Long Collage Poems
Long Collage Poems. Below are the most popular long Collage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Collage poems by poem length and keyword.
just an average typical morning within this same old town
avoiding all the neighbors that nosily creep these grounds
while all these other folks keep busy bodying gossiping and all
who has whiter teeth, bigger boobs, or the cutest guy at the mall
i stopped at the library to dodge all these illiterate snots
the only place that's quite enough for me to organize my thoughts
i walked in just to be stopped, breathless, dead in my tracks
a book, not made of paper or even hard back
binding was some type of stitched authenticism
bound with a beautiful articulate collage of pattern to it
I thought
same old stories, same old narrative
can someone tell me where all the good authors went
I just need an outline, no critique or edit
but everything I read, I feel I have already read it
I stood there for a second, which felt like a lifetime
must have been reading stars, because it left my mind blind
if only just once I could hold that masteredpiece written classic
I can't lie it was perfect man, I just had to have it
I gasped for a moment, dead in my body
frozen and stunned hoping nobody saw me
it crossed my mind for a split, then, I thought
nah ****
if I get caught I'd be a goner, but I just couldn't wait any longer
I thought
same old stories, same old narrative
can someone tell me where all the good authors went
I just need an outline, no critique or edit
but everything I read, I feel I have already read it
I darted for that case in a flash and I shattered that glass
busted it open, like I was late for literature class
static shocked a little as the book touched my hand
it was in that moment i knew i was the #1 fan
then it wasn't long I realized it was written for me
initials imprinted so there was no questioning
I thought
same old stories, same old narrative
can someone tell me where all the good authors went
I just need an outline, no critique or edit
but everything I read, I feel I have already read it
I fell deep into the title it really 'hit a line'
bold, italics, with a dedication underlined
I wasn't sure why I needed or wanted to own it
but I would have searched forever if I would have known it
searching every library for a perfect story
all the titles and endings just really seem to bore me
this one was special I just wanted to trace over the print
read. every small detail. no need for suspense
It is not like these restaurants in America
with their sterile atmospheres: slick new furniture,
stylized art, ambient lights, and every angle
rationalized to the judgment of specialized interests.
It is a restaurant filled with details,
inviting customers to take in an experience while eating and drinking,
to converse casually and caress senses
with a collage of décor less convenient.
One side is open to the city,
looking out on multi-story hotels with lush landscaping,
palm frond trees and a pine tree
with spreading branches and a green cloud of needles above any tourists.
Short squat curved posts hold up a wide concrete rail
with two bouquets of flowers on it: one has small yellow blooms
while the other has white daises mixed with tiny red blooms.
A Mediterranean influence can be seen in columns
supporting a large opening onto the street.
It is also present in a mural painted on the wall.
In the mural a tall woman baring her breasts
looks down on an angel reaching out to her,
below them is a rural town and above them two puffy white clouds.
Painted around the kitchen doorway’s edge is a grapevine.
Near the doorway a statue of a nude child blows a horn.
At his feet are a bouquet of daises and some yellow candles.
In the center of the room is a wide wood column,
on which appears a green copper statue of a woman in a long dress,
holding a large round bouquet of live yellow daisies above her head.
There are four groups of people in the restaurant.
Two are near the wall.
Two are in the center of the room.
All sit at round tables draped with white linen trimmed with intricate patterns.
The chairs are curved with no angles.
Two small rams’ heads are carved on the top back pieces of each chair.
Each table has a bouquet of red flowers and a large yellow candle.
Customers drink beer from green bottles and tall clear glasses.
A waiter rushes out with the empties.
A man with a dark complexion, thick hair, and mustache
beams with friendly eyes and expressive hands
talking about things that interest common people.
For him common, in his place of impractical details.
For travelers far away from their bare, stripped, planned environment
his speech has a life that is new, different,
paced with living rather than practiced in haste.
(A Christmas Collage)
The sun has set and night is stealing
Softly o'er the silent land,
While snowflakes slowly down are falling,
Shaken from an unseen hand.
To the top of Thorburne Tower
Light from windows streams around;
The glow of twenty thousand tapers
Sparkles on the snowy ground.
High arching o'er the graceful altar,
Wintergreen and laurel sway;
And all about the pews of alder
People kneel and humbly pray.
The rosy cheeks and smiling faces,
Rising at the last amen,
Return to rhythmic rows of places
Raising songs of praise again.
Oh hear those olden carols going
O'er the tower to the skies;
Noel and joyful tidings flowing
From warm hearts and gleaming eyes.
So far above the frosty forest,
Father God and Jesus see
The flick'ring flame of faith fulfilling
What on earth was meant to be.
There below the boundless heavens
Beams the Spirit's blessing full;
Bestowing peace and tidings holy,
Bearing love that makes us whole.
