Long Cryptic Poems
Long Cryptic Poems. Below are the most popular long Cryptic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cryptic poems by poem length and keyword.
I'm a simple guy,
I like video games, music and succeeding without trying,
So when a man comes up to me and tell me he can save my life,
Who am I to turn down a free book from a generous passerby,
Strange how after hundreds of Reddit articles I find these red words the most astounding,
Each verse saturated with a truth beyond my understanding,
I embraced the scripture in my new-found belief,
Ditching skeptics and scientific contention for a biblical motif,
So with my newfangled faith I embarked on a holy endeavor,
To sift through a lifetime of personal uncertainty to uncover the answer,
I found myself under bottomless pizza boxes,
Buying time stocks from the evolutionary clock,
Discovering purpose through glimmering game discs,
Fashioning polygonal personalities into personable obelisks,
Uncovering the depths of my psyche excavating mountains of dirty laundry,
Rinse on, dry off, purging both physical filth and emotional quandaries,
Sharing walkways with speeding cars enslaved to a monetary duty I can't shirk
A journey of a thousand steps every pilgrimage to work,
My blood a bubbling brew of ambition and potential,
Yet required to surpass insurmountable credentials,
Ignoring the marked symbols in newspapers they seek to brand on my forehead,
Subjective opinions of civility and idealism dropped on me like warheads,
Cryptic predictions of personality and fate,
You think I need a dice roll to determine if I'm straight?
Countless evaluations to rationalize the psyche and soul combined,
What makes their opinion more viable than mine?
I'm taking buoyant steps upon the swamp to reach my destination,
Swapping carnality for divinity to achieve the ultimate self-preservation,
Cremating my mortality I seek to ascend,
Past primitive understanding of a purpose I cannot comprehend,
This road we walk is coated with trip-wire and paved with scorching coals,
Watch out for those flaming hours in your 5-day forecast so find the nearest foxhole,
The burden on our shoulders has already been lifted so there's no reason for us to be aching,
We're on the path to eternal salvation why aren't we skipping?
So why don't you tag along with me on this self-realization odyssey,
I can't promise explosions or tentacle-headed aliens but I know it'll at least be interesting,
Just you, yourself, me and I,
The most dynamic duo to ever breach the sky.
Cruelest thoughts overwhelm
beyond the patrol
beyond the drowning sunlight
firelight creeping up my back,
grab your camera and attack
a moment that doesn't hear
the glowing blue
I should have kept in a faerie jar
ajar is my mind,
hinges broken, hinges built
100 years ago, the repairman's dead
like the postcard I still cherish
oh it has arrived uninvited again, this pain
this favorite feeling flowers
when the spoken dagger
lathered
in poisonous affection
takes the habitual plunge
into pulsing core, and oh
she cannot feel the swirling madness fought
no, that is the worst of it all, she knows not of this
chest clutched, scream schooner, a whirlwind
through every room
each white convulsing
red cherries in time
after Euphrates dries
and Hyde's head screws back on.
I am fine. Everything smiles.
Oozing cryptically, cryptic cryptic don't let them know
that beyond a year ago,
Into slow void, I challenge Time,
I challenge
the non-existent;
I challenge
myself,
and discover...
Don't go back to the fireless rooms?
The fireless rooms
were never places.
The fireless rooms
were never avoidable.
Forlorn freedoms flung farthest
feasting from fear-falling
feint faithfully; fictitiously.
In a lone, innocent desire, the perfect jazz song is playing
it is her favorite song
her unavoidable song on every playlist
as a hallow briar floats by,
knows why
and where
and who I truly am,
knows the buried youth,
and the noxious adult of hap.
I am swinging again. He is swinging again.
That youth,
that whippersnapper.
That fool.
Going too fast. Too fast for his Truth to catch up.
Agony! Laugh at me!
Dig those heals in, heels into the ground, digging
into that old world
of a hosted carnival
that kept the best parts of our personalities. Kept the parts
everyone loved the most
at the top of that ferris wheel,
ecstasy eyes embracing the stars
that would later become supernovas inside
black fire death-in-life,
a death of slow pain would be lovely
masochist!
if only I could hold death as a moment,
death it and then command death
sic death upon evil
and witness true happiness
for the entire world.
