Long Coma Poems
Long Coma Poems. Below are the most popular long Coma by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Coma poems by poem length and keyword.
Nexus
Spinning on a sharp point of connectedness
Fulcrum pivots on micro pinpoints
A pilgrimage, a crux,
From oblivion to authentic choice –
Sharp point of indecision and a-ha –
A sliver of either or pierces the tipping point
In conundrums of balance
Sharp honesty, gilded with empathy,
Or
Thorny truths on turning points
~
Intentional grace clothed in compassion
Or
Hard edges of exacting truth
~
Merciful discretion
Or
Bleak transparency
~
Authenticity
Or
Opaque imagery of the vague
~
Sharp pinpoints of objectivity
Or
Honesty framed in love’s elixirs
As the waking soul of indecision
Stands on two feet in balance
To oscillate upon nexus pivot points
Of truth
Or
Discretion
~
To seize wonder
Or
Tremble at the portal of the unknown
~
Remain in the numbing coma of wakefulness
Or
Enter true blissful consciousness
That leaves footprints on the source of love.
3-7-22
Contest: Consciousness Fulcrum
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
Bronzed babe
Bathroom mirror
Naked stance
Like a sexual pillar
Breasts firm
Toned skin
Groomed heaven
Petite and trim
Her loving man
Stripped and strong
Embraces his girl
Manhood long
Ears licked
Nape kissed
Bodies pressed
Breasts caressed
He parts her legs
As he hardens between
Her loving look
She shows, he's seen
Their want is now
As she takes him in
His throbbing head
Against her inner skin
Their heat emits
Loved aroma
They close their eyes
In a sexual coma
Engines heating
Piston slowing
Her liner wanting
Coolant flowing
Faucet turned
Basin fills
Water scooped
Down her back it spills
Down her spine
Passed her cheeks
To reach his piston
The water seeks
Her body heats
Requires cool
As he returns to the basin pool
Scoops the water
Splashes her breasts
To continue with their loving fest
Engines purring
Piston home
Hands in wanting
They freely roam
His fluids rise like lava flows
Inside her chamber the walls glow
Their tanks of life about to spill
This loving couples, loving thrill
Climax reached
They embrace and kiss
Two lovers loved
In Their Bathroom bliss.
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love.php
Rick was violent and showed no remorse
His alcoholic outbursts lead to their divorce
Wife Sue moves away with Billy their son
Then Billy’s badly injured in a hit and run
Sue contacts Rick, he dashes to the scene
Billy’s hooked up to a life support machine
Parents sit at his bedside both day and night
Brought together by their son’s terrible plight
Billy’s badly injured, his recovery is slow
When he wakes from a coma he says ‘hello’
Huge tears of joy well up in Billy’s blue eyes
Seeing mum and dad together is such a surprise
Billy’s pulled through, everyone is delighted
At such a crucial time his parents were reunited
01/19/21
Time stood still,
Darkness seemed to overcome me,
When I received that call,
I made frantic calls to my relatives,
Trying to breathe out the sadness,
You had been hospitalized,
As the family gathered around,
we were busy like bees trying to seek the best treatment,
My world seemed to turn upside down,
Every day I had to visit you ,
Trying to make small talk,
Conversations in whispers,
Time stood still,
As days became nights,
In my eyes seasons seemed to come and go,
As we arranged for the surgery,
You woke up from that coma,
Only for a few seconds and minutes,
Sprayed tears, seemed forever in my eyes,
a thousand voices in my head,
I was in my own world,
As the day turned into night,
As the blue moon emerged,
You passed away,
Gone forever from us,
My tears soaked my pillow at night,
I could see your pain, but could not let you go,
Now its been years,
My mum is not yet over your lose,
Sometimes vivid dreams come to me,
Remembering those old stories about our tribe,
Outside the fire place,
When the night was young and silence filled the air,
If wishes were horses,
I could wish to see you again ,
So you could brighten my smile granny,
These memories will remain painted in my mind,
What a sweet soul you were,
It’s sad the lord called you home,
To live grandpa behind,
Today I visit you once again,
To remember the good old times,
I can still feel your presence as the wind blows my sad tears away.
What child is this?
Already tears blind the page.
Even in utero I was under attack.
My mother in a coma from domestic violence.
No wonder I was Daddy's favourite.
I was as a coral sponge when seven.
Absorbing the tension in the air.
Mummy showed me the clump of hair
Daddy had pulled out the night before.
Hidden in the rafters overhead.
This child watched siblings fight.
It was all we knew, so I hit out too.
A refrain we learned well as father said,
"Children should be seen and not heard".
Voiceless and defenseless were we.
This child grew up insecure.
Feeling worthless I repeated history.
Only this time no bruises seen.
Hidden emotional blows leave no mark.
A marriage mistake from the start.
This child died inside as an adult.
But sibling love saved my life.
A strong hand reached out to me.
Her love and tenderness plain to see.
A shared history makes strong bonds.
This child now now enters old age.
Three daughters raised in abundant love.
The chain of violence broken.
X husband I have now forgiven.
Releasing myself from that awful prison.
"There are only two days in the year that nothing can be done.
One is called yesterday and the other is called tomorrow, so
today is the right day to love, believe, do, and mostly live."