Th' enchanting ev'ning passing onward,
Ev'ry street once empty filled;
Then all-enfolding light descending,
Endless eager voices stilled.
To those who trolled triunal praises,
Angels lit the topaz night;
Attuning to the trilling trumpets,
Sounding in triumphal might.
The harps and high harmonic voices
Hold a hope no man could give,
Enmeshing in enchanting fashion,
Showing how archangels live.
E'en later yet they light their lanterns,
Laugh around the firelight's heat;
The children look around and listen,
Laps all full of things to eat.
Even now the endless snowflakes
Eloquently, gently fall;
Adding to the festive feeling
Held alike by great and small.
The youngsters holding hands are happy,
Dancing 'neath the holly wreath,
While horses hauling sleighs and cutters
Jingle homeward on the heath.
The embers glow in evenings echo,
Shedding reddish light afar;
Expectant eyes reflect its sparkle,
Shining like the morning star.
They sing of Mary, blessed mother,
Meek and willing, pure and mild;
They magnify the great Messiah
Born as Mary's holy child.
[Look for the acrostic in the alliteration. There is one letter for each verse.]
By Isaiah Zerbst, November 16, 2013
As the stars cross this brumous night ~
Standing here with these white washing tides
Carrying away the sands beneath my feet
Glancing beyond the repetitious of this champagne sea
Swells amid the rifts now rising....
Before my thoughts and inside of my heart
Communing with a chromatic collage of endless faces ~
This colloquy within my own souls revelations
As the mist before my eyes begins to clear
And the lighthouse of truth, as truth is, begins to appear
Castaway phantoms walking upon the waters
Beckoning unto me all of their beauties ~
Their irreplaceable hopes and dreams....
Transcending the tangibles, amid an unproportional world
The relevancies of every life, speaking unto me
As a warm tear rolls down my face
While Jupiter explodes, before my eyes ~
Impaling my spirit with these impeccable purities....
Sublime; as I walk further into the swishing swirling currents
Toward the fathoms of acceptances understandings
Taking their precious hands, as the moon smiles upon their, glow ~
Born anew, within this panoramic and palindrome view....
Embracing their beating breathing hearts~These creations!
Turning back the tides of time; castaways no more
For it is all of life that I see now, deep inside the splendor
The wonders of whom they are, each, as a precious jewel ~
Awakened, amid these implosive clarities....
As the stars cross the fading brumous night
Standing here with the white washing tides
Carrying away the sands beneath my feet, forevermore ~
Glancing beyond the repetitions of this champagne sea
Phantasms of once thought lore, smiling as they come alive
Lessons learned, and shifting dunes, of truths unfold....
While these rubies as tears, fall, from the corners of my sight
Marking my cheeks, unto their graves of what used to be
Slightly quivering lips; as these endless wells of emotion, arise inside
Realizing, how much I truly care, for each and every one, of their lives ~
Mars, now embracing Venus with, an everlasting kiss....
~ Of ~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~ Unconditional Love! ~
Form:
Was my life just a wish
I hid between the pages of survival
And even though the Universal source of all
Granted me this gift
This singular precious life
Did I search instead to be the worthiness of heaven
Did I judge all my actions
By the prison bars of hell
And see in your eyes and the eyes of others
The handiwork of demons
Have I written on the chalkboard of my soul
The dark inks of my submissions
I see that in our innocence
We have been duped and confused
Into leading a less than innocent life
And the greatest tragedy of this Earth
Is the ignorance of our denial
We do not see the collage of injustice
Their bodies scattered on our path
And all the bright and shining electronic objects
Are limply hanging from the sign posts of our children’s future
Their bodies dried and bloodless
Skeletal in their silence
Point the way to our decent
Into the depths of the untouchable and the soulless
Where and how have we been brought to this
To feel so very comfortable
While the price we count in money
Is the cost
Of human life
Did we eat too much
Did we want too much
Did we suckle so much in frenzy
Upon the teat of propaganda
Did I believe too readily
Did we swallow all our pride
Has conscience become a mouthful
A swallowed panacea of pharmaceuticals
When did we agree to be
So confused
Did you accept that all this luxury
Must be paid by the suffering of someone else
Or did I just close my heart
Close my mind and close your soul
And even though the nagging is persistent
The denial of truth haunts all of you
Did we bury ourselves in the infatuation
Of all this passing momentary thrill
Bought and sold from the instance of our birth
And it is not our part to carry the guilt or the fault
But each one of us in time
Must wake up
To the complicity that we play
In the slavery inflicted on this world
A part of innocence and ignorance
In the suffering of our brothers and our sisters
A peculiar gift is the insight burgeons a new light within the soul
Far more humane it is than burden of its curse
To live amongst these human chains
But still see all that we are worth
As the stars cross this brumous night ~
Standing here with these white washing tides
Carrying away the sands beneath my feet
Glancing beyond the repetitious of this champagne sea
Swells amid the rifts now rising....