Death...
and slow will be...
my descent once again...
Inebriation.
To Sleep. To Machination. Avoid the void...
A love for the forbidden fruit.
MESSAGES ( PT One )
A Poem by Debbie_Philly
THE MESSAGE
The room is black,
except for the faint glare of the TV in the background,
something to make me feel safe in some small way.
Hints of noise to drown out the silence--
such deafening silence, though not from within,
there's always noise within.
It's the kind of noise that keeps one awake
until early dawn.
No-- it's not the sound of the bathroom faucet running,
that would be a more pleasant sound--
(but what to do about that running.)
I slip into unconsciousness,
an unintentional state of suspended animation ,
very welcomed-- despite my objections.
Now the play begins.
The unfolding of the conscious mind.
What hides behind is much more revealing,
the actors are stacked and the story is unfolding.
Help in the telling comes from a unique source,
buried deep in the mind?
Maybe?
I believe it to be much more spiritual in nature,
supernatural in it's feel.
Lucid are the colors, real are the people.
They come from places unknown yet familiar.
Some I know by name,
some I love-- they are missed beyond words.
They come with cryptic messages,
with stories of treachery, lies and deceit ,
mapped out in vivid imagery of objects--
with meanings that I am not sure of.
I would dismiss these things if...
it were not for the repeated fashion
of how they were told.
An object here, a relic there,
I don't understand the meaning of it all, at first.
Are these apparitions conceptualized by own mind?
NO! I know these dear ones,
they love me, still-- even though
they no longer roam with the living.
There are too many signs to digest.
I wait for morning.
Sometimes I awake with a jolt,
(always remembering what I dreamed
in the haze of the pitch black night.)
I piece the puzzle together-- bit by bit,
I must decipher through the cobwebs
of the mind with some clarity; a daunting but amusing task.
I will heed these warnings,
warnings that come to me in dreams-- and beyond.
I Plan to embrace solidarity--
leave behind the flapping of malicious lips;
cling to the gifts bestowed upon me
through the handing off of the torch,
which once shined so brightly
in my loved ones soul.
I will stay awake--
be aware of my surroundings,
yet step over the boundaries
I have set for myself.
Meditate in solace
while letting my essence flow through my pen
onto white journal pages
that waits for me...
on my desk.
By: Deborah Mills-Kelly
As mortal veils dissolved, our bodies merged in the ossuary's somber symphonies, two mistress awakened by the velvet-wrapped cadavers, our disinvested hands tracing syllabic patterns across the olive verdure of our skin, as maelstroms of lipstick tormented our intimate geometry. Kissing amidst ribcages and scavenged lullabies, our filial ***** tingled with an unresolved finitude, lost choruses awaking from armature wounds as compatibilities laid bare.
The azure gemstones of our sweat-drenched pores harmonized with the relics scattered about us, a Kolossus of Korova consumed by the clingy threads of our detachment. Quivering heartbeats elevated the ambiance, suspending the predisposition of neglect, while scratches on the cryptic monument inscribed our entwined destiny. I sulfured lips, poised at the sorceress-close mic.
A snarl-like grin spread like a firebrand, smoldering with provocative ferocity as I ravished the venue with tongue-flicked promises, conjuring the haunted echoes of our ecstatic love. Ghosts of our abandoning, whispers of our surrendered reveries, and shadowy allusions to lost frenzies began to undulate, like an eerie tide, through every crevice and cavity of the place, leaving only the acrid tang of our desire and the spectral whisper of "evermore".
Laughter and teardrops entwined like conspirators, as our kidnapped captives, vacant-eyed and warily bound, cringed within their gilded cages, their suffocated pleas dissolving into silken suppliance, amidst this twilight tableaux pyxis o madness, we beheld each other, our psuches conflated in a whirlwind of circumstance and whimsy, our gazes piercing the veil of regalities, and our breasts, beating in tandem, like a tempo of tender complicity.
