Long Curtain Poems
Long Curtain Poems. Below are the most popular long Curtain by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Curtain poems by poem length and keyword.
In the deep darkness, where the soul draws its night curtain,
I write with the blind cruelty of children throwing stones,
Hitting a madwoman like a crow in chaotic flight,
No—not writing: opening a passage in the twilight,
So the dead may send cryptic messages,
An equation of shadows and light.
What is writing, if not a whirlwind of senses,
To steer through the light of mirrors in dense darkness,
To imagine places known only to me,
Like a song of distances, a melody of untouched faraways,
Hearing the vivid notes of birds painted on Christmas trees.
In the twilight of the soul, every word is a breach,
Through which silent spirits pass, shadowing star paths,
Like messengers arriving on ancient wings,
In a world of consciousness, where silence tends to be the universe,
Caught between thoughts, dreams, and old memories.
At the edge of night, words stand like sentinels,
Guiding paper steps through whirlwinds of aims,
Unraveling roots of unfulfilled desires,
In rhythms of painted birds, screaming under blue worlds.
Writing, this ancient art, a dialogue with the unknown,
The mirrors in which we see faces we have not known,
We lose ourselves in labyrinths of narratives, like lost children,
Hitting shadows with stones of poetry, outlining new skies.
Who am I, but a shadow sculpted by ancient times,
A speaker of those unspoken non-words,
The storyteller who lights up silent galleries,
Letting the dead sing their longing among speaking pages.
Breaches open in twilight, shadows gather,
Like a mysterious choir of paper birds, caught in Christmas trees,
Where pain and joy meet in vivid notes,
Of a song written in the depths of my soul.
This is how I write, not just with words, but with crushed echoes,
Drawing dream scenes in the black night,
Guiding through mirrors, led by the eternal call,
To give voice to the unknown, in tones dressed in melancholic magic.
Last night
in the flesh
everything was known
smelled like memory
woke up lost
begged
screamed
hands
weren't mine
somebody else
tied them up with strings
hanged on a stick
and
raised the curtain
I was asking for
we turned the ligths off
without words
I made him a prayer
let it be
let it become
but you weren't there
again
and I thought
today I disgust myself
morning shower
black coffee
laughter of a child that has a mother
flat tire of a bicycle
wandering among the shelves with groceries
McDonald's caramel icecream
I searched
behind wrong doors
again
nervously by thumb shaking of ashes
from the cigarette which I didn't enjoyed at all
eyes
have adopted the taste of wood
I became that from what I'm running away my whole life
I am s p a c e …
… and I owe indeed my existence from God
The Author of my breadth, depth, and height ---
With the Lord’s abundance…
I am bestowed with worthy meanings:
earthly residence, glorious habitation, celestial abode ---
Along the Almighty’s omnipotence…
my value becomes costly with ascribed phrases as
green pasture, even land flowing with milk and honey ---
Around the Saviour’s omnipresence…
emptiness can never creep in, while He vanquishes void
filling me with His wondrous magnificence ---
Upon the declaration of the supreme Sovereign…
I am under perfect control, supervised by His wisdom
cognizant that He “sitteth upon the circle of the earth”* ---
Midst the Master’s tender mercy and gracious miracles…
I am optimized with functional maximization
while with faith**, utilizers of my offers, trust God in their stewardship ---
While in the Providence timetable…
my moments are significant, especially when urgency attacks
via the impact of every hour, day and year I demand ---
I thank and praise my MAKER for enabling my being and becoming occupied…
Yes, I am s p a c e
Devoid of the CREATOR, I am n o t h i n g***.
*Isaiah 40:22 It is he that sitteth upon the circle of the earth, and the inhabitants thereof are as grasshoppers; that stretcheth out the heavens as a curtain, and spreadeth them out as a tent to dwell in.
** Hebrews 11:3 Through faith we understand that the worlds were framed by the word of God, so that things which are seen were not made of things which do appear.
***Job 26:7 He stretcheth out the north over the empty place, and hangeth the earth upon nothing.
January 16, 2021
1st place, "Musings on Space" Premier Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Unseeking Seeker; judged on 1/17/2021.
A scarlet sun bleeds onto a pink sky,
behind branches of a majestic oak.
And shadows ink its leaves in silhouette,
as lonely crickets chirp; and bullfrogs croak.
I hear the treetops swaying in the breeze;
and a brook, babbling, with a southern drawl.
But they're lost to the quiet of the night;
as time slows to a perceptible crawl.
When adventurous moths take to the air,
acrobatic bats hunt them down mid-flight.
And as darkness descends like a curtain,
twilight acquiesces to the night's might.
A quicksilver moon pools amidst the clouds;
dripping drops of sunlight onto the lake.
And all the cosmos begins to glitter;
as billions of sleeping stars slowly wake.
A lone owl's haunting hoot empowers dusk,
to extinguish the last lingering light.
And diurnal animals go to sleep,
as Nature silently whispers goodnight.
