Long Compressing Poems
Long Compressing Poems. Below are the most popular long Compressing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Compressing poems by poem length and keyword.
Though what we know
and that which we feel
goes into what we write
I believe
poets are more inclined toward
image-periphery
the alchemy of lyric-formation
what is just around the corner
horrifically vague
standing on the lip-edge
toes dangling over
peering bravely into a
primal abyss
------------------------------
each new declaration a journey
backward, compressing coldly
into dank catacombs of past
drafting explorers
forward, confronting bard echoes
the maps of our ancient priests
left for the daring
the literary awakened
new skies revealed
sustain alternating and renewed
every night a fresh splattering of light
every dawn
a bounty-warmth of slippery
sunny icing
such decadence our breakfast
lunch and supper
no dessert denied
the rich slices we pen
the hyper-caloric that
drives us to the brink
daring us to step off
both angels and demons
awaiting their catches
lift must be in our favor --
-------------------------
Let the work begin!
Lying halfway across the path,
there was nothing
to alert the eye or hint
it was anything but a discarded
length of rope.
Then, approaching closer,
I saw it move.
A sudden bend gave form
to a body, a blunt head
flicking out a tongue,
the unmistakable profile of a snake.
At first it seemed sluggish, slow
to move from my way
as if the overnight cool
still thickened its blood.
It did not budge but kept
to its space, tightening
into itself as if compressing
an internal spring. I felt the focus
of its unblinking eyes,
being sized and measured
somewhere in the targeting
sights of its brain.
I kept still, the distance between us
charged with tension, paired
to every muscle and tingling
sense. I waited,
diving deep into the imagined
intent gripping the mind
of the other, until it turned
and slithered away
into the long grass and memory.
For most, snakes belong
to nightmare with death loaded
fangs that wait in ambush
or are readied to strike
the careless foot or heel
of some unsuspecting hiker.
They dribble their potent brew
into the arteries of our sleep.
They are the stuff of myth,
dark inhabitants of our unconscious
carrying what we fear,
the primitive, unfathomable parts
of ourselves. This morning
I saw mine come alive and stare
at me before crawling off,
back inside.
He bound thru hoarfrost, highland fells
With naught but knees to ring the bells
Such haunting peals from little blooms
That daubed his hell with dreamy doom
He wrapped his dreams around their throats
Sweet things that bled with beats and notes
And squeezed with all the strength he knew
While each bright face turned ghastly blue
The morn breaks, new, for each grieved soul
Though doubts and deeds can take their toll
He suffered, wrought from pride's cold dawn
Those highlands bled from shame, now gone
He searched for what he'd thus once found
That careless heart ... now dead and bound.
~ Honorable Mention ~ in the "Completely Your Choice (30) Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
* This is the Rhyme that my poem "Type, Cast" was built around ... I never did a mixed-form this way before, (writing the Free Verse sections and inserting Rhyme as I went), but compressing these sections after the fact helps me to see where the core ideas originated. Kind of a fun exercize, overall! *
Sweet silence!
late in life
I discover earplugs
my wife’s pastel plugs
that fill the ear canal
by compressing for insertion
and expanding once in place
One mauve one sepia
no lawnmowers, no leafblowers
wood chippers or persistent phoebes
water to the thirsty traveler
morphine to the cancer
better than knee surgery
or a negotiated end to the war
Such silence is so sweet
I might try blindness too
like Homer, Borges, Milton
just kidding, should there be a god listening
the veil of life is thin
if one doesn’t believe in mystery
or accepts the rules entirely
One green one brown
two leaves sleep-touching
then a breeze!
the day I left life behind
hitchhiking as the sun descends
morning air cold and clear
I cannot hear what I cannot see
The freedom of summer gone
one more season (and one more after that)
he lived with one eye after that
in a mind there is apocalypse
no one can hear it
but one day you die
and this is the ideal silence you sought
Silence of winter
one elk in aspen
mountains of dark sound
and a stream’s breath song
cities make a silent distant din
with simple joy men may give up desiring to be heard
how much tinnitus can you handle
Graceful as silence
sailing through the ferns and understory
why make a sound or noise or do anything to the page
the national debate
garrulous, querulous
the sound of shoulders shrugging
speech, none, you can’t sum it up in one more metaphor
Censor crop shorten and silence
no tv!, no self-pity
first light, green tea
no sound but wind
yet the sound still comes out of the flowers
smoke the cigarette, sound the subwoofer
and prepare for a powerful anesthesia
Dancing our epic song
inside images
dreams
narratives
ritual motions
rhythmic changes
disembodied
Can become dissonantly self-predative
depressing
exhausting
compressing
Claustrophobic mean remains
of darkly disabling
demonic Othering;
nothing left
for cooperative choice,
wellbeing voice.
Dancing our song
dividing MeWe healthy humanity
in unhealthy ways
Sometimes therapeutically remediated
by better
silent outside
sacred listening,
for healing humane justice
in divinely green peace
forest Cathedrals,
desert sand drifting Paradise,
oceanic blue Heavens,
mountainous purple sunset Passions,
silent flowing rivers
of transparent Power
chasing
following vulnerable
wounding Light
Cooperatively active
inside/outside copassion
recklessly curious love
restoring EarthPeace
one dance at a time
For cooperatively revolutionary
mediations
resonantly YangSun sung
YintegralEarth danced
In and Out
Self and Other
therapeutically empathic
sacred muses
dancing our co-arising Psalms.
