Long Cavities Poems
Long Cavities Poems. Below are the most popular long Cavities by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cavities poems by poem length and keyword.
three incisor teeth burst through fresh flesh...
opaque as pearls, strong as love, precious
beautiful baby babbles assertively
mesmerized by mishmash sounds
that her astounding mouth can make
prose poetry in its practice
as canines erupt, she moans from the ache
teeter-tottering restless to repress pain
speedily advancing in substantial strength
distracted by oblivious destructiveness
a significant stepping stone approaches
as a capable kindergarten adult
she wiggles loose her first baby tooth
receives a rich reward from a fantasy fairy
more teeth disappear like pressed piano keys
then return acutely out of tune
braces displace awkward half grins
an investment of finances and adolescence
unstoppable with seducing sweets
she sneaks cuddly candy under covers
falling asleep with sugar plum dreams
not counting a few costly cavities
free-spirited, experimental teen
meets Christina on the street
samples compelling quartz crystal
returns for seconds, as someone else disguised
mesmerized by mishmash sounds
that her astounding mouth can make
speedily advancing in substantial strength
she lucently levitates to a loftier place
a magnificent mind babbles assertively
sweeping the streets of pixie dust
no need to eat or sleep
like a firefly in heat, she dances frantically
teeter-tottering restless to repress pain
distracted by oblivious destructiveness
she visualizes voices that vivify the way
to the day's salacious survival guide
prismic vision's shimmers no longer satisfy
cotton candy granules' sweetness subsides
coming down from kaleidoscopic clouds
half-awake, she moans from the ache
shrill shrieks portray poetry's unspoken pain
death's drab projection is her heartless reflection
hocking heirlooms to trade for a transient thrill
a despondent inhabitant of tragedy
creepy crawlers invade every inch of skin
her thin figure balances a skull's shadow
irretrievable, ill-treated teeth crumble
like the city's plundered storefront windows
filthy, for granted, forlorn, fast-fading
...three feeble canine teeth remain
10-8-2023
Hopping out the ford and headed to the suite, before we get to the room let’s sip on something sweet
Then I’ll set the mood with some music that makes me think of you
R and R much needed but we are lit so let’s turn up to some R & B
You and ME name a better duo, I wait…take your time, no please
A little braggadocio but when I look at you how can I not brag
She’s R rated sexy but for this poem I’ll keep it PG
Dimples and freckles are so cute its killing me
Love so sticky and honey so sweet, tonight let’s make a mess in the
honeymoon suite
Our love is too sweet but I don’t really care about the cavities
Just give me another bite baby
Kiss, kiss, hug, hug, love, love, sleeping in and waking up to the sunlight
p.s. kissing my now wife…
Watch as the archer of sorrow steps slowly among the shadows of lost memories,
Clad in robes woven from the threads of promises forgotten on the shelves of time,
His quiver rattling with arrows soaked in the ink of unspoken silences,
Each adorned with feathers plucked from the wings of angels fallen into oblivion.
His bow is carved from the rib of a god who drowned in his own vanity,
Polished with the tears of regret and lacquered with the sweat of scattered dreams,
He draws the string not with ordinary fingers, but with the tendons of past lives,
Pulled taut by the tension of unsaid words, petrified under the weight of the past.
His arrows do not seek to pierce the skin, for that would be too gentle, too easy,
But slip between the ribs, traveling through the labyrinth of veins that carry desires,
Searching for the hidden pulse of the heart, where they settle as a silent burden,
Like uninvited guests who refuse to leave, draining every last trace of warmth.
He hunts without a drawn map, without a name engraved on stone slabs,
His target resides in the empty cavities where laughter once found its home,
Even the moon turns away, casting its light to other corners of the night,
Ashamed of how often it has witnessed his silent and ruthless victories.
And yet, his aim is unfailing, unmoved by prayers or desperate offerings,
The archer never misses, but waits for the moment you believe you are healed,
When you think the past is buried and your soul is ready to soar once more,
Only then does he send his arrows, reminding you of shadows that never fade.