Before my thoughts and inside of my heart
Communing with a chromatic collage of endless faces ~
This colloquy within my own souls revelations
As the mist before my eyes begins to clear
And the lighthouse of truth, as truth is, begins to appear
Castaway phantoms walking upon the waters
Beckoning unto me all of their beauties ~
Their irreplaceable hopes and dreams....
Transcending the tangibles, amid an unproportional world
The relevancies of every life, speaking unto me
As a warm tear rolls down my face
While Jupiter explodes, before my eyes ~
Impaling my spirit with these impeccable purities....
Sublime; as I walk further into the swishing swirling currents
Toward the fathoms of acceptances understandings
Taking their precious hands, as the moon smiles upon their, glow ~
Born anew, within this panoramic and palindrome view....
Embracing their beating breathing hearts~These creations!
Turning back the tides of time; castaways no more
For it is all of life that I see now, deep inside the splendor
The wonders of whom they are, each, as a precious jewel ~
Awakened, amid these implosive clarities....
As the stars cross the fading brumous night
Standing here with the white washing tides
Carrying away the sands beneath my feet, forevermore ~
Glancing beyond the repetitions of this champagne sea
Phantasms of once thought lore, smiling as they come alive
Lessons learned, and shifting dunes, of truths unfold....
While these rubies as tears, fall, from the corners of my sight
Marking my cheeks, unto their graves of what used to be
Slightly quivering lips; as these endless wells of emotion, arise inside
Realizing, how much I truly care, for each and every one, of their lives ~
Mars, now embracing Venus with, an everlasting kiss....
~ Of ~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~ Unconditional Love! ~
Form:
Scathing these miscoloured orbs of sight, with incised rocks carved beneath
Concretionaries jagged edges of contagiums....
Painted upon the predominating canvas of perceptions dank, pasteled times!
So what has changed, this mosaic of histories collective collage?
As one way or another many, infused, inebriate their thoughts to inertia
Binding and bound; within these thicker links of connotations chains....
While they bury their bleeding nails into walls; immersed within darker days
Wherein few lives withdraw completely these claws, of concourses contaminating
Which extends itself polymorphously, deeper....
This unknowing muted muse amongst, everbearings, everyway?!
Unto the very core within, bleaksomes mangled maze, of, adapted art....
This abstract and blurried shadow of vagues, prolific presentations
How to pound the hearts into tears, of burnings coffins, set ablaze
Amid the dawning of insanities decrying of decrepits, decores, so displayed....
Within these assylums waiting for their fills
Beyond, the ghostly bars of Baals, notes, now played
By this 'Phantom of The Operas' corpse; deceivings decay, exhumed....
These flaming embers of ashes; fortiums pins of pain!
The crows casting within corners; like shackles upon most; the guiles, of guildeds shame?
This sifting of flour to find the implosion of caverns
Crashing, upon themselves to the suffocating truths, of, their often buried alive....
Subsisting encased within the cages like creatures, placed on exhibit?
An example, of the modern day creations, lifted from the poisoned palettes, of Palladians ways
Swirling within these inversions; smoke upon the rise....
Black splashings, atop the pavement of profounds
Sculptors, with their crucifying knives!
More concise within their uncompromising; binding the bound, within these thicker links of
chains
While they bury their bleeding touch, into the walls of this darklings darkest haze
Wherein few souls escape such palindromic brushings
These, emdedded pigments, of the palinodes days of daze....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Contemporary Art!?
Form:
As the stars cross this brumous night ~
Standing here with these white washing tides
Carrying away the sands beneath my feet
Glancing beyond the repetitious of this champagne sea
Swells amid the rifts now rising....
Before my thoughts and inside of my heart
Communing with a chromatic collage of endless faces ~
This colloquy within my own souls revelations
As the mist before my eyes begins to clear
And the lighthouse of truth, as truth is, begins to appear
Castaway phantoms walking upon the waters
Beckoning unto me all of their beauties ~
Their irreplaceable hopes and dreams....
Transcending the tangibles, amid an unproportional world
The relevancies of every life, speaking unto me
As a warm tear rolls down my face
While Jupiter explodes, before my eyes ~
Impaling my spirit with these impeccable purities....
Sublime; as I walk further into the swishing swirling currents
Toward the fathoms of acceptances understandings
Taking their precious hands, as the moon smiles upon their, glow ~
Born anew, within this panoramic and palindrome view....
Embracing their beating breathing hearts~These creations!
Turning back the tides of time; castaways no more
For it is all of life that I see now, deep inside the splendor
The wonders of whom they are, each, as a precious jewel ~
Awakened, amid these implosive clarities....
