Long Connective Poems
Long Connective Poems. Below are the most popular long Connective by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Connective poems by poem length and keyword.
It takes a while,
time gets trapped behind closed doors,
mice need to be nudged into awareness,
whiskers electrified.
A sleeper adjusts its mouth,
for often lips arrive
behind a scream.
The brain is now ready for its screenshot.
The body stretches to a window,
neuronal mice
pull upon somatic ligaments,
yank upon slabs of connective tissue,
slowly reshaping a new reality.
Unfortunately,
you are not exactly transferable,
you can’t get on the same hamster wheel.
A new you must be rehabilitated,
the world also must be trained
to accommodate this au currant -
this avant garde prototype
of an old guy.
It was a righteous hit and the silky smooth euphoric familiar feeling was racing through her veins to her encephalon.
It was an energetic stimulation to her central nervous system.
Her whole body fell back onto the foul-smelling and heavily stained mattress.
Her mind slumped into oblivion.
Her eyes rolled to the back of her head.
The last thing she remembers seeing was a vivid shadow.
A shadow of a housefly on the ceiling.
It appeared to be eating something.
Through a purple haze, she wonders about the filthy creature.
In nonsensical supposition, she could feel the beastly fly attack.
Scissoring meticulously against the flesh of her forehead.
Scissoring against the hard connective tissue of her skull.
Systematically and relentlessly thrusting its cutting blades.
Regurgitating its vile acid fluid onto the soft tissue of her cerebrum.
Imaginable pain and reverberation of the piercing sound were consistent.
And then, the morning light faded.
She saw luminous colors of red, yellow, and different shades of blue, like cyan and turquoise.
She felt her body floating around in a large kaleidoscope.
copyright 2016 Torsional Storm
Complex harmony
What matters is that some souls are loyal to the mind,
not falling into years and holding youth by image saint.
Echoes of wisdom by candle’s bright,
orchestrated shades between the gentle light.
Freedom of the noted speech in poetic rhyme,
knowing the love source as delicate humane.
Bearing off the longing searching riddle,
chosen sacred bride as ever constant middle.
Taken old crabbed mysteries into new perspective,
cutting strains beyond life’s connective.
Holding passion as strength of thought,
the bounty of blossom from light of night besought.
The firmament of changing peace and its multiple rights,
captured reflections through many lives lights.
Perplexed synchronicities in stories told,
the old in the new forever bold.
Torches of bewilderment raised by politics,
hushes for the exited lunatics.
Not seeing the picture of the text,
and inquiring the if possible next.
The solitary truth as implacable straight line realm,
the wandering horizon of the architected dream.
A livelong hour in a little story painted,
when the moon swam in full by compassion sainted.
The anxiety of that passionate youth,
as miracle of knowledge introduced.
Grow slowly exquisite spring blossoming dear,
the songs of the fairy bird so gently near.
Hearts of weary and wonder like the sea,
cleansing waters by love’s inheritance to be free.
I am a homegrown girl but I have traveled to many places around the world. I am a home-grown girl and you can find me on the map with just a single dot. I am a home-grown girl in search of my permanent soul.
I love variety, I value diversity and I cherish honesty. I have an invisible soulmate but we have never gone out on a date, I love it from the depths of my heart and I would do anything for its career to take off. I want its dreams to come true because I don’t have much ambition to parachute to the sky. I am just a home-grown girl with a deep message bubbling up in my soul.
If you look into my heart, you will understand where it starts; my heart has two ventricles, one on the right and the other on the left and they pump blood into my body that keeps me alive and put my adrenalin on a ride.
I can cook a fifty-course meal in one day, and I would still have energy to cook a pot of curry and invite Hallie J, Sarah M and Jane S for dinner and still find time to shoot the next scene after supper.
My brain is wired in a special way and for this reason I will never go astray. My brain has a left side and right side too, from which that miracle always comes through and, it has never deserted me and you.
The ventricles in my heart sometimes collide and sometimes I have to go on a short trip to examine what’s in the precipice. The left ventricle wall is the thickest heart walls and absolutely nothing can pass through if destiny binds me and you.
Sometimes I stare at the wall and wonder where to start. Is it at the Texas border or the Great Wall of China? My heart has a three-layered heart wall made of connective tissue, endothelium, and cardiac muscle but layer one and two cannot function, if the muscular middle layer myocardium doesn’t function. It enables the heart to contract so pay careful attention to what the heart is saying to you.
I am a home-grown girl but my Turf is not here, it belongs to the rest of the world. It lies beyond the horizon in the quiet hills of demparades, a town full of beautiful people from all color race and creed they speak different languages from every nation. I am a home-grown girl and now it's time for me to face the world.