Fore in that golden instant, innocence and abomination, zero and infinity, coalesced, and we knew, without equivocation, that ours was an amour born of estrangement, grotesquery, and co-creativity. In the subterranean realm of our laughter, a spangled whirlpool stirred, drawing all else, including reason, into its poisoned vortex, as we whispered, like doomed refugees, into the bitter wind, "pour l'amour de tous les diables".
Fervently the serrated teeth on the saw rang the death knell, twisting countenance rictus, then close casket, we heard wedding bells, as we crafted a hellhole requiem of faceless visages.
Boom.
From the epic poem, EOS; verse, 7308-7350
by Sir Titus Llewellyn, unpublished
Book ii - Bouquet with Love
Enter Asha - Junior Psychiatric Nurse
& William - Sufferer of schizophrenia
William speaks to Asha as she reads the book
he has written for her........, as you are doing.
William
How dusk has drawn suspicion from your eyes
these visits have become the long lost friend
who writes without reply - that's no surprise
the way I am adoring you, so don't pretend.
hesitates.......
I find that from a patients point of view
ideas are being listened with fondness for
returning, makes believe this has an end
I cannot help but trust you anymore.
gives her the book...
Pursue the words I've left with you in my will
a token of my love in words I cherish,
following the realms that often still
believe in you and care as much until..........
Asha
I have no time to listen - indeed read
the ridicules of someone you'll replace
who disappears tomorrow without trace.
silent pause...
Another cryptic message I'll not need.
William
Just read the words and feel it with your heart.
Decipher what you can without the pledge,
my writing has preferred and having had
a hope in hells chance pulling it apart,
gliding worse, the fate along a knife-edge.
Asha
I'll treasure what appears to be much work,
the task that your imprisonments have purged
preventing ways and means the seethings urged
a while back knowing often, how berserk
your actions were and how this book immerged.
Cannot a tear sufficient to your need
be borrowed like the journey of lost cause,
another real life story, feelings plead
when giving back the care my feeling was?
Tries to kiss her!
I have to go - how dare you do such things
my care, and least devotions are disgraced
the length of duty caring for you placed!
GET REAL!-
needing my mother is a fear I can do without,
Not you! I miss her so much!
Asha exits
William, (bringer of bad news?)
I know - I have bad news and this you'll find,
in time, when superstitions fill with hate
a sentinel of words - what sounder mind,
could echo truth when all that I create
is gifted not a curse but mere sedate.
Slumber from which all our dreams debate.... (pause)
It lingers while this love sustains as time
And sleeps while we awake no time at all.
Remember...Remain Calm, Collected, And Cool...
Matthew Scott Harris...ARG
This, a near imp
possible mantra to apply
when this 2009
Macbook Pro went awry
triggering this enduser
to experience tidal waves of high
anxiety, which besieged this fie
foo fighting dirt po' pa well nigh,
who might need buy
another laptop, yet my
anorexic checking account
on life support, no lie
could not afford, (to sigh
phone even one red cent,
all because ordinary healthy
electrons deployed aye
did NOT see usual expected
predictable apple luck
quiche hun activity via my
left and right eye,
yours truly did not espy
usual kickstarting linkedin magic after
preliminary electronic setup
unexpectedly failed to start -
no idea why
unbeknownst tummy, what
ghost in the machine didst defy
programming code of honor,
whereby pixel display
unexpectedly exhibited "abnormal"
computer behavior -
like a turncoat ally
meaning one hoop wrest
illegally start button signaling
subatomic warfare unleashing - guy
did missiles as taught
during routine training
to turn bot tin down stevedores
loose on the Jobs (dan-g) rather, I
watched slack jawed,
as that very singularly narrow
vertical lined band width
(analogous to a medium black
sabbath tipped magic marker)
did NOT display
prestidigitation instantaneous flash
demarcating binary DMZ
(demon mailer zone,
viz dividing screen in half, -
versus top to bottom array), qua
incomplete automatic
initialization stopped
partway thru automatic preparation,
after which cryptic
error message appeared,
which malfunction found me
bursting with damned tears,
and ready to cry,
(which gush of tear
rivalled Hurricane Florence),
cuz mechanical and/or
application so much
of my creative
write minded person
(reed literary) self choked life vie
ability to live, thus the only alternative
...insane asylum to apply!
