Long Crackles Poems
Long Crackles Poems. Below are the most popular long Crackles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crackles poems by poem length and keyword.
Poem written for “Alice Through the Wormhole” Poetry Contest, Tom Woody, Sponsor, July 2025
BUCKLE UP ALICE!
Buckle up, Alice, for the cosmos calls!
The stars beckon with a siren song of the unknown.
The air crackles, charged with electricity.
Gravity bends and warps, pulling at the seams of reality.
Time stretches, a rubber band pulled taut.
Can you see it, Alice, the tunnel of indigo and emerald?
Galaxies twirl, bend, and twist.
A ballet of light and shadow flashes by at warp speed.
The horizon curves creating a kaleidoscope of colors.
Beautiful and intricate patterns form.
Can you feel it, Alice, the pulse of the universe?
Traverse deeper into the tunnel, Alice.
Approach the edge; feel gravity’s embrace.
The world behind you dissolves like sugar in warm tea.
The familiar fades, lost in the cosmic ether.
Can you sense it, Alice, a tugging at the fabric of your being?
Delve deeper, Alice, into the heart of the enigma.
Here, time gracefully pirouettes; space folds like origami.
Your thoughts become spiraling galaxies.
Your dreams propel you further into the unfamiliar.
Can you feel it, Alice, your fear dissolving into exhilaration?
Buckle up, Alice, for this journey has just begun.
You are a traveler of the cosmos, a seeker and a writer sublime.
Within the wormhole you discover—the journey is the destination,
with the stars and your creativity your constant companions.
Can you understand, Alice, the joy that lies ahead?
I'll hear the birds crying as Auster weeps
And see dead leaves bend, while carried about
Dove's wings flutter, as the Autumn sleeps
and skies turn grey when Boreas comes out
He touches all when he finally shows
To bring the coldness the sun never owns
And shows no mercy as his power grows
Covering landscapes that crackles and moans
To be caught by Boreas chilly veil
and face its shear strength so frightful and cold
To watch the sun move with its Winter sail
and seek Auster's breath as seasons unfold
I'll feel the time pass until Auster comes
And count the days till' Boreas succumbs
Boreas...North Wind
Auster....South Wind
contest Gods of Winds
12/18/14
9/8/12
There is a wall that no one can break through
It has stood silently for a long time, begrudgingly still
Many have tried to climb over the wall, but somehow they always slip
Many have tried for years only to give up on it
The only enmities able to climb are the tangling vines
They crawl patiently and gently over the weathered wall of woe
Blooming balms of serene patience, becoming one with it
All humanity is blotted from the mysterious path of horrific nature
The wall towers over all, looking down rather impassively
Mature and grainy through rains and severe storm
Never once discouraged in its intense solitude
But someone began drilling into that unbreakable wall
They drilled night after night, day after day
Trying to figure it out, trying to understand WHY
Crackles and crunches, debris falling fast
The wall no longer passive, but perturbed and aghast
Drilling and drilling in monomaniac delight
The hands pushing into the cold and the hot
Holes destroying completion, giving into depletion
Cracks growing bigger, giving view to a river
Flooding, gushing through, pressure giving way
Drowning the driller and all the land of today
Carnivorous vines curl, cutting off circulation
Behold, the breakable—the revelation
The sun rises,
Yet my heart wanes in yestereve.
Sleep the wont;
My eyes are yet transfixed
Upon her sadness,
And silent moan—
My eyes deliver my heart
In rosy red fathoms
Of surmise
As we watch her move
And drag a heaviness
Behind her
That bid me
Rush to her,
Lift it away from her,
And free her
From it.
If but she knew
We yet live to bear
Her burden!
Yet silence mocks
Our purpose.
Would that I were
That strength,
That ear alight,
That relief,
Would I could
But gather
My courage,
Fallen all about
Her feet
In smoulders.
Fear smote
Before my tongue
Could reveal ourselves
And love's close
Proximity.
Why should love
Cause us to feel shame?
Because it is a nakedness
That is truth unadorned;
It is a defenseless purity,
Frail and small,
Till joined,
And so stronger
Than any fear of God
In heaven
Or hell's reprisal.
Or am I fearful of
The principal:
We versus the familiar
Loneliness of I?
Am I to be of such high vantages
And deemed so worthy?
And whosoever is so?
Do we not make ourselves worthy?
Perhaps fear self-kindles
The dunn smoke
Of indecision
And doubt,
Blinding the sense,
Issuing forth foul whispers
And trite crackles that dissuade,
And dismantle the heart;
“who could love thee?”
“She is too high a shot for e’en Cupid’s dart,
Look thou midst the lower of thy means”,
And such self scorn
Till we are consumed 'n it:
Our belief, or inability,
To accept that we are worthy
To be loved
And to love beside
Rather than not, or from afar—
And that tomorrow
Never comes.
As we wait for
The right moment
To speak ourselves
And loudly proclaim
Our love,
And we, its champion
Unsurpassed!
The sun is risen.
Let us toward
And wait no more.
Fear and shame,
Thy spell is broken.
Let our future, uncertain,
Lay in waste of love’s
Wholesome Endeavor.
[Flourish, Exeunt]
She turns up the blue flames,
lowers the chops.
Dripping crackles, iron is fat licked -
grease on her fingers.
The meat finds its voice,
splutters of buttery smaze.
The pork is in bloom.
The animal inside the flesh
disappearing.
The meat opening
florets of aroma.
