Long Core Poems
Long Core Poems. Below are the most popular long Core by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Core poems by poem length and keyword.
We went away at seventeen,
Still green about the ears,
Not knowing that in between
The war and later years
We would be haunted to the core,
Damaged in the head.
We did not return from war;
We brought it home instead.
The fight out there was not as loud
As is the fight inside;
It blankets me, just like a shroud;
Life is a wild ride.
We walk the street, the city roam;
Inside, our souls are dead.
From war we never came back home,
but stayed with it instead.
It’s been so long, but still we see
Their faces in our dreams;
The war goes on for you and me,
Or at least, it seems.
But within, we find our strength,
Our weakness, darkness, light,
We’ve fought and won the war at length,
Out of love, or spite.
I write inside my little book
My verses and my lines;
All the things war from me took
Will come back and be mine.
I hope that you don’t walk alone,
I pray that you still feel.
From war I never came back home,
But from the war I’ll heal.
gently they breathed in and out
reached the tantric mountain
true to the core of all energies combined
prophets of doom came to the hills
eager to dispel the impermanent truth
that yoga is a type of faith
in body mind and soul
but the words they dangled
were only empty oracles
cross legged lotus flowers
opened consciousness and the conscience
that the earth sun and moon
are mere reincarnations of beauty
Shiva and Shakty
captured the breath of all winds
fired by passion
until the tempest subsided
and called for more
13th August 2021
Hidden by glasses dark and thick, what color, the eyes that glimmer?
I often wondered at the intellect hidden deep in those orbs.
Wondered at the mystery that laid back head tilt simmers,
what wife, what child, what family, what allegiances absorbed.
His cheeks are full, his brow is high, the classics he's informed,
but where is his better half, his Juliet, his ritual, his core?
He's cashed away the faceted bits within a dragon's hoard.
Will he ever remove his mask, only Ghanesha knows
yet, I know this, he's one fine chap, his kindness's underscored.
The Poet's name is Kash/Cache/cashed all sound the same in Englsh
hope this play on words is ok.
Tonight, I sit watching ebony skies
feeling the need for silence and seclusion
admiring the glitter and glimmer of stars
before one by one they disappear.
There's no solace found
when one loses luster and then dies.
As its twinkling torchlight flickers,
I drink deeply of its beauty.
In this haunting darkness of night
the taunting of its dimming light
once twilight's tattered tint loses its glint,
a star makes way for the moon to take flight.
I fear the imminence of its daunting death,
the last gasp of celestial breath
as it outshines the galaxy
before its flaming core collapses.
Suddenly, the night grows cold
and dire darkness holds reign
but not from a lofty throne.
Luna's halo has lost its glow.
How stark becomes the emptiness
where a star once heavenly hung.
It's not an illusion of pain...
I feel it as I feel the chill of winter rain.
It's as if into a black hole of stellar mass
it passes through mordant shadows
and I, although I fear the dark
would light a spark as it leaves
and time travel with it as luminance dulls.
If only wings were allowed mere mortals,
the portal they enter, I would breach
to reach its final resting place.
Sometimes, it seems as if in dreams
I follow where faded stars go to die.
Entering the depths of an abyss
from which they are not reborn.
I shiver while watching them flutter
the last pulsing beats
of dying hearts sputter
in demise before my eyes...
never to return to celestial skies.
A somber thought enters my soul,
that soon each dying star will depart
its shimmer veiled then extinguished
as if snuffed because of its beauty.
Stars should not be doomed to dwell
in skies with holes of desolation.
I mourn with miserable melancholy,
the glorious grandeur of its light
each time I see a fading star,
languishing as its journey ends.
A cry escapes my pouting lips
for all that's left of its existence
is stardust clinging to my fingertips.
