Long Cheek(a) Poems
Long Cheek(a) Poems. Below are the most popular long Cheek(a) by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cheek(a) poems by poem length and keyword.
Here I am awake again
the night as black as hell
Is there someone out there
so dark I cannot tell
Mostly everyone's asleep
there is no sound
there's not a peep
Am I the only one awake
it feels that way
this brand new day
I’m looking for the moon to see
but even she's not there for me
No stars that twinkle up above
even Venus Goddess of Love
forsakes me as I search in vain
her sparkling face I yearn to see
But now the dark is scaring me
has the world come to an end
I’m here completely on my own
alone without a friend
No one is here I’m full of fear
and on my cheek a single tear
But wait ~ is that a sound I hear
a sound I love ~ a sound so near
to free me from the nightmare
that entombed me all night long
The sweetest blackbird serenades
me with his early morning song
and as the darkness of this night
begins to vanish I see the light
Fears fade into oblivion
as this darling blackbird sings his song
And one by one my night time fears
are banished with my night time tears
My handsome blackbird sings his song
and all my night time fears are gone …
Written 18th April 2020
Contest Strand Pick C
Sponsor Brian Strand
HONORABLE MENTION
something in the sign in which you pen me
something in the burial grounds in which you den me
something in the illuminated images in which you pretend me
the yellow blues of the caution lights do rain dances on my sanity
see, when you walked away, i became a cross legged cripple
there was no longer heat in the center point of the simplest ripple
i commenced to banging my head to double and the triple
oh how i yearn for a cheek, a pearl, or even a nipple
if there was a wishing well at the end of life's force field,
then i would build all around it the mightiest surefire shield
not a soul could get through it even if one attempts to yield
constructed would be the formation of our own brand of guild
As ashen storm clouds brew above his head,
his furrowed brow denotes catastrophe.
The lash of his tongue like fire brings such dread
a broken heart is all she can foresee.
Heated anger joins the howl on winds misled,
a wild child of tantrum's misdirected decree,
his glacial heart disperses rocky scree.
As ashen storm clouds brew above his head.
Mother melts beneath his glare, few tears shed
for him to see, her child she's failed by degree.
Oh, all the signs of madness she'd misread,
his furrowed brow denotes catastrophe.
His wrath unleashed, now gone his kinder creed
though she still sees his arms widespread,
perhaps, a mother's love can intercede?
The lash of his tongue like fire brings such dread.
Unless his anger's dampened it may spread
destroying the bonds of sweet felicity,
if she can not hold on to love's thread
a broken heart is all she can foresee.
Son can't you see the sun high overhead
upon his cheek a tears falls silently,
with her arms outstretched his mother plead
and on her shoulder he rested sullenly,
as ashen storm clouds brew.
YOUNG AGAIN
I looked into the mirror yesterday
And in it saw the ravages of time.
Tired eyes and hair that long since turned to grey,
So many years since I was in my prime.
I felt despair; how quickly time had flown.
So much undone that now would never be.
And then your face appeared beside my own;
I had not noticed you were watching me.
I studied your reflection so serene;
And saw your eyes still full of tenderness
Just as they were when you were sweet sixteen.
Your fingers brushed my cheek, a brief caress
But in that moment I was free of pain;
The darkness lifted, I was young again.
7th June 2019
2019 Best Sonnet Contest
Sponsor John Hamilton
On a dusky evening long time ago,
When shadows huddled at every corner,
When rain had gone and birds had roosted,
You held me close and whispered in my ear;
“In your eyes I see, the blue of the sky,
In your soul, you hold the depth of the seas,
Love swells, like tides on rise,
My life, I vow, by Jove, never to part”
Your voice, like a tremulous rivulet gurgled,
We stood staring at each other in a warm embrace.
With passion sweet, your eyes glowed.
Like a blue lagoon, they were deep and peaceful.
On your dimpled cheek, a kiss I planted,
A gesture warm with abiding love.
Crisscross lain as warp and weft,
We hoped to weave the garb of life.
Words and deeds that served as balm to the soul!
Still, they repeat, gushing a flurry of thoughts,
But alas! To a far unknown land you fled,
‘From whose bourn, no traveler returns’,
My life has moldered and mildew grown,
Where my Love! Whither have you gone?
Who bid you slink into death’s secret hide?
Why left me to languish in a world of shadows?
Seasons roll and years glide,
Youth has withered and memory fails,
Now I wander through a dim shadowy world.
I feel so trapped and lonely, as twilight grips.
Like embers flickering low, yet stocked by the breath of fire,
I hope, we shall meet one day at the Golden gate,
Where no shadows shall lurk and time shall stay eternal
And silence sparks the language, the ears want to hear.
