Long Curl Poems
Long Curl Poems. Below are the most popular long Curl by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Curl poems by poem length and keyword.
I curl up
In the cradle of our cabin
This Friday night in January
The deck out back
Glows
Bright as its own light
With new snow
From my evening muted TV
Cliff an abyss two feet beyond
Lake
A coffin draped in black flag
There is one chain of orange lights
On the other shore
A cruise ship Charon
Slowly pulling away with its gold
In a shadow sideswipe of squalls
With all the snowbird survivors
Waving goodbye
Bon Voyage
Wind
A mad wizard of arms flailing
Barges down miles of forest
Pounds on my door
For the last of the living
If there was anyone to speak to
I’d have to shout above its roar
At four
A.M.
I wake
To an aphonic choir of hooded dark heads
Nodding outside my bedroom window
Nibbling at the needles of the under bush
The deer assume no one is here
To look back
Maybe they’re right
I get up
Coat boots scarf hat
Plow the deep snow
With my steel-tipped toes
Down the middle of Torch Lake Road
To the extinguished blue house on the curve
And back
Look for the cheese of last summer’s moon
Or sugar cubes of Scorpius’ stars
In the scavengered fields
Find my pockets
Filled with the Devil’s cold coins of debate
Feel my way down to the lake
Stand where a dock used to be
Kettle boils and shushes with slush
Sides of broken ice
Clop
Like rotten heels kicking
The waves and rocks
God pauses His knocks
On the wood of my hollow heart
Waits for an answer.
Sense nature thrill
Love's precious fill
Word collage spice
Cheer feels so nice
Rhymes in sure time
Mimic meek mime
Thought in clear poise
Sparkles fond voice
Choice in lines clear
Speed up fine cheer
Intent now hurls
Grand glyphs that curl
Word art can sign
Such poignant finds
Lines in sure verse
Fling ample burst
Feel that clear feel
As words can heal
Craft collage art
To meet wise heart
Soul peeks to play
To live your way
Come closer now
To wise know-how
Journey greets quest
Seize zeal and zest
In the ending
Sure beginning
Leon Enriquez
03 September 2017
Singapore
I couldn't be prouder
than the day you were born
my beautiful little miracle
your tiny fingers curled over mine
your pretty eyes captured me
and melted me
I loved you then
and every day
since your
arrival from heaven
we won't talk about what I would do
to anyone who would ever harm you
but that's what I thought holding you
for the first time
my precious baby girl
and we won't talk about
any struggles raising you
(there were only a few)
all the tears and pain in the world
would never erase the joy
I feel when you smile
and, my angel
you smile so much
on my arm
on this day
I have to give you away
you are the most resplendent treasure
who wouldn't cry to see you
walking down the aisle
your handsome groom
whom I know loves you
as much as I do
can't keep his eyes dry
reading vows
from your huge heart
only makes it harder
warm love tumbles
down my cheeks
just seeing the sky
above you
so clear blue
a
wispy white lace
canopy of grace
etched delicately
over you
and that guy with whom
I like to barbecue
golf
and share a good shot of
whiskey
I love him too
and your little you
who lights up the world
she's only two
lucky you
experiencing the blessing
I had
well "have"
my beautiful baby girl
who's teeny tiny fingers
curled over
my callused hand
who
with her daddy
went on dessert dates
played hooky
and
hunted ghosts
in that old hotel
my favorite
fishing buddy...
...she'll always be mine
sun sparkling your gown
like magic radiating
from your soul
I couldn't be prouder
than the day you were born
but damn this comes close
my barbecue buddy
could not ask for
a more priceless gift
than the one whose
gentle hand squeezes mine
just before it lets go
soft fingers curl
tenderly into his
my precious baby
his beautiful bride
I spread layers of laughter in a long baking pan,
with a rhythm that twists the smoky scent I can scan.
Five lines per slice, I assemble carefully quick,
make this dish pulsate and glint like a limerick.
First sheet, a town and a person, famed or unfamed,
second, an odd trait that need not be tamed.
The rhyme goes A-A, then loosens its tight grip,
repeats at the last layer with a tag line flip.
