Long Constricted Poems
Long Constricted Poems. Below are the most popular long Constricted by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Constricted poems by poem length and keyword.
BOUNDARIES
an
unworld
explicitly
rendered
incorporting
misshapen
pictures
in a
gradual gloom
stubbornly
numb
& constricted
a
statuesque.
impression.
affluent
in
appearance
of
practiced
postures
of
still life
accoutrements
with
plentiful
attributes
universal
&
poignant
throughout
a
glimpse.
a
proof
transplanted
pirouetting
breathes
trabquillity
the
ultimate
contraint
a
sensory
manfestestation
of
creativity
&generosity
in
a
rightful vision
encapsultes
to
resassemble
depicting
the
sanctified
in
continuing
expectations
Father, My lord, The Most high you watch
over us all even as a baby intertwined in our
Mother's womb. you know our every thought and
what we have conserved in our hearts. You're our father
our lord, The Most high you continue to forgive us of our
sins and haven't constricted against us, and when the world
seems to turn it's back on us, you will never give up on us.
Our Father, The lord, The Most high we love you. You always
with us all near and far.
you seek retribution but you leave with no courage inside
you’re looking to fill the hole in you, but you love having an empty mind
you say you can see now but in reality you are horribly blind
you think you know who has a heart so cold its mine
you hold on to all you have when all you have is a wicked mind
ask me to show you how to change but I cannot help to change a soul that’s dead and confined
you wear that mask just to hide
just to hide all the hatred you hold inside
how can you see with eyes sewn shut and no light to see is in sight
you confide in ignorance, you’re asinine actions defile
in misery pain knows no boundaries and love is constricted all the while
hide in that god forsaken wasteland you call hallowed ground
come into me and be true to your wicked mind now you’re mine and I am your sweet cyanide
for the rest of time you will sit on the throne in a self inflicted perdition
you can call it sinners exile
Passion and love
Flows from your fingertips
Stimulating the desires
Held within my humble being
As they trace the contours
Of my wanting body
Heat builds within my soul
Whispered words of eternal devotion
Caress my ear
Images of happiness and bliss
Dance before my mind’s eye
As your loving light
Shines bright within me
Chasing away the darkness
That has hidden my heart
Your supple flesh
Now lays bare before me
Your beauty and innocence
Now fill my expectant eyes
Gone now are the bindings
That have constricted my emotions
My torment and frustration
Finally set free
And wondrous new feelings
Inhabit this lonely vessel
As exalting expectations
Of a glorious love yet to be
Manifests into a life ready to be lived
Have you heard the national pundits scream?
Joe Biden won the election all clean.
But the numbers look crazy
And if you are not lazy
You can take a look and see what I mean.
Observe Allegheny, see what is meant;
Hundred thousand more votes from shrinking tent;
People are moving away;
Democrat county decay;
Record Dem votes implausible event.
See Maricopa, in Arizona.
Look at Kent, Oakland, Wayne, and Washtenaw.
None of the vote counts make sense,
Look; you’ll not be on the fence;
Vote fraud more damaging than the Rona.
Check out Gwinnett, Fulton, Dekalb, and Cobb.
If you can explain it, I’ll shut my gob.
Voter participation,
Would hold gratification.
If it was not so constricted, but broad.
Examine the vote count and you will see,
Numbers you never see in history.
Vote by mail, horrible plan;
Feast for a dishonest clan.
The numbers shout out, there’s no mystery.
To be a poet
one must be so emotional;
Well, not necessarily.
We're only really capable
of understanding feelings
And investigating our emotions.
It doesn't mean we cry all day,
or pass nights in dark rooms moping.
We have lives; come home from work or get in on a night bus back;
It's from all these experiences
that we can draw out words.
From mundane to extraordinary;
we become inspired.
Our strength is versatility
and life ignites our fire.
We all do not have to be
constricted to intensity
or ponder so seriously
on what it simply means 'to be'.
We can be strong, flirty, mean
or to be brim with confidence.
For, what does 'to be a poet' mean,
if you cannot explore yourself?