Flying across the white expanse
a dull day becomes coloured
with the distant foggy
black marks of flight
opening wings wide
like a murder of beaks
thirsty for the blood
of the ink of others
on their blunt dry nibs,
it ruffles their feathers
colourful for a short while
between the lines
of a vacant pride, the
worthless worthiness
of removing veils
from other brides,
Faust flapping crows
disguised as angels
come calling like
unclaimed friends
from all quarters, then,
curious bluebirds
dissecting their purpose,
discover something
shining and beautiful
found in the dirt
between the cavities
in all their walls,
behind the ugliness,
jewels like Ariadne
(writer not myth)
possessing
the opposite title
held to the mirror -
"he ventures she wins",
are fished out
and discarded
in the swirling ice,
cubed in the depths
of a dark well
like unclaimed
diamonds,
solid gems, waiting
amidst all those other
melting treasures
to be, or not to be,
found
Candide Diderot. ‘24
A yawn has caught me by surprise.
Screwed up my face,
With mouth opened wide.
See all the cavities and fillings inside.
Momma said," You need a nap!"
Nothing I could say,
Would get me away.
Off to my bed,
It would appear.
My once yearly nap,
I might miss something, I fear!
I'll pretend to sleep,
Close my eyes,
Not let out a peep.
Let out a small snore,
Before Momma closes the door.
Then I'll arise,
Play quietly inside.
Two hours later,
Much to my surprise,
I woke up on the floor.
The yawn defeated me again,
Theres' always tomorrow to fight it off to the end!
In all my seriousness, I feel the need for a little light relief.....................
What makes a person want to drill
and poke in peoples' mouths?
To inflict pain and suffering
then say 'just swill around'?
To see the fear in peoples'eyes,
to watch with glee as chlidren cry
as they wave their baby teeth 'goodbye',
must give them such a thrill.
That one sided conversation
(they know you can't talk back:
they've packed you full of cotton wool)
-'Oh no! Your abcess tracked!'
Your molar teeth are all decayed
(that must have been the fudge you made),
Your canine has a cavity
(that must be all the herbal tea)'
as she waves her prodding tools with glee...
No matter how much Lignocaine
they use to try and numb the pain,
the sound of all that whirring drilling,
the taste, the smell, the noise, the chair,
is not exactly thrilling.
Yet, if we're good, we must go back
to visit twice a year.
We sit with fingers crossed unseen
as we're scaled and polished,
scraped and cleaned...
We hope the dentist soon will say,
'there's nothing much to do today.
Sign this form, be on your way -
oh, by the way, do you have to pay?'...
PAY! For all this sweat and grief
as I mourn the loss of my wisdom teeth?
Amalgamate my cavities
and swish with flouride water
Around my gold caps and my crowns!
Yes, the dentist can be such a pleasure:
a memory you will always treasure;
a joy that will be hard to measure
as you remember with a sigh,
that if you'd only ventured
to choose a set of dentures,
you could've been spared financial drain
and never visited again
the dentist with her whining drill
who seems to EXTRACT such a thrill
from misery and pain!
see you in six months ..........
Black Diamond Night (a coal miner’s cemetery)
Where the ebony, we call “NIGHT”,
Old black rocks sit under the twilight
Diamond shape eyes unclear and lonely,
Sinister through hostile spirits only,
I stumble across these stones without a bone
A solitary confinement alone,
From a barren zone the light transcend
Only in time, our minds will mend
Endless valleys and limitless stones
These bones- these bones they sit alone
The abyss, of rotten cavities with no fill,
A system no power can unwell the drill
The blood that passed over without a spill
Peaks collapse into a spellbinding chill
They are trapped! They are trapped!
Another diamond in the rough
Is what they left
Obsessed with the dead without a death
A death that impatiently awaited their last breath
Gushing, into the gems of dead chemistry,
Diamonds holding its own intensity,
These lonely graves, on top of sycamore hill
Coal mining hearts that will never heal
If only shiny eyes could see?
These lonely bones inside of me!
Moving in every direction possible
Flowing in every direction noticeable
Sockets without eyes.
Stones hiding under the cobalt skies.
The mad sparkles, the madness dies.
Throughout this mess, we held in the blasphemous
Intervening lots of gems so miraculous
Into a stone of self-religion,
A black night filled of legions
Acknowledging the soul's capacity of free
Near the frail bones that sit alone,
Alone they sit in a morbid home.
Through a path unclear and all alone,
Troubled by the visions of my own stone
Where the night takes place in the dark
The ebony rides under the diamond bark
Along with the coal miners who never got to see the;
“Diamonds of another day!”
Beneath the sprawling blush of dawn, our feet became one
with the sands of Kiawah Island, grains glistening like scattered stars,
each a tiny sunburst caught in the curl of the earth.