My stomach is cramping,
not with anticipation,
but with an acidic hopelessness.
Mother turns from the gas burner;
splattered apron - flushed cheeks.
She smiles, not looking at me,
but seeing a man
who will be home soon.
“He will love these.”
I pretend not to hear, but wonder
if there will be milk with
my cornflakes.
The true magic of the evening
A soft breeze rustles through
pine needles swishing
amidst fireflies at play on a warm
enchanting April night
I am a bit skeptical
as you take my hand,
satin fingers intertwined,
leading me to a secluded spot
We sit in quiet anticipation
as a bright full moon keeps watch
from its cosmic perch,
illuminating our magical evening
“It is almost time” you say as
the big dipper comes into view,
directing our focus to the grove
behind the chinaberry shrubs
We can hear them giggling
as tiny feet run atop fallen leaves
creating little crackles echoing
beyond the illumined forest canopy
When suddenly crickets and cicadas
perform a mesmerizing melody
wafting from tree to tree
and you point eagerly to the opening
As twelve little fairies appear, dancing in a circle,
singing along with the nighttime tune
Iridescent wings shimmer and flutter
as do our hearts as we watch
It only lasts for a few moments
and then they are gone,
when you excitedly lean over and kiss me,
then whispering you say,
“See, I told you they were real”
I couldn’t help but smile seeing the look on your face,
your smile glowing brighter than anything in the sky
as I fell in love with you all over again
Proving to me once more,
regardless of anything I could have possibly seen,
anywhere on this night we could have gone,
the true magic of my evening . . . will always be you
Good night Soupers
Have a great Easter weekend
I will see you again on Monday
Thought knocks slightly behind the eyes,
A frayed spark off soft flint flaking steel,
Careening amidst a nest of kindled emotion.
Deaf mind crooks awkwardly, blindly crooning,
Nothing but silence, the heart murmurs.
Conscience's breath gently flickers the flame,
Whipping wick crackles feigning strength.
Cranium whispering swirling sooty smoke,
As it cups the dwindling glow alighted,
Lifting, yearning for a faint, embering cloud.
Resilient fire snapped back wildly anew,
Seduction dancing, glimpses below crimson silk,
Alight on deathly, charred, knobbed splinters.
Held for a moment, past felled fodder smirks,
In anticipation of a warm pulsating embrace.
Choice overtaking will, again? Again...
Ashes of will blowing in the wind.
10/04/2017
Storm
Storm approaches with "wailing" winds
Fierce faced clouds "whoosh" across the sky
Lightning "crackles" then "snaps" and "pops"
Thunder "rumbles" with heart "pounding" "thuds."
Autumn leaves "scrape" across sidewalks
Then turn silver in torrent’s "rustle"
Windstorm "slams" into the trees
"Howling" "whispers" turns to "shivers"
Shutters "bang" in the "roaring" wind
Raindrops "sizzle" on dry earth
Downpours "splash" in growing puddles
Gutters "drip" – downspouts "gurgle."
Passing storm slows to a "trickle"
With "pitter-patters" of tiny raindrops
Water "drips" from leaves in clear "trickles"
Like a soothing fountain "burble."
Note: Am still having trouble with bold or underlining function so I put the onomatopoeia words in parenthesis.
10-26-21
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Contest: Onomatopoeia
Utter me a lamenting word; we're enduring terribly.
A thing past forgets, weaved in emotional leeway.
Simply capping to bear, inside the inward personality.
Conjuring an immovable conviction of power decay.
We don't forget, yet the splitters rise promptly tall.
Providing expanse for visible shadows to improve.
Sunshine glares through possible cracks in a vast wall.
They'd instead allow proper shades than curtly remove.
At 13 years aged, I toiled with dullness and disarray.
While my friends invest vitality at the coast way,
None beats assisting our vast kin with daily cash.
As yet, the child work misuse endured a moaning clash.
When the whiff crackles my sun-damaged hair,
Bushy brows, credulity cloaked in a razor-thin stare.
In the ingenious wrapping depicting rainbow,
Our dreams crave a variety of gold pastry yellow.
I could achieve my goal if I had bettor arm.
I need to work as opposed to getting a training form.
Crammed inside of the gloomy, fearsome facility.
With hundreds of underages within the occupancy,
For what motive should boys bear-like Steve Jobs?
The most they can compete is a dollar daily odds.
They should be nimble, sturdy, and esteemed.
Not altering at a factory under hot eyes enraged.
The beginning of dusk goes prior to morning.
On the shoulder, there is a blaze of lightning.
Perceiving that we've merely been a pawn.
A view on life deepens the rule of aging brawn.
With regards to all-inclusive visual impairment,
Society's clever lies are fastened to its acquirement.
Divine intervention will vastly convey reality.
Every one of the clasps was at that point slouchy.
Written: December 17, 2021
DIVINE INTERVENTION Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Fall stories engulf imaginations around a bonfire.
Cinnamon aroma, wafts in the air
A sweet cadence, crackles from the pyre.
Pumpkins lit with happy eyes that care
It is nice to have slices of fall magic to share
Spiders busily creating intricate lacy webs with ease,
Squash sprinkled with cinnamon and butter,
Spiky fondue pot filled with lake of melted cheese,
Fall harvest, stacked up high, causes produce clutter.
Laughter of children eliminates old folk's mutter,
Quintain (English)
Bring On Fall Poetry Contest Sponsor: Francine Roberts
Written 8-29-2018