Long Conducts Poems
Long Conducts Poems. Below are the most popular long Conducts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Conducts poems by poem length and keyword.
*Image of Music Heart by Pixabay.
A Heart's Melody
Harmony palpitates...conducts the abandoned chamber,
albeit, interludes providently...kept in tune with themselves.
The metered winks...influencing oneness to soothe and rise.
The cloud nine reviewed....negotiating remembrances
of "Each and All", the "Earth Song" by Emerson...a ballad medley.
Unversed preexistence...reminiscence, rekindled charge.
Harp rhythms veinuous strings strumming...as the organ pedals.
Some rhapsodical soul...repeatedly ensures an airy suite.
Rehearsed pulses...convey themselves as an opening night.
Calm sounds reflect symmetry...hallowed core pleasures a theme
donning inner expressions...grants the life-timers brevity's blinks.
Solemn occasions the welcomed psalm...heartfelt gifts its claim.
Juxtaposed rapture instants...contrariety absent
of muted aches for a quiver...contrite hands fold into prayers,
beckoned Heaven's gate perseverance...angels heralding.
Unsung Heavenly cadences extend...stead the swan song
that left open--an invitation...as internal hope vibrates,
a renewed life has been rewarded...the heartbeat pipes true.
2022 December 09
*9th Place*
Thought rested awareness
~~Unseeking Seeker
*HM*
SECOND CHANCE FOR YOUR N-A
~~Brian Strand: Judging 2022 December 19
*HMS.
I met the man
Who has become
The man, my father
Fought so hard
To not become
To always be
That lyrical, selfless soul
Only out there
To rid the world
Of joyless, empty measures
Filled with pauses, rests and
Unintended notes
Rather
His motivation comes
In rushes, bursts and
Pure brazen moments
Ready to share
His love
To the sick and the slick
The blase pack of
Tepid luminaries
Each marshal of
Their own parade
And he conducts
Them
Honors their passion
For something
Other than
The driftless pith
Of the soured day's
Intentions
With his merriment
And simple brand
Of anguish-soothing
Feign-removing
Love.
(8/3/04)
Within this sanctum
of breath and bone—
ten trillion anchorites
mimic their devotions.
Bacteria threading
blood’s vermilion rivers
braiding holy water
into the cathedral
of now.
Their alchemy transmutes
starlight
into the wine of existence—
decanted
from Orion’s mythical vine.
Viruses—
those threshold wraiths
between being
and unbeing—
inscribe new verses
in the living gospel
of our chromosomes.
Fungi a cappella
in mycelial tongues
through marrow’s moaning chambers
decomposing resurrection
from each small death
we die.
We are not hosts—
but cantatas
still composing themselves
in light.
Each cell—
a verse rehearsing resurrection.
Hark:
your pulse conducts
this unseen choir
where mortal breath
becomes immortal song.
And in this sacrosanct
communion of kingdoms,
we learn
we were never “I”—
but a constellation of prayers:
timeless,
boundless—
Bacteria
Viruses
Fungi
Me—
becoming
one.
The listlessly marooned trace of the last mile
fades away fast into nothingness of obscurity
beyond the unfurled tapestry of twilight zone,
the ambiguous path getting lost in anonymity
seeks definition in configured mystique metaphor,
engraved within the penumbra of panorama
patterned in my psychic kaleidoscopic display.
The mirror of drifting mirage shining deceptively
on the window of the world of fervent framework
constructs the innate instrument of my thoughts.
The momentary montage of esoteric exuberance,
laced with lattice of euphoria weaved engagingly
by the momentous strands of cadenced zephyr,
the swirling sagacity of mesmeric menagerie
on an en echelon flight, the design of delight
choreographed by the cloud clumps on flight
in the exaltation sky within scarlet sunset frame,
the spectrum serenading the song of silence
synced to the tranquil melody of stimulant spirit,
for the formless façade of indolent life unlived,
languishing tuneless in the cascading crescendo
of the symphony of emotion, as ecstatic fervor
flows entranced with the stream of sonata,
reverberating through ether of the mindscape
as the perennial pageant of immutable images
of the timeless motifs transfixed anonymously,
while the faceless people turn to crafted pretense,
their silhouettes shrouding the beauty of life.
The ephemeral essence morphs into a maestro,
conducts the concerto of the resonant memory.
Form:
An arbitrary effigy
Enacts its own soliloquy;
Concocts a taste sensation
Fit to consternate a nation.
What's an ethical conundrum?
Sinful, existential ho-hum!
Guaranteed to whiten whiter
Never lit one cross on fire...
Yet the sugar pills create
A side effect that won't abate -
You're free to spend more time prostrate
Than one can ever stay awake.
Now your own somnolent scream
Conducts a constant marching theme;
Reverberates the eight of Rome
As sifting sand toward sunken home...
If as you glance up at the sky
You still sense wonder from on high -
If with every labored breath
You'll glibly force another step -
Seek some meaning midst these words
Although the cadence is absurd:
NeVeRmInD tHe BuRnInG;
ThAt JuSt MeAnS iT's WoRkInG!
It is an impressive break up.
The maestro conducts a symphony that
crushes eardrums with locomotive rumbling,
thumping, bumping, and dumping
of large chunks of cracking, crackling
crystalline ice pushing down river.
Hundreds of tons of ice come together –
hopefully without devastation.
