Long Chinks Poems
Long Chinks Poems. Below are the most popular long Chinks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chinks poems by poem length and keyword.
The prism had reflected a crumbling schism of broken glass for far too long
A mosaic with sharp spikes and edges imprinted on a breaking point of shards
Copious cornucopia scattered over a trapdoor of lost fragments in disarray
Is the whole more than the sum of its part when there is a hole at the centre
How does one create a hologram when light has faded all shades of colours
In which the shadows of memories fail to illuminate meaningful anticipation
Tim’s gaze fell on the mantel piece towering over the time worn fireplace
Perched on the crumbling wall of passion surrounded by ash crested tiles
Ornaments collected and surpassed by engraved chinks in the passage of time
He got out a scraper and sand paper to lure wood worm out of the darkened
Grooves and hollow burrows leading from an illusion of truthful misconception
The fire had gone cold no ember just decrepit burns on the disintegrating grid
Tim stared into the chimney searched for an oracle from soot and from sorrow
Yearned for passion and a few bits of ember to alight from hard frozen pain
His focus ascended to a cracked mirror above framed with ivory and marble
Rose petals and ivy adorning a longed-for metaphor on the margins of truth
A whole mirror cabinet exploded in the diaphanous mind full of distortion
Pierced his eyes stroked a few lonely tears once he burnished the pine surface
Inhaled turpentine paint stripper and uncovered a labyrinthine underworld maze
Sand paper was not merely enough and linseed oil would not paper over cracks
He could not let go of the image of parabolic imagination that right there hidden
Under dust and grime was a hidden treasure parchment paper and fountain pen
One last look and Tim realized he did not wish for a mirror image because that
Would be solely a mirage quite fantastical and delirious but fraught just the same
He needed just one more mirror for the mirror to take a close look of himself
26th February 2019
Chinks of blue play peek a boo ,
Among the snow pearls of gray .
Stained glass windows to the heavens above ,
Upon this winters day.
Snow flakes in a frenzy fall ,
So delicate as fine lace.
In caressed like dreamy kisses,
Tickle hands and face.
Scarlet are the berries bright,
Against leaves of emerald green.
In sharp contrast against the snow,
Upon this winter scene.
For time draws near for tonight the eve,
When Santa drives his sleigh.
And those of us, who still believe,
Gives praise for Christmas day.
In a momentary silence,
I look to the sky this night.
In a thought of three wise men,
And a star that was burning bright.
My heart still full of wonder,
Brought forth by festive cheer.
And in hopes of what tomorrow brings,
Will last again all year.
? N Windle 2015
POTD 2 July 2018
Humans are capable of ‘Changing their State’. At times, a stressful, negative fusillade can be encountered from an individual wishing to subvert a person for whatever reason.
Lady Gaga so aptly describes this in her video clip above - and she should know through experience.
Kindness is a sentiment no one can ultimately reject.
Hard to do you say? - It’s easy.
Firstly, refuse your alter ego permission to react immediately.
(Your alter ego is programmed to protect your from a ‘painful’ situation)
The brain is a Bio-computer and can easily be reset to ‘Default’ by breathing into your abdomen (not into your lungs), - hold and then exhale, each action performed slowly to the count of 6.
Accusatory fingers pointing ~ eyes glowing hate
Seeds of venom spewing forth slanderous lies
Jealousy in all its inglorious green eyed splendor
Wool clothed wolves with undetectable smiles
Any tick of the clock it creeps up upon you
Evil plays no favorite it’s any man’s game
Seeming to push you up that stairway of victory
Then perniciously denigrates ~ disavowing any blame
Damned if you do ~ Damned if you don’t
Kindness perceived as weakness gets cast out the door
Tendencies to vacillate creates chinks in your armour
Resolutely walk the tight rope ~ lest your knees hit the floor
Eyes wide shut to the Evil all around us
Detach from this Chaotic Web in which we dwell
Be the Peace that ceaselessly penetrates the darkness
YOUR prerogative is to choose either ~ Heaven or HellPOTD 2 July 2018
Monet's Impression, Sunrise
First impressions leave memories
that can linger for a very long time
and give a sense of peace and understanding
that rewards the solitude of the mind
with satisfaction in contemplative reflection.
