Long Cools Poems
Long Cools Poems. Below are the most popular long Cools by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cools poems by poem length and keyword.
The Philosopher is a single long poem, I apologize for the inconvenience of splitting it
into 2 parts.
He pushes aside the weathered curtain
The colourless tub, the bland tiles, his grey glazed sight
He looks over his shoulder and invites her into his mental fortress
The King philosopher’s decreed writer
Her sole existence is to write his thoughts and greatness as the ideas arise from the
ashes in
the furnace of his mind
Invisible revolutionary phoenixes, a wonder never seen
The writer is a woman, beautiful, his fantasies rule with an iron hammer
He feels nothing for the imaginary woman
His dreams told of respect, of falling in love in its truest form:
The caesarean of his mind, and she would fall in love with the thought burning society
within
So she sat there, somewhere, laptop in hand
The philosopher closes the curtain, undresses, the water is warm
It caresses him like no lover ever has
Unlocks the rusting, fading Iron Gate within, this water that stirs the slumbering giant
within
his flesh
He closes his fragmented eyes
The distorted images disappear and his mind kisses his wounds better
He sighs
In his mind she waits behind the curtain, it must be awkward
He does not smile, but his lips part, and he sighs the heat away
The water cools
The philosopher sits
The small tub is a tight fit, he looks down
The flaws of man so bare before him
He sees them in many a light, riddled with the protruding edges of perception
He tucks his fragmented eyes away
The philosopher looks down on the folds of his flesh again
The hair, the child of nature and god, an unholy affair
His hand runs over his thigh, the meaningless hair, the soft fat
His fragmented eyes see the flaws of society
A misguided shamble of enterprises, the idea of destiny a delusion
His misty eyes see a cripple
He dictates his poem
She writes
He looks up at the curtain, the veil separating him from humility
And he sees its transparency
He sees the inadequacy of definition, of documenting his emotion and the ideas of his
furnace
He realizes the chaos of his being
He looks down again
He sees a handsome man
Thin, fit, comfortable sitting in the tub
Society in acceptance of itself and the reality of its situation, a philosophical utopia
And behind that lie, he still sees a cripple
© Samir Georges 2009
My spirit is locked in a conversation with my soul and my heart is crying out for more, you have stretched me to the limit just to see if I am fit, but I kept going to expose my stamina and my internal strengths . You have defamed my character with an age-old propaganda calling me crazy and mad and this accusation really makes me feel sad.
You have gone above and beyond to steal the joy out of my hand and when you are done you gathered with your friends and cronies to have a celebrative party, mocking my human dignity; and gossiping about me. You kneel in front of the cross every Sunday with silent words dripping from your lips.
I can sense the hypocrisy around you, and witness the devil blowing its breath all over you and when you speak the earth groans at the bitter words coming from your trembling lips.
You have been doing this for years, defying the rules, crossing border, hacking my phone and spreading my information all over the town. Your objectives are not clear and you are sending negative energy everywhere. I want to tell you the truth, take your baggage and get off my name or you are going to go insane.
They will come after you and shake you with all that they have got, and when they are done with you, they will leave you walking without shoe.
The conscripts are on a special assignment and plan to march you up to heaven; they will knead you out on the ground and fire shots in the air and leave you lying there cold and bare .
You work for you and your group but I work for the entire troop in the universe it is positioned at the four corners of the sea where the earth joins it to me and he.
I have been waiting here for a while watching you insulting my indigenous pride, filling the air with smoke, canceling hundreds of flights and sending out notices about unruly passengers.
You are the unruly brat and you have been stealing all that we have got, and when it’s time for us to have some fun your are running around with threats and gun oh what hypocrisy
My Adrenalin is boiling and my spirit is swelling and the sun is burning at a hundred and ten degree, there is a part of me that you have not seen but I will show you when you safely cross the sea, when the temperature cools and my dust is settled destiny will take you on an unforgettable ride.
Cotton Candy the tastiest sugary treat, I love cotton candy and the way that it is made is so unique
Cotton Candy is just confection sugar that is spun around in a bowl, and the sweetness gets its name because it resembles cotton in a field being grown
Cotton Candy used to only be white and then they started adding food coloring to the mix, and this delectable treat received a unique twist
The way that it is made is by heating and liquefying sugar and spinning it around, and once it cools you can’t wait for it to touch your mouth
I love the cotton candy that you get at the carnival on a stick, this brings back so many memories to me when I was younger it all looked like a trick
It looked like a magic wand that you could eat, and nothing tastes as good or as sweet
You can get it in different colors ranging from blue to purple to pink, and when I go to the carnival this is the first thing that I seek
Cotton Candy makes me feel nostalgic and it makes me miss you, we had it at the carnival on our first date when I was with you
We were waiting at the stand and you purchased some for me, we had the one stick between us, so it was romantic and sweet
You would take a bite and then you would offer one to me, I miss these days when everything between us was so carefree
Every time that I step into a carnival it’s still your face that I see, and I must avoid the Cotton Candy because it makes me relive the memories
I can’t even stand to walk by it without having to break down and cry, because this is where we had our first date and I’m still not ready to say goodbye
You were like the cotton candy you were my own taste of sweet, but then how you turned bitter and walked away from me
You spun me like this beautiful confection and turned me into what you thought that I should be, but I couldn’t play that game anymore I had to make you see
That I was real, and I loved you so much more than I could ever say, but you never knew the real me and you still don’t till this day
When you were done with me just like the cotton candy you threw the remainder away, and all that is left is the stick that is lodged into my heart and that is all there is left to say.
