Long Caught Poems
Long Caught Poems. Below are the most popular long Caught by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Caught poems by poem length and keyword.
it clutches me
a soft murmur at first
then a persistent hum
within the ears
a need to carve
to create into being
what doesn't yet exist
a feverish urge
an obdurate obsession
to shape unseen silhouettes
beyond the generic shine
my hands jerk
even in sleep
imagining brushstrokes
that paint with clay
with thoughts
like tangled vines
climbing the walls of my mind
seeking in the sky
a long-lingering lantern
lighting my being
with the fire of inspiration
the world outside fades
its edges blurred
its pressing voices
drowned by this passion
a song of creation
a siren's call
promising solace
a momentary peace
as this obsession
is obdurate
does not truly fade
it endures as a coiled spring
for the next clue
the next irresistible impulse
to build, to write, to paint
to sculpt the air
into something tangible
something that breathes
a hunger that can`t be sated
a thirst that can`t be quenched
caught in the web
of this obdurate obsession
I engage myself
to the toil of creating
irrespective of price to pay
for in the act of carving
I feel most alive
being myself
even as I am consumed
this unyielding urge
this burning flame
shapes me to who I am
as I try to carve for the world
whether or not it greets
the piece of art
the string of words
with lenient eyes
or considerate ears
across time and space.
The End Is Near
My existence is under absolute rule of a dictator regime,
I have grown up in the shadow of a tyrannical, overbearing man;
(and family)
he has built huge walls,
cutting us off from the world- no one leaves;
or ever enters.
He jailed all journalist, newscasters, and activists,
and ended newspapers;
all writing is illegal- the law is death if caught.
No books are allowed and all libraries have padlocks,
(and schools)
A black cloud hangs in the sky from coal burning;
nothing green exists, and
all is brown,
(nothing wild survives)
I live in the basement of my ruined home;
my activist parents have disappeared,
and I write poems.
I have to (I must) it is in my blood,
although the punishment great;
yesterday, I ran out of paper and I am writing on walls.
The end is near- and there is no future.
____________________
April 1, 2017
Verse/Unshackle My Verse
Copyright Protected, ID 889040
Unshackle My Verse
Kim Rodriques
He caught his bus to Barnsley
Thinking he’d be there soon
But the driver took a wrong turn
And they landed on the moon
Where the King of the Selenes
A most delightful host
Served them Lunar Honey
On hot buttered toast
And a string quartet played
Until half past three
When the Lady Queen
Served her special lemon tea
Then they all stood chatting
As the driver turned his bus around
And at the very first attempt
Got it straight off the ground
Back down in Barnsley
He couldn’t for his life
Think of an excuse
To tell his waiting wife
So he told the truth
Which cost him a clout
As she whacked his head
On her angry way out
If there’s a moral to this story
It’s no matter how he tries
If the world don’t like the truth
They’ll insist a fellow’s telling lies
Love in Winter
A winterbed with ice cold feet is hot.
These snowy buds outshine the season’s gray.
Her shiver lasts - in travels she’s been caught.
The blanket’s frost - a wave on chilly days.
Her eyelashes, and icicles, so thick.
She’s tossed to and fro in the ice queen’s squall.
A glacial melt — he’s down — the sea moves...quick —
With thunderclaps his chest does rise and fall.
Relaxed, refreshed — like peppermint, this glove
that fits. Like soft new fallen snow - they glow.
Entangled legs in the leggings of love.
A wonderland of lips, their drift is slow.
This sleigh, a winterbed of midnight dates.
The iditarod sun of figure-eights.
7/6/2019
Best sonnet 2019 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
howmanysyllables.com used to check syllable count
miscounted winterbed as 2 syllables; should be 3
*buds - buddies, companions, friends
**winterbed - combo of two words
Don't ever be caught off securing!
The world is in a state of writhing.
Human skin is used to induce maps usage.
And then hang it on the wall alike a rootage.
Who are those poems on my lips, please?
And the lexicon of people who love freeze?
The strands beg, "Whom will I stretch them to?"
Who do you pass to in my night to feel subdue?
Dispenser fragrance distilled in my blood
Thrust out past service from the devil's stud!
Tell me if you're a mountain hallucination.
So, who truly am I? And my appeal literation.
Written: March 15, 2022
1st place contest winner
A Brian Strand Formed Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
By Any Other Name would smell as sweet
Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare
ROSE CAPULET
Put aside the rose by any other name, the dozen scent
of lover’s potent petals, exacting thorns that pierce the skin.
His soulmate’s countenance - like baby’s breath and intent.
Her pink pinched cheeks, soft as velvet, a bright budding win.
The lovely romance of Capulet adorned with thrilling furl.