Quote by _Dalai Lama
Most of my life has been like a dream trance,
repressed and lost in one long grief coma:
but, I have found my now moment and chance,
I no longer want the melodrama;
want to enjoy this life's sweet aroma.
It is a rebirth of the joyful me,
and I am breezy, happy and carefree:
the child in me is quite alive and well,
in calm silence I have found the true me;
within stillness of soul- I wish to dwell.
“it’s not desire per say but the clinging ~
that stifles soul and stops heart from singing
enlivening silence sets our soul free ~
vibrant in the now, joyful and carefree”
If you THINK you know me, well think again because you don’t… I’m not who you think I am; I’m an insecure girl who has been treated like crap their entire life. It's almost like I never made it back after taking a dive. I’ve been treated like I'm five but yet I'm expected to act mature, Not how but why, Just why does life work this way I don't quite understand, Or at least not yet… as I grow older I may put the pieces together to understand Why I was never enough to her, Or when I will be, I still have a long way to go so I guess I’ll never know. It isn't always a happy ending… that only happens in fairytales, and fairytales are faker than your childhood Barbie. It's so unfortunate that happy endings rarely happen, that's the hard crap that you do sometimes have to face. Yes, It can be hard, but sometimes you have to try, Just try to push through to darkness and hope you don't run into anything that makes you question or regret your entire life. Here my cat is licking her fur but all she does is eat, drink, sleep and purr in the same sense that my only purpose in life is to eat, drink, sleep, get yelled at then pretend like it didn’t occur. It’s really hard to believe in faith when the only thing God has ever done is let you down. How can one ever learn if one is always being scolded for no reason whatsoever. How and/or will we ever learn If we can’t just have freedom? Sometimes I wonder if I'm actually alive or this is all one big dream, coma or just me zoning out. How can one revolt if one cannot assimilate? The answer is that you can’t, It’s actually quite impossible. Childhood is one of the most important, but still one of the most common things spoiled. It's one of the main things that leads the path to the rest of life. Bad childhood can lead to bad P.T.S.D. or Depression later in life, I happen to already have P.T.S.D. and I'm still a kid in other words I haven't finished my childhood. I’m glad other kids don’t go through what I go through, they wouldn't last a day. I get jealous of other kids for having both parents or a parent that's EXTREMELY loving and caring, meanwhile I don't either, I only have one parent and she cares just not about my emotions or my mental health.
In the avalanche, I lost track of my guiding light.
I fled my fireside. I had to evacuate my homestead.
Driven far astray by frenetic frozen fright,
I was just a cowardly racing rescuing airhead.
The wounded wooden face of my brother
lugged away by paramedics in a wheelchair.
My tomb of sleep was my 3 am druthers.
But I called 911, puzzling at my sibling’s stare.
Living and dying from underworld to mountaintop,
the EMTs raised him off the floor like a bag of potatoes.
Everything was breathing pollen and allergen nonstop.
All my raw instincts lacked right or wrong thought flows.
It’s true; I lost poetry. I abandoned my paintings, my pottery,
as though the subverting season of AI sophistry reigned supreme,
as though all creativity was randomized in a human lottery,
as though all consciousness is reduced to a particle beam.
Vacant, these weary eyes roll up in my head.
Vacant, how much long-term despondency to endure?
My brother lives and dies each day in his bed,
defenseless, like a never healing wound with no cure.
My days are distractions, a mad confusing deflection.
I vacated my poetic home, my fireside muse.
I raft the unfamiliar caregiver currents without reflection.
I can’t live forever homeless, maintaining the caregiver ruse.
Sleep now, my brother, knowing life offers you another aim.
Tap resilience from your broken body. This will clear your mind.
My pallet for tending, nourishing, and wiping deserves no acclaim.
Nobody asks for these duties. No one can ever put them behind.
Written by Gail DeBole on October 16, 2014
Updated on October 21, 2014
Note: All unscheduled times are for unplanned miracles.
Monday – 1:00 a.m. - Protect William so that he survives a tragic car accident.
10:00 a.m. - Greet new arrivals to heaven with orientation and tour.
Tuesday – 11:00 a.m.
Attend the funeral of Janet to guide her spirit.
Wed. – 3:00 p.m. – Guide Arthur out of a coma.
4:00 p.m. and on - Help trapped families escape a flood.
Thurs. – 5:50 a.m. - Put the idea for this poem inside Gail's head.
7:00 a.m. - Get wings manicured and halo adjusted.
8:00 a.m. - Look for a more comfortable white puffy cloud to live on.
9:00 a.m. - Attend team meeting with other Angels.
4:00 p.m. - Attend Celestial Happenings meeting.
(Group for Angels to share experiences.)
Weekend Mornings - Attend half-day seminars. Presenter: God
It is so… I mean,
How unbearable the rake of longing
while the agony from riding this carriage
stalls to meet the unknown...
a finality abrupt, robbed by the coma
of time when his laughter suddenly breaks:
I offer my tears to a dimming moon
and hum myself to sleep.
Pre-written 3/2/2019
Applicable Not Applicable Contest
Sponsor: Richard Lamoureux Re-post 5/17/2019
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This poem expresses something terribly real
without being mundane. The subtlety of its tone
dramatizes the pain of death, hence, the reader
totally connects with the artist's deep emotions
in a gentle yet aching way.