Long Catharsis Poems
Long Catharsis Poems. Below are the most popular long Catharsis by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Catharsis poems by poem length and keyword.
O heart of hiraeth, bathed in honey-blush kiss,
hear me heal, meet this sorceress soul,
you miss ...
when the handwritten rose stars weep, and
I b l o o m ;
with the ink of iris, weaving webs of doom
breathe... eclipse-glazed moon, my muse, as we bleed...
be the last balm for forlorn fates that heed...
as autumn burns on the bones of the sky,
the veins of lightning veil my lips with lie;
through the dusk-foliage where intuitions dwell deep
and scarlet fairies flicker with faith
~ to let leaves sleep...
O phoenix sun ~
you'll let the fire of luck flow;
as bronze heat of hate wanes
in your garnet glow...
because beauty is a bane b o r n to d i e ;
with warm ~I c a r u s~ wings, I seethe to sigh...
so sing with me... the sunset of fallen season,
promise me ~ you'll remember
this rhythm of reason
please... close your eyes, surrender to the caramel calmness,
till those maple lifelines rest... lovelorn...
with scarred rustiness;
let this poet's pulse rip my ribs, to feel your ruby embers ~
and I, will always spell
the sixth sense of
~ s o u l f u l s e p t e m b e r ~...
video of "Ironic" is for my 'Cinco De Mayo' contribution.
Alanis Morissette, emotive mezzo-soprano voice
and confessional songwriting with a feminist’s choice
Canadian, nineties rock-star famous for Jagged Little Edge
Raw naked cringe-y to the profound, empowering by virtue I pledge
(She’s helped countless women and girls to find their voices, to speak out, and to take up space)
Thank you India
symbolizing spiritual awakening and enlightenment
Thank you terror
acknowledge the challenging and painful aspects
Thank you disillusionment
of life that can lead to growth and wisdom
Thank you frailty
highlight vulnerability and accountability as essential
Thank you consequence
components of personal development
Thank you silence
suggests finding peace and clarity through
introspection and contemplation
let go of something burdensome, which ultimately leads
to personal growth and transformation
A pivotal moment, represents as a turning point
where she gains a new perspective and begins to understand
the value of forgiveness, living in the present, and embracing her own divinity
How 'bout me not blaming you for everything?
blame the moon, release unriquited love and like a bird that doesn't know where their home is, fly away
How 'bout me enjoying the moment for once?
How 'bout how good it feels to finally forgive you?
How 'bout grieving it all one at a time?
Thank you frailty
The moment I let go of it was the moment
I got more than I could handle
The moment I jumped off of it
Was the moment I touched down
How 'bout no longer being masochistic?
How 'bout remembering your divinity?
How 'bout unabashedly bawling your eyes out?
signifies emotional release and catharsis,
suggesting that facing and processing emotions
is crucial for personal evolution
How 'bout not equating death with stopping?
Thank you nothingness
Thank you clarity
Thank you, thank you silence
Ladies sing along with the goddess Alanis
Thank U Providence
Thank U Canada
Thank U Alanis Morissette
Strange, yet a reality none the less:
the oppressed destroying themselves
for the sake of the oppressor.
The battle of creatures of the sea
has now become that of the humanity
of the conquered land. A bizarre misguided
catharsis born out of guided mind bending
of victims killing selves for the sake
of molded daily bread of the oppressor.
The dehumanizing of common human bond
etched into souls by Middle Passage bondage
and stitched into long landed psyche, has
yet to be extricated from psychological slave mentality.
Its debasing scraping—like the depths of the sea—continues
to run deep and wide as the long ago Passage.
The sea that spat upon the shores of a strange land,
swallowed the anchors of satanic ships laden
with remnants of the booty of their sooty cargo;
a sooty cargo whose songs made no sense in a strange land.
Shackles may be broken and fall clanging from their physical
grasping; but minds may remain invisibly chained—unaware.
In nature, the causes of demise often remain unseen—veiled.
And liberation becomes a misconceived deception; seasoned
by the salt of the sea—rather than burning with freedom’s fire!
