Long Counterpoint Poems
Long Counterpoint Poems. Below are the most popular long Counterpoint by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Counterpoint poems by poem length and keyword.
Polypaths
lead neuro-systemically back
to Mother/Child original wombed attachment
A remarkably warm
and wet counterpoint
to a sterile anthrosupremacist theory
of Original Separating Sin.
Instead,
in this organic preternatural
panentheistic
spiritual experience
of win/win healthy wealth,
co-attachment overrides win/lose
zero-sum compromised
competitive relationships
Patriarchal
and capitalist self creationships
come later
as post-partum polarizing issues
aggravated by contemporary
climate pandemic anxious
post-millennial expectations
Not supporting child-conceiving,
child-weaving,
child-rearing maternal
maturing ecofeminist instincts
Substituting win/lose separation anxieties
EarthMother apartness
sacrilegious loneliness
autistic detachment
relentless aching solitude
absence of warm humane touch
and transcendently divine revision
Moving toward lose/lose claustrophobic
degeneration of a healthy
maternally wealthy
root secure resilient attachment
AND
devoid of a wealth-feeling child
securely unwounded, emerging
from EarthMother's green womb
of co-enlightenment
spiritually opening
and then naturally closing
then co-empathic redisclosing
remembering tombs of ancient co-intelligence
multigenerational
interdependent webs
integrating EarthTribe enlightened
empowerment.
Original Sin
implies our Creator of Integrity
made us
an anthropomorphic mistake
Inadequately assumes
that humanity's spirituality
is dualistically severed
from divinity's naturality;
that Yintegral deep Flow
is not also Yang widely polycultural Strength
of polypathic cooperation
This, in turn,
confuses a LeftBrain monotheistic dominant
either/or unmindful anthrosupremacist way
of ZeroSum calibrating
win/win regenerative
analogical health/wealth
Child/EarthMother care
Which could not support
Lose/Lose Original Sin
of degenerative genocide
inspiring evangelical red terrorist
desperate,
Seize the AnthroSupremacist Day,
ecocide.
EMPTY SPACE
an aesthetic
experience
is the image
nothing
occupies
time& space
contradictions
both
proliferate
&
sit
in counterpoint
the timeframe
is over
then
revived
differently
in continual
inventiveness
slipping
through
our fingers
exploding
the concept
increasingly
participation
controls us
passively
slipping
from
freedom
once more
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
GLOSSARY
Art
suffused
with
the
spirit
of
energy
compels
then
stumbles
amid
& within
the
conceptual
counterpoint
of
the
irresponsible
a
surging sense
of
the possible
inspiring
the
memorable
in
the unusual
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
Van Gogh’s chair sits patiently
with the stubborn dignity
of something that has held
more weight than wood should bear.
Its legs splay slightly,
as if tired from listening
to the long monologues
of a man who painted
as though the world
were always on fire.
A pipe rests on the seat~
a small, domestic witness
to his restless hours,
the way he paced the room
searching for a color
that could tell the truth.
The straw seat glows
with a worn, sunlit patience,
a quiet counterpoint
to the fevered strokes
he left on every wall.
And the room around it
leans in,
holding its breath,
as if the chair
might speak at last
and tell us
what he carried
when he sat down
and let the world
fall away.
Two people on the beach in Malibu
gazed at the ocean linking their two lands.
One of them was me. One of them was you.
To a drumbeat, deep, we were joining hands.
The waves and the rhythm of our young hearts
kept time to a flowering melody,
punctuated by cautious stops and starts,
lovely point and counterpoint by the sea.
A tasty dinner, Ye Olde King's Head,
then home, as I recall (though old and grey),
how on this journey, you were gently led,
as we found heartfelt treasures on our way.
It was like a gift given from above.
Your first time was when I first fell in love.
Take this compliment,
It is for the Jazz in you.
So much the pleasure it gives me
To know you.
Every time a countless shout I make
I know I make it
For the Jazz in you.
You could work your way
To unmatched originality, all
For the Jazz in you.
Your lifestyle and your propensity
Recalls syncopation
For the Jazz in you.
Take the life how hard it is
But with subtlety,
Treat the people how harsh they be
For the Jazz in you.
So, I extend my compliments
A thousand times to you
For not wanting to be
Like anybody else, before or since,
All for the Jazz in you.
So keep it up, the Jazz in you.
To make you to achieve Milestone.
