Long Curios Poems
Long Curios Poems. Below are the most popular long Curios by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Curios poems by poem length and keyword.
He accumulates oddments and curios,
contrivances with strange gears,
attachments that bolt unlikely parts together.
Pieces of something he is structuring or
assembling, a mechanism
too intricate to be entirely recalled.
He discovers these devises
on the leeched rim of vision.
Part of his mind
burns with the light of a kerosene lamp.
He does not want to waste much light
on impossible projects,
yet slowly he feels the inconceivable
taking shape.
He imagines stumbling across
the last piece of a construct.
Fingers search for connections.
He realizes that his whole life
has been spent building something
once seen.
I see three doors before me.
The one to the left is blue, a beautiful lupis blue
with ornate lacework in its center.
Parisian-esque, it looks likes an entrance to adventure
and inspires me with its sophistication.
I imagine inside the rooms beyond that door
exotic curios on shelves along the walls
or tables heaped with charming little treasures.
My muse’s curiosity is sparked!
The middle door I see is that of a welcoming house.
Beneath two large rectangles of decorative glass
hangs a straw wreath adorned with festive flowers.
A friendly-looking white lab sits in front of this door
and on each side of it on the old-fashioned porch
are two pots of pretty geraniums.
I imagine beyond this door friends and family
gathered around the kitchen table
finishing Mom’s delicious apple pie
and preparing to break open a pack of cards
or sit beside their fireplace, playing charades
or perhaps singing along to a guitar.
The part of me that longs for warmth of family
lingers at this door.
The last door I spy
much farther away and surrounded by trees
is a light green door blending in with nature,
unadorned and not as high as the first two doors.
Were it a bit smaller and round, it could almost be
the door to a hobbit’s cottage.
A bower of vines spreads around it
covering the brown bricks of the house,
and a short cobblestone pathway leads upward
to this simple but interesting door.
I know that if I open it and wander in,
solitude will surely greet me, a solitude so sweet
that when I shut the door behind me,
I’ll leave behind the stresses of my life.
I will have entered another world
where I can rest and meditate. . .
perchance to write.
I look back at the first door, imagining the thrill
of discovery. Its charming blue entices me.
Then I return my gaze to the second door
from which warmth and empathy exude.
I redirect my gaze to the third door. . .
Which do I want more?
New experiences? Intimacy? Peacefulness?
Creative inspiration could reside behind all three.
Which one do I choose?
Which one would YOU choose?
March 28, 2017
for the Doors Contest of Anthony Biaanco
They walk in spotless, pointed shoes, through burned fields
hands in front, folded in prayer.
Their talk drips honey, over the graves they dug themselves.
calling it mercy.
They are artisans of fog,
blurring horizons with smoke and mirrors.
Every wound they make is a misunderstanding,
blamed on the victims of their attacks.
They weave fig-leaf halos out of denials,
as snakes unwind and recoil in the grass.
Their smiles are taut, righteous, and rehearsed
eyes gleaming with the confidence of a practiced con.
They speak of love, but leave heart-shaped tattoos,
as mementos and curios in their wake.
To face them is to stand before a mirror,
that swears blind your reflection never existed.
They fear no reckoning.
For the wrongs are always someone else’s.
Their smugness is deaf, dumb, and blind,
born of sacred, frozen certainty,
worn like virtue naked on face and sleeve.
They polish ashes and call them grace,
reclaiming the fire for yet another fight.
They dress the wound, deny the blame,
their forgiveness ever lame—
in virtuous disdain.
Ocean mind
Consider the mind like an ocean kind,
the depth and other side are invisible to the lights of mind.
The ocean creates, sustains and recycles,
accumulates and provides fresh water as natural miracles.
Thoughts are like this water, we need to survive,
in the body of water feeling alive.
The curios mind wonders about the depth of sea,
it might brings some treasures to adore for all to agree.
Pearls of wisdom or knowledge of antiquity,
resources of nourishing values of certainty.
Rational stability with great effort enforced,
food for thoughts need to be endorsed.
The shores of new worlds still to explore,
the mind wants to know what is beyond for more.
Facing the storms and elements to endure,
giving faith the ultimate test for sure.
Taken that courage to brave the unknown,
making possibilities the richness to know.
If love is the living water unfathomable and sweet high,
it will touch the impossibility to amplify.
Magnanimous thoughts should be applied even in vain,
then motions are constant in the ocean of the brain.
The living waters is the soul’s adaptability,
giving the body all its rejuvenating possibility.
Waiting in line until it is my time.
I wondered what I will say,
What did I do, what is my excused?
Looking apposite me,
I am curios who is she?
She looks so pale and fragile.
I know she is dead by the blow in her head.
What life she had been living, by the clothes she wears,
And the blood dripping from her hair?
I bet she will bargain, to be pardon.
The man next to me, looks very conceit.
Bet he will plea that’s not his fault he had a wealthy life,
Killed by his jealous wife.
It looks like he had an affair with the person in the other chair.
Because both are still naked, with gunshots in their heads,
The reason their lives were terminated.
Still pondered what I will say,
Why did I deceased on this day?
Mr. Peter, the gate keeper looks so very stern,
No regrets if he had to send you to burn.
I don’t think I have to say anything,
After all He knows my history and my abusive story.
As I look around and see these dreadful faces,
I know this interview is not based on gender, wealth or race.
You will be judge by the rules of the holy book,
It depends on what choices in life you took.
