Long Cleaved Poems
Long Cleaved Poems. Below are the most popular long Cleaved by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cleaved poems by poem length and keyword.
In the mist of the journey’s penultimate mile
at the edge of the fading pasture of future obscure
in the twilight hour the sunset swansong resonates
for the forlorn tree of the being silhouetted still
against the blazing skyline of transient brilliance
witnessing the last flicker of the dying day.
Twirling threads of turmoil entwined seamless
with the cleaved clouds of the swarming storm
the unwary horizon halcyon once
mimicking the chameleon transformation
on the convoluted canvas burning the last corner
from the surreal chromatic flare the ash flying away.
The shards of the splintered sky in the swirling gale
roll on the dismal waves of the curled up clouds
the remnant rays of sanguinity surviving still
in the departing flashes of the sinking sun
fabricate the latent lattice of unframed dream
in the petrified life’s kaleidoscopic snapshot.
March 29, 2020
Contest : All Yours (Feb 21)
Sponsor : Brian Strand
Sprawling aspirant verdance vibrant,
engraves desire on the ashen sky,
spring-saturated spectral exuberance
spreads on my heart’s emerald canvas.
On the arid cinnamon ground cleaved ,
my auburn desolation pervades sly
through smoldered venation of leaves
with the evergreen hopes entwined.
The unseen tears wept in a torrent
fill the lacustrine cauldron of pathos,
forlorn life’s skeletal essence remains
erect still on the eroded mind’s brink.
The cadence of the fervent zephyr
from the yonder vale of yearning,
glides on rhapsody of lilac lagoon heart,
pulsating with the ripples of dream.
Written : March : 14, 2020
April 14, 2020
Contest : Strand No. 730, Any Theme, Any Form
Sponsor : Brian Strand
A solitary kernel for lack of succoring nurture aggrieved
From sun's warm caresses seasonally bereaved
With wind's chilling strides constantly plucked, heaved
Lying on fallowed ground whose cloak now desleaved
With frigid mantle over frostbitten spine weaved
Nutrient-rich pores of their cultivating provender relieved
As brittle husk to its fibrous moorings tightly cleaved
So coarse grains to earthen crevices, pockets sheathed
Dormant, but from bludgeoned shell will not secede
Nor Summer's bountiful harvest deed
A sparse, unfurnished bed temporarily bequeathed
Until providentially-rendered elements have new life breathed
Still yet, creator hath numbered all and due rations perceived
Until Spring's availing tides have Winter's corroded channels reprieved
And life's, generating tenants from their frozen prisons freed
I was an urban maverick
And bicycles met many needs.
More than the Pope is Catholic
I cleaved to my old one--speed steeds.
Over goatheads, glass, even nails
My bike took me every day.
Up ev'ry street and over trails
Holding a wheelie, like ballet.
My bike was my way and my wind,
My great escape to adventures.
Upright or wipeouts, elbows skinned,
Faceplants that could have meant dentures.
I rode and I rode ev'ry road.
I raced and O'r dropoffs I went.
So many bikes, had to be towed
As frames and forks I broke or bent.
I followed guys like Bob Hannah
Motocross heros in leathers
Who started out in bandanas
And flew as if they had feathers.
Oh those were my days of glory
When I rode so wild and free.
My bikes and I told the story
Of me and my one-speed steeds.
.
The Apple of His Eyes
reflected in the pond, the fruit
held precious in the lady’s hand.
polished by mistake; the loot
gathered with a serpentine backhand.
the limbs of oz took hold, as
the man held out his unwise hand.
the cleaved, in juicy bite pizazz,
forsook their love, served up bland.
reflected in the mirror, the duo’s tears
shattered their perfect life, untouched.
day after day, the wrinkles rage; fears
of losing one another; their hearts’ clutched.
discovery of their nakedness, a shock.
they tried to cover up with leaves of fig;
not good enough. Like a bomb, time’s ticktock.
God slaughtered, clothed them with a sacrifice, not a sprig.
apple looked so luscious, and to have knowledge
seemed so precious; Adam and Eve drew a curtain
between themselves and the Creator (his foreknowledge).
Every other fruit, not denied; with a bite death was certain.
Indeed, their eyes were opened, to shame, shamelessly.
Terror of the darkness, made their pupils expand.
But they couldn’t take paradise back. Carelessly
they acted recklessly, now all generations in bad land.
Oh, but the LOVE of GOD, all seeds are the apple
of His eyes. We don’t understand the suffering.
Whys in abundance, feeling sorry for ourselves chapel.
All along a plan - of scourge, betrayal, and crucified buffering.
To justify, to mediate, to keep us from the Father’s wrath,
the Son of Man, descended from heaven; a babe in flesh.
Look at the bronze snake on the tree, the sign, His path.
Healing symbolized, realized by the final sacrifice thresh.
Of Ghosts and Fiends in Twilight, Cont.
The battle was joined and I was the victor
But no spoils were I to partake of just yet
The daemon commander was still in my way
His face glowing red with rage, his ire set
“Thou mayest hath quick the Master’s servants dispersed,”
“All sad, soulless slaves without purpose or mind,”
The daemon roared and spit through a scowling grin,
“I shalt not be as inept a foe thee wilt find!