Short lines on top, longer anapest pasta below,
the meter stumbles slightly, then steals the show.
B-B ricotta and spinach creep in the middle on the sly
with simmering mozzarella that doesn’t overflow dry.
I season the dish with nonsense spice, lively and loud,
a crispy curl at the base makes the last layer proud.
With light ragu sauce I garnish the humorous trait,
just with the perfect comical timing I bake it great.
The final ingredient is hilarity with melodramatic bend,
with a twist at the end to be served with fun to a friend.
Topped off with a punch line parmesan. that is hot,
I cook the best meal, limerick lasagna, in poetry pot.
in the stillness of the night
where shadows weave their tales
an envelope drifts weightless through silence
ancient parchment frayed
by the breath of time
it bears no return address
only the faint aroma
of forgotten dreams and echoes
a whisper carried
on the back of the wind
i unfold the letter
my fingers trembling
as ink flows like liquid night
each word a spectral sigh
a whisper traced in sorrow
from a world unseen
dear keeper of solitude it begins
do you feel the weight of my presence
the dim light flickering
at the edge of your vision
i am the shadow that dances
between the creases of your memory
the words curl and twist on the page
murmuring stories of lost hopes
of laughter that once filled
the corners of a room now empty
i hear the echoes soft as mist
of voices long stilled
tell me, do you remember
the hush of autumn’s breath
the promise of summer’s dawn
moments like stars
some fading, some bright
they linger, reaching
for hands that can no longer grasp
i pause, lost in the tapestry of thoughts
noticing how the ink bleeds
smudging the line between past and present
where time forgets to tread
do not weep for me, it pleads
i linger not in sorrow
but in the beauty of the ephemeral
life is a dance of shadows
and i am but a note
a fleeting whisper in your landscape
outside, the wind stirs
carrying the weight of its message
into the emptiness
i draw a breath
feeling the chill of its presence
etched against my skin
and in that moment, i understand
we are all scribes of stories
haunted by echoes of memories
our souls are ink
stitching the living to the lost
holding hands across the divide
with trembling fingers
i seal the letter again
each word a shimmering thread
tying me to the unseen
reminding me that even in absence
there is beauty, even in silence
a voice that lingers
a ghost that writes
Coffee bean scent still fills the air
with each new sunrise in our log cabin
My arms around me embrace the winds of winters gone
Every sky-night the glass -pane glows in silent mist
Lunar limbs stream through bedroom blinds
reflecting shadows on empty sheets
Star clusters shine'bove velvet shores
Sand-wish away from my bare toes
Another day,another month,another year
and other thoughts
I can't freeze time or make a clone
First magnolia blooms on a bare branch
Buzzing bees extract nectar from a moist corolla
Pastel wings flutter on melting icicles
Sunbirds return in a sweet song
But what is a song without the symphony
What is music with no slow dance
His hand-pressed petal still marks the chapter
between stained pages
The dusty shelves recall my mind
recall my heart,recall my soul
For the last time of many a time
these eyes would linger
Before leaves curl, before buds wither
Before moons move on
and I let go.<>
"Moonspinner Seer"
Moments we dance
you and I
alone
sensing
all the words
gone
soul naked
we spin
sad worlds away
bad spells
in a small ocean
buried, never forgotten
casting pearls
luminescent
into the trapping net
ghosts in the
gloaming glistening
unravelling
unseen,
they are now
listening
reeling
them
in
delicately
undressed by
moonspinner mind
inside
haunting
all
the reasons
curl around
an unclaimed
why
that never logically rhymes
with the metronome
beating heart on fire
caught up in tears
messages clear
as diamonds
dripping beneath
the skin
keys adorning
eternal
violins rising
signing
rosy smiles
over naked bodies
of work
some kind of ark
built secure,
unblessed
marked,
sealed,
water tight
yet still
punishment watching
finds a way, breaks free
diving sensually
back into the
never-ending
answers found
in close and lost
embrace
spiralling notes
bathing, graze
slender necks
waltzing
against
Wintersong’s lips
secrets
whispered
sensual tears
pool along
a tattooed tongue
the salt stings
what's cut
in the forgotten
bittersweet
what exists
underneath
the skin emerges
finally sings meaning
truth,
the beauty of it,
plain
and simple,
in unheard codes
the romance of it all
tasted like honey
for a while
tearing up
the torn
wanton soul
signalling in
the other
like a mirror reflects
a different, clearer
kind of understanding,
turns and genuflects
the mystery
hides
its answers
what matters
is discovered
eventually
pressed
between pages
like wild summer flowers
love sits
together
with the keys
notes
read red
revealed
a beautiful
unseen
decadence
future soon
sears
past tense
eventually
love
sits with all
the keys
singing in tune
the mystery
Moonspinner
Seer
(LadyLabyrinth/ 2022)
“Je te laisserai des mots” / Patrick Watson 1h with rain
https://youtu.be/eIsG4u22D7s
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I found us in a shoebox,
tucked between receipts and time~
your laugh pressed flat like August wheat,
your eyes still wet with sun.