At last I heard my name,
Now my interview begin.
A time to rake; to search embers,
to pore over resurrected,
fire-damaged relics.
On an ancient shore
driftwood, fagots, and reeds
are heaped up onto a pyre of time.
After the fire there is a sorting.
a probing for talismans and trinkets.
Before the flames, flesh had hidden them,
in its open wounds.
An iron crucifix; smutter tarnished,
lays blackened by the quick flames.
It is held up to the sun,
by a tattered man of woe.
Death’s archeologist
wipes this soot-seared icon,
with a sweat-stained rag.
Other artifacts are long drowned,
they wait for the hands
of fishermen to haul them in,
to return them
to a modern-day Nazareth,
there, Islamic street traders
still sell religious curios
for Israeli shekels.
Oh, Look not for the jewels in my crown.
Nor draped on throat, or on silken gown.
For my treasure-trove of gems,
lies buried deep, deep within me,
for you to see, for you to find,
for you to catch,
and mine the gems, deep within me.
A sapphire glows when I'm true blue,
Revealing things, I've wrestled through,
Curios of truths revealed, in deep veins,
Among the cold lies locked in chains.
A ruby burns bright when I forgive,
With heat of fires, none could outlive.
It flares when rage, fades to embers,
When a soul lost in dirt, remembers.
My diamond reflects what scars remain,
Its glassy face, catches glints of strain.
Its prism casts, rainbows in the sky,
Saying hope endures, for mates that try.
Opal swirls with emotions, riding afloat,
On a creamy sea of speckles I wrote
In ways, you could only read by chance.
When looking to me, with a sideways glance.
An emerald stirs what grace has grown,
In every seed of kindness its sown.
Its green shoot, in silence beams -
Hope for glory, in fields of dreams.
A moonstone plays with things unsaid,
It sways with hunches spread, instead.
Of what we believed to be foreseen,
in the gemstones, we've seen gleam.
Oh, Look not for the jewels in my crown.
nor draped on throat, or on silken gown.
For my treasure-trove of gems
lies buried deep, deep within me,
for you to see, for you to find,
for you to catch,
and mine the gems, deep within me.
Eidolon, eigne, eirenicon.
Message of peace to read at dawn.
Battlefield, fallen weaponry.
O wasp and hornet, sting swiftly.
Sciomancer, silent shades, sly.
Scissure, red fissure, scorify.
Melt down to slag and fragment fast.
Difficult? Drag it home, good ghast.
Scutiform, scruple, scrivello.
Elephant, lower tusk and go.
Aim at the vital regions? Choice.
Lachrymose legions, raise thy voice.
Prisoner, panopticon. Doom.
Volcanic lava, foul thy fume.
Inferno, corner and hem in!
Tornado, typhoon, terrapin!
Butyric, byre? Buteonine?
Bring on the buzzards. Rain, O rhine.
Rhinoceros, radicolous?
Roots fair to floss? Fain. Glitter gloss.
Katabothron, thy channels vast.
Deep underground resounds the blast.
Explosives kept beneath the soil.
O witches' cauldron, hot thy boil.
Blackening soot, blackberries sweet.
Crumble away, earth, 'neath our feet.
Fortune and Fate, the falcon flew.
Entropy, chaos, discord, due.
Mycelial bodies, mushroom.
Thunderbolt, sound the hand of doom.
Oddities here and curios.
Sweltering sun ray, how heat flows.
Very strange is the world we're in.
Weird to the ear, the eye, the skin.
Faces in pictures, half deranged.
From God and reason both, estranged.
AHA HAIKU 13
Songbird psalm
Balcony duet;
Cheery cold morning
~~~~~~~~~
Squirrel escapades
Up and down and up;
Curious zigzag
~~~~~~~~~
Quick footsteps surge
By parkway bench;
Eyes far away
~~~~~~~~~
Old man sits
Stares at people;
Solitary wonder
~~~~~~~~~
Chocolate ganache cake
Half for my neighbour;
Gratitude smiles
~~~~~~~~~
Silent distress stings
Lift breakdown;
Sultry faces
~~~~~~~~~
Rainy blessing
On my forehead;
Aqueous baptism
~~~~~~~~~
Cigarette ban enforced
Public places gazetted;
Motley odd faces
~~~~~~~~~
Miniature books
Curios I fancy;
Deeply moving
~~~~~~~~~
Curious excursions
Wonder greets sore eyes;
Abrupt delights
~~~~~~~~~
Takeaway meal packs
Simple nourishment;
TV distractions
~~~~~~~~~
Bus stop crowd
Huddle for shelter;
Torrential rain
~~~~~~~~~
Darkness rains swift
Night crickets buzz;
Neat escapades
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
05 June 2016
Singapore
I want a freshly baked kaiser roll
Sliced in two with nice lean roast beef
Laid between so I can call it sandwich
Swiss cheese, tomato, Vidalia onion
(Sliced not chopped) with a dab of mayo
And horseradish sauce or hollandaise
Vinegar/salt chips and crisp dill pickle
I have no money or tummy only me
Alone with my empty ceramic center
Dangling on the rail of a high rise complex
Waiting for a breeze to push me on or off
I am a pretty pink vase so have mercy on me
No ferns or flowers inside for company
I am hungry for something good to eat
Curios but mostly epicurious in nature
Give me a sandwich for free as a favor
Perhaps I can pay you back on Tuesday
I can wish for something different
Vases have dreams too to fill the hollow