Life is music that drifts in open spaces
sometimes a brash crescendo
that brims with the fullness of now
when stories break from narrow, rigid scripts
stifling random routine
Life is free wheeling inventiveness
peacockish
a feathered tapestry
parading like a wedding dress down the aisle
Sometimes life is a ping pong bounce of sorrow
giant ball
that blurs the sky
that covers our eyes
a fog creeping into ruined places
Life is a tumble of forces
a counterpoint of malice and joy
that goes in an unexpected direction
like the connective chords of love
an airy drift
amplified
in the ringing rush of time
Poem composed: July 2/2022
A
Saying that's been around forever
Where it came from I haven't a clue
There's many phrases just like this one
So familiar to both me and you
PENNY
Is a word not heard much these days
Its value's much less than a cent
We used to get a big bag full of candy
At the store it was a big event
FOR
Many years its value has decreased
There's a rumour they'll not longer exist
Where's this technological age leading us
The good old days I so dearly miss
YOUR
Thoughts are probably, what an old geezer
He can't keep up with the times
But us old guys lived a much simpler life
For those good old days we still pine
THOUGHTS
Of sodas, ice cream and lollipops
Linger in the depth of our being
Tears can be seen trickling down our cheeks
A sad but so joyous a feeling
©Jack Ellison 2012
A poetic style I call CONNECTIVE QUATRAIN HEADERS
Many thanks to Connie Marcum Wong for her help and inspiration.
The blade in my hand has been honed razor sharp by reality
I wield it with the careful precision of a skilled physician
who was accrued decades of experience
performing the tedious task of dissecting existence
cutting cleanly through connective tissue to the bone
peeling back striated muscle and skin
securing them with tiny pins
severing ligaments and tendons
disarticulating joints and limbs
unveiling what by design has been hidden
beneath the deceptive shell of rosy flesh
revealing what some shield themselves from
by donning blinders made from money
building walls with the bricks of their success
never having seen or but briefly glimpsed
the darkness and depravity of the world
that exists within each of us
buried deep down or just under the surface
before turning away in disgust
preferring the pretty pictures on the wall
to the truth of it all
thoughts, willy-nilly, drift out of mind
restless in the muddle of entanglements
things
twisted
like my garden watering hose that weeps the earth to life
a bold green pushed to fruition
twisted
like winding highways that overtake you with litter
scraps of fast food for gulls in cherished feeding
twisted
like student summer factory work that manufactures
cursing
when assembly line work disassembles purpose
twisted
like landfill debris of mangled cellphones
tech faith that ushers us to connective clutter
twisted
like barely concealed malice
an ugliness unfolding worthy of trash TV
twisted
like war's celebratory cruelty, the tyrant's glee
in threatening a seeded nuclear future
still
in the midst of blaze and fumes, caress what's most
vulnerable
affirm the grit of human living
and hold out hope
like a candle hovering just outside a keyhole
Poem composed April 13, 2023
I have been a sieve bucket
Of shiny plastic parts,
Containing reasonable sands of logic, time and place-
Drastically mixed with the fluidity of natural human race,
And oddly and inconveniently, a subspace
For an awkwardly large heart.
Why has its energy, connective and warm,
Imploded my zone of comfort?
Its vibrations teemed my walls, exploited my woes
Which till now have composed me quite conveniently
In perfect shell form?
I have molded realities into peaks and castles,
Beautiful for a brief moment as life’s own art,
Yet crumbling too soon into shackles-
The sand’s plans (though well intentioned)
Never seem to properly span across
This aforementioned large heart?
I have ignored its pulsing cries of recognition,
Smashed its value to the depths of nothingness
To breach partitions of Universal fate’s recipe
For flow and season in forced perfection;
Yet muddied and worn, wretched and torn,
It still giggles and glows-
Defying all logical reason.
In anguish I have begged, dear heart, for disintegration!
Why do you lay idle in seeming nonchalance?
Why have you not flooded these holes of my soul
And flowed out to which creation compels me?
Will Love and light ever overflow my muddy plastic half?
I smugly wait and listen in demand of a response!
A few beats, a laugh.
You shine upon me for a quiet moment, wretchedly glistening.
Have I dared to set aside my fear and gain the courage to finally listen?
The message you have needed to convey
Resonates to me quietly,
In recognition of my soul’s ambition:
“Why don’t you merely give me away?”
A simple response, I answer in action (in giving to you, my true):
For I begin building my fate only from today;
Creating with purpose and satisfaction,
Eternally anew.
We stare at the moon
blood red in atmospheric dust
rose bits disruptive
Brought into view by a
gravitational force
that shimmers round our edges
Craters, seas of lava,
potmarks on the man in the moon
Celestial body imperfect
unlike your flawless form
gravity weak
unbalanced
leaning against me
Milky Way connective
As we search the night sky
in our
own closed orbit
that heals a world of insular pieces
love's rumination
reflected
in how
we turn
Poem revised September 27th, 2022.
Originally written Spring 2020