Sweetness permeates from Shakespeare’s intervening,
phrase caught betwixt the feuding, an idyllic poetic pearl.
Cruel cessation of fluttering heartbeats - unforeseen things.
Juliet’s petals still - like Aurora’s lips longed to be kissed.*
Her Romeo clueless to her pretense downs caustic curse.
His rapturous love awakens — wan rose can only coexist
in the arms of death. Dagger turns rose red in abiding verse.
11/14/2021
Robert Liguori’s Rose Contest
*Aurora was the name of the fairytale’s Sleeping Beauty who was awakened by her prince with a kiss. Juliet was in a temporary coma
but Romeo never received her explanation letter.
There was not in the sky one small patch painted blue
when the sun wrapped in clouds set unnoticed unseen.
Eerie sounds; what they were, he did not have a clue
but in darkness it’s known that the spectres convene.
Rolls of thunder ensued in the pursuit of light
then the droplets of rain soon increased, landed hard.
Swishy beating of wings betrayed shaitans in flight…
He stopped dead in his tracks as they caught him off guard.
Then a split in the clouds let the moonlight appear,
to the hamlet he strode, ghouls he tried to avoid.
With a spring in his step, shedding aura of fear,
niggly doubts were dispelled. He got back his sangfroid.
Midnight struck and at last every curtain he drew.
An inversion of roles: Jekyll sipped on his brew.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
An English Sonnet in anapestic tetrameter
rhyme scheme (abab-cdcd-efef-gg)
All Hallows’ Evening Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish
© 8 November 2022
Unsung Hero Audrey
Audrey Hepburn, not just another pretty face
Eloquent little girl, fragile beauty, boundless grace
Danced upon the stage and world
A young star started out with humble voice and noble causes
Accomplished ballerina making money on her early path
And running messages deep within the Dutch Resistance
WWII was no simple feat for Audrey and her selfless acts
If caught in both activities it meant an instant death
By those in opposition to her quest
But she prevailed. All that has passed
And she remained with us as blessed
The Hepburn Children’s Fund for fighting hunger
And UNICEF continue with her aid, at her bequest
Though she is gone, no longer with us
Her causes continue on with energy and spirit
The world still sings her song
Our hero, we love you Audrey, unsung little one
We sing your praises
Rest in peace sweet princess
Created 7/31/14 for - Unsung Hero contest
Having Nothing, I know it all too well;
for it's the reason that my head doesn't swell.
Nothing leaves me little to gripe about;
and yet fuels my compulsion to shout.
Nothing keeps me awake on sleepless nights,
as confused as a deer caught in headlights.
Though Nothing has no weight or feel to it,
it hurts much more than I care to admit.
The loss of innocence is a slow theft,
yet before you know it, Nothing is left.
Nothing can be easily washed away
by tears when emotions come into play.
Yet Nothing's frightening, weighing me down,
like an empty promise that hangs around.
Though Nothing has Nothing to do with love,
it fuels my desire to rise above.
I met you about a year ago, back when you were paired with a different sister. Even after I left the RDS, you remained in contact with me. I remember sending you a friend request again after blocking you — not out of rejection, but out of fear. I was afraid you wouldn’t understand why I had to step away.
When I drifted, it was not in the way I expected. My dream told me to keep going, to keep learning, not to settle into dogma too quickly. Even now, I feel that same message: learn more, grow more, but stay close to the people who help me — people like you.
What first drew me into the organization was the friendliness and kindness shown by everyone. But what kept me studying… was your red hair. Red hair has always caught my eye, but with you, it made me want to see the person behind it — the spirit, the sincerity, the strength.
During the difficult times I faced this past year, including my injury, you supported me in a way that reached deeper than simple friendship. You were one of the few who held me up spiritually, just like two of my closest friends. One of them I see as an older sister, and I’ve acknowledged her as such. The other is something more — a connection so strong that only God knows where it may lead. God may guide that bond forward, or He may guide me somewhere entirely different. Only He determines the course.
Still, meeting you and the other sisters was a powerful experience. Out of all the sisters and Vishnu I’ve spoken to, you are the one I never wanted to disappoint. You are the one I always wanted to talk to more. You carry a charisma that is rare — the kind men should look for in a woman.
I don’t want this to sound like a flirtation. I want to speak my true intentions. Only God can guide our hearts until intention becomes truth and devotion. If God leads me down a different path — not toward the person I’m closely aligned with from another country — and instead guides me toward you, then that would be a blessing in its own right.
A woman with strong religious faith and values is exactly what I seek. Only a few have awakened that part of me — the part that feels safe enough to tell everything, to rest my head on a shoulder, to cry if needed, knowing I would be held with understanding and compassion.
You helped bring me back to center. You helped bring me back to God.