--------------------------------
SPOILER ALERT...
postscript: after some fluke brought
desk top in view, the quick thinking
chap attached an external drive to a
USB port, and thus breathed easier
knowing a backup got made.
Listen to the
ticking hands of twilight,
close your eyes,
while I take your thoughts
to an ivory reverie of
flickering fantasies…
there I’m cruising
above an
island of mystery
in a flying
glass catamaran~
glazed in
fairy sparkles.
Watching the
shimmering sea
swallow flaming rays
of the sinking sunset,
I slowly dive
deep
into the
lungs of
lyrical lagoon
to surf along
saffron waves,
against
twinkling tides,
while the
seraphic soul
of an emerald
oyster crest
unravels a
sparkling carnival
of summery parade.
I am magnetically
captivated,
chasing a school of
dancing dolphins,
with every spin,
they reflect hypnotic
songs of the ocean~
a ballet of butterfly-rays,
swirl to symphonies
echoing from the
marine kingdom,
there sharks
and turtles together
croon secrets lost within
the aquatic
jungle of life.
When the
spirits that carry
sunken sagas of
coral reefs rise,
a mystical goddess
emerges beyond
the wide horizon,
where the moon is
meant to glow
and unfurl silvery
chronicles of
crystal clear memories.
She is dressed
in glistening algae,
her scales mirror
a musical melancholy;
tales untold and unseen
in the eyes
of flawed creatures.
Her beauty is beyond any
ballads woven from
salt soaked diamonds.
I question her in awe;
“What flows
beneath violet ripples,
ruffling with starry souvenirs?
Do you hear
midnight serenades
of coastal birds,
when neon gems
light up the sea of fire?”
In silence, she whispered
into the drifting wind,
“I am the sovereign of
seafarers and day dreamers,
I guide the lost to
a sanctuary of serenity”
Her words
kept circling in
ringing refrain,
and I let
my thoughts float,
in the
watery credence
of her cryptic tunes,
as she
vanished
into nothingness,
leaving a fragrant tint across
the celestial
canvas of the sky.
Now the mermaid moon
draws a halo
in fluorescent
colors of her
rainbow tail fin,
splattering a trail of letters,
moving in
zig
zag across
the azure,
knitted in lucky charms~
while initials of this tale
ignites the universe
like
waterfall chandeliers.
...she was ensnared within her prized gardens
There among a tempest of roses.
Entangled in the mournful whispers
of…
Weeping willows
From noon till night.
Within her bustling haven,
the envy of neighbors.
A source of joy and delight.
But her constant aching heart
desired so much more.
Her poor lonely husband
Once he was robust and
brimming and strong
with vitality...
Now his soul has withered
in the desolation
of his ongoing prison of solitude.
Like a leafless tree...
stripped bare by winter's icy grip…
His heart was shattered.
For upon the porch's creaking rocker /
...his soul dwindling...
...its motion faltering...
Stops...
She suddenly grasped the vastness...
of her loss?
Such an ache colossal.
Crying out to God!!
her tears flowing like a raging
roaring river:
"Restore my free!!!"
A glimmering thought emerged in her
a forbidden whisper:
"Conjure a deal, the deal, with nature...
and it will be granted."
An Epiphany as a glimmering thought
emerged:
His thumb... a sharp knife...
a cursed gift...
a grower’s unholy art...
A malevolent pact with nature /
rending her life asunder.
Then new life stirred within the
shadow's cryptic realm //
From fresh tilled dirt and top soil ground //
A sinister transformation...
...a harbinger,
sprout of chilling qualms.
On All Hallows Eve /
stirred by the relentless creaking...
of...
the...
chair.....
She rushed and she stumbled
for she was caught
in despair's whirlwind.
Her heart pulsated
rhythmically in tune.
The moon...
a spectral lantern /
Drenching the desolate landscape /
in silver light...
Casting ominous and writhing shadows...
that echoed with...
The dread of Walpurgisnacht.
A nightmare,
a beautiful grotesque masterpiece:
His form, hideous contorted,
agrarian exhorted,
A thumb oozing... with /
red and green blood...
Nature itself warping and ravenous.
"My Groom," as she spoke to this agrarian figure.