America, a deception in disguise, has revealed herself in reality;
but like Iago’s ego, the true self remains among the unknown.
Yet she rings the bell of justice till it cracks—stilling its silent tongue;
and in veiled blindness hang scales to seek their own balance.
They stripped the heaven-ward pole of its clothing;
but the colors remain in altered stripes and stars—
flushing a noose-like wave in smoke filled skies reeking
with the murderous smell of spiraling gun powder residue
lingering in air as they echo purity while simultaneously
orating mass hued skin perdition.
Though we are of the same seed of our brother, Othello,
we shall not let this adopted land ‘…roast in sulphur…’
nor be washed ‘…in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire.’
Nay. We are of the soul of the phoenix—
rising black doves roosting—plucking feathers of injustice
from the bleeding breast of a forgiven nation.
ALABASTER ANTHEMS
As artists we should realize that inspiration is often born of pain,
Of loss, suffering, of cob-webbed corners with spiders the size of cats.
But even we eschew the dark masterpieces written for catharsis
In favor of cotton candy catchphrases with esoteric vocabulary to stimulate the thesaurus.
The wounded shrivel, dehydrated, as Alabaster Anthems are preferred on the podium.
Even rappers, whose songs discuss guns, naked violence, spilled blood
Even they dare not spill their OWN guts, their fears, doubts, anxiety.
They fight so hard to escape where they have come from
Only to find out that they have no idea how to live where they are, with whom they are.
Truth doesn’t win Grammys, so they, too, spin their Alabaster Anthems and write acceptance speeches.
Success and acceptance comes to those who live a white-washed, wonderful life.
Whose veins run with cow’s milk, their homes built with Wonderbread,
Their kids bleached-out Brady bunch clones, hugging at the end of an episode.
What irony that the flag of surrender is white, when in truth purity is victory,
Alabaster Anthem inspiration as empty as the merry-go-round when the carnival closes and the people go home.
We have all done it. Looked at caller ID and not answered because it was “Them,”
The persons who ramble on about the bad things in their lives like cancer and foreclosure
When you just want to watch “America’s Got Talent”
You let the call go to your voicemail that says you will call them back — but you won’t.
You’re interested in Alabaster Anthems that infuse your day with baby giggles, magic shows, and inspiration.
Those lonely, sick, hurting, anxious, empty, on their 12th Reason outcasts
Long for a way to expel the filth, restore the sanity, open a door to the light.
Instinctively they want to talk, write, sing about it.
Therapy begins when the patient is heard and understood
And Alabaster Anthems are replaced by Omnifarious Odes.
February 14, 2019
The titular template
of lyrical loneliness,
serenading spaced out
the upbeat ethereal
mystique melody
of dreams cadenced
with rhythmic quietude,
invigorated by
the rhapsody of
the million idyllic steps
I walk,
setting free
the hesitating heart
that quivers with
the wilderness willows,
the concrete contours
of inflexible essence
repudiate intractably
the catharsis reprisal,
I find a placating place
at the serene edge
of the stalled time,
sense sedated
by the sound of silence.
All the dreams
blaze to emotive ember
in memory inferno,
swathed by the ashes
I breathe besieged
the smoky past,
whisper hollow words
to the amorphous air,
for I have nothing
more to say,
and silently float
in the sky of nothingness
with splintered awareness,
the sulking space between
the slices of soul,
where frail feelings
get frozen,
the lattice of desolation
is configured
with the shards of
shapeless desire,
turning to illusive images,
as they soar
to void oblivion
in the solemn sky of
silence…
She shuddered at her emotions
For they scared her now more than ever before
Released themselves without permission
They were prancing around doing God knew what
She should have known better than to try
Suppressing them had never worked before
They came for her tonight
In her dreams, showing her their bloody teeth
and their violent ways
Her little girl self was horrified,
for she had forgotten the evilness inside
that had not been brought out for a long time
The wailing and keening disturbed her neighbors
for they had never heard this side
The police were called
She answered the door wearing her unassuming face
Her little girl smile.
