Long Charcoal Poems
Long Charcoal Poems. Below are the most popular long Charcoal by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Charcoal poems by poem length and keyword.
Sunday morning bright red sunrise
Reflecting onto the clouds
Constantly changes colors
There are wispy striated
Vertically that are cotton candy pink
The horizonal ones have gone from
The bright red to lightere and lighter
Shades until now are salmon in color
The roosters are exzuberant this morning
Thanks and praise continually comes from
Their throats through their beaks into the breeze
They are telling the world that it is going to
Be a great day
Feasting in the beauty that was created
Just for me years and years ago
God declared this day to be mine
To absorb his love and glory
There is a very thick mist rising from
The creek it radiating out and up at
Least one quarter of a mile away
The moisture penetrates giving life
The clouds have changed to charcoal gray
This happene in what seemed just minutes
It is almost as though the sun started to set
How many people get to see and enjoy
The day at dawn and sunrise...
I once wrote a poem
without metaphors,
only words to console
a lonely soul lost in
melancholic moods
in thoughts of those
gone to soon without
a note or goodbye.
Pondering how to
probe in prose
who's sole purpose
would be to compose
an ordinary song
to expose innocent
emotions to show
scope and protect,
but not to provoke
or choke forgotten
crimson wounds,
so I wove an ode
without a raincoat,
before moonlight
wore a cloak
covered in clouds
composing a shroud.
Alone in an abode
of brown meadows,
I spoke to the moon
in monsoon soaked
mellow seasons,
but in treason its glow
showed no devotion.
Soothing sounds of
raindrops stroked
soft symphonic tones,
but brought no hope,
so one was prone to
prostrate in sorrows
only consoling smoke
shadows portray
through motions
of stolen ghosts.
Forever wondering
how to become poetic.
Is there a narrow yellow
cobbled road to follow -
or should I forget it?
Once I wrote a poem
with poor metaphors,
so you would not
notice how unspoken
conversations could
explode without
control shown
like cold charcoal
gloom and fog
vapours pouring
showers of torment
to trouble and torture
strongest thorns of
an old stone rose.
out of the blue you arrived
not just the usual winter blues
more like permafrost with icicles
piercing all colour out of me
until everything was black
the dogs on my shoulder
a pack of wild hounds
haunting me down
growling chewing digesting
before there was no more prey
to be sucked out of my life
one of them in particular
showed no mercy but wore
the face of my ex a terrier
and I was the rat in my nightmare
a silent movie paused on its reel
clockwork arrested in agony
but death refused the call for
endless loops would not retreat
out of nowhere a petite woman arrived
in an aquamarine dress with whistles
and bells on her outfit
she led me to a cerulean sofa
took off my charcoal garments
undressed what was to become
she blew kisses and smiles
onto my naked skin and painted
flowers of hope in magenta and crimson
with honeydew stems and forest green shoots
the hole changed to whole in split seconds
of passion kindness compassion and love
lust for life if you want and hollowed depression
out of the blue morphed from beneath our moans
a young soulmate with a dolphin earring
who also bore some tattoos on her skin
but she calls it cinnamon bark
now we howl with the wolves
in tune with stellar composure
more than once in a blue moon
23th May 2020
With a world increasing in knowledge, not discernment,
science expands its universe in space;
you will encounter a few whom the Lord will send...
to seek a safe,monastery life!
The Middle Ages were a great escape
from the vandals that invaded their land;
and thus,many geniuses brought new thought to light,
and civilization was saved by these courageous monks!
Why are the prisons being overcrowded by the minute,
are we losing touch with conscience,
and is guilt excluded from the senses?
Some don't even feel the sense of guilt,
unremorsefully in front of judges who deplore...
and the offenders ludicrously defy justice;
are we becoming a society of lawless ingrates,
or are we going back to the Dark Ages?
Chaos seems stunning nowdays...
if it surfaces without notice,
all that we built and its splendor
can turn into ashes like charcoal;
the events, unfolding before our faces,
will be more catasthrophic...
compared to what occurred,over
the centuries, throughout those lands
plagued by deadly diseases!
Choosing a safe, monastery life
is not only precocious, but wise;
if your calling is truly spiritual:
be the sagest of the sage...
not consumating a self-image;
devotion is a not a demise of the faithful!
Pull out the easel
set the canvas
positioned long and slender clean slate.
Sketch the figures huddled and dark-bound hostage
to charcoal-cooled coals
etching in shadow images;
Faceless entities
slipping in and out the background
earth-toned sojourners accepting, alone, quiet, dying;
Still the images in silence
hard and disfigured
grotesque horrors in place;
Somber soul-drained eyes
skeletal socket holes
buried in the heart and mind;
Let tears fall down their cheeks
in wonder, awe, and
fear of what happens next.
Acrylic primers dilute the wash in the storyline
flaking and cracking
tearing each soul and truth away;
Polyptych blended burnish bleeds
quiet, soft exuding
whimpered cries, asking why;
Chiaroscuro collages of death from life
fading to diluent breaths
the heartbeat of an unholy silence;
Graded gouache monochrome scraper boards
releasing sfumatos of singularities
communal lives sacrificed
Varnish the final rendition
camouflage the realities,
the actuality of what it represents,
Time immemorial in genocidal atrocities
of Native Americans, Cambodians, Hawaiians,
Jews, Rwandans, Bosnia, Darfur,.
