Long Congeal Poems
Long Congeal Poems. Below are the most popular long Congeal by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Congeal poems by poem length and keyword.
You entered my room a long time ago
across the dry landscape of many summers
now when this winter looms over the trees
shedding the wilted leaves
you are by the closed window
leaning on the cold wall
and I am by the fireplace
your eyes on the cracking wood on fire
mine on the frosted window pane
freezing my mental agony.
Have you ever wondered
why my voice doesn’t reach you
the words crash on the wall
and fall silent, that’s why
have you ever wondered
why my warmth doesn’t touch you
the feelings brush the window pane
and congeal inert, that’s why
have you ever wondered why
my eyes don’t look into yours
the vision is stuck on the bare trees outside
and waits for the spring, that’s why
have you ever wondered why
my hands can’t hold yours
the reach is lost in desolate time
and breaks separated, that’s why.
I have wondered if I could break the cold wall
shatter the iced window pane
make the trees green again
would my voice rise from the dust
would the warmth of my mind melt the ice
and my eyes bring the colors of spring in yours,
would the flow of time stop
stop to create the stretching distance
and I could hold your hands again.
In brokered spaces hangs a clammy chill
That gawkers with heightened senses distill
With stealth, guile, avarice and pawned skill
Around unsuspecting celebs their viruses congeal
Intimate and carefree moments quarantined in a still
Tendered seconds stolen by each, maverick shill
Plundered with a ravenous, rapacious thrill
Each grainy visage paying the stalker's, truant bill
Malleable fodder placed in the public's, greedy til
Enhanced images on glossy folios to spill
Their frothing rumor mill with innuendo to swill
The public's license with more greed to instill
Anesthetizing emotive strains with wanton zeal
Helios, open darkened shutters Night did seal;
Nyx's opaque, drawn shades one by one peel.
With prehensile fingers grip your enlightened quill,
Selene's pale orb with luminescent lines reel.
With gilded parasol twirl your flaming wheel,
Until enjoined sparks into tinted rays congeal.
In saffron waves, blanch horizon's, window seal.
On spindled beam, spin golden threads from creel,
Sheaves of golden flax span o'er ethereal hill.
Branching, with sonic beam pearly plains drill,
Until azure streams deep reservoir does fill.
With torch, burnt-orange meringue on puffy clouds spill,
then into earth's grainy purview with vigor steal.
With tempera, egg wash the Sky's blank stencil,
then with magnified lens illumine the scenic still.
Plunging downward, into denser troughs truncated waves swill.
Onto earth's jade footstool, solemnly kneel,
Drawing from vassal's, residual til.
Amber blades with brighter finish instill,
With waxy gloss the folio cover frill.
Here i sit
In the Country of my Scots
We are Albannach
Celts, we are taught
For many, many years
Our clans have fought and fought
Races have invaded our shores
But our freedom can not be bought
Our Clans are segmented throughout my lands,
in times of good we are in clannish dispute, and in
times of hardship, we congeal and unite as one
My questions and words, if you are there
You are obliged to listen, as i am here
If you are a teller, your words should be strong
Do you speak like Semaj, like his words do belong
I see these scrolls, from many years in worlds past
Written by elders, hidden to last
Their words of wisdom, powerful they may be
Come with me to the future, to the land of thee
These indigenous lands, spirits so free
In natures portfolio, they are the decree
For over two thousand years, religion has ruled.
Have we been taken in, and now in blinkered rule.
Do we look back to the Heathens, the Pagans the Mayans
where we look to our leaders, and their suppression
we rely on
Scriptures, books and scrolls, the writers of wisdom.
The elders of nations, in current living kingdoms
Without a book, there is no story, no paragraphs,
no believable glory.
In the modern days before 2012, in the world of Semaj
words can be heard. Tittle tattle about this and that,
once our worlds gone, that's that
A word in your ear
From father to son
Hear the word that I say
I fought with you
Fought on your side
Long before you were born
Joyful the sound
The word goes around
From father to son to son.
( Lyrics by Queen of Queen II )
My entry into Matt Caliri contest " If i Could Talk to God "
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/life-6.php
The sun descends this cloudless night
A moon for howling, full and bright
A moon by which the bats take flight
And wolf-men and the undead bite
Stretchered in, a bite mark cruel
He won’t heal but must refuel
But medics’ blood runs warm and free
In this midnight A&E
Devour the sick by full-moon light
Bed by bed and bite by bite
Amid the carnage and confusion
A foul unholy blood transfusion
A werewolf with a stethoscope
Takes his patient’s final hope
Blankly eyes his victims’ notes
And slashes their inviting throats
Werewolf docs and Vampire nurses
Send their patients home in hearses
That my friend is not the worst
They go home with a raging thirst
Home to guzzle son or daughter
Wives bring priests with holy water
Silver bullets, wooden stake
Cruciform her fingers make
Vampires drinking O-neg smoothies
Snarl, “You’ve seen too many movies.”
Hurl away depleted kin
Snatch the priest for one more sin
Bloodied canines catch the moon
Glinting as the werewolves croon
Shed their clothing in the mud
Sniffing out the virgin’s blood
Through the night they drink their fill
Bite or slash their every kill
Wounds the Gods will not let heal
Seeping blood that can’t congeal
Policeman wary, raps the door
Slashed, undead, he hits the floor
Spurting blood he blinks an eye
As a glimmer tints the sky
Then as lupine pelts recede
Kindred canines cease to feed
At this dawn’s first gasp they flee
To that blighted A&E
Apeiron (Boundless)
Before the world dreamed, cosmic imagery had governed the forces of energy.
