Long Chiselled Poems
Long Chiselled Poems. Below are the most popular long Chiselled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chiselled poems by poem length and keyword.
It is good to be a fool once in a while,
What an extraordinary feeling to be a fool!
To know nothing,
To know everything,
Yet not convincing your heart—The most brilliant buffoon,
Letting your heart float like a boat
Without an anchor
In the middle of a lake illuminated by the half moon that looks like a piece fallen from something ethereal,
Vision yourself in that boat, dear reader,
Doing nothing but just letting that moon’s love
Lurk on your lips
While you yearn earnestly
With your eyes closed like the petals of a timid lotus,
I encourage you to be a fool with me.
The river of reverie might reduce the roughness of abrasive reality of existence,
The vastness,
The long blank whiteness of life—
The 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s
Of age are indeed agitating,
Colorless at times,
There are rainbows too,
But mostly it's white, serene and quite like a pearl or a marble.
Some people ensnare their hearts,
They think heart is some petty prisoner,
But when the boon of life comes to an end
The truth hits them in the chest
And the chains ensnaring the heart
Come gushing down with a roar like a waterfall,
Sudden and loud.
Chained hearts often become hoarse hazards,
Chained and always chasing,
But chasing what
You never know.
Heart is a bird,
A brave one
Like all birds,
But let me remind you something, dear reader,
Do you ever notice the birds looking at the sky and singing soft melodies,
The melodies they don't sing when they are soaring high in the sky?
Birds need a bower too to rest and rejuvenate,
They don't have to adorn an armour on their chiselled chest all the time,
It's just not natural,
It doesn't seem right,
So take my hand and come be a fool with me
Or just be a bird and fly freely.
Your soul is nesting your heart,
Let down the gloomy guard,
Nurture the nest
And give it a rest.
Where are the boundaries, in love thoughts that grow?
Life above all else, seasons change,
And love like the star's eventually grows dim.
Wherever I have been again I will go.
Her face when in youth was smooth, smooth as silk,
And his was as fine and chiselled to touch, as she said.
A rose is a rose that will open not close and the bark of a tree
Thick or thin I suppose.
Memories can change as quick as a dream, the stroke of a brush
The pictures it makes, I seek sleep.
Though the words that I write that nobody reads, only for me
Lead down to the sea, where I wait.
What should I do, where can I go, not to far in the past nor the
Future to know, but I do.
And futile is life unable to reach the heavens at night, to see a full moon,
Where Woman and men still have visions that seek.
Unable to change the small world all live in, love is blind, blind to whom
seek,
Is but through life a small masterpiece.
Holograms and hieroglyphs
The whole weighs heavily
touched caressed lightly
brushed on feather canvass
granite marble marvellous papyrus
innocence rejuvenated
partial and impartial
Chiselled in and out
of comprehension angled
layered facets facts
subjective trueness
ciphered and deciphered
Snow flakes teardrops
ink on paper hailing crystals
pastel rainbows thunderbolts
and blind pitch black darkness
tell the story weathered lives
Freedom torrent lightening
anxious reproduction
wholesome holes concatenations
metaphoric mosaic translates
picturesque ‘holos’ trying to emerge
Vertex vortex on horizons
told untold forgotten
and beyond beheld
diagonal a-synchronicity
discovered spoken written
felt and never once complete
Lyric lasers beaming densely
condensation compromised
at the cutting edge of aural light
lacking graphic clarity
eluding synthesized illusion
Once we decipher unconventional
primal prismatic re-reflections
meanings life calligraphy
inscriptions narrative conceptions
we enclose and liberate
the hologram that seems to be
Infinite eternity of scripts
encrypted systems
webs of life’s distortions
fragmentation truth reality
paint the picture of
conflicting contradictions
making sense constructions
lithographic mystery
moulded into understanding
Holograms are limited to
the scope of three dimensions
tending mind and body soul
complementing contrasts
hollow narrow depth untold
Burrowed in words rational
irrational emotions rationale
defence deflections oppressed
repression incarceration
loose out transitional
transcriptions miss the point by far
the bigger picture yet emerging
uncertain clarity sculpted
in hieroglyphic excavation
Carving holy boundless beauty
with the fourth dimension
of subjective sense perception
and the changing timeless
flowing circuit circus artwork
in the making reading writing
on the imaginary wall of life
over and above the hologram
engraved in fallacies
arrests of real unreal reality and
strikes the balance never known
of what is and only seems to be
22th May 2016-05-22
Contest entered: Holograms and Hieroglyphs
First came a moon
Then it was the second
Words called me night and noon
Pink pearls of passion
First it tasted blue
Then as birds joined the moon
Your love in view
Oranges in dune
Shadow in the tea
Your chiselled poems
Crazily desiring me
Your lovely haemoglobins
I gaze at the crane
Flying in the blue
Lovely coloured rain
Angelina in queue
They come and hold my hand
Lead me to the colour
Both bright and bland
I cannot but love her
These moon gathering sessions
Of the practiced passion
These smelling obsessions
Of your rhododendrons
Are my moons in your smile
Of the poetry on your lip
Like the river Nile
A twilight in my ship
_____________________________________
14/11/2016
Contest: Practiced Passion
Sponsor: Frank Herrera
The endgame
And the cemetery was
nowhere to be found
yet was so present
in the shallow depth
the graveyard of the mind
No tombstone unturned
fragmented torn and twisted
sorrow flowing down
encrypted alleyways
and Thanatos’ call
Searching to imprint
coffin’s nails on seams
of muddy icy prison
hammered chiselled avenues
creeping through and in
Dead alive and collocated
hell firing place and time
scorching cementing
looming crossing overs
to where and when to how
No monument just
monumental nothing
void oppression
endless loop’s demise
thoughts emotions dragging
Torrential thunders
roping in electrocuted lightning
nooses from the tree of
living emptied darkness
flowing rapids standing still
The cemetery awaiting
ashes urns and vultures
presiding over Ganges Styx
Caron caring like a
lifeless Buddha saddened
Giving taking suffering
unthreading tapestry graffiti
splashing on the canvass
sombre art in progress
oscillating back and forth
The reaper harvests harshly
the mindless soul and body
crumbling bones infested
carbons desiccation apathy
hedonistic pleasures dull extinct
Gravitation nudges wild
and gently roaring
culling sculls foreclosing scooping
offerings burthens memories
premature un-furbished epitaphs
Silent roaring rampant syncopal
admonished synergetic resolution
teasing fool and morbid jester
luring loosening resolve
apprehending lithographic scribes
And the cemetery blinding
obvious and for the taking
present not yet for embrace
remains a silhouette on the horizon
and life for now is stronger
May 18th 2016
Contest entered:
And the cemetery was... Broken Wings
GLIMPSE OF LIFE
As I drove alone on a winter's night
Flood of countless plays in the fading twilight
My life's theatre like the covered miles
Like myriad lamps flashed before my eyes
Plays that put the stage on fire
Plays that made the floor wet with tear
Plays that shook the theatre with fear
Plays that brought huge applause and cheer!