When does it stop?
The never-ending list
life is more precious than this
until change comes
Paint the Picture Black and Gray
pray
then act.
On that fateful dusky evening about an year ago,
My eyes disbelieved as they watched you fade away at a distance real slow.
My happy world crashed and fell apart,
I could never gauge that I would have to undergo this at the very start.
But somehow I believe that you knew this from the start,
If only, I could have warned my, now bruised heart.
That gloomy evening I watched until I could see no more,
You, your figure your form and body any more.
From its dwelled edifice, my soul,
Began to rip itself glowing like a burning charcoal.
Now aloof from me and its temple, my soul,
Could clearly see in place of my heart is left a dirge hole.
I began to gasp for air and breathe,
The aches and pain my skin it has learnt to sheath,
To release from within me a scream, a screech or a painful yell,
But they not, “faces of loneliness” hide or quench and quell?
My heart, mind, body and a homeless soul seek a place for them to hide,
But cruel fate has my life exposed and opened very wide.
My sulking tears their potent energy bust the rampart of my emotional dam,
To God almighty my plea is some solace that I seek to come upon and loneliness ban.
Tossing my tears
My pen oozes feelings in patterns of ink
Lines filled with visions, symmetrical truth
Carved from a heart that is desperate to think
Somewhere inside sleeps the essence of proof
Reaching that point where the matters at play
Running around in my mind’s subtle crest
Hoping to find the right sentence to say
This is my love for I gave you my best
When is enough more than money can buy
Simple the pleasures awaiting your touch
Tiny endeavors on wings set to fly
Sunlight and flowers and wishes and such
Still comes another of phrases to win
Sweeping you off to the end of my time
Spinning in circles as yet to begin
Lost and alone as he utters “you’re mine”
Why is it always the soft tend to fall
Deep in the crevice of fading desire
Charcoal and ashes, the flame’s ending call
Nothing I offer is what you require
Now here I sit at this desk in the cold
Staring beyond every dream I might see
Endless the stacks that these memories hold
Tossing my tears at what now can not be
THE TOLLGATES OF TOPAZ
I read the burn and feed with pills of pleasure
the twilight bricked into troubled walls, swollen with vigil,
throbbing with a greedy hunger that is never satisfied,
starving for your silhouette woven out of living words,
a breathing poem, with metaphors in motion,
melted slowly into the musk of a euphoric reverie…
O white force, unbridled stallion of the dawn,
the bona fide heat that breathes in the blind breeze
over the fragile fingers of my unclothed heart
walk me out of the devious doors of the demented dream,
let me flow toward the realm of quenching quietude,
where condemning pupils do not padlock
the tongue that tastes the bitter flavor of foreverness.
They are not moved by the thorns that bleed in silence,
painfully wanting, sleeplessly yearning to trace
the honest waves, catalyzing the spark that waits
to escape the cross-eyed fables fabricating the fragrance
of my zealous love, your rose lady,
restless to bloom as one with the runes written
along your ambidextrous armor of silver.
I am tattered and torn, stuck in a cycle scrutinized by eyes,
and still I refuse to let these petals wilt;
I let my thoughts wander into the waking wilderness,
where gypsy blossoms caress and nurture the penetrating
luster of pearl-light sepals,
like my damask spirit, still unstained
by sepulchral ashes, by the chains of charcoal.
I care not for their callous clamor, for the cruelty
hollowed out in charismatic lies, deciphering
my virtuous dawn as a dangerous delirium to be driven off;
so take me away, to the flawless fields,
bathed in orange topaz skies, where the dust
still remembers what all living things were called.
If we are to turn to dust, then let us be the dust
that settles on the keys of a piano left out in the rain
and makes it play alone, without hands, without forgiveness;
a powder of fireflies over the city that denied us,
a stardust breathing in the lungs of the morning,
two silences that recognize each other and ask for nothing more.
Holding Candle
Holding on to the candle I was and I am,
burning, shattered, evaporated and retold.
Fired from both ends, the glaring candle
and I have come to, tired, incinerated rest.
From wild blazes on my inner screen,
from curse of the moulded heat
and molten wax, I am now waning for
a sparkling moon, the beams of the sun.
The porcelain base in tatters, broken
shards of fragments, a remnant of
what was, the fire had been too hot, the
turmoil now shrouded in volcanic ashes.
Imploded, explosive yesterdays, a jester
moping, mocking mascara’s delusion,
lost the gloss, a mere façade, a dissolution
Yet some glowing ember has remained
on empty smoking canvass, scorched in
black and grey like charcoal smouldering
Cast for change, another candle flickers, lies
in waiting, a mosaic of fragrant fracture incensed,
holding on, letting go, flaming and holding forth.
01st July 2017
Antagonised from the depths of my psyche,
the charcoal dirt is blown
and dusts of deepest black scatter,
not dead but dormant
from the fickle and the protective.
A breeze permeates my insides and it is a shock,
unwelcome and unnecessary,
alien, frightening and belligerent,
yet uncovering sleeping embers
and shovelling in the coal.
Huge barricades of ice under the threat,
how did this get in?
When I am so rehearsed and closed,
a trickle of water showing the weakness
a puddle at the foot.
I had not imagined this, I expected nought,
my cardiology provoked
to saunter around a blind corner,
as slowly as I dare let it awaken
So I can be with you in a heartbeat.