This poem is from my book titled Love And Carnival Foods available on Amazon and Kindle. My pen name is Amanda Carroll Kinzer
Come, let us walk this broken street, you and I;
Explore the infamy we share before we die.
After all, will death not seize man's birthright
When this day gives way to night?
Signposts all along the way, today,
Creaking in the autumn wind as they sway
And swing their monolithic rhapsody -
No time to gently die with dignity;
Our tongues so rough and dry
Must see the wasted remnants
Of the world, before we die.
You ask me why?
Observations made though flawed as art,
Is all we have as we depart.
Our eyes observe for those whose
Eyes have long been pearls
Within the locusts' den
Where fog and dust now swirls.
I hear no sound of water's drip -
All is rock and pebbled sod.
No sound of wind-whipped sail
On seabound ship,
Nor voices raised in praise of God.
All be still at His last will!
Come, let us turn this corner to the past,
For there is where we find
All unexpected treasure mined
Will never last;
Our blood can boil
In passion's heat,
But cools and turns to dust
- complete -
After all, will death not seize man's birthright
When this day gives way to night?
Where are the jewels once sparkling in the sun
And woven through her black and braided hair?
The pyramids stand idle, each and every one,
Above the bones that wither there.
Was not their time as equal then
As ours is equal now?
And who should steal the sacredness
Within the sacred cow?
Those who follow desert prophets proud,
Or those without perception
Shouting loudest from the crowd?
Hear the purloined jester chuckle from the grave.
His light and airy voice spoke truth
About the grayness of the cave -
Plato's shadows tell the tale,
How reasoned men will surely fail.
After all, will death not seize man's birthright
When this day gives way to night?
Come, and you will see the mystery
That none have seen before -
The glory of society
Before the tyranny of war.
Nothing stays unique
Beneath this vast expanse of sky -
Lest brightness buries bleak
Which is unique,
As you and I pass by.
Come, if you will,
Notice all these brittle leaves
Upon the broken street,
So still,
As autumn breezes cease - complete.
After all, did death not seize man's birthright
As this day gave way to night?
I want to believe
In that enormous green tree
Appearing here, alive in the spring
Foliage, decorating its thing
Bark firm and strong
I sit under, pondering life’s wrongs
Its shade, cools me
While I sip summertime tea
Watch and wonder
Afternoon storms arrive, declaring thunder
Wet
I do not get
Umbrella branches
Protecting me as the heavenly water dances
When the shower calls it quits
Ending the daily tantrum fit
I endure our sloppy, muddy setting
Enjoying an arbor relationship consecrated wedding
That will never break
No matter the stake
Calendar date flips
My tree starts to strip
One leaf at a time
I start to whine
Why? Why?
Are you starting to die?
Winds start booing
Chiming, ‘how are you doing?’
Then emerges a star
A friend from afar
Guide me my northern light
I ask this visiting galactic bright
Glowing in the dark
Proclaiming a hark
“You want me to cut down my tree,
Bring it in the house, for all the see
Dressed up, displayed ever so nice
My darling paid the ultimate price
But now is the center of attention
Did I mention?”
I thought about this suggestion
Decided saving money, due to a planted shrubbery recession
Axe I handled
Feeling wax on my candle
Going the festive way
My tree will have one last say
Planned the attack
Took only one whack
Out went my back
Sending my love to the ground
Hearing the deathly earth bound
Sound
Music occupied the air
During scheduled holiday affairs
Creating memories my tree and I will share
Until one morning
Without any warning
A stranger put packages under my tree
Glittering with glee
Realizing what was done
We started to have fun
Throwing wrapping paper around
Cherishing the merchandise we have found
Days later new year joined the party
Everyone stayed upbeat, not sorry
I stared out the window
And what do you know
Another tree ready to grow
And bloom
Wanting my companionship soon
Humming our favorite, seasonal tunes
Greetings to you all
I exclaim, dragging my spruce honey down the hall
I'm afraid that this poem was too long to post in one part; here's Part 2, full title:
Dragons Make Great Heating Systems
(Until They Discover That There’s More To Life…)
The next month we received two plane tickets, for free,
to go out to old “CA”; his life film to see.