This may be deceiving and can mislead one to believe
that which is right may, in fact, be wrong.
Graciously accept the artist’s shared perception
that there is no ambiguity, only a warning
of the impending storm threatening prevalent reasoning.
The ascending sun, with its reflection on the water,
highlights a sense of direction as the rowers row
across the harbour at the break of morn.
Past cranes and derricks and ships at anchor
beneath a smoke-blurred fiery sky, accented
by pastel shades of blue to create the sombre mood
that expresses Monet’s "Impression, Sunrise" painting
and shares with the onlookers his representation
of nature from an Impressionist’s point of view
in the Industrial Age, heralding in the revolution.
That begs the question, “Where are they going,
and why blood orange?” (Oh, but I’ve seen that colour before.)
Day-to-day inquiries are asked of one another and strangers.
Monet incorporates an art form using oils on canvas,
forcing the audience to observe with curiosity,
thus presenting a sliver of time of life’s tranquillity at sea.
This provocation of thought chinks the consciousness
of seasoned connoisseurs who see change as frightening
and challenges their manipulation of artistic output
(to act like mechanical agents thwarting creativity).
“Will they reach their destination? Will it be as they hoped for?”
Hurry! Though calm, the waters will soon froth in labour.
***
Note:
“Monet’s Impression, Sunrise” is an ekphrastic poem referencing the painting “Impression, Sunrise” (1872) by Claude Monet (1840–1926).
In a never sleeping metropolis,
In the dungeon of a room,
My days and nights are locked!
I am a traveler on a street, with no end in sight,
But just the bustle of the moving crowd,
And a handful of burnt dreams for company
My ‘kingdom’ is in the third floor,
Of an old street building,
Now languishing in neglect,
Facing dilapidation,
Just like my own life,
In the chronic agony of existence!
While the adjacent buildings,
Renovated and restored
Mine, under a bankrupt landlord,
Is on the verge of instant collapse
Looking through the chinks in the wall
And craning my neck
Over barricades of buildings
Amid the swirl of traffic,
I get a glimpse of the slum below
In all its squalor and dirt,
And a medley of lousy images
Bleeding into one another like water colors.
Now and then, I see,
Beggars in bundled rags,
Along cracked pavements.
Some squatting,
Some sleeping away to glory,
With street dogs coming to share
The leftovers in their begging bowls
And lick their wounds!
Sometimes I take away my glance
From the dismembered corpses of the dead!
On another side,
In plush residential colonies,
With landscaped courtyards,
And cerulean swimming pools,
Sentries stand on guard
To admit 'Sahibs'
Sliding in Mercedes and Rolls Royce!
A little far, in the open balconies
Of star hotels,
Men toast goblets of wine!
Oh! What stark divide!
This grave imbalance is so contemptible.
Woe to the society where there is widespread anomie!
Why do you tempt me with mischievous eyes
Playful and naughty; do they tell or dare?
Are you an angel, devil in disguise,
Should I be trustful, or should I beware?
Why do you tempt me with a winsome smile
Not all-revealing, but denoting more.
Chinks in my armour ... should I stay awhile?
Fatal attraction which I can’t ignore.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Oh, stay awhile and find out what you will
My eyes reveal the pleasures that await
Take off that armor if you want this thrill
You know your hunger only I can sate
So take a risk, and bare to me your all
If angel or if demon, do you care?
Into my searing arms you’re meant to fall
Now take a step, move forward, if you dare!
Paul Callus and Eileen Manassian Collaboration
December 11, 2017
A chain fails at its weakest link
Look for attachments, cause of fear
Mirroring desire, find these chinks
Once free, boundless bliss within spears
Let us now shift, into high gear
A chain fails at its weakest link
Surrender lets God, our life steer
Whilst ego cravings make us sink
Breeze with ease, at illusions wink
In this dream world, let our peers leer
A chain fails at its weakest link
Disappear; there is no one here
Save throb of love, hold nothing dear
Rest oh hermit, bliss nectar drink
When God draws near, all becomes clear
A chain fails at its weakest link
29-June-2021
I sat beneath a Veteran-oak,
In awe of His strength—
Here was a solid spirit!