Sad people don't sing
I thought they were the ones who sang
They sung the blues
Some sing pity-party blues, and
lure others to join in
But silence is a song
I've heard it sung in my sanctuary blue
Men in deep navy blue sang it, too
I watched them with their slain crew
A mighty throng stood strong
Their slain; heroes all along
Sad people don't sing
They'll speak to you in tongues
Make no excuse for tools you use
We guard what's left of our sanity
Freedom's state of mind is for everyone to find
Sad people don't sing
They'll declare your honey, lemon
They will obsess with what they won't fathom
Some wallow, word for word, groaning
The ground they stand on is quick silvery light
Too light for their mood; they'll have party blues
On hard-core land with a mule
Not so fast! Pity-party blues must last
Blue sea and blues melody
Is this your story, your song?
Sad people don't sing
They think the enemy is man?
*
Tuesday by the bay,
Garden tour dazzles;
Wonder now portrays,
Profound joy dangles.
Our first visit here
As monsoon rain wets;
Yet we feel good cheer
Greeting our mindset.
Stroll these spacious grounds,
Eco-friendly space;
Feel earthy surrounds
In timely embrace.
Take the audio trip
As the tram ride springs;
Glimpse a new-found grip
As a message flings.
There is a pulse here
In the atmosphere;
Vibrant garden steers
An amazing sphere.
My love and I feel
The swirl of fond fest:
A vital zest heals
Trials in journey quest.
This green agenda
Tells of plant foliage;
Flora and fauna
In sculptured passage.
A garden city
Comes alive right here:
Elegant beauty,
Poise and prize appears.
There is a deep soul
That waits for each man
To feel once more whole
As eyes search and scan.
Curious eyes caress
Walkway paths and trees;
Slow time can address,
Inner child set free.
The magic of awe
When wonder fills mood;
Watch nature now thaw
A grandeur that's good.
Round and round we go,
Mix and mingle sights;
Loiter with calm flow,
Reach a core delight.
Time once upon yore,
Babylon in myth:
Hanging gardens bore
That fabled fond wreath.
Now within our glimpse,
A touch most telling:
Gardens once a dream,
A sanctuary springs.
True worth speaks tons here,
A tribute to zest;
Earthly presence cheers
The radiance of quest.
Our sojourn tells more
In visual impact;
Primal pulse galore,
Indulge wit and tact.
A certain charm calms,
Mind and heart feel glow;
A firm healing balm
Streams a pretty show.
Curious eyes now spy,
Blooms and colours tint;
Flowers speak and sigh,
Rare and myriad mints.
Variety adds spice
To sensorial sights;
These gardens feel nice,
Craft and work surprise.
Words can only hint
What feasting eyes see;
Experience fine tints
Come to seed beauty.
A picture tells more
Than mere words can say;
Let gardens bring store,
Touch you on the way.
Now our weary feet
Falter with fatigue;
Leave for other streets,
Bear glimpse of magic.
Leon Enriquez
06 January 2015
Singapore
Isn’t she so cute??Isn’t she so sweet??Wow, she’s a muse—charming, fragrant but fragile as a rose.
She’s so quirky, a little crazy, and it shows.?Wow, she’s wonderful,?But Beware, She will knock you off your toes. ?The manic pixie dream girl— darkly delicious, untouchable and free. But let me tell you a secret,?since that girl is me. ?Manic pixie dream girls aren’t fun.?They’re flawed.?Not whimsy—just wacky. They’re not tragically beautiful, they’re just filled with trauma, pain, and tragedy.
I thought it was a strength,?but maybe I’m just manic.?“Jump off a building?”?“Yes. I have wings.” The crazy stuff that sends our loved ones panic.?Forever keeping their core in pain,?forever ignoring our own brain.
Manic pixie dream girls aren’t cute,?they’re psychotic. ?Laughing as I fall like Icarus,?like a phoenix,?like a pair of wings will bloom mid-air,?like the earth isn’t waiting?with teeth to apart, me tear.