In a bookstore he autographed our copies and then we had tea;
the manager was told, we were his, “Family”.
“Such a gifted young dragon you folks have raised.”
He declared, he shook both our hands and pulled up a chaise.
“You folks have given us all a great gift;
your dragon, his talents, our spirits did lift.”
A free tour of the studio, we got that week and on the weekend,
we went fishing, in dragon's favorite creek.
We got autographed pictures and souvenirs’ galore;
we’d never seen such publicity before.
Back home we flew and to our surprise;
our piano, we heard, was playing inside.
“That piano is ours!” I shouted and rushed through the door;
it was no surprise; I should've known, of course.
There sat our new dragon, playing without any care.
“Welcome home”, he said, “come and see what I’ve prepared”.
He’d cooked up a giant supper, for us to eat;
it included steamed pears, cole slaw and even chipped beef.
Wine he had poured as we took our seats;
such a succulent display of tasty delicacies.
We knew what would happen, as he filled our plates;
when he showed us the cookbook, he’d written, to date.
So just know, if for heat, a dragon you choose;
be prepared with a backup, for he, you will lose.
Especially if his insomnia reigns, if he dreams, is creative;
your life will soon change.
We ate very well for a couple of years;
then our eyes, once again, shed big giant tears.
Here came the plane tickets; we had a great trip.
We toured his studio kitchen; grew larger bellies and hips.
Home once again, we received another treat;
Dragon three’s an inventor, though he can’t boil a beet.
He’s managed to build us a new heating device;
in the summer it cools, like we’re sitting on ice.
It costs nothing to run and dragon three’s fame;
We all celebrated with a glass of champagne.
All the dragons will visit, on the big holidays
and we feel very blessed, that they share our family name.
(Note: it is rare that I make drastic changes to anything I write, but a friend made some suggestions about changing my poem DEATH OF MADAMOISELLE duPONT, and I agree with her. Here is the change, I believe it makes a much stronger poem...and very timely."
DEATH OF A GAY MADAMOISELLE
Dear Stella, there's your path, into the park,
deep shadows hide the trees along the Seine,
the quiet of the night accents the dark
and you can feel your breathing now and then.
The peaceful gloom, enveloped by a mist,
all black and gray and shades of morbid white,
accentuates the place your eyes have missed,
where someone waits, who's watched you every night.
This place, where gendarmes warn to be aware,
tonight is more foreboding than you've known,
and so you pause; you look; is someone there?
it's then you realize, you are alone.
The snapping of your heels you hear increase,
as if the hurry puts your mind at peace.
Engulfed, the path leads up and from the Seine,
and then you'll be out of this narrow pit,
but suddenly you feel the eyes again,
much closer than a glove too small to fit.
You struggle with your thinking, in a word,
to flee or just pretend no one is there,
and so you hum a tune you've never heard,
and place your safety in your mother's prayer.
Oh, Stella, Stella, in the spring you'll wed,
your sweet Marie, believe she's at your side,
and you will laugh at all this gloom and dread...
though courage might have found you, it has lied.
The shadows all are moving; you can hear
the breathing of someone who's all too near.
The quiet; crickets sounding no alarm,
but now a drizzle rain cools at your heat,
and tingles flowing down onto your arm
remind you of the friends you'll never meet;
quite suddenly, she's grabbed you from behind,
and muffles any sound you might have found,
you cannot scream, to hurt is in your mind,
but she's too quick, she's pinned you to the ground.
Who is this thing, your lover or your friend,
you might have pained...why does she want you dead?
or is this just someone who brings the end,
you've never known, with killing in her head?
You feel no teardrops, feel no blood nor fright,
there's only pain, then blinding, blinding light....
© 2003 ron wilson aka veebdosa
A winding road, up through the trees, finds California gold
The heart will race, and breath escapes, to see this land unfold!
Dad cherished, this, his boyhood home, a wonderland to view
and shared with us the years he grew, into a the man we knew
A home he loved so long ago, but never quite outgrew
Our family albums back at home, held pictures of lost years
When Gramps had been a mountain guide, my heritage is here
When summer came and school was done,..our family couldn't wait
To camp, explore, and marvel ore', this jewel at Heaven's gate
No picture, song, or poetry, prepares astonished eyes
The valley called Yosemite, invites a heart's delight
Hidden in the canyons of Sierra's mountain glade
Immortal is a valley, which was carved by glacier's blade
Winter melts to spring, again to quench the giant trees
Dogwoods lace the forest floor, azaleas scent the breeze
Redwoods dig their roots between the stones that reach the sky
Earth and sky meet hand in hand, where eagles nest and fly
The Bridal falls, the granite faces, we stuttered to describe
The meadows green, the mirrored lakes, Ahwahnee lodge resides..
