Long Constriction Poems
Long Constriction Poems. Below are the most popular long Constriction by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Constriction poems by poem length and keyword.
this existence is meaningless
i don’t understand
i don’t understand
why me?
the cliché echoes in empty air
but is amplified in my soul
as no other question
holds such validity
as this.
this existence is meaningless
i am out of control
the tears that seem to be perpetually
running down my cheeks
i don’t even feel their dampness
on my skin
they just reabsorb and recycle
back into more tears
a loop never-ending
and vicious
giving no relief from the constriction
in my throat and chest
not even to breathe
this existence is meaningless
and this small apartment
seems to close in around me
compressing my thoughts
into a ball
hardly recognizable, hardly coherent
except a call of help
except a scream of pain
to which there is no answer
except resounding silence.
this existence is meaningless
i lose my grip on reality
as the world falls away
and all i can see is the people
the hot burning gas of stars
burning brightly
brightly laughing at me
as i spin quickly
into oblivion.
this existence is meaningless
“I sword to God that I’d never be
What I’ve become”
and yet my faith
as if i had any to begin with
has faded in the background
of my life
i cannot tell anymore
between happiness
and sadness
they say you need one
to have the other
but they both feel the same to me now.
this existence is meaningless
“Nobody’s home
Broken inside”
i hear words sung
and hear thoughts mimicked
or recognize their repetition
in everything i see
what comes through my senses
is filtered through the lens
my mind puts up
drunk and staggering
on toxic tears.
this existence is meaningless
i am held
but feel not the arms around me
i am immune to the love rained down on me
it rolls off
discarded in a pool at my feet
and my wall to the outside
is not permeable
i can see out
but no one can see in
and nothing
comes through
to effect or change
the bitter turn my heart has taken
i am walking now
on a path that moves underneath me
so that i go nowhere
even if i run
the only place i reach
is the ground
as i collapse from exhaustion.
this existence is meaningless
and no matter how hard i try
to find a point
this life i lead
doesn’t lend itself
to questioning
and so stays mute
while i am left with a sinking feeling
that things will never change.
This is the story of something we’ve seen, a dangerous force that’s invaded our streets.
Something so deadly, no mercy it shows. It leaves such destruction wherever it goes.
Just like a predator hunts out its prey, attacking each obstacle put in its way.
Like the sting of a bee or the bite of a snake, it happens so quickly-and then it’s too late...
Now, life as we knew it has changed overnight, the worlds grabbed its armour and set out to fight.
You may think I’m speaking of Covid-19, a virus that’s brought the whole world to its knees...
But no, I am using my words to convey how humanities breaking-it pains me to say....
Confusion, delusion means forgone conclusions; forces combine to make nuclear fusions.
This story I tell has been told over time, it is frightening, enlightening, yet no pantomime.
There’s no romance, no humour, no perfect life lesson, it’s tense with suspense and leaves all the world guessing.
This story’s no fiction, it’s honest and true, it’s the realisation we’re all living through.
These next words I’ve written jump up off the page, they pull at my heartstrings and fill me with rage...
Stigmatisation and discrimination, I cry out to God for the whole of creation.
Harassment, and prejudice; victimisation, of course it’s a story of deep-rooted racism.
Affliction, constriction and blatant damnation, I fall to my knees as I pray for our nations.
So, Corona descended and started a war, but it seems there’s a battle we need to fight more. I’d invite every person, in fact I implore, you examine your hearts, and your thoughts-are they pure?
See the world is in crisis, in conflict, and pain; will we really allow this injustice to reign?
Let’s choose our words wisely, be kind, show respect. Let’s look to the future and all re connect. Embrace all our difference, we must recognise-it’s not that which is causing the human divide.
We have the ability to reach perfect unity, fight against racism-built herd immunity!
Let’s all change our future and learn from the past, we can’t let this hatred and prejudice last. So, let this time now be our realisation, lets spread peace and joy to all civilisation. For the sake of mankind and for all our survival, let’s make 2020 a whole world revival!
19.08.2020
You can see this performed at: https://youtu.be/6AnzvlMDK0k
IN THE BLUEBELL WOODS AT SHOTLEY BRIDGE
Shotley Bridge woods must no longer exist
Though I looked for them often as an adult.
Eventually I stopped looking fior the woods.
However, I often recalled them in my mind’s eye,
And relived the events of one afternoon
When I must have been about four years old.