Suddenly I was lifted up off the ground
And hurled hard against the wall by unseen hands
Wolven Stave flew from my grip as I crashed to the floor
Sorely stunned, but unbroken I regained my stand
I searched for Wolven Stave and to my dismay
The black daemon held it in one big, filthy claw
“Thy fight is at an end!” he said with a sneer
“Thou brave knight is lost, an inglorious fall!”
Wolven Stave’s blue stone then began to glow red
“Thou knowest not of whom thou chastise, mayhaps!”
I shot back with a smile as Grey Bane broke free
Came down and cleaved the vile beast from scalp to chaps
The Daemon split fell a bloody heap on the stone
Wolven Stave with Grey Bane was restored to me
Victor this battle, but the war not yet won
The Dark Lord awaits, my Lady Wife I must free
But which path to take to seek his dark abode?
With calm mind to see with my heart where it would go
Soon I was visited by a vision strange
My Fair Gennifer surrounded by ice and snow
I decided to let my heart guide me on
Not sure of the meaning of what I had seen
No truer friend found than the heart true in love
To aid in my Lady’s release from the cruel fiend
I stepped over piles of dismembered flesh and bone
Towards a door I espied at the chambers far end
I brought my full weight to bear on the locked door
It broke loose and flung open, through and down I went
Slaves of wages for generations
long forgotten in history’s screenplay.
Each hand for a moment has held
the torch.
The people are waiting in lines.
All toilers have resisted.
All skins have felt the blaze of blood.
The people are waiting in lines.
While trash still clutters the streets,
while starving stomachs
roam like rabid dogs.
The people are waiting in lines.
Our tears have been cleaved
and parceled,
sold like floodplain to the blind
by corporate politicians,
while the people are waiting in lines.
We are lured to live among the cushions,
to rest here where the river rises.
No markets can be called free
while hosting inequality.
The people are waiting in lines.
We medicate to escape,
numbing to the barbarization.
No economy can be called just
without democracy.
The people are waiting in lines.
We shall watch for clues.
We will know the signs.
Every torch shall rise.
The people are waiting in lines.
Published: Dissident Voice, August 2, 2020
The apple fell already bitten upon,
a mossy soil coated where the tooth-cleaved.
Soon grubs worked their way out
of the pith
creating a teeming mulch.
Adam had fallen asleep again,
in his gut overripe grapes fermented
turning now to drunken snores.
The apple was changing, morphing,
the earth had gone into labor.
This had not happened in paradise before,
this was self-regeneration,
the copulation of dirt with air.
It was the flood of the moon;
Eve squatted. Her body was changing,
tidal rains washed her blood,
travail begot a tillage of arousal.
Her belly swelled,
instinctively Adam built a nest
of straw, green shoots and saliva.
She grew large, gravid, a tad snappish.
she sensed deep in her belly
that this coming birth
would be both sour and dewy,
an innominate delivery for sure
riddled with good and bad seeds,
and she knew not what to call it.
Written: June 8th, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Constance La France
"Quote: Don't plant anything but love since life is as fleeting and breathless as a half-taken breath—. By Poet"
Under a starless, cimmerian sky—
Night spirit sings a whispering, stern sigh.
A limpid emerald shedding effulgent light,
Tethers Earth to the everlasting height.
Thunder ripped across its hollow shell—
At my waist, zeniths, your fingers fell.
Rain-thrums strike a shameless trance,
As stray fires fueled the ecstasy prance.
We breathe because becoming breaks—
A slender glass of recollection shakes.
Recurring breath, a magic trick, a thick tide,
With a bright lantern casting inside.
I am left breathless, cleaved, and pristine,
A maze of marvel, a plague, on the scene.
Your azure eyes awaken the deepest lawns—
Where emerald trails greet glowing dawns.
An exotic cosmos is the seed of an aged oak.
As winds wander and pierce with stroke
Still, amid our stillness, two souls ring—
We savor the thrill of contorting the sting.
Tempo of the heart beats forth its stygian light,
As Elysium sways, they embellish the night.
We breathe to maintain our ethereal state—
Where falling spirits can grasp their gate.
We are no mere stars; we are the core of clay,
Tacit, tangible trove that slithers away.
Orbits of stigmas screaming for a fight—
Where mellow sparkle shows the night.
Our golden hands carve hours of the day,
Where the sun and rain cavort subtly play.
I love my way through the prickly space—
We change our fate with each sip of grace.
Though breathless, we are never broke—
A lightning magical green-gold smoke.
The sky’s seraphic soprano starts to glow,
The spellbound breath is all we bestow.
If I weren’t afraid I’d have embarked once again
on the journey I had since long abandoned in chagrin,
on life’s pathway crowded by hostile strangers,
and held their hands, walked the empathy together.
On my uphill climb of the formidable mountain face,
summit of success lying beyond slithery failure called cliff,
I’d have reached at the end of effort if I weren’t scared stiff,
and if I had relied upon the dormant strength of self belief.
The gale of dark night carried to me your enticing call
from across the swollen river in surging spate of turmoil.
I’d have sailed to your eroded bank with loads of dream,
if my latent love could build a boat of courage for me.
As our paths cleaved at the edge of the trying times,
when I departed at sunset you were in debris of broken heart.
I’d have returned from the nascent horizon of sunrise colors,
if I weren’t afraid to slip and sink in your tears.
Written : September 13, 2019
February 12, 2020
Contest : Strand Select M, Any Form, Any Theme
Sponsor : Brian Strand