The Mercy River cools the brow, in awe of what surrounds
Embrace the peace as evening falls, that mummers nature's sounds
El Capitan, and Half Dome seem to reach the stars so high
Reflect upon old stories told of fire in the sky
A fire built upon the cliffs, then sounds of ancient cries
A call from down below would rise,... would echo from above
And rocks would pour a flaming veil, and spill a song of love
The call of love, from tribes that roamed, a hundred years ago
Days long ago, my childhood eyes, were dazzled under stars
We'd sit around the campfire light, he'd sing and play guitar
We looked upon the granite face of Half Dome, overhead
And watch the burning embers fall, and hear a song so sad
A native call still fills the dark, within the heart of me
A place where soft light still cascades, and Daddy sang to me
................................................................................................................................
A look at Yosemite:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y5RQp77uVPA
The attire was set ablaze,
Consumed by a mystical haze,
A moment lost in sudden daze,
All sparked by a reckless craze.
He poured his heart in investments,
Joy climbed high with increments.
But wealth, with weighty requirements,
Turned triumphs into bleak laments.
And when the errors made their rounds,
He found himself in ruin’s bounds.
Instead of wins and hopeful dreams,
His world unraveled at the seams.
He set his own attire aflame—
All he’d gathered, all his claim.
Before he even saw the shame,
The ashes whispered his own name.
He traded cauldrons for a bowl,
Chased greed, losing self-control.
Blinded by desire’s toll,
Now stripped and shattered, heart and soul.
Under the sun, his treasures burned,
From riches to rags, the tables turned.
No cloth to cover, just empty strife,
A glimpse of his once lavish life.
The fire took it all away—
Dreams that seemed too bright to fray.
He watched them crumble in dismay,
And tried to fight, but lost his way.
Now peace eludes his troubled mind,
Extinction comes, the ties unwind.
In pools of tears, he finds no rest,
For silly desires that failed the test.
The fire roared and took its prize,
Leaving him to realize
Success demands more than his eyes—
It needs the heart, the soul, the rise.
He got what he wanted, then it was clear,
Desire brings more than it may appear.
Without wisdom or patience near,
He lost what he held dear.
Regret now cools his fiery pride,
He sees his blindness magnified.
Relief? It comes in waves so thin,
Yet the sting still lingers within.
No more crocodile tears to shed,
For no one cares, the cold instead
Will bite and gnaw, his only dread.
His dares have left him hanging by a thread.
They warned him not to take the road
Of selfishness with such a load.
But careless ears turned from advice,
He chased his wants and paid the price.
Now the boomerang swings back,
The song of trouble beats its track.
Remember all the boasts and tags?
Now a weaver stands in rags.
The race is lost, the shame is here,
The path ahead is less than clear.
But maybe, tracing back his stride,
He’ll find the strength he once denied
A simple recipe of water, silt, soil and clay
Nature's potion; so powerful, so useful, so dangerous
Uncontrollable and untethered is this egalitarian mixture
Loved and loathed by human and animal
Low tide, the muddy shores of the Victorian Thames beckoned
The ragged-clothed mudlark scavenged for anything he could sell
Scrap iron, animal fat, coal, pieces of rope and canvas - the daily fayre
Few pennies for bread and beer, so cruel for the young, orphaned, homeless child
They came to Woodstock and Glastonbury with a light heart
Tens of thousands flocked to share music and the experience
Rain-turned fields of mud bound them together
They freely left muddied, smiling and uplifted
Yet, in another time the mudscape of the battlefield was the real enemy
The toxic mix of natural mud contaminated with human bi-products
Was the welcome each new trench soldier received
It oozed into the very soul of every pawn on both sides
In another place, Musgum people are at one with the earth
The simple beauty of their mud huts lingers on
Tall conical form cools the summer heat
Outside, geometrical patterns channel the monsoon rains
Elsewhere, acrid black smoke hangs over the valley like a spectre
Families live and work in squalor, slaves in all but name
A child finishes a mud brick her father moulded and her mother will bake
India’s economic miracle built in the mud hell of the poor
Strong, viscous, colourfully rich
Powerful images of mud stencils of the street
Dramatic forms of the land artist’s river mud
Subtle negative spaces in mud cloth designs
Yet in one moment, nature's art supersedes
The deadly ride of everything in the mudflow’s path
The open wound of a hillside landslide
The jigsaw pattern in sun-baked mud of a riverbed
The figurative use of mud exudes negative undertones
Worthless and polluting, it described sixteenth century people and things
Mixed with a sense of extreme, an insult it soon became
Dragged through the mud by mudslinging of others, your name becomes mud
Mud, O glorious mud
You take no sides, you give no quarter
Fluid in your journey, solid in your destiny
Eternal existence assured