Now Love is ensnared in a sinister compact...
never to relinquish its grip.
Her Fervent devotion /
embodied in the...
Mandrake Sprout's insidious clasp.
Slowly rocking, miraculously...
...a dichotomy,
back and forth as the moon departed...
Entwined for eternity...
Bound in a loving unholy pact.
Bring me a cup of Java, honey, and put some coffee in the water, will you?...
Whoa there! Bet you can feel the withering sarcasm in that simple phrase...
People, I welcome you to the world of crime novels by James Hadley Chase...
With cryptic titles like I'll Bury My Dead, it's a crime novel befitting even the dead...
The protagonists in every novel, Mr Chase humanized each of them in good stead...
As a crime writer, Mr Chase has no master, or even an equal of his calibre...
Dialogues, suave and cultured or in the low life lingo, is excellence beyond compare...
Most of all, the many believable twists and turns in every one of his crime story...
You'll empathise with the hero and the heroine, and root for them in each story...
What Is Better Than Money is yet another master yarn uniquely spun by Mr Chase...
About how a piano player bidding time tangled with a junky beauty with trilling vocals ....
It is amazing how you will identify with the struggling two bit piano player as he grapples...
With the opportunity of a lifetime to hitch his economic wagon on a less than perfect starlet..
In No Orchids For Miss Blandish, I remember rereading the same book twice over...
To be thrilled and to savour how the master story teller spun the story altogether...
Mind you, I was back then just a little boy, given access to the senior section of the library..
Faced with rows and decks of all kind of books, I was a bewildered boy lost in the library...
Then I spied a rather worn out hard cover book entitled No Orchids for Miss Blandish...
Small in print, yellowed in pages and looked slightly misbegotten, but the title intrigued..
Reaching home, I could not put down the book once I started reading that slim book...
I was thrilled, I was truly engrossed in a fascinating tale of crime found within a book...
Etched in my memory to this day, I recall vividly the awe and the joy in novels by Mr Chase...
Little wonder through the years I often read and reread crime novels spun by Mr Chase...
James Hadley Chase, crime story teller supreme, without any cheap graphic x rated scenes...
He is the ultimate maestro for story characters and crime tales that electrify your senses...
Readers, Mr James Hadley Chase, he's The Man for grippping realistic crime stories....!!!
The empty hand
Life is a black hole and I am forever falling deeper.
Down I go into a light-less hole, no sign of my keeper.
I would say it is nice to see you, but all is mist inside the deep.
When there is no vision to guide my hands, for you I cannot reach.
I reach out into the nothingness and I return not a man.
I cannot give thanx for this cryptic master plan.
I become part of the space between reality and this place.
Forever sucked into the next realm where time has been misplaced.
If I ever return, I will only be love’s skeleton;
No nourishment can sustain my soul when I exist inside oblivion.
As the memories of me fade, in this wide open space;
I cannot recall what a smile is when I see it appear on your face.
It has been so long since I last saw a miracle,
That I do not recall how to make my smile actual.
I must have imagined it when I was a kid;
A head of fantasy creations, like happiness and bliss.
Sure you people talk of love and it sure does sounds nice,
But I can only speak of the love that doesn’t exist in my life
And good things don’t happen in front of my eyes.
I never got to feel what marriage was meant to really be,
Because I am surrounded by my apathy in this reality.
There are dreams, of course, like that dream where I was loved,
But dreams are not real; people are not enough.
They are separate entities; none will ever join me hand in hand.
I will never be standing matrimonally;
Love does not have me in its plans.
I make up words that do not exist,
Like truth and trust, this twaddle is twixt.
The meaning is lost on the journey between foolishness and death.
All this nonsense is irrelevant to a dreamer head.
This bed has no place for another to fit,
For I have never ever been seen to be fit;
So all I do is sleep in it.
Boy am I tired of living this life.
Can I not just grow up and become someone who shines?
It’s been so cold without a woman in my heart.
I have kept her spot warm; waiting in the dark.
I am a single particle in the great mass of the universe.
What chance do I have of meeting my equal; my poetic verse?
What chance do I have of communicating with her,
On a chemical level,
On an intellectual level,
Or any level at all?
(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.