Long Chafe Poems
Long Chafe Poems. Below are the most popular long Chafe by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chafe poems by poem length and keyword.
I don’t have a blueprint,
just this smudged version
of what she would look like,
an impression in a shop windowpane,
as the light catches her in mid-thought.
To recreate, I must fillet an idea until
it is just a blood surge, and a milky image of smoke;
I must work on her from the inside,
teasing out strands of mutual desire
from slim neck bones
and a tidal whelm.
My hands are palms outward and kneading;
a kind of questioning masturbation -
that is the gentlest way
to daub such imaginings into prayer.
Maybe I could chafe that conceit, like fresh
Virginia leaf between my fingers,
dunk her in a glass of Folonari Valpolicella
then place the wad between my gums,
chawing on it until she takes shape in my mouth.
No need to ever take her out,
she will disappear soon enough
into a space reserved only
for dwindling stars.
Perhaps she will suicide
into her own a wind-blown gawkish appearance.
The sculptor in me leaves a fatal wink in this ideal,
one that will metamorphose into something
too fair for my skin-leaching hands,
too transient for her still-life.
Then, when all is said and done,
she will simply remain this poem,
an ongoing motif,
that will surprise me again and again,
as I glimpse her once more
through a forever blurred window.
Indoors
the cause
Bug’s here
there's fear
Lock down
Wont frown
I'm glad
not sad
Can write
All night
And day
Way hayyyyy!
Big smile
All while
Pen poop
On soup
Will warn
If ‘p orn’ …
(bawdy
nawdy!)
Outdoors
for stores
We’ll walk
and talk
Then stop
to shop
Small task
dons mask
Masks chafe
stay safe
In line
of nine
The ten
all men!
No bread
said Fred
Nor Jam
or ham
Greedy?
Needy?
Price Hike
says Mike
Not on
Shouts Don
What’s worse
Lost purse
I’m broke
I choke
I’ll pay
Says Ray
Heart lift
At gift
I cry
Sweet guy
Repay
One day
When life’s
Less strife
From midnight today we are in lockdown for 3 weeks in an attempt to stop the spread of the virus which is now in our community… we have been covid free for 7 months but people are already re adjusting to the regulations which will come into force and are wearing masks and distancing. There is a deal of ‘poetic licence’ in my poem but an on line friend was shopping and someone slipped an envelope in her shopping basket it contained some money and a note asking the finder to ‘pay it forward’ one day
01/06/21
Points Above and Below the Line
(Enea Canonises Catherine of Siena)
It's not a thing we go for any more,
that hierarchy malarkey, but in fact
the medieval mind set mega store
by stairs and ladders. All things interact,
and therefore can be neatly classified.
(There's endless fun in drawing up these lists!)
The lowest rung is "is", all pride aside:
a rock is "est", because it just exists.
Your jellyfish can breathe and reproduce,
so up we go: it wins a badge named "vivit".
An antelope can feel, get scared, hang loose,
so "sentit" is the title we can give it.
So living, then, is better than existing,
and feeling better still. Take Esther Blodgett.
She's capable of pouting, outing, twisting --
so humans come out tops again, with "cogit".
So all these so's, I hear you say: so what?
Well, what if humans almost reach "divine"?
Suppose there's something Esther Blodgett's got
that takes her over life's Dividing Line?
"Sublunary" means "underneath the moon".
"Diurnal" means "divided, night and day".
(Now, please don't chafe: the point is coming soon.)
Below the line means "subject to decay".
The moon was key for medieval man,
because it marked the mortal azimuth --
Above, eternal, there since time began:
below, corrupt, unwholesome, marked for death.
And now we come to Pius, making saints.
There's Catherine of Siena, looking flirty:
They must have used an awesome box of paints -
The chick had been a corpse since thirteen-thirty.
Above, the Pope, the Cardinals and Kate.
Below, the groundlings watching it go down.
Above, all spirit, high, inviolate:
below, all bulging groin and earthy brown.
If Kate was Sienese, that's nepotism?
Why ain't he canonizing Capistrano?
It's all to do with black and brown and schism.
Dominicans are gold, the others guano.
Franciscans are Heart,
Dominicans are Brain.
Franciscans use Love,
Dominicans use Pain.
Franciscans are Italy,
Dominicans are Spain.
How can I fetch what's inside me?
It's a mental scream I can see,
They had poured fear through my mind's crease,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
There has been a real stage play,
Rumbling in the chasm and airway,
This caused the effect of the cease,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
Screaming voices drove me insane,
Shooters, killers, and guns again,
Frail life blights me on endless lease,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
We yield what we hear, but we hear,
In our blood, others' scars are clear,
We wipe tears but also decrease,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
My wounds are still bright in my mind,
Anguish since the long-term rewind,
Out of sight, cracked into pieces,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
We're together despite the waves,
Thrilled as tides rush us to the caves,
Earth seems to cast us a release,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
We plant hope as a human seed,
Love grows in the other being's deed,
These keen emotions can't surcease,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
What if rain wipes tears of sadness?
We'll free ourselves from the brashness,
Teases to shed tears of caprice?