It was summer, and like all summers
Recollected from one’s early childhood
It seemed an intensely hot affair.
No indication that mum and I were going to escape
The constricted terraces and cobbled streets of Gateshead,
The vinegar factory and the tram lines
Which were burning to the touch
That hot summer’s day.
How far? How long? Who knows?
My child’s lack of time sense…..
To tell the truth I may even have dozed off.
But we must have walked some short way –
All I can recall is suddenly
Being in the tranquil cool shade of the bluebell woods :
All the glaring heat
And noisy constriction were gone.
The air of the glade was deep and cool. It was given a life
Other than just moving molecules of gas
By some distant stream’s faint swirling sound -
Like woodland fairies dancing on tissue paper,
The air seemed to speak to me
In the whispered language of the stream,
And its soothing tones
Caressed my hot four-year-old cheeks.
With shoes and socks thrown off,
My bare legs were soon damp from the knees down
With brushing through the moist grasses
Of the woods’ floor as I ran here and there
To whichever bunches of wildflowers caught my eye.
My eyes were drowned in the sea of green.
Above my head was a sky completely filled
With translucent leaves of birch and beech,
And all around at shoulder height there seemed
To be waving ferns at the foot of every tree.
Undefoot, a spongy carpet of last year’s leaves
And this year’s grass crumped slightly
And sprang back into place
As I passed by,
As if I’d never been there at all.
I can recall picking armfuls of wildflowers
And dumping them on mum’s lap.
So many kinds of flowers
Came to my over-eager hands,
And their names in those days were unfamiliar to me.
There were spreading red campions
In places where a little sun shimmered
Down to the woodland floor.
There were ox-eye daisies swaying proud
And tall above the crowd
Of golden coltsfoot.
the tears quietly leave my eyes
but their path does not seem
to have a rhyme or reason
and they have no destination
no purpose but to outline
my ‘self-imposed misery’
with glistening and watery pain
i want to cry
every hour of the day i want
to cry out and shout my anger
at a world that doesn’t give me
answers to my desperately
fervently whispered questions
and i wish on every first star
i can find hoping
that my prayer will be granted
and this all ends
lost and dead inside
i float through an existence
filled with silent sobs
and nights of lasting agony
not from anything valid
just from the disgusting and despised
life i make my self live
yet if i knew how to escape
without being gone forever
if i knew how to fix
this hole in my heart i would
do it and be happy after
and not have to worry about this
pressure in my chest and this constriction
in my throat and the nasty creature
that gnaws at my insides
the creature that is anger and
depression two sides of the same coin
with terror sandwiched in between
these free-flowing thoughts that course through
my fingers and out onto this screen
do not seem to have direction or any
order and truly they don’t
except to highlight the darkness in my
soul that buries deeper into the shadows
every minute the blackness that engulfs me
grows stronger and i pant
out of breath i try to reach
the lighted surface but am held down by
the tendrils of agony that have
wrapped around me
the tears quietly leave my eyes
but i make not a sound
alone as i am
there is no need to let anyone know
of the knife protruding from my chest
and the needles that pierce my mind
letting these ramblings leak out
and drip onto the page
where they lose all meaning and are
only a jumble of words trying and failing
to shift into coherent sentences
akin to the pieces of my life
that are racing to fit together
into the picture they are supposed to
create but the salt water is melting the
paint and the colors are bleeding
until i am unrecognizable just
pigment no living painting
in the sight which is blinded by
the tears that quietly leave my eyes
and drop to the floor.
Each night lurid visions danced before me in the dark
staring with eyes of an eagle, sharp beak of a hawk.
I woke, and in the mirror, my face was white as chalk,
screaming with the brazen voice of a raven's squawk.
It seems I'd been struck with some cursed malediction.
That's what a shrink said, "It's an abnormal infliction.
I'd like to observe you for a time, under constriction
and also suggest you might pray for a benediction."
Did he believe I was sick enough for extreme unction?
Or standing at the crossroad of a mental malfunction?
Anger was building, and I had the wild compunction
to run away before he ordered a restraining injunction.
He ran after me shouting, "I'm afraid you're delirious!"
I laughed out loud and shouted back, "Are you serious?
You won't lock me up! Stop acting so damned imperious."
Then voices started whispering. It was quite mysterious.
DELIRIOUS? NO, NOT ME!!!
Go away and let me be!
I heard them rant all day and night, in shadowed halls,
snarling voices calling my name from within the walls.
