates our sins as far as the East is from the West
He is my virtue He is my test
I am blessed His wings vaporized my sins
And as I catch them off the heavenly compassionately
He ever loves me always is the wind He vaporized my sin
Castings from me them in the ocean
Where they dissipate turning to the myth
Vapors rise children ride blowing soapy water bubbles rise children
Come out from amongst them
10/2/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2022
Tell me what's this stuff called compost
how to make it, what's it for
The object of compilation
is to mimic what's on a forest floor
So gather everything that's ever had a life
Vegie peel, dry leaves add bit of fresh green grass
and if you have it you can add some human hair
Two more ingredients essential ingredients,
these must be made available, clean water and fresh air
In the air is oxygen a force of energy for almost everything that exists
It provides a source of combustion, occurs inside the cell
These microscopic organisms make up all the animals
and every plant as well
There is a special recipe ,to which you must refer
Dry waste to green waste has a ratio five to one
Follow these directions and what will surely start,
heating of the compost heap, means the process has begun
Maybe twenty days or a month or two
a suggested time frame for the final outcome
Your magic little spell. it has now been spun
At last the final product, now the heating has died down
Black plasticity feels spongy, when squeezed within the hand
It's ready for a compost tea
or spread directly on the land
Footnote; There are three methods I use to make compost:
1.The Johnson/Su bioreactor. 2. Worm farm 3.Compost heap
Bicycle bicycle where are you going
Bicycle bicycle what are you knowing
Bicycle bicycle where are you flowing
Thoughts are of you drifting though lands of the dead,
The horizon is cluttered with a humanities dread.
The castings form a gluttonous life.
Bicycle bicycle where are going,
What have you done?
With all that you are knowing,
All that has begun.
All in the drift of knowing,
What are you sowing?
Bicycle, bicycle why are you scared.
Have you gone where you not dare?
What are your thoughts and why are you showing
Signs of a mind lost at sea.
Why are you casting rocks deep into the seam?
The lights are on but no one is home,
Vacant rooms are showing hollow
thoughts are knowing, oh!
Bicycle, bicycle where are you going not known
But knowing what is around the bend.
Headlong in the cloud bust overhead
And headlights are casting
shadows off the dead, oh why?
Bicycle, bicycle why are you going,
This late past the hours of the dread,
Bicycle, bicycle where are you going
Not knowing the sacred hours of the dead…