The edges curl like fingers
reaching for what’s slipped away:
a carnival of fireflies,
the porch swing’s lazy groan,
the way the light would hesitate
before it left the room.
Now the colors bleed a little~
your shirt a faded blue,
the sky behind us thinning
to something less than true.
But here, in this dim silence,
I hold the ghost of sound:
the shutter’s click, your whispered stay,
before the world moved on.
I’ve made a few mistakes in my life. I can say that with aplomb
I wore a blue brocade tux with a top hat and cane to my junior/senior prom.
I once let a beautician curl my hair...now that was really astute!
I thought a curly head of hair would do wonders for my new blue leisure suit.
She said a perm would make my baldness seem fuller and my love life it would prolong.
When it was over it took but one look in the mirror to know that she was wrong.
My hair looked like a rebellious Brillo pad and I’m not being indiscreet
when I say the only female attracted to me was a French Poodle down the street!
In college while out drinking with friends I pretty much sealed my fate
when I cozied up to a pretty cheerleader and asked her for a date.
Was it the alcohol or was it love that made me forget I’d have to contend
With her boyfriend…sitting next to her…
was he the quarterback or a tight end?
I don’t remember, but I know my distilled confidence made me feel bold and brave and brash.
What happened next is a bit of a blur...
I woke up face down in the trash.
The point here is we all make mistakes
they await us around every turn.
We shouldn’t be afraid to make them
because from them we’ve so much to learn.
Without mistakes we wouldn’t have the chocolate chip cookies so many of us crave.
The slinky would have never been invented...
no post it notes or microwaves.
There would be no penicillin,
no fireworks would ever be seen.
Without mistakes we’d see a straight tower in Pisa
and miss that beautiful lean.
We will try and fail many times in our life,
sometimes we’ll crash...
sometimes we’ll fly
but the biggest mistake we will ever make...
is when we fail to even try.
True I didn’t get a date with the cheerleader
but I still remember to this day
Her smile and that wink she gave me
as her huge boyfriend dragged me away.
I remember that moment with fondness...
I know as a couple we would have been cute.
She, the beautiful cheerleader,
and me in my blue leisure suit.
I’ll never understand
people who destroy trees.
Those stationary counterparts to humans,
have so many stories and wisdom to share.
Like the lines on faces;
each limb speaks volumes,
about its personality.
Each curl, a journey; with each twist,
a curve ball is thrown its way and
it’s forced to detour.
Where the squirrel and bird see real estate;
I see a being, ecstatic about life.
A sentinel and friend, guarding my yard,
nurturing my inner child.
The whispering leaves on wind,
Sing their songs; lull me into a deep sleep.
Creating shade for cooling and shadows that,
jettison my imagination,
on a journey through timeless universes.
When I hug a tree, I feel love;
they are providers,
generously sharing their ionic breath,
with all life.
From poet to painter;
trees are friends and inspiration.
We share similar bodies and limbs,
but tree roots are more solid than humans, at times.
They need not roam; nor are they restless.
They defend when Sol’s angry temper rages;
we cower near trees, for safety and tree faces,
are charred a crispy black; still they stand guard.
They will heal and prepare for his next tantrum.
Life giving breath, are the trees and
they work hard for our respect.
No, I will never understand why people destroy,
such souls, as trees.