And then the crash.?And it’s nothing. Nothingness. Nothing less. ?Not even adrenaline clears the cloud,?the hum— the low steady drumming from a far. ?Booming thunder, crashing, burning into stars.
This burning isn’t holy.?It doesn’t feel divine.?It feels like the earth is shredding,?like an internal quake,?like internal harm.?Like I’m made of broken pieces?wrapped tight in alarm.
And there it is—the hunger comes,?needing the rush again.?Feed it fast,?starve it slow,?just to see it bend.
Feminine Icarus, blazing through the sky,?thinking she could evolve into the sun—
something greater, something immortal.?But now she just smolders,?silent,?unraveled all around. Feels like sinking, spiraling, like an airplane on fire spinning to the ground. Like a grenade tossed and then found.
Manic pixie dream girls aren’t sweet.?They’re exhausted.? They’re exhausting. They’re in pain.? Intense feelings of guilt and shame. They may even make you feel the same.
They’re convinced they can fly—? until let’s go, the sky.
About the poem: She’s not the spark in your movie—she’s the storm you didn’t see coming. Manic, messy, and mesmerizing, she’s crashing through the illusion of cute. This poem explores what it’s like for the girl in the trope and crashing the illusion, by dragging the reader through a manic and crash cycle with no cute package or safe landing.
How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43)
Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 1806 - 1861
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
--------------
A response to above sonnet...
--------------
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I too love thee to the core of my heart
as passion throbs wild and rips me apart,
Forever long for your tight warm embrace,
flows the red constantly through nights and days,
For I do love thee from head till toes,
moments in time putting end to all woes.
True love showing loud and clear on my face
grows tempestuous to its alpine grace,
Only if you could relive faith and trust,
tranquil the writhing soul rests in this crust,
If ought to find peace in this quailing life,
Compassion undone in death ends all strife.
Written Feb 22nd, 2016
For contest by Mystic rose
Inspired by poem by Elizabeth
Brendan ain’t ‘Able’
The teacher preached that we are all ‘different but similar and
love should prevail’ as the ruler came down in seven lashes
on the bare bottom in mathematical precision and so the pattern
was formed in bright red strikes and strides for creativity shelled
Two canes plus three canes had equalled one cane for Brendan lost in
the world of artistry fantasy mild mellowed dreams anticipation of
cruelty abandoned for a more equal world of compassion and kindness
Diversity does not mean we all have to die by the hand of the sword
But the ground rules were laid the nucleus centred the core enshrined
on the altar of learning of fear and conditioning the human condition
Surely Cain had been forgiven while Brendan was not just so able
What a premise to believe all need to be governed by rules and by fear
Brendan himself became governor received medals and glory on the
killing fields of purple hearts while his rainbow receded smouldered
in ashes and blood scripted the fiction that wars must be waged on
others infidels and the weak and the meek who simply don’t learn
Anarchy has been misunderstood for the chaos projected bedevilled
by the teachers and soldiers whose bayonet is the ruler the wooden
spoon for the worst form of governance inflicted by the concept that
we as the people and People could never know best are derided as sheep
Who says it is utopia that we cannot govern ourselves one step at the time
inch by inch like the face on the weapon that had patterned his cheeks
‘Rule thyself not thy neighbour’ let us stand up and rebel oppose the
dominion of dominant forces overthrow the rule and the ruler and live
10th March 2017
My Family
Peeping into past
my reminiscence as child
displays dark shadow.
Mom’s loud negligence
biased treat on my daily need
pricked my self- esteem.
But I was the pearl
of my Dad’s hard core heart.
Grandma bestowed care.
A girl needs her Mom.
Painful childhood wept and wept
being deep deprived.
A lone fighter fought
to get herself established
on satisfaction.
Got fair scope to build
my own family yielding
all treasures of heart.
Two brave brilliant
daughters were blessed by God.
I showed light to them.
They reached their goals
now having own families.
I travel alone.
05/05/16
Haiku on " My Family ' contest
Sponsor marvin celestial