We danced under the great blue dome, where pelicans
etched their grace against the sky,
wings slicing through the salt-laced breeze
in a ballet of dips and arcs over the rolling tides.
The sun bestowed its golden benedictions upon our shoulders,
a warm, lingering touch we carried
through the tapestry of days and evenings.
We listened—oh, how we listened—to the symphony of waves,
a constant hum, both lullaby and roar,
cradling the coastline in its rhythmic embrace,
resonant in our chest cavities, echoing the pulse of the ocean.
Seagulls, those whimsical drifters, traced their hieroglyphics
across the canvas of the morning sky,
their cries a tart melody over the whisper of shifting shores.
At night, the beach transformed into a moonlit stage,
silver light playing upon the undulating waters,
each crest a shimmering ghost, fleeting and ethereal.
Yet, as the tendrils of early summer weave through the air,
we say our goodbyes to these sun-soaked days,
to the theater of birds and the symphony of tides.
Our hearts, tethered to the rhythm of the waves,
feel that pull, that gentle tug of sadness, as we depart
from this haven, this sanctuary of sea and sand.
Until next May, when the sun reclaims its throne,
and the beach, patient and unchanging,
welcomes us back to its open arms—
our spirits will hold tight to the echo of the ocean,
a rhythm ingrained, a perennial whisper in our pulse.
Farewell, dear sands, keep our footprints safe, nestled
deep in your memory, as we keep you in ours.
Scant animals with their glassy hoped-for eyes
draw near to my crumbling step.
I think they want to sing me something,
carol a Mozart aria perhaps,
but they cannot
so they lift furry eyebrows
shuffle as if to say, ‘we can’t,
but listen to the wind
in the cavities of our bones,
it whistles both merry tunes and dirges,
it echo’s the past and the present
but all our four paws are here in the moment'.
A jowly mouse
with the face of a New Jersey cop
edges closer than most.
“We are not trying to warn you” it says,
expressing its lack of words
in the brisk modality of pigeon-toed dance steps.
“We are not begging for food or love”
It is Spring now and we are out here
happy to have come through.
We are a deputation, a clique, and a clack
calling you out into the bare hedgerows.
There are new threads and tubes
driving upward from the twiggy earth ---
--- you’re acting like a dead man
and so we gather here
to awaken those other little animals
that nest in your fat and fiber.
Lead them out soon or they will eat you
and you will have deserved it -
that is all.”
I nodded respectfully
at the red whiskered rodent.
Leaving the door open a crack
I went to the kitchen
to chop the head off a dead chicken.
It was time to eat and not be eaten.
Spring is whisking its mush.
A dry wine has aged fizzy and fine,
it is already shaking it’s splashy bubbles
ready for the sipping summer suns
to come.
The light outside these walls is porous,
thus I will go
I will go to the hedgerow,
hang a winter scarecrow by its ankles
until it coughs up, a new free range
Spring poem worth the eating
one with garlicy kisses, a round Romaine lettuce,
with a lightly garnished piquant dressing.
A microcosm rushing towards the light, a pathological soul in my mouth, a belonging buried in my back
The dagger of my brain: a spear, within a flayed piety (forgotten hand) my brain cavities
a rain of morphine
I am a wooden bird, a star circling in God's fireflies, a collision of Venus and Uranus, a three-eyed serpent (History bleeds in my voice)
I am captive Maya, imprisoned 2012, a devil's triangle in the song of the seas, loneliness drips from my groin, loneliness that shoots itself! - A city's call to war
A dead man in my veins, unknown to me, the fear of a eunuch on his forehead, shaking! Demeter
A dirty river in my nails, Apollo woke up, twin beds
This is the season of shame, an angel hides in a cage, a cliff floating in the iron ocean (my fins
capsized)
The cobalt juggler entered my eyes, entered my eyes! There's no place to escape! The lastflute's last melody, heavy melodrama in missing persons notices
Minimal words in the low dome of the rain, theatrical Cleopatra
My skin, my skin, is tied to Solomon. I am the caliph of children sharpened with bone. My throne is hollow,my throne is embers.
I am the footsteps of a drowning people!!! The rope is broken, our hair is slippery. SHOUTOUR SONG! HUMAN, OATH IN MY HEART!
My wounded soul is a scab, it still moves in my mother's groin!