Sympathy you get from Willow,
But stiff upper-lip from old soldiers,
With forged bark —
His limbs flexed, cut, rippled against the wind…
No chinks in this warrior-wood…
“Divide and Conquer!”
Then I thought of my Father—
A cook at the end of the war—The Big One!
You know the One I mean, as if there are small ones—
When the commanders were through eating
He was instructed to toss the leftovers
From the belch of plates—
Trashcans were in the alley,
The steel that seems intrinsic to battles
In one form or another—
The hungry German children
Would sneak pass the guards
And line-up;
My father would sneak pass his superiors
And his honor
To dispense carefully wrapped scraps…
Well, soon the line was out into the street
As my father was compelled to seek food
From wherever he could steal, beg or barter
To procure—This brought attention—the cat-out-of-the-bag,
And all hell down on my father,
As the captain screamed: Gus, these are the enemy (the children in the alley),
What in God’s Name are you doing?
He was forced to stop—no Court Marshal though…
I looked up again at the old oak,
Through the snarled branches
Deep into the staunch soldier,
Where I spied a nest
In a small, compact fork—
Having a canopy of extra leaves
For shade and shelter from the wind—
I smiled—hum…
His bark reddened, but like my father, no apology from this weathered soldier…
He sleeps late
because the milk cows have dried up
and the bulls long slaughtered.
There are no cowboys in the bunk house
just a couple of old chickens
pecking the dirt floor,
they produce, at most, one real egg a week
the rest are malformed by spilled ink.
However in the leaky cabin
the big brown teapot
is stuffed with scrapes of poetry
waiting to be led out into the dusty fields,
where the sun only rises and sets.
with no daylight in between.
As he does every day,
he seeks a hollow in his landscape
to bury words that should never see the light.
He knows that, over time, if left to themselves,
they will turn into little black spiders
that will spin their webs
between sunset and sunrise
creating a gaping gossamer breach
that will only lead to more fresh chinks
in the wormwood soul
of his tumbledown barn.
Hello everyone! There is going to be a 2nd part to Entertainment real soon. Stay tuned! Thanks:)
Don’t be discouraged
Don’t be doubtful
Don’t be disheartened
Be happy, not mad
Be humble, not proud
Be quiet, not loud
Be merciful, not condemning
Be cheerful, not anxious
Be glad, not envious
Hello
Hello
I feel insecure
I see your halo
A cloud of a windy blow
I’m feeling brilliant
Can’t say I’m excellent
Perhaps, insignificant
I can’t even say a simple hello to my friends behind me
I’m just an outlandish, bittersweet introvert all over again
Spreading my mental wings of set-me-free
Be my grace…
Fading like your face…
Caught without a trace
Hello
How have you been?
I’ve seen the unseen
Oh wait…
I hesitate…
I can’t breathe…
I’m at ease…
My mind is a castle on a train
So high and so low…can’t refrain
From driving y’all insane…
All to numb the lucky pain
Inside me…
Inside you…
However, fear is far behind me
Hope and cheer is what I want and need
I need to nourish it like my itty-bitty seed
I feel like fainting a five hundred million miles from you
I feel like tainting your fingers with my blood of residue
I am a quiet cello in your sleep
I am that crippled fiend…A creep…
Only to find light on the other side of the sun…
I’m somewhat like an extrovert
Extending my mind’s flimsy, flowery frame
Pulling out envy's weed…what’s your name?
I hurt like an expert, wearing your blue shirt
Basically, my nightmare became a reality
Frankly, my eyes shower and my gaze is but a coward
Mind control got me in its web of lies…hardly…
Lately, my numb cranium is releasing dangerous defeat…I’m flying and soaring like a blue bird…
I’m an empty page…
Okay, I am enraged by being in this cage
Of my skin…of your distress…
Of your sin…you’re just trying to impress
Strangely, I feel old age creep on me –
Awkward
I can trust in my illuminating instincts
It’s misfortunate that I’m so nervous
I see wondrous winks and chinks
Extremely battered…
Nothing else matters…
Brain-scattered…
I hear silence and its purrs
Yeah, my bro…my wild bro
He is the only friend I’ll be hanging out with
For the rest of my life though
I always mix up reality and fantasy and myth