Long Cocoon Poems
Long Cocoon Poems. Below are the most popular long Cocoon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cocoon poems by poem length and keyword.
Jacob R. McGee©
“Jake” was what they called him with respectfulness and awe
Ever’ since he came up here from down in Arkansas
Never was a bully who’d confront our family
Cause my Dad, was the big and bad Ol’ Jacob R. McGee
Theres’ stories told about him right up unto this day
Like when, with just one hand, he picked up a Chevrolet
Or the one about his knockin’ out ol’ Jerry Mason’s bull
But the story ‘bout Jack Savage - now that’s a big earful.
Ol’ Jack Savage was a nasty man, that no one would deny
With many scars upon his face and with evil in his eye
But “Nasty Jack” met a diamondback all people did agree
When he crossed the path and aftermath of Jacob R. McGee
No one knows just why they fought that August afternoon
But Jack lies in the ground within a coffinized cocoon.
And the face of ol’ Jack Savage it went unrecognized
It was ol’ Jacks’ scarred-up face that Jake had pulverized
All Jacks’ ribs were broken, and both his arms were too
The undertaker said ol’ Jack’s neck was twisted and askew
The man who’d done the damage, and walked from the melee
People say it was my Dad, ol’ Jacob R. McGee
Jake passed on some years back and now there’s only me
And no one knows I kicked Jake’s butt when I was fifty-three
I knocked him down to the ground, then tied him to a tree
So let me introduce myself: I’m Chainsaw R. McGee – ya’ want a piece of me?
I dreamed you were a poem
that has not been written.
A poem about you as an ocean,
no one’s ever seen you so blue.
Or measure the depths
of the beauty within you.
The way you enjoy a pleasant.
Unexpected surprise,
and the feel of a morning sunrise.
Of spring time coming to soon,
or the smell of all the flowers in bloom.
A moth freeing itself from winters cocoon,
takes flight by the light of a full moon.
A poem about you as a kiss
that caresses the soul.
An emotional poem
where lovers lose control.
Like majestic mountain
snow covered peaks.
A love exploring the heights
that ecstasies reach.
A provocative poem of wild parties
and never ending nights.
A passionate poem, asking.
What if love were a fight?
A delicious poem of discovery and delight.
Of lovers wishing for just one more night.
A poem that poets, are still waiting to write.
I dreamed you were a poem
that has not been written.
Lipogram Sonnet 4-12-24
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Spring Sonnet
Spring bursts out from winter’s silent cocoon,
Fluttering luminescence on new wings,
Freed up from the midnight’s monochrome womb
Silk ribbons of ice melt into wellsprings.
Thin borderlines edged in dull grey on white,
Feeling the tickle of divine kisses,
Explode in hues borrowed from the first light,
Colors flit over icy snow with bliss.
Gliding on the virgin winds’ new story
Neon wings trickle colors on flowers
In purple tendrils of yellow glory,
From solstice sleep life returns in showers.
Young springtime emerges, from restive sleep,
Rising with morning - promises to keep.
Tears in my eyes...
Sniffs I do.
Onions I cut not
Nor was I flogged...
Yet ceaselessly they flowed...
At my life I looked
All around me I see...
Things...
Unspeakable
Confusable
Unthinkable
Unfathomable
Eye catching
Heart breaking
Head banging
Life claiming
Morale crushing...
Nothing so positive
More negative...
Here we did ourselves...
We wound ourselves
In this tight angle
Like a silk worm
In its cocoon...
Like a spider with its webs...
Now we have ourselves
To blame...
Ourselves to relief
Of the burden
We placed on heads...
Ourselves to loosen
The webs we wove...
How do we do it?
I know not...
All I know is
It begins with me....
Contest: Eight Words Sponsor: Emile Pinet 6-16-23
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Eight Words
WISTFUL FEELINGS,
An expression of MELANCHOLY DEPRESSION,
Wake in winsome gloom of a GLOOMY sheath
Cluttered with roving remnants
Of GRIM recollections
That SHROUD an anguished woundedness
In WITHDRAWN silence
To bind my sores with loneliness,
With isolation’s balm,
Untouchable.
My world gone topsy-turvy
Turns to the melody of living sonatas
In chiming morningtide psalms
And eventide’s bell songs
To leave behind the bondage
Of this shattered shell,
This tattered cocoon of silken sutures.
Beyond the pensive dreamscape
This realm of gloom fades,
Screeches back into midnight’s stronghold,
Forgotten in azure morning shadows,
When resplendent neon pinions
Unfold kaleidoscopic
Into giddy, gliding joy.