They asked to come inside.
She let them in,
hoping her evil emotions would let them live.
If they had waited two more minutes
she could have hidden them inside a poem.
Written 12-06-2020
Contest: Catharsis Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
The titular template
of lyrical loneliness,
serenading
spaced out
the upbeat ethereal
mystique melody
of dreams
cadenced with
rhythmic quietude,
invigorated by
the rhapsody of
the million idyllic steps
I walk,
setting free
the hesitating heart
that quivers with
the wilderness willows,
the concrete contours
of inflexible essence
repudiate intractably
the catharsis reprisal.
I find a placating place
at the serene edge
of the stalled time,
sense sedated
the sound of silence.
All the dreams
blaze like emotive ember
in memory inferno,
swathed by the ashes
I breathe besieged
the smoky past,
whisper hollow words
to the amorphous air,
for I have nothing
more to say,
and silently float
in the sky of nothingness
with splintered awareness.
The sulking space between
the slices of soul,
where frail feelings
get frozen,
the lattice of desolation
is configured
with the shards of
shapeless desire,
turning to illusive images,
as they soar
to the void
of oblivion
in the solemn sky of
silence…
... stalactites hung like dystopian snot from a statue
her brain was frozen and formed ice in her mind
a lacuna without inlet or outlet arrested in time
mind’s skates tied up in bundles of snowflakes
gloves off for defeat with all speed set in arrest
not even her black woollen hat showed any signs
of thawing heart-warming emotions for comfort
empty speech bubbles covered her scraped tongue
where a mouth-watering waterfall should pursue
a pick axe with nothing left to dissect or construct
dangled from a callous corpus callosum in pain
unable to connect right left wrong or left to correct
this was not what searching tranquillity had promised
in contrast transcendence wept at chilly flood gates
a voice that had so much to part with in a landscape
of permanent layers of verglas onto vaporous rime
she wished for some slime or yuck glopping goo
but permafrost refused a glimpse of impermanence
a fool thought it funny to stick a carrot in her nostril
helpless she could not leave the vegetative state of affairs
clung to a string of crystal beads at pearly gates of no return
this is a lie I am Pinocchio at the threshold of truth
a metaphor unable to break the spell of apocalypse
unfulfilled amphora and vessel that can’t even leak
incontinence at the pointless orifice of evacuation
without one drop of hope for cataracts to dissolve
a lonely icebreaker with nothing left to crack open
where a firm skull should harbour my residual flow
when a polar bear embraced her unbalanced spectre
shared his white furry coat under a mantle of darkness
shales of introjection floated away from the solar eclipse
which had sheltered her from a charcoaled manic cauldron
touching middle grounds in between scorching euphoria
and lifeless apathy just long enough to remember that she had
not taken her medication and the self-help manual was useless
sometimes catharsis has to wait for one small lucid moment
when a beak meets a beaker and cascades start from a dribble
There is a moon stuck inside the stoplight
A still unblinking gaze controlling blood tides
Circulatory system like New York City in the seventies
The thrashing of my tire fire heart led
To the tribute of an overzealous blood tithe
With the buzzing of the latch relay circuit
Night and day, the cosmic light switch clicks
Itself into place, there is no dusk or dawn
We are burdened to tread in the interchange
We are a gathering of werewolves, in need
Of a blood moon, craving catharsis and hope
There is no time to pencil in a reverie
A daily scene, like a living nightmare
Turning us into cybernetic lycanthropes
This is a true, but amusing tale,
Hope your laughter does not fail,
'Tis a saga of a cockatoo,
Of life, he held a jaundiced view,
At the going down of the sun,
Cocky embellished his own fun,
And at the rising of each dawn,
Cocky's catharsis our ears did adorn,
The parrot kept talking, none listened to he,
Cocky had such a vivid vocabulary,
All starting with "F...ing C...'s"!
We heard his morning matins, you see,
His vespers were hard to believe,
'Twas sociolinguistic acquisition, prithee,
His jaded look at society,
Swearing is cathartic, but so lazy,
Yes, old cocky had such a vocabulary!