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
Whether you cry from pain or bliss,
It's not rain that makes that abyss,
Crying is nature, human peeps,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
My sorrow is couched in downpour,
Sobbing has not yet come down more,
I chafe drenched while I wait for cease,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
Behind my face, that beams a smile,
Long, twisty, and pitch-black road style,
Secret cries have been rife with geese,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
Checked by HMS.COM/ 8 syllables.com
1St place contest winner
Written: November 14, 2022
Pick-A-Title, Vol 33 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Devil said let me tell ya one thing,
Where you live is my domain,
Prefer hell, but this is where is reign,
Go ahead and take a look,
Ive read your good book,
Lucifer means light bringer,
Not a light you want to linger,
I'll twist your head so tightly,
No sleep, daily or nightly,
Youll never get a break,
Trust me for I'm the first snake,
Come and jump on my train,
Fame and wealth for little pain,
Try, take me like a fool,
You'll be used as my tool,
I'll expose every single shame,
Just a small part of the game,
The goal is to give you separation,
For you are His greatest creation,
To think man is so easy,
Especially if I am dressed sleazy,
How come God loves you so,
I am an angel he made though,
Before the Bible, before you,
Before a rib to make two,
He created me for some reason,
But worship was not pleasing
So he banished me to this plane,
Tormenting forever I shall remain,
I shall twist all that is good,
Far after the cross has stood,
This present, in a suit and tie,
I'll be a very popular guy,
Creator of all social media,
It's my evil encyclopedia,
Infiltrating every single School,
To believe creation you are a fool,
Just leading the population herd,
Making two sexes absurd,
Planting a seed in a vaccine,
They'll never read in between,
The obvious seems so obscure,
Making dark what was pure,
Starting when they are young,
Even where worship is sung,
Nowhere will be safe,
I'll start as a small chafe,
Whispering thoughts in your ear,
Tormenting all you hold dear,
Never deserving of God's love,
All it took was a little shove,
In the end I'll be forthright,
I'm just sick of your sight.
I don’t have a blueprint,
just this smudged version
of what she would look like,
an impression in a shop windowpane,
just as the light catches her in mid-thought.
To recreate, I must fillet an idea until
it is just a pulse, a blood surge,
a milky image of smoke;
I must work on her from the inside,
teasing out strands of mutual desire
from slim neck bones
and a tidal whelm.
My hands are palms outward and kneading;
a kind of questioning masturbation -
that is the gentlest way
to daub such imaginings into prayer.
Maybe I could chafe that conceit, like fresh
Virginia leaf between my fingers,
dunk her in a glass of Folonari Valpolicella
then place the wad between my gums,
chawing on it until she takes shape in my mouth.
No need to ever take her out,
she will disappear soon enough
into a space reserved only
for dwindling morning stars.
Perhaps she will suicide
on high-tension wires. An electricity
flaring her into a wind-blown gawkish appearance.
The sculptor in me leaves a fatal wink in this ideal,
one that will metamorphose into something
too fair for my skin-leaching hands,
too transient for still-life.
Then, when all is said and done,
she will simply remain this poem,
an on-going motif,
one that will surprise me again and again,
as I glimpse her once more
through a forever blurred shop window.
I hate you and don’t
Could tell you but won’t
I’ll hold it inside
And keep up my front
I smile, I wave
I always behave
But inside I hate you
But take it to my grave
You deserve not my anger
Though now Youre a stranger
I wish I didn’t feel this way
Cuz I’m always in danger
Of ruining it all
Lashing out to call
You names, words i don’t mean
So I hold it in my walls
The ones I built high
They chafe cloud and sky
No hammer and chisel
Will ever get inside
Smile and wave
The smile is fake
Christ i cant hate you
But how much more can I take?
You flit about gracefully
Round everyone but me
Ive no right to feel this way
But it makes me feel angerey
I guess I’ll stay here alone
On the outside of what was my home
You always felt like safety
But now it feels like broken bones
I can never tell you this
I want you to feel the bliss
Even though im here in pain
I’ll never say a things amiss.
I hate to chortle at the sound of broken laughter,
Just like I refrain from weeping when dancing smoke fills my eyes . . .
But when dogs mourn alone,
I chafe my hands with the cold of tears of solitude.
Monuments and cairns I crave among the icy
Terrains, where dogs’ paws leave eternal marks —
The print-marks of an important visit,
Evidence of life on desiccated earth.
On board The Fram they sailed majestically
In the beginning,
Before joining a steam of blizzards they escaped from,
Returning home, northwards, gelid and depressing,
For a funeral of dogs,
The ceremony of age,
Attended largely by silent yaps of strayed thunder.
Close your eyes gently. Breathe deeply and slow.
Take a calm, stolen moment to consider what you know.
Open your eyes slowly. On what do they fall?
You see things all around you. They mean nothing at all.
In every instance, you assign the value of each and every piece.
You give them all the meaning that they will ever have.
All are neutral but become symbols of your deep-seated beliefs,
Whether you understand it or are completely naïve.
Each stare back to reflect and remind you of stronghold beliefs.
They accuse you of attachments and meanings you’re unable to show.
Without them, you would not be able to see your hidden thoughts.
It’s easy to see why it’s so hard to release and let them go.
Consciously, you never give your things a second thought.
You just can’t live without them. Without them you chafe.
They make you feel good; make you feel whole.
Gathered all around you, they make you feel safe.
Unhappy with your life? Look at your symbols.
Each is a symbol of who you believe yourself to be.
Each holds the energy that you have projected.
Let go of the attachments to set your mind free.
Chula Fleming © August 13, 2024
God is my sanctuary, the One to whom I run,
He is my hiding tower, my only Rising Sun,
He is the Rock on whom I stand in a deep deluge,
He is my shining Lighthouse, He is my true Refuge,
God is my sanctuary, the One to whom I call,
He is the One who catches me when stumbling I fall,
He is my comforting Father when I need Him so,
He is my only Friend when I feel lonely and low,
God is my sanctuary, the One in whom I'm safe,
He is my fortress and strength when troubles 'round me chafe,
When there are perilous trials, I lean on His breast,
Under the shadow of His powerful wings I rest.
08.17.2020
Contest: Sanctuary
Sponsor: Silent One