Like vanishing sights left behind the wheels.....
They entered my life and left with ease
Yet in the gap between, they served to me...
broth of blended emotions sans any fee
Every play had a lesson to teach
Every play had a message to preach
Every play added a new experience
Every play chiselled my life with brilliance!
Wind-chime of hope in the winds of turmoil.....
Played magical tunes cushioning life from recoil
At home, in chair as I recline and retrospect.....
Counting blessings ,thanking life with respect
Curtains fall on the plays of past...bruises heal with time
Curtains rise with new themes for future,accept them with smile
I need to move on with patience for the new-plays in store
For life goes on... throwing new challenges more and more!!
©Copyright Anulaxmi Nayak ,2015
Another hallowed arrow from his quivers
One of cricket’s greatest shiver givers
Coursing down your spine like rivers
Fine line..never dithers as slivers
Of adversaries hopes on the ropes..withers
Tipples tickle our livers
The latest tropes of how
Somehow…anyhow won’t kowtow
Postman Pat delivers
Matinee idol looks tease
Record books hooks please
Finds batters crannies &
Nooks with such ease
Impeccable length…metronomic
Chin music chagrin
Such strength..astronomic
Gift of getting the ball to lift
Chronic bounce…hedonic
With his swag bag of quicks tricks
Name on the adored hall of fame
Lords boards with six..another Cummins elite fix
Beat Bob Willis’s record tome of the best
Test figures for a captain at cricket’s home..
Yep..yet another done like a kipper
By this chipper ripper skipper
Who’s not found wanting
His chiselled jaw..up there for sure
With the mean hardcore
Ponting or Waugh
As the best Test baggie green
Top draw Captain (not woke...just a better bloke) seen on screen
Or that’s maybe ever been
The yellow neon sign casted a glow upon his chiselled cheekbones as the bustling sounds of a city that never slept droned on.
He carried his troubles with him, like a worn out cloak, weighing him down in his every step. His mind was entwined in a thorny thicket.
He has been haunted and bewildered since his introduction to her in a smoky speakeasy.
She was a siren shadow amongst strangers of the night, whispering his name in the breeze, intoxicating his psyche with a tempestuous flame.
She entangled him in a perilous dance, playing a game of chance.
Their encounters were like unbridled wildfires. She captivated him, consuming his soul with her potent allure. He felt engulfed, delicate as a feather in a storm, swept away by her force.
However he was a moth enticed by a relentless flame, she incinerated his dreams and made him feel hopeless. In the end, he succumbed to the hounds of disassociated reality.
His story concluded in tragedy, leaving his loved ones cries to echo through the empty streets of a heartless city.
Do those who have never caught a star
between finger and thumb
or loved through the pain
or let a mist tremble through open palm
or chiselled air in icicle blows
watching spiders slip
in golden dustbunnies glow
of monster silhouette
caused by sitting laundry pile
a burning light that
glances now an unidentified object flying
on the the varnished door
does the colour of my dark sky
affect effect
either aye there pronounced eye there -a Scottish phrase to save from pointing, yours
Wanna here a surreal joke
Well i didn't knock
always saying It to coulrophobics
Does that one make you nearly thin king
hear the fox hes closer than before
so adieu
A due i never paid
The hopes that she stood on were taller than reality,
But from such heights she could see very far,
On the bounds of what she dreamt of she thought
there must surely be,
her love, her life, her anchor, guiding star.
To any passing paramour she stretched out willing hands
and for brief moments desperately clung
but trying to pluck roses from where stalks of nettles stand
eventually leads to getting stung.
He hove to view like sunrise, warmed her face and lit her eyes
a chiselled jaw and eyes of polished steel
an easy charm that could disarm completed the disguise
all boxes ticked, he answered her appeal.
But like the locusts in their swarms that seek to overpower
his time with her was brief then he was gone
he stripped her harvest, plucked her heart, and then her soul devoured
and left a hollow shell, her dreams all gone.
She tightly gripped the bannister and gazed three floors below
this staircase she chose for her last device
swung over both her legs and without pausing she let go
and thus in just one day she'd fallen twice.
Today she welcomes visitors with arms out to embrace
though no-one takes her offer, just like then
for the beyond has stretched a silken veil across her sallow face
protecting from more sorrows, that are men.