8/11/12
----------------------------------------------------------
There is a small soul within every crowd
A soft voice against the senile bickering of the strong
And the small souls wish they would listen
Wish you would listen
But the ears of the majority have been stuffed with pride
The puffed up breads have come out of the oven
And the oven closes on the non-finished
They were never finished
The masterpiece was torn
They ripped off its horn as they lavished in greed
Letting the soul bleed in the cruel wreck of silent despair
As they laugh knowingly and unmercifully
And I am left to listen to the blood trickling, groveling at my feet
I am left to the weak—the strong
The purified—the gone
I do not want to ruin everything by mending
As everyone is breaking I am bending
And my throat is constricted
The air has caught wind of a little soul’s voice
Begging for acceptance. . .for love
For an ear that isn’t breaded with self-indulgence
Crusted in disgust. . .drooping the damned
I am transformed into an image of a god
For this poor, sweet, ignored soul
Lies are his god. . .listen to my words
And rot
Listen as it constricts you—as I inflict you
It is better if I had never existed
I will not be worshipped in this prison!
You are everything to me and nothing
And the cursed breads rise
Sweet scents pour into your flaring nostrils
Watering my sunset eyes
And you see me watch as they turn their minds away
A guide towards lies and sticky debris
You follow the path not caring where it leads
Hearing the voices that refuse to clear their ears
And that therefore blind them
In worry and fear
I caress your tear and swallow
Your words like a vacuum
The disposable bag is always empty with dirt
Like a hearse I drive your body away
My blackness flaring
My horn honking
As everyone is staring. . .not wanting to know what I am carrying inside
Painted in twilight grey, the stars dangle low
over a far vallev where willows bend
in a lone shade, creating lines
of a face disappearing from hazy dew.
Upon stars, a wish holds this sigh
with yearning that you'll be here
to raise my eyes sunny as springtime
through your warmest afterglow...
Now I yearn for those days shimmering,
when fervor's reach
was our ripple of love ...and
how the waves would tremble
while I held the arms that waxed the night.
You never said your heart grew frail
as we ruffled through leaves of byways
mimicking voices on the radio
till lonely tunes stab me...
How I longingly reach out for you.
"Deep Sea Sky Blue"
the contented life
rises and falls
bedded
the treasure chest
is touched briefly
inside a shell opens
constricted mind
of heart swallows
the bends,
it is found
wanting, so
releases
the fast,
changeling
embryo soul,
le enfant terrible
feeling the rips
like selkie
walls of skin
cool and warm
currents sucking
dark and light
kicking out
the within,
a transparent
circle rises
still life
perpetually
repeating
on carnate
incarnates
unstill
the unseen
surfaces
and surveys
the contented life
how it
rises and falls
bedded in shades
and shadows
of gently rising
and plunging
azure
outside
from within
deep sea
sky blue
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
"Sea of Calm", 432Hz
https://youtu.be/u033bj7V9Kw
Life trickled through an hourglass of hurt
Oozing not soothing a nectar of stagnation
He turned the pivot upside and downward
But the aperture never shifted its focus
Narrow and confined he felt trapped inside
Squeezed from outside and within the pain
A kaleidoscope of constricted reflections
Or a rushing mirage on a twisted horizon
He had to shed the load on his shoulders
Trim the drippings of foul shaped remains
Crash the distorted mirror into mere shards
Cut loose from expectations’s compression
Over endless time he began to understand
Surrender requested a change of perspective
And thus he suspended both ends of the timer
From the wild tree of life grappling for meaning
He seized the right angle and remained still
For a succession of a few tranquil moments
Mesmerized he cradled himself from below
Closed his sad eyes and floated above himself
The world flowed on its own without pressure
Began to gather momentum as quietude shaped
A constant reminder that outlooks may change
When seizing the core rather than flawed outlines
When he attempted to measure his progress with
Formulae equations and axioms the centre reverted
To the unwanted chronograph of crushing oppression
And reminded him that letting go meant not to hold on
14th May 2020