In dreams they cried out for me in deep guttural calls
I cowered in a corner each time I heard their footfalls.
What trick were they using to infuse me with insanity?
They moved much too close, robbing me of my vanity
I cursed them with vile words of unleashed profanity
then thought, is this a case of psychotic inhumanity?
Anger became the flint to ignite the flames of my fire
Each whisper became a thorn, condemning me a liar.
On and on they chanted, like evil demons in a choir
as the walls of my deep abyss rose higher and higher.
The beasts never tear my flesh; they claw at my soul.
I'm suffering with emotional stress and losing control.
There's no virtue left inside of me that I can still extol.
I'm being swallowed into cryptic depths of a sinkhole.
DELIRIOUS? Is it possible I may be?
Fiendish laughter vexes me.
August 9th, 2020
N-A Rerun 10 Contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Original Post Date: July 24th, 2020
Written for the Delirium Contest
Thankfully wife as helpmate available,
when yours truly feels unswell
her tender loving care can spell
relief afflicted which she can hopefully quell
but spouse of mine, he doth not aim to oversell
nevertheless counterpart valued
as once me Matty Mattel
prized boyhood toy unfailingly and unstintingly
reflected, mirrored and kickstarted mood to kvell
and encapsulate impossible mission,
thus now grown lad with sincerity does impel
to communicate how thoughts gel
regarding how the missus tries to expel
his physical displeasure
while sequestered within B44 prison cell
as dark shadows creep along the edge of night
surreal as ghosts made manifest
courtesy fratricidal brothers Cain and Abel.
The charming primary physician
at Patients Matter Always (Doctor York Yang)
prescribed Amoxicillin 500 MG Capsules
one capsule three times a day.
Two days since visit with
aforementioned medical practitioner I went
and thus far, no reduction
to swallow without great strain,
hence crafting reasonable rhyme I vent,
which lame endeavor
marginally alleviates torment
rendering swallowing painful
despite depending
on above pharmacological medicine
synthesized courtesy countless
top notch star students
upon landing dream job
able, ready and willing to pay rent
at pricey residences
with regal names such as Kent
Village Apartments, Kent Place Residences,
versus drab Highland Manor
which costs me one hundred ninety red cent
every month, no doubt a bargain
yet absent amenities
most every tenant here would assent.
Although prone to experiencing chills
still slight drawback extra frills
case in point on site medic clinic
would be grand for folks
long in the tooth
regarding being old, yet over the hills
and far away Teletubbies come to play
attempting to draw out child within
once garden variety Jacks and Jills
unfortunately many youngster
plucked by steel mills
decades later in their dotage
heavily rely on magic potions and pills
to facilitate basic ambulatory skills.
Do you love God?
Do you feel like you need to
Go a church in order to worship Him?
God does not want you to go to church
To worship Him
He wants you to worship Him right there and then
He does not want religion
Tradition, restriction
He wants you to be free
From any constriction
He wants your love
And a relationship with you
He cares for you
And does not want to strap you
Tie you down to a post
You can be free and be whatever with Him
And He will see you for who you are
Not what you appear or act like at the time
He wants you to say whatever that is on your mind
To Him
And not feel like you have to fix it
The right way
So He would hear it
You don’t have to wait until you are perfect
To come to Him
You can come to Him right now
In your glory days
In your downtrodden days
In your doom days
He does not want you to fix you
He will do that
That is no one’s job but His
Do you think you are too messed up
To come to Him?
You think He’d rather see a perfect you
Or a torn broken one in need?
Do you see Him for who He is
God
The One who is
And was everything?
He is your tomorrow
He is your yesterday
And He is your today
You can’t live without Him
He is your life
The first breath you take
And all after are from Him
He gives you what you need
He creates in you an image of Him
The one that you think
When you think of God
That is Him
So when you think of Him
Be sure to say hello
God is not going to bite you
Chase you down with a stick
And knock you senseless
Though you need some sense
Put into you
Lol
He who is so proud
That thinks he is above help
Will surely fail
And He is too humble
That thinks he is beyond help
Will surely get a lesson
No one is above help
Beyond help
Take care of yourself
And let God take care of you
Talk to Him, will you?
Goodbye, Odie
My little old cat is dying.
His steps are awkward, eyes unfocussed
and he cries when he can’t see me.
I’m not sure I want to be in a world
that doesn’t have my tabby Familiar.
I am feeling widowed, again.