It is an environment of change.
In soto voce, soft rippling rivulets,
icicles dribbling, dripping droplets,
the slushing of crusted, melting snow.
Snowshoe hares, squirrels, and wolverine
emerge into full Spring activity.
Mush dogs’ serenades ride the winds,
yipping and campaigning for dinner.
Time to secure Winter’s store of firewood,
move boats and fish wheels to higher ground.
Time to hunt and gather fresh food for stores.
Time to begin restocking fresh meats of
muskrat, beaver, duck, goose, and swan.
Time to rebuild and repair.
Break up –
one of the best times of the year.
—What Time Takes Before We Wake—
I deemed a life a province ruled by clock,
that every loss must cross some final door,
and what the dark withheld was yielded back as morn;
I trusted memory to enshrine my name,
whilst years, beneath the liturgy of body,
wrought their unheralded dominion into silence.
Yet age doth enter not with trumpet, but with silence;
it filches, grain by grain, the sovereignty of clock,
until some kingdom forfeited within the body
hath crossed, ere we perceive it, through an unseen door;
the face still answers to the summons of its name,
whilst gold, unknowing, crowns the counterfeit of morn.
There are departures indistinguishable from morn,
for naught in the bright air proclaims silence;
the heart yet keeps its covenant with its name,
the pulse performs its ancient office beneath the clock,
and yesterday seems safely sealed behind its door,
though something hath already altered in the body.
Then did I learn: the future is within the body,
not as tomorrow, but as the treachery of morn;
each year conducts some former self beyond a door,
and what we call forgetting is but deepening silence,
whilst time, like some invisible sexton, winds the clock,
until even loss grows strange beneath its own name.
Wherefore I feared not chiefly the extinction of a name,
but that time should revise its scripture in the body;
for time doth not merely travel onward with the clock—
it bears us hence, though every day resemble morn,
and leaves no footprint save its consecrated silence,
whilst we, poor witnesses, enquire what lies beyond the door.
Now September comes; I keep no vigil at the door.
Let former hours depart and take their borrowed name;
let what must dwindle dwindle into silence;
let time fulfil its austere workmanship upon the body.
For waking is not finding some imperishable morn,
but hearing, ere we knew it, what was ticking in the clock.
The door knows my name; silence inhabits the body;
the last morn comes unbidden—the clock has ceased.
And I, who feared the silence, find the door within the name.
On the beach board
I watch life ... and my
life goes by ... I seek ...
what I don't know ...!
Comes the tired athlete,
training for life ...
running lucky that
insists not to arrive ... like this
like me...
Right behind a brunette
wiggle face ... scales
the chairs ... bag
aside to swing
how she ... warms me
the eyes I peer with
desire ...
Ah! look what a charm ...
the dreamer sculptor carved
a couple making love
without making real love ...
Ah! a splendid mermaid
carved in the sand ...
how impressive to enchant us ...
oh! but here comes the sea ...
luck, the wave has not come ...
I keep peeking
attentive, interested ...
A bike alone
conducts itself ... possible ..?
what an invention this is!
Two sneakers shoes
in syndrome
jumping off
obstacles without
lose pace ...
surprising disease ...!
6 synchronized legs,
perform slight waltz ...
A juggler footballer
uses the ball as juggling
and plays with my
head...
Looking down
I notice two legs,
shapely,
two well dressed feet
an elegant floor ...
will be...? will be who I hope ...!?
Ah! but I discern now
2 strong legs walking,
2 feet decided walking ..
suddenly come together, kiss ...
Oh! It's a pity that
I'm not the one who makes the scene ...
I close my face ... abandonment
the post ... I am gone ...
I'm leaving ... I'll swilling
down... again I will
be drunk...
loneliness devours me ...!
Word Analytics
My shoes long worn out now got torn,
Within it rough, rude pebbles meet;
Pricking, poking in some stern tone
Knit-bit of my venturing feet …
Needle-like long pin-pointed thorns,
Pierced my now-dirty, ripped outfit;
Prodding every nerve, muscle, bones,
Thus tempting to stop my pursuit…
Horrifying rough rocky grills,
Frightening densely dim forests;
Mystery-like messy mole-hills,
Terrifying combs of hornets...
Sitting there leisurely, surely,
I tried removing one by one;
I could not do so much, purely,
It needed works perfectly done...
Thus, when I completed my course,
My friends, neighbors, even others;
Ignored me like some evil force,
Or like no one's dog, none bothers...
'Why such futile works he digs up?
Is his life not well endowed too?
When he needs to humbly give up,
Why does he cling to whims new?'
Let the world possess its outlook,
Let it move in its trodden routes;
Its grim conducts I do unhook,
I define the routes of my roots…
03 June 2021
(Vowel a omitted)
Lipogram Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
The morning sky looks down through baby blues
Hydrating raindrops from oak leaves still drip
Ephemeral the morning petrichor
Lovely plumeria form garden's lei
A hummingbird pursuing nectar's zen
Resplendent morning glories wakening
Kwee-tu-whit the lark warbles, with soft lilt
Songs praising April's floral potpourri
It sings of May's perfume as roses bloom
Now June's romance as lovers coalesce
Growing silkworm devours mulberry leaf
Soft breeze conducts the leafy orchestra
Our maker's paintbrush casts aside ennui
Fair springtime floods our senses with each hour