Through the bank account
over painted naivety
it is so intense just to be here
between look and expectation
knowing
I'm just one step from alighting
to be
your personal abyss
afford me completeness
in the same way that
high ranked husband
of well polished wife
pays to a prostitute
by the sadness of creator
using the silk ribbon
you are compressing my foot
(praying that it will stop the growth as the way you'll keep me yours )
I promise that I'll learn:
- to wash my hands in that lemon juice after finishing the portion of high quality
shrimps
- I won't applause in that gap between two arias
- I will pull on that poker face when your hand suddenly leaves mine while we're
standing in the street and you are asking me for an address as you are lost ....
sorry sir I can't help you, I am not from here
with naive faith-
secret is easier to bear in two-
piece of paper
adopted the image of birth
grey tiles
mannerly disinfected
under the glasses misplaced empathy
hand in the pocket of white coat
and naive faith
i guess there is no alternative
when the only thing left as your heritage are nails
i wish it is not the life
and that just a day went wrong
this way
only thing left is a label of
river
down which
no one will ever again dare to
release the paper boats
it would be better
everything
if only
it crossed your mind
to
tide my tubes
Truth Escapes
Each day shorter
than the day
before
Each word
sharper
and meaning more
Time compressing
the past
implodes
Truth
escaping
— life’s final throes
********
The Enemy Within
Everyone lives
with a cancer
deep inside of
them
Waiting
like a panther
striking
from within
If not today
tomorrow
on that
you can depend
Setting up
a sneak attack
malignancy
— portends
********
Within The Lines
Verse
is my mistress
Poetry
my love
Every line
my beating heart
Rhyme
sent from above
Feelings
wrapped in verbiage
Passion
leads the way
Stopping time
within the lines
Couplets
— on display
********
Words Rebirth
The leading edge
of prescience
A doorway to
beyond
Walking through
the past adieu
As words rebirth
— in song
(The New Room: June, 2026)
On this mountain of doubting they call life
down and out they call it strife
Stress compressing slows your stride
Hope breaks off but Brexit tied
Everyday a new begin
stop the mental lockdown
Everyday your hair goes thin
unable to turn it around
You didn’t aim for this direction
You were success bound
Now in pain and complications
down down until you drown
Ambitious once determined as hell
cockiness to get the crown
Now down and out seem to prevail
In shock rushing to the ground
When you’re dead you’re down
all this just a memory
pick your head up turn it around
make sure they remember thee
while your living lungs are breathing
while you’re feeling down and beaten
While you're hopeless lost and needing
in your hands if you’re believing
No one else can stop you bleeding
defeat’s defeat start conceding
fix the creak once fixed be seeking
In your hands if you’re believing
do you think legends had it easy
stories you hear oh so pleasing
not on knees stuck still freezing
within their hands they were believing
You can achieve anything if you set your mind to it
Marty McFly said on his time travel trip
You can achieve anything if you set your mind to it
Not time travel though don’t be thick
It’s in your hands if you believe
a Journey Don’t Stop Believing
It’s in your hands if you’re believing
Believe as long as you are breathing
Impossible mission to pinpoint present
such fleeting moment instantaneously spent
according to yours truly i.e. this gent
mind boggled, intrigued, stymied...
courtesy unseen minute
(mine hoot, minoot, my newt...) agent
provocateur stealing every precious second,
whether or not satisfactorily spent
time thief absconds with
most treasured commodity
nary tell tale sign,
where he/she went
allegedly, inscrutably, seemingly...
robbing in plain sight fervent
as greased lightning
ramping, stepping, ticking up
blithely skedaddling across firmament
ratcheting frenzied temperament
upon psyche – regarding current
temporary soul searching resident
unstoppably speeding, jetting, barreling...
trigonometrically calculating tangent
severely distorted against
turbulent kaleidoscopic hallucinatory
backdrop – centripetal/centrifugal adjacent
forces compressing body electric
elongating flesh beyond infinity
diaphanous corporeal essence rent
asunder obviously self evident
Ahab bin to theorize
Pequod now to thee extent
overactive imagination lent
allows, enables, and provides
poetic license allotment
extemporizing this entire extent
stretching corpus callosum
to breaking point as well cogent
continuity fractured no different
than usual literary pablum
wariness cautionary brief adage,
when traipsing thru apparent
gobbledygook on par with
puttering around greenacres,
vis vis equivalent
ensnared within wide
webbed whirled sand trap event
chilly eroded Earth's landmasses
made of rocks and minerals
bajillion years metamorphosis refulgent
glistening silicon dioxide
in form of quartz
feldspar and mica supplement
granules ergo timeless saga never ends
or begins analogous
to Möbius strip lambent.
Yellow is the boundary of the stride,
A paper-thin cleft between the end and the beginning.
Time catches its breath within that tiny seam,
And we weigh our choices once again—
“Shall I press on, or shall I stay?”
The moment my foot takes the green light,
A palanquin charges forward, compressing time itself in its speed.
“How dare you! Make way for the Magistrate!”
That glare is no simple threat.
Our hesitation is a quiet ritual, testing both choice and chance.
Green is the opening of a promise.
Yet within that promise seeps a hidden gaze and a silent rule.
We read it, judge it, and take our step.
Can we truly step forward, trusting this green hue alone?
As swift palanquins rush by without end,
Our judgment is constantly put on trial.
A traffic light is never merely a set of colors.
It is the invisible shadow of order,
The ultimate symbol of the norms we belong to.
And the traffic light asks:
“Do you truly trust me?”