The church today seems sadly lacking
but what is it that's it's the real need?
something significant needs be found
for its survival action needed at speed
Basic godliness is a real requirement
being believers showing the spirit's fruit
of holiness, humility and sound doctrine
need dig deep down to the root
A real believing in God answers prayer
not just a routine of prayer each day
but a deep heart change of certainty
to believe God hears what you say
Now dwell deep on God's love
which would give you real assurance
for God's love eternal and certain
as Jesus shows splitting the curtain
Now, will the church rise again?
showing themselves true in devotion
in godliness, prayer and loving Jesus
committed fully making God our solution
(Having read an article on this title made think about the need for today's church to rise again showing God to be the world's answer to its present problems. )
When I was young, sometimes I’d get to go
to our town’s theater, where I would see
a curtain open up, then a long show
much better than the ones on my tv!
The seats inside this place were plush and red,
and there were lots of them row after row!
Small stars were on the ceiling overhead.
I felt enchanted by their magic glow.
With tales like “Sparticus,” so mesmerized
I’d sit and savor every movie plot.
Were movies a religion, I’d get baptized.
I love all types and I love them a lot!
I left for college. Foreign films I saw
with subtitles, and those I saw for free.
The themes were deep and filled my soul with awe.
The greatest film buff I had come to be.
Some forty years ago, I started to
see at least one movie every week
at a theater when they’re brand new.
And dramas most unusual I seek.
TGIF was on my license plate -
“Thank God It’s Friday” because I live for
my Friday matinees, and I can’t wait
to write reviews of movies I adore.
For years I have reviewed the films I’ve seen
on Facebook and at one time with my own
column in a poetry magazine!
And by the way, most shows I see alone.
My spouse hates going out and is not free
to go with me when I have days off, so
I’ll ask a movie buddy. Usually
she’s busy, but I’m fine just going solo!
I have other passions such as poetry,
e-mailing friends and striving for good health.
But once a week the “big screen” I must see.
Of movie plots, my brain contains a wealth!
Dec. 19, 2017 for the Meraki Contest of Silent One
The poet had said :
The world is a stage.
The stage
First Scene
Flood of spotlights
The actor in centre-stage, walks straight
The eyes looking up to the sky
The hands intimately hold, and held
The footsteps close, walk alongside
The figures liked, stay on
Others float around unwanted
The breath strong
The presence demanding
Cares for none.
Middle Scene
The actor runs around
A clock in hand
Pushes people on the ground
The stage is small.
Hits the wall, waits
The prompter says,
Say the line : 'time is short'.
The actor throws the clock
Doesn't care.
Last Scene
The spotlights dim
The actor bent, alone in the back of stage
A stick in hand
The eyes fixed on the ground
The hands don't hold, and hang unheld
The footsteps walk out of sight
The figures fade out.
The breath weak
The presence desolate
Searches for care.
The curtain drops
I enter the stage
The actor on the knees
Rises, and becomes my shadow.
July 14, 2017
Contest : All Yours (Jan 22)
Sponsor : Brian Strand
“It” defies the fabric we hold dear—
a predator of language, carving loopholes for the rich.
No filter. No trust. A shark in a stagnant lagoon,
circling the wreckage of thought.
“Its” justice is a ledger, not a scale,
a settlement for silence, a nation unraveled.
We obey, bound to “its” decree,
as “it” strips the backbone from the body of this land.
None will be spared “its” tread.
Powder dusts the glass—fragile, waiting to shatter.
They call “it” redundancy unity,
so you can rest your head,
counting pain like sheep in the dark.
We groan. We resist.
But the mind is a prisoner, chasing a freedom
that fades like a mirage in the heat.
The window is cracked, fractured with reflection,
the corporate jungle bleeding into our veins.
Reliance on a dealer of lies sets the trap,
an evening shadow stretching over a stage
of copper-stained deception.
A final act—
the lights dim, the curtain falls, the stage is empty…
Yet "it" remains. Watching. Waiting. Smiling.
I stare at the single rose
Resting in a red crystal vase
The light of the morning sun
Shines though the split in a dark black curtain
Hitting a single drop of dew
As it rolls down the velvety petal
Falling on a green leaf
Almost dropping to the floor
It looks like a tear at the beginning of a new cry
Sitting at the precipice
The edge of what it knows
And the unknown chasm below
It teeters on the edge
Not knowing what do to
It sits and waits
Trying to hold on
It finally falls into a ceramic dish
Resting for hours
Again it waits
Until it again finds itself rolling down a velvety petal
And the cycle begins again
What are you privy to that no one knows
The ailing of man midst his mortal woes
The pruned cards played face down by fates guided hand
Why nothing seems to work for some as they planned
The rumored corruption plaguing your moral'd mind
Fearing pulling the curtain for what you may find
A danger to all that test your frail courage
A younger's bold righteous will you'd discourage
To keep those holding reigns of power unsullied
You've looked down while men of principles were bullied
When did you lose it all and embody disgrace
Self imprisoned by a younger, more honest face
You remember vows sworn to never live their way
The buried inner scorn when thence came the day
And reasoned the why and the horrendous lies
To walk a false and heinous path, truth decries
Giving up your soul to walk midst the fold
Accepting that, now on, you'd live life controlled
Losing your wife and in the courts, your children too
Sure that in the end, you'd make it through
Sure that in the end, you'd come too
But in the end, you'd rather pull this trigger
And just be through
And that's just what you'll do
!
Sirens-
Screams-
Regained Clarity-
Seeing: ‘Seeing What Became of Me’
Release.