Long Curious Poems
Long Curious Poems. Below are the most popular long Curious by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Curious poems by poem length and keyword.
I must be walking
closer to death
for spirits of the forest
are stalking me
visiting with curious hope
like ghosts from the past
talking to me as kin
as familiars wooing me
into the fold of contentment
for as of late
I have forgotten peace
The ravens mingle
displaying an agreeable gathering
of brotherhood hovering in the heavens
teaching me the ancient language
of their ethereal splendor
freely winging great distances
stationing their leavings and arrivals
their voices hailing invitations
to join in the eternal
Deer’s eyes dwell within mine
incarnated as friends
from old companionships
casting their narrative
of gentle kindness
knowing the truths of solidarity
illuminating my path
to this community of belonging
far from the tides of loneliness
far from the deep wells of despair
the spider spins his web
sculpting a portrait of my lifetime
each pattern evoking my inevitability
shivering in winds that quiver with change
blown by the subtle breezes of destiny
weakened but strongly bonded
each strand connects to the other
and stutters at its final end
to cache the dreams denied me
enraptured by my callous regret
given peace and solace to be laid to rest
Finding exalted pleasure playing happily in the hills.
Memories of the softly undulating land called the hills.
A welcome meeting place for frolicking in the sun with friends.
We could all be seen from afar playing on the grassy hills
Remembering Bob Moore trudged up the hill looking for Kelly.
She hadn’t been home, she was seen by many, playing on the hills.
A search party was organized to look for the missing child.
All the wildflowers were trampled by the searchers on our hills.
We were all sent home that day, no one allowed to play at all.
Spending carefree days in the sun no more, all banned from the hills.
Police did their duty very well searching for dear Kelly.
They searched every one’s home after they looked all over the hills.
Rumors were rife in the Village about sweet Kelly missing.
Some folk believed evil lurked in the dark shadows of the hills.
We children missed our beloved playing, midst the soft grasses.
We stayed and did chores, no more fun, no more playing in the hills.
Noticed by some that old Mick hadn’t been with his cart of vegies.
Weekly he brought his cart full of produce from across the hills.
Mick’s old, might be too much trekking his cart from market gardens.
Besides he might have heard there was troubled danger in the hills.
Concerned folk asked police check on him, make sure he was alright.
Mick was home, he was scared, he heard there was evil in the hills.
Curious, police checked his truck, opened, and they peered inside.
There lay poor little Kelly, no more will she play in the hills.
Met myself a coming from a time I left some years ago.
I didn’t speak to me, just smiled to myself as we passed.
I knew from my face the best way to go was easy and slow.
. . . The cotton field is searing my body, yet the pain won’t last.
I saw me meet the forest, where I became lost in its darkness.
I didn’t step back to ask, as I knew that I was serious.
The feeling had me, as it did me, leaving its emptiness.
. . . Who will take me to the mountain, where I won’t be curious?
The river in the distance cried out to me, with its cold black eyes.
So, I eased my way through the fields of wheat and clover.
Then I heard them, like I always heard, we both felt its cries.
. . . I entered the river, like I met the forest, and finally it’s over.
My problems
include discomfort
with Money overwhelmingly talks
and talks
and talks political privilege
When not monopolistically
monotheistically
monoculturally screaming
about short-term survival issues,
international violation
of national resource systemic tissues,
long root ego-systemic win/lose fissures.
My Here/Now bigger
eco-empowering global system
concern,
our patriarchally uncivil
red-winged capitalist
runaway extractionist
EarthMother-rapist
climatic issue,
Suffering,
sense of epic historical
left and right winged cooperative loss,
Money's monopolistic verbing Voice
thereby unilaterally revaluing
safe EarthSurvival choice
in Her claustrophobic
polluted
soul starved
dehydrating
degenerating sacred Chamber
of my own monotheistic wombed
LeftBrain-ranting mind,
Thinking about safe short-term survival
when we would be more prudent
to cooperatively feel reassured
about our long-term global win/win
thrival of love-life on Earth--
including my own EgoIdentity
Which would not silence money's multi-polyenculturing
co-invested Voice,
empowering healthy democratizing influence
on health and safety EarthChange Choice,
Better
in a lower
and more resonant tone of resource key
for worshiping all EarthTribe Lives
copresent Here with Now
Also with those sacredly curious compassions before
and those naturally recycling nonviolent communions
yet to offer sufficient silence
So I might more actively hope to hear
our more cooperative
globally unmonetized thrival Voice
for restoring health wealthy climates
of green
HereNow
peace-graced Choice
through EarthTribe joyful justice
dynamic
living
flow-graced Change.
Listen and learn the way of poise,
Discern and earn the style of choice.
Feel the deep urge that frames a hint,
Keep sync with surge as moments mint.
Think curious thoughts that come to play,
Confront fond lot as truth paves way.
Cling on to joy as cheer finds zest,
Intent hurls ploys that flavour quest.
Transcend the crude in subtle form,
Dare to conclude the caustic norms.
Wonder tells well the timeless show,
Wander to dwell on change that flows.
Delight frames cheer with happy stance,
Sense joy endear your song and dance.
Know then the truth in myriad things,
Seek the soul proof in what life flings.
See fool and sage with curious eyes,
Each a sure page where ideas ply.
Circles of light bring abrupt change,
Follow the sights in sure and strange.
Here for a while with vivid themes,
Wear your own style and find your dreams.
Leon Enriquez
14 January 2016
Singapore
Tree to tree, the woods tries to hide him.
His growl and fur coat - neither slim.
His beacon ears hear all the gossip.