You create excitement in one,
Like syncopation and counterpoint,
While you remain very natural
For the Jazz in you.
From de Film: NIGHT FALL
------------------------------
they implanted a computer chip in her
and he wishes to retreive it.
Simple enough huh?
---------------------
He is Sköning
Jag är sexig
Du är så vacke
Jag vill ha dig
Får jag kyssa dig?
Älskling
-------------------------
occasionally eerie rhythm
Sweeping, lush violins
carry the melody
dark, heavy cellos and
double basses add
counterpoint and suspense.
the bold, loud, and
menacing stabs
The backbone of
the spy sound
driven by a
double bass
or electric bass
a drum kit,
and piano
Sleazy big-band feel
provide a moody
Lushy unobtainable
woman kinda feel
heavily twangy, surf-rock
acoustic/electric guitar riff
---------------------------------
"Vísceras is my name
you only have to hear it once to remember it
such they say."
" Perhaps a lesson in loyalty is needed:
you seem to lack passion:
it's a the enthusiasm for loving me!"
" He trusted to and became unusable,
could it have been the woman lack the kind
and sincere needing for him; or
maybe he just didn't understand the dynamics of
communitive love "
"extraction often leaves the host less favorable doesn't it?"
'Antagon?, The full opposition of what? How dare you!
To define me, How dare you to define me!"
-----------------------------------------------------------
I begin the day buying yogurt in a small
favorite grocery store. The clerk
a man of few pretenses was making jokes
about his wife, how they fight in bed.
Discovering the better stores in the community.
In a given day, isolated from friends,
I speak to few people. An old woman
asks me for directions to the post office
or I speak to a stranger over the phone about night work.
At home my every thought comes to the counterpoint of a dream:
a girl I love surprises me by knocking on the window.
I ply my arts all day alone.
After this silence like being hidden away in the woods
in a cabin, bored
but owing no member of society an explanation,
invitation to a party. A flow of wine and devilish drugs
and quickly I am making a fool of myself.
My new friends like me
but when they think about me at all,
they wonder.
Wandering home
through the midnight air, alone again,
free, admiring
the ghostly houses of my new neighbors
by new moonlight.
The river
still finds its brown way
through the city's glass
and concrete canyons
until finally reaching
the bay. Its tidal breath
has become my own.
I live near its mouth.
I was not born here
but have spent more
than half my life
a citizen of its urban sprawl.
The roots I've sunk
hang off a sense of home.
There is an ease
in living here where the old
and the new, the familiar
and strange exist
in counterpoint and house
the needs of the gregarious
and the chafed nerves
of the recluse. Cafes
serve good coffee.
In the shadows
of apartment towers,
old men can shuffle easily
down the gentle slope
of asphalt paths,
carrying words or a rod
and sit quietly
at the water's edge
with their thoughts,
fishing for bream or God.
Upon a time not so long ago
I saw these things, and locked them away,
Treasures in memory's secret stores:
A sunrise of Apocalyptic brilliance,
Clouds of opal strewn
Above a sapphire sea.
White ruins of an ancient city,
Once home to a great people,
Now settled to silence, the only footprints in its dust my own.
JUst behind these things
I felt another something
Immense, unnamable
That lies beneath our normal perceiving
Like water below thin ice.
The awareness of this presence
Felt only in fragile moments
When images too beautiful for words or speech
Burn their way to the depth of our souls
Gave me a sound I sometimes hear in rare times
Of perfect stillness:
A clear bell that sounds a tone unmade by any instrument,
A sound that stills the frantic revolutions of my reasonings,
Brings me the pure light
Filling the mind of a child.
In fleeting impressions
Falling past the tempest of experience
Through the cycles that so often grey our lives,
I sense the other side of the world,
The part that lies forever in the In-Between,
The calm and steady eye in the center of the cyclonic round
Of creation and dissolution; the drive-train of the Universe,
The unmoving hub of the Infinite Wheel.
Sometimes I feel this other place, both faraway
Yet nearer than my latest exhalation,
Playing counterpoint to my heartbeat, firm beyond all confusion,
An isle of strength that sits solid without substance,
A haven in the surging sea of doubt.
I touch it with my mind, sometimes, in flashing moments
This is enough - enough to bring some peace
Between my warring emotions, enough to steady my hands
As I guide my life towards its uncertain end.
I suppose it is enough to have this gossamer understanding,
Some insight without the whole story.
It is enough to make me shoulder my burden,
To soldier on.