A Spider’s Web
a true engineering marvel
a mastery of tensile strength
flexible, firm, unrelenting
icky, sticky, viscous
this web most certainly is
all the better to trap prey
and cocoon them for later
for a tasty snack or dinner
its occupant . . .
a predator supreme
a master acrobat
in the vaunted
historical tradition of
Darwin's bark spider
(Caerostris darwini)
a true web mastery
to behold
the web’s silken-strands
give the spider
the wherewithal
to navigate its web
quite freely
swinging
to and fro
hither and thither
whilst
watching and waiting
for the moment
to seize and kill
its prey
a spider’s web
a true engineering marvel
a mastery of tensile strength
flexible, firm, unrelenting
icky, sticky, viscous
precision perfect
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
August 19, 2018 (Imagism)
You are the wood chips on my feet
It stings me in satisfaction oh so neat
Your childlike memories got me complete
I need you and I want you, so take a seat
We met in the spiralling spur of the moment
We complete each other, my lovely angel so Godsent
You changed me in ways I can't undo
Can't fathom the crazy things that you do
I'm stepping on wood and glass shavings
I'm wondering what your precious joy brings
I'm stepping on the ground, feeling elevating gravity
Knee deep without a sound, feeling myself ascending with glee
I want to bring you to your heartfelt home
You'll be like a happy-go-lucky garden gnome
You are the woodchips of my heart
You are the residue of vivacious art
You bring me to the swings of delight
You heal me with words of wisdom alight
Wiping off the dirt from my super tiny toes
You are giving me happiness beyond woes
Carress me with your clever, ever-swaying ways
Crown me with your unique, elegant, royal praise
You have given me a million splinters, but I don't mind
As long as I can pull them out just fine without becoming blind
You sprinkle salt and pepper
Upon my distasteful flavor
You sprinkle filth and soap
Upon these emotions that I find hard to cope
If I can smell the roses of your beauty,
I would be smothered with eloquent equity
If I can taste the honey of your jolly joy,
I would adore it and crave it like a toy to a little boy
Behave and be brave and walk that walk
Soon, you will be a wood piece again
Like sand to a mighty rock as you talk that talk
You're a butterfly out of its cocoon or a cub out of his den
You will be whole as life takes its toll
You will be complete
Wishing for the same for me and all
Now, go above my feet!
Remember when the ink, a writer’s tat, like a cobra spiralling ‘round fingers and arms, wielded power. Splotches, balled up, thrown into the basket hoop, flooding the creative canal. Ideas danced like mad flames, charming, rhyming, flipping, flopping, finally happy, no crossing out, neverending editing, feathers flapping, inkwell splattering, until the words must be kept.
Eyes the color of dawn, never set. The romance never kept. Captivated by the sea, trees, and wolves. Hair like a cape ‘round the shoulders, as the cold swirls about, as the fire almost goes out. Only then does the poet gather her skirts and wood, and nibble a biscuit, pour herself into bed.
Her dreams and nightmares will be channelled into tomorrow’s inkwell. She lives inside a warm womb, in a butterfly's cocoon, in a bear’s hibernation cave. She spins fairytale gold.
Your eyes are gentle as the sun
Who sweeps her lids at daybreak come
Upon terrain, her earthly son
And cradles him from shadowed numb.
Your hands are tender as the moon
Who titillates beyond night’s doom
For velvet is his dust cocoon
That raptures all with sweet consume.
Your smiles are ticklish as a star
Whose feathers brush celestial tar
She yields resistless mirth afar
So fire and bleak discover par.
Your kiss is stirring as the sea
When tempest wails and waves banshee
Yet when she ends her churning spree
Her voice is soaked with calming glee.
Your soul is whole as universe
Who seeks his beauty to disperse
And spatters truth without rehearse
His loving vestige sparkling thyrse.
I called me a worm.
A caterpillar.
I told me to molt.
Become someone different,
And unfamiliar.
Wrapped in a cocoon,
And turned into goo.
In a stage of growth,
And that can hurt the most,
But I’ll pry myself out.
Im something strange,
Something changed,
Less deranged,
But similar.
Still I just feel like goo.
A froglet to frog,
Larva to pupa,
Tadpole to toad.
Even termites show growth.
One day,
I’ll be fully grown.
So I’ll spread my wings,
Not,
Because I told me to.
Not,
Because I said I should.
Not,
Because I said I would.
But,
Because I’m ready to be shown.
For now though,
For now,
I have no issue,
Being goo.