Before bares teeth, kindles kinship.
Apples, precious and spoiled, with hood.
She wants Gamma well, longs for baked food.
Eyes behind pines concoct a plan.
A two for one price for madman.
Stays a safe distance, reveals himself.
“I know you’ve seen me around, elf.”
“It’s lonely all alone in the woods.
Nice to chat, with someone in ‘hood”
“I mean you know harm, little girl,
I may be a beast but I’m no churl.”
Too comfortable and curious ~
this stranger’s nature, spurious.
She’ll recall those terrible teeth
as the wolf bares them out of his sheath.
She’d never love her Gamma less
with ingrown fur and her carelessness.
Someone else was watchful that day.
For he’d rear up, make some beastie pay.
Chased down the weary wolf, dressed in red.
The chastise of axeman splits bed.
The impossible happens with split.
Gamma and girl comes out of it.
How they managed to avoid wolf’s sword -
Be gulped instead, as belly roared!
Red’s grown now, has a bigger hood,
She has no stomach for beastie food.
Hides weapons in stockings. No fool
will chow down on her progeny pool.
12/30/2010
Exit noise chaos
Enter calm centre;
Be simply still
~~~~~~~~,
Last footfalls
Silence lingers;
No birds sing
~~~~~~~~~
Park bench solitude
Blank outlook;
Old man stares
~~~~~~~~~
Drowning horizon
Crimson goodbye;
Sunny side down
~~~~~~~~~
Outdoor stroll
Preschool excursion;
Curious eyes spy
~~~~~~~~~
Words on paper
Slices of life;
Calcified moments
~~~~~~~~~
Food centre crowd
Hungry commotion;
Ready-to-eat trysts
~~~~~~~~~
Rapture of stillness
Meditative touch;
Here and Now
~~~~~~~~~
Mantra chant
Voice invocation;
Sojourn within
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
02 November 2019
Singapore
He was too old
to speak of active hope
for ancient creamy dreams
not yet boldly told
Inviting curious homeless nomads
to imagine what we could become
if we were not yet brazenly born
into this time of tragic burning,
flooding,
predicting hunger,
thirst
and coastal drowning nakedness.
Into this epic brown despair
AzaRiah was innocently born
within fading red shadows
of a crumbling
patriarchal
all white cathedral.
She never knew an old Golden Era
of endless capital expansion
and monopolistic worship
defying GoldenRules
applied to those like her,
the least and blackest last
of Earth's Golden SpaceTime Ratio.
AzaRiah's stormy education
had no LeftBrain Ego v NotEco luxury
to ponder why 2D full moons
are also 4D revolving half-lit norms,
Why spatial nomials
predict temporal bilateral binomials,
Why positive polypaths
predict not not negative
polyphonic ultra-nonviolence,
Why binary Zero
fulfilling One bipolar Zone
predicts double-binary 0/1
wave-linear dipolar
win/win DNA resplendent co-arising Tone,
Why fractal-structured regenerativity
nativity predicts octave spiraling scales
of resonant
resilient non-degenerative issue tissues.
She was much too busy
singing with hurricane winds,
listening for flaming conflagrations
of reactionary hate,
inviting still small ecofeminist circles
to dance again with GrandMother Moon
in compassion's silent storms,
self and other recreating
perpetual healthcare perception
reception
Belonging in grateful silence
where her grandfathers
spoke with terrified tears
of Earth's great loud longing.
I watch them grow through the lens of my device,
Each victory won in spite of pain,
Every moment of tears turns to laughter,
And the loud crowds echoing on stages
Always jolt me back to reality.
I have always watched,
From when I was a kid and they were kids too,
To now, when I’m grown,
And they, successful with fame,
While I gloat about the economy.
I watched them grow, but I never grew,
Fixating my journey on a little device,
Where moments of joy are short-lived.
The plan was to watch and forget my sorrows,
But my sorrows won’t forget me.
Their plan was to break and bloom,
While mine was to stay happy
Without caring much for tomorrow.
It dawned on me when my last penny
Was wasted on data.
I’ve watched Selena grow from the wizard’s tale
To the beauty queen she is today.
I’ve watched Zayn sing his heart out,
Until a simple "Yay!" on stage
Fetched him thousands of sold-out tickets.
But I have never changed,
Stuck in my yoga stance,
Always positioned to watch and grasp
A fleeting moment of laughter
From my tiny little device.
They grow off my penny,
And I watch them slip away.
Even after all these lamentations,
I’m still curious if Selena
Sold out her concert tickets.
Date: 04/01/2025
Contest title: Pick-A-Title, Vol 48 Poetry Contest
Name of sponsor: Edward Ibeh
I am a creator of life and death, thoughts and fates, stars and voids. I was born with the purpose of guidance and creation, sculpted from the cosmos to carve destinies into man.
My home is that of a desolate chamber in which one hears echoes of screams and prayers, reverberating from all directions, inescapable. I feel pain for those affected by my omnipotence. I feel envy for those who ignore my pull, and lust for those who push back against my will.
Though I am not god, I know thee well.
My past is long, my future foretold and overbearing. Perpetual. Repeating. Repetitive. On and on and on and on.
My spirit is the essence of all men. I am necessary for not only evolution but existence itself on a conscious level. I shape and strengthen the ego, though I also shatter the soul.
My soul, forever ambiguous, is tethered to the man within my grasp, and as I shape and strengthen I am curious and doubtful, for my own ego is malevolent and my own essence ethereal.
Though I am not god, He and I are born from the same spool of matter, woven into the same thread of life.