I’m resigned to be grieving, again
outliving another love who is dying.
There’s odd comfort in this ache, the strange familiar.
I gaze at him imploringly, in tears, unfocussed.
He is my greatest love in our small world.
He reaches out a snow- capped paw to tap me.
Here I go again, making it all about me,
fighting to accept death must happen, again.
It seems that these past years, this is my world,
sitting by the bedside of the dying,
as they gaze at unseen figures in the room, unfocussed,
but they hear them, and they smile, voices familiar.
I push my face in soft ginger fur, the scent familiar.
He always smelled like vanilla cookies, to me.
Green eyes stare into mine, they’re focussed.
I watch as death opaques the life from eyes, again.
I hear my husband’s voice as he was dying;
“I am tired. It’s time to leave this world.”
Death has been a constant in my world,
an entity with which I’m too familiar.
Such a selfish act on the part of the dying,
to love me absolutely, then leave me.
I feel the empty chest constriction of grief, again.
I clutch a lifeless body, I am unfocussed.
I can’t see through tears, unfocussed.
Odie leaves a gaping hole in my world.
I’ll struggle with condolences, again.
My grief is in my chest, pain so familiar.
The last time one I loved held on to me
while completing the evolution of dying.
No longer unfocussed, I rise to greet grief, again,
it’s now my world and it enfolds me,
my dark, familiar partner in the dance of dying.
how clever a peck on the cheek, a kiss on the head
a hug with a boa constriction for the parents i love.
how cruel this fate of social isolation, to stunt the breath
of this illusion, that i might have them more and more times.
the kiss off of a mother’s day and all things pretty and wrinkled.
a jolly show of faces — did i once think the actors could slink
through a small or large screen. we haggle with time, dressing
up in effects, wrapping backgrounds, like furs, around caricatures
of ourselves — astronauts, cross-dressers, punk. my mom
holds a very dry martini — six olives on a skewer in empty glass.
we kin do amuse one another and the claustrophobic togetherness
where a normal situation would have us wandering, appetizering,
sidewinder-chitchatting, fobbing the keys of a remote control,
checking seconds and minutes for appropriateness of slipping
out the door — that of course, for bored spouses, who love
the in and out of screen time and beg to screen all holidays this way
while a bored housewife wants for the drive that spurs one on
toward childhood — a link between life and death, playful
joy of trinkets and melodious voices soothed by the setting years;
the wrinkle of time sells all anger, judgment, unkindness —
the baggage that weighs down elephants, the infantile crawl
of bondage. Now the rocking of Brumbies, snail’s pace of sunset
grace of a gray nest, cascading shoulders, ears out of tune
but pure-gold’s love — the plinking strings of a plentitude heart.
Mom and Dad cheer with glistening glasses, their merry martinis
marvel at their wealth — one olive, three olivettes grin at them.
5/11/2020
Non-rhyming couplets
Author:
Fernando Ceballos Lachica
3HOPE
I sit alone in the dark feeling lonely
My loneliness lingers
As the last drop of rain
Have gone away
I breathe the warm rays of sunlight
And feel life's enlivening all around me
Yet, cannot dwell within me
I hear the delight
Cast by a million multicolored flowers
Against a backdrop of life-giving streams
No longer locked from the movement
By the oppressing cold
I can feel the spirits
Of eternal joy
Reach out with fingers
With either...my heart and soul
Only to get so close
Then fade away
Into the engrossing sound
Of my beating heart
With each pound...
The blood flows
But cannot control the rupturing
With each pump...
It becomes closer and closer
To the single dull-witted note
Amidst a chorus of shrewdness
With each nodal constriction...
It reverberates
The relentless walls of Ego's Tower
Protruding a lifetime above me
Each beat...becomes double
Each second...becomes a cosmos
Created by the perfectly harmonic structure
Of my sorrow
In a world of parabolic wonders
I see only
The hues of my transparent prison
Faded
To a perfect seamless gray
In a hopelessness
Declining
Into the deepest strata
Of selfishness
I cry...from pity...I cry...
With tears
Blurring the world
I wander
On roads of sadness
And darkness
On the perpetual
Wheel of failure.
I see it...
A Glimmer...
Yes!
A sparkle...
A distance too great
To comprehend; Yet it is there
I am drawn to it…
I am pulled…
As I struggle
With each advancing moment
I try to get away…
I turn to retreat…
Into my tower…
It protected me.