_______ _____________ _______
When rain is gone and sky gets clear,
When night turns deeper and silence creeps,
I transverse back to that dusky eve,
To retrieve those moments, I sadly cherish!
how clever a peck on the cheek, a kiss on the head
a hug with a boa constriction for the parents i love.
how cruel this fate of social isolation, to stunt the breath
of this illusion, that i might have them more and more times.
the kiss off of a mother’s day and all things pretty and wrinkled.
a jolly show of faces — did i once think the actors could slink
through a small or large screen. we haggle with time, dressing
up in effects, wrapping backgrounds, like furs, around caricatures
of ourselves — astronauts, cross-dressers, punk. my mom
holds a very dry martini — six olives on a skewer in empty glass.
we kin do amuse one another and the claustrophobic togetherness
where a normal situation would have us wandering, appetizering,
sidewinder-chitchatting, fobbing the keys of a remote control,
checking seconds and minutes for appropriateness of slipping
out the door — that of course, for bored spouses, who love
the in and out of screen time and beg to screen all holidays this way
while a bored housewife wants for the drive that spurs one on
toward childhood — a link between life and death, playful
joy of trinkets and melodious voices soothed by the setting years;
the wrinkle of time sells all anger, judgment, unkindness —
the baggage that weighs down elephants, the infantile crawl
of bondage. Now the rocking of Brumbies, snail’s pace of sunset
grace of a gray nest, cascading shoulders, ears out of tune
but pure-gold’s love — the plinking strings of a plentitude heart.
Mom and Dad cheer with glistening glasses, their merry martinis
marvel at their wealth — one olive, three olivettes grin at them.
5/11/2020
Non-rhyming couplets
I jumped on my bike as fast as i could
but not fast enough, it did me no good
The bully kid was big and mean and acted very tough
laughing all the while he quickly knocked me on my duff
Rubbing grass in my mouth, slapping me in the face
him laughing at me, me feeling so disgraced
He punched me so hard then left me crying on the ground
I slowly stood up, was there no one else around?
I gathered up my books and jumped on my bike
and pedaled straight home mustering all of my might
"What happened to you, son?" Mom was the first to see
I cried as I replied "i got beat by a bully!"
"I'm so sorry for you son, I'm so sad that you were harmed"
just then my dad walked in and immediately looked alarmed
Dad quickly asked me "Son, did you give him back the same?"
I sheepishly said "no" re-experiencing the shame.
Dad just stared awhile then said "I don't like what you're becoming.
Next time you better fight, give the bully what he's got coming!
First you punch him in the stomach then you hit him in the face
He won't hurt you any more, when you put him in his place!"
i slowly nodded as he left, Mom quickly gave my cheek a kiss
"I'm so proud of you son for not fighting with your fists
The Lord's servant doesn’t fight but should be gentle instead"
"Yes ma'am" i quickly said as conflicting counsel twirled round my head
The next 5 years when tensions flared i was a gentle talker
but as a bully approached my sophomore year i threw him against his locker!
Thank you Mom and Dad!
***
October 26, 2019
F T I series 9 childhood
Brian Strand, sponsor
What can I say about a person
who's turned me into their prey thing?
I've turned a cheek a few dozen times.
Taken on the burden of their procrastination.
Always at a heavy price.
You look at my passiveness as weakness.
Another opportunity to pile on more B.S.
You've shrugged off, even snickered at my ideas.
Only later to turn them into your own.
Your rewards were at the expense of my defeats.
My defeats are a light in your beacon.
The powers that be don't even see it.
You're an expert at waving perfume over your stink.
….and it's not just me.
There were many others before me.
With similar stories, but we're voiceless.
Because you're a brown-nose supreme.
I was warned about your mischief.
Your sleight-of-hand gift for manipulation.
I didn't listen.
I even took your side at times.
But they were right
You take advantage when it fluffs your ego.
Then sweet-talk your way back into line.
Then rinse and repeat time after time.
The Perfect Painting
They said he could not put his heart
on canvas, capture time in a timeless
moment, allow his passion to explode,
and yet contain it in the flicking of a brush.
What is it that she sees, and how does she
perceive such texture and detail, a tear
stained cheek, a wry smile, an eerie shadow.
The perfect painting is not a reflection it
is an intuition, an invitation to passersby
to slow, to look again, to linger. It is that
lover’s look - making eye contact – and
holding it for an infinite second. It is the
touch of a gentle hand distracting us from
the urgencies of the moment, allowing us
to feel the mist of raging breakers, smell
the heat off lilacs bloom, soar in the icy
winded canyons. How did he see it, feel
it, capture it in wild dashes and blobs of
paint, in passionate strokes of fire,
burn his image onto the canvas?
We stand in awe at the savagery
and softness of such beauty,
press closer to inspect the clarity
of line, the detail of an infants face.
Seeking perfection in a painting -
perfect - in its imperfection.
5/15/2014
for The Perfect Painting contest
Written: June 29, 2023
______________________________________________________________
Cockle, two hooves clung over a hundred brothers.
You discovered unmatched comfort such as no other.
An awl compiled your flight of stairs to a dynasty.
A lasting legacy of resilience and strength to foresee.
A hundred tides, over a thousand plovers of sunshine
You've witnessed a time journey and a legacy divine.
In the castanet you erected, you're overweight.
Memories are archived on a home limestone site.
Without us, you'd be as peaceful as dawn.
But we found your deeds, a ruby to fawn.
Witnessing your consciousness is a sight so rare.
As eyes leave your cheek, a glimmer, an affair
Saturn flashbulb lobes are viewed using a lens.
Stunning and appealing, transcendent loveliness
The snow breaks apart in a universe-wide ballet.
The rings are on exhibit; they are a marvelous display.
A motionless, tilted cap, a mark of your grace.
To learn how to leave things alone, embrace
Ocean Treasures A story underwater unfolds.
A quahog species, so ancient and bold.