As the stars cross the fading brumous night
Standing here with the white washing tides
Carrying away the sands beneath my feet, forever ~
Glancing beyond the repetitions of this champagne sea
Phantasms of once thought lore, smiling as they come alive
Lessons learned, and shifting dunes, of truths unfold....
While these rubies as tears, fall, from the corners of my sight
Marking my cheeks, unto their graves of what used to be
Slightly quivering lips; as these endless wells of emotion, arise inside
Realizing, how much I truly care, for each and every one, of their lives ~
Mars, now embracing Venus with, an everlasting kiss....
~ Of ~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~ Unconditional Love! ~
Form:
West Coast Kool Jazz/ Spoken Word
In the air of the West, a cool breeze blows with a brushed silver sound, air-conditioned rhythm, sleek and precise, a cool jazz crown/West Coast KOOL JAZZ is born, where the vibe slides in quiet silk/where shadows flicker like neon on a sun-worn beach/ Shorty Rogers at the gate of this new thing called WEST COAST KOOL JAZZ/his jazz mates in the wings, a tight-knot of fate/Shelly Manne taps the heartbeat in drums, Red Mitchell bows the bass, Jack Sheldon paints the horn with a silver-traced grace/Frank Rosolino, Pete Condoli—names that hum in the cool jazz groove,/they sculpt the air with breath and blues that move/Soul jazz seeds sown by hands of color and courage/African American musicians paint their jazz chords into a golden collage/Clifford Brown glides, Sonny Clark lights the way/Harold Land keeps the street’s rhythem bumpin high all day/Hamton Hawes deep in the pocket/ Jimmy Bond rings the tone, Man, these cats be takin’ care of business making a living By day, IN THE RECORDING STUDIOS they chart the maps of notes those sight-reading saints in studios with movie scores in their hearts/TV shows and commercials, a vinyl jazz cosmos spun/ they stitched the world of sound until the work was done/ AT NIGHT THE CLUBS WOULD COME ALIVE in and around LA/ SHELLY MANNE’S HOLE. ZARDI’S, THE LIGHT HOUSE IN HERMOSABEACH, THE DOWNDEAT/ IN THE CITY BY THE BAY/THE BLACKHAWK, and the jazz workshop/Dig this blend: cool strutting harmonies in the air/cool jazz meshed with hard bop’s stubborn flare/East Coast grit with West Coast cool in the same breath, MAN, are you kidding me? like a highball cocktail, sun-kissed, at a beachside bar/ The cats kept their business in the cadence of the scene, living the dream/A breeze of brass, a whisper of reed/So listen—let the echoes ride the shoreline of your mind,/where shades of avocado and chrome rivers meet the electric LA grind/ THE SOUND OF THE EAST COAST BECAME WEST COAST COOL BOP/ LESS EDGY AND NOT AS FRANTIC AS A BIRD SOLO/ MAN, COOL WAS THE RULE/ HOW YOU DRESSED, ATE, and walked around town with your lady on your sleave/the West Coast cool sound//where jazz and history MEET/
Home is where . . .
The heart and reason mould into one and the same mirror of harmony
. . . the Golden Mean and centre of gravity as long as life’s turns spin around
. . . where dents in the mind do not mind but care kindly about gaping gaps
. . . when time juggles dis-synchronous consolation in the face of chaos
Memories and anticipation caress the wayward traveller into the harbour
. . . the ancient light house guides pirates of doom into tender submission
. . . where hidden treasures are felt beneath a dented compass’ rusty needle
. . . when jubilation overwhelms caved in darkness at the point of confusion
Vision and hindsight blend ambiguity and opposites of fragile consonance
. . . the myopic lenses lead the way from afar towards what can be touched
. . . where shattered glass causes new puzzles and chards for luminous mosaics
. . . when an empty canvas is shredded but gives way to a collage of dreams
Deafness and laughter combine to a symphony of understandable voices
. . . the auricles are pierced and adorned with truths and rings of delight
. . . where an ear for an ear is not an empty promise but sharing the way
. . . when the few want to listen to an old man’s attempt of feeble wisdom
Bones creak on the spiral staircase and master the voyage downwards and up
. . . the attic hold enough trinkets and memorabilia for a flea market or two
. . . where moths in the cellar feed happily in symbiosis with trodden dust
. . . when paradise is being in love and sharing glow worms and outlooks
Home is when the Self is good enough and life’s companion is gratitude
A Golden Mean happy to eat from enamel plates one spoon and a tin whistle
Light shines through cataracts of wild water and cascades of living surprise
Nostalgia is a way forward on the path one step at a future step in the making
Shades of eye sight observe perceive reflect condense highlighting the soul
A child’s whisper registers more deeply than cacophony of ubiquitous hatred
And the bones of one’s hands can still read a book and write the odd poem . . .
17th April 2019