With its primordial art of perfection. Whose womb had formed the universe?
Where there was no death, nor birth, only a volatile reflection of sequences.
Cosmic network of immersed energies: flows endlessly and yet is invisible
To the naked eye, ?it is elastic yet erratic, with various rotations.
Scattered light in splendour, to avoid an interference pattern where the black hole,
Assimilate her gravitational waves.
In an attempt to evade the Griffith Observatory sighting. Through dark magic lanterns in time frequencies. Creation, formation distant without time, orbits drift while the stellar cycle, Genesis begins light years away, or a billion, yet we see, in
One day.
Then collapse into a low hum: crumbling, silence evaporating, hissing.
Projecting unimaginable colors, light emanates from white lava.
Orange pumpkin, passion, yellow joy sparks, red flames, cautious, unsettling
sun’s intolerable force; floating away in every direction, as it burns.
Like stars that never die, dark beyond the blue, swirling into many shapes.
Black gray, congeal, death meets life light across the galaxies.
Stars' orbital oasis, a celestial portal, sweeping through in perfect timing.
The brain is a gravitational web where neurons mirror a deep
Consciousness, the architectural wiring of the galaxy’s brain.
When random thoughts are bombarding a mind,
Cohesiveness among them is hard to find.
Metaphors and symbols just like in one’s dreams,
Even what is seen, is not what it seems.
One must not resist, just let the thoughts flow.
Look for the patterns and see what they show.
They show the direction, but rarely the conclusion,
There isn’t much reason, just a form of illusion.
Give the thoughts time, as they slowly congeal,
Attaching to each other, a story they tell.
Flow with the words, give them a chance,
Let them move together like partners as they dance.
Look for the thread, their intertwined relation,
Patiently seek their vague explanation.
Look for the message the words are revealing.
What are the metaphors and symbols are concealing?
Ask, to what in my life do these things refer?
Is their truth in the manner in which they occur?
Or is it the way the thoughts make one feel?
Sometimes combining to create an ordeal.
If one is patient, the answers will come.
Sometimes their clarity may make one feel dumb.
Once the answer is seen, it seems so clear,
It makes one feel silly to have ever felt fear.
Most of our worries will never come true,
But we’ll still have fears as our thoughts come through.
Our dreams try to help us to better understand,
We don’t have to be perfect, just the best that we can.
"In the vortex of turbulent times emotions sink,
don’t ripple as humanity makes a museum of wooden people."
- Quote by Poet
In the far away island on the desolate seashore,
you build your desire castle with sands of dream,
and protect the fragile niche of seclusion
from the tide of time rolling with joy,
that can’t enter the gloomy abodes
made by nameless insular people.
Your windows are closed to the sunny sky,
and drowned in the dense darkness
you turn into a slice of moonless night.
In your pallid periphery as I pass you by,
I can’t see through the insensate musk
the true color of nameless opaque people.
You try to fly in the forsaken sky with frozen wings
in the forlorn fringe of the wasting winter.
In your heart of the arctic sea
emotions congeal, don’t swim.
I can’t hold your chilling hands for help
for you’re nameless cold people.
In your life that you make a dismal desert,
the oasis disappears under the depressed dunes.
Blazed by your flaming mind in wilderness,
sentiment smolders, doesn’t flow free.
I can’t find its sensual stream in your heart
to float my feelings, for you’re nameless dry people.
Wandering lonely in the museum of our times,
I see the wooden people displayed nameless.
During a witchcraft ritual
the human brain surreptitiously enters
the surreal states of elevated focus,
lofty emotion, and altered awareness,
as the spell acts as a powerful metaphor
for an internal intention or flustering fear.
People may feel like birds with frozen wings
under the misty sky, swept by the polar winds.
In the congealed hearts lapped by the Arctic sea
petrified emotions congeal, unexpressed.
Warm embrace of empathy they can’t proffer,
for they turn into cold unfeeling people.
People may feel as if their lives have changed
into desolate deserts where the oasis desiccates
in the blaze of their burning minds,
the fallen foliage of ardent passions glows,
doesn’t rustle with the fossil cadence of their hearts,
for they turn into wooden inert people.
Once the ritual concludes,
the cognitive system undergoes a sudden shift
with the intense concentration,
leading to a feeling of poignant emptiness,
excruciating exhaustion, or sudden susceptibility,
epitomizing the impulsive comedown
after a concerted emotional event.
Fireflies flicker like falling stars
that hover in a garden thick
with memories of times we spent
beneath a smiling moon.
Oak leaves gently ride the breeze
that softly blows its tender breath
and quickly dries the tears that fall
from sad and misty eyes.
Ghostly sounds of whistles blast
from ships now far away from shore,
their clearly outlined silhouettes
dark against the moonlit sky.
Thoughts congeal, a cold, hard mass
obstructs sweet memories of the past,
replacing them with vivid visions
of our last goodbye.
Eerie calls from gulls above
now echo cries within my heart,
its shallow beating reminiscent
of the pulse of time.
All too soon our love affair
became a part of fate's discards,
forgotten vows now languishing
beneath a distant moon.