Long Curtained Poems
Long Curtained Poems. Below are the most popular long Curtained by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Curtained poems by poem length and keyword.
I see thee yet, mine eyes on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,
Thus to mine eyes, o'er th'one half world 'pon the sacred curtained sleep,
Seek thou sure and firm, set stepp'd earth nigh summon thee to Heaven, for 'twas echoed knell,
Thy very soul hath prate of thy whereabouts, hear it not, 'tis seeming rest,
Was't the bludgeoned torrent that hath 'straught and tarnish the flesh in faith?
Is't the the awakened howl that hath thus cried? Thou shan't look on't again, thou'st darest do nought.
Thou'st which poor malice hath hail th'merry well half hounded soul,
'Tis the keys locked 'pon thy versities, for 'twas once the pungent ghoul,
Cribb'd, confin'd, is't the glowered blood that hath b'come blanched by thy wall,
Hath slept'n stitch, thy valiance hath drunk'n thy blood 'gainst the wear,
Thou wouldst cut deep, for 'tis o'th'world th'hellhound e'er so sharp'n sleepless squalor,
Here hath thee lay, 'tis'n tow for th'clamoured "love-long livelong night" to close,
Thou see so speak, so th'lamentings heard i'th'air, hath clench the hand e'er so badged'n blood,
'Tis the trill of th'obscure bird, Ho! Do pall th'horror, the wine of life is drawn, sun dreamt'n covered in gall,
'Twas a bath bathed within thy tears, so slept'n the affliction, hath bellowed deathless fears,
Thou hushed had it now seen, so scarf upon the eye'n tender brow, hath drench'd th'sun crowned crow,
So lay th'drought o'thy blood,
'Til thy conjured mirth of blade, shalt milk th'bile of human mind,
See to none o'th'blessings,
For whoe'er so high shall fall, so fall, e'er once more.
So, adieu! Adieu! 'Til hither shall callst thy night'n th'gallows,
'Tis a hush, none spoke nor howl,
"Thus thou shall sleep no more."
Thy hath seen, so spoke,
"Thus thou shall sleep no more."
Should we write in form to make a shape
Or let our minds run free, associate?
Such tangled webs within the mind are draped
Oh, to run as free as antelopes
But from sharp tigers noone will escape
Can we control , disarm within a shape?
Love’s enacted falsely , making rape
Inside our hearts shall we recover hope?
Such tangled webs the curtained mind creates
Round the marbled minds we half dazed traipse
Wherever we go hunting, we’re too late
Can we control our fear within a shape?
Collapsing faith cracks , can we concentrate
Or from the deal , do we dissociate?
Such tangled webs of mind make ripe our hate
Now sex compels but will can’t procreate
Can kindness smile and friendship instigate?
Should we write in form when we love shape?
Our mingled maps of mind might mangle fate
The elderly
have died here, in the shade
of this curtained close.
My world is narrowing:
small occurrences,
haunt the moments;
the coming and going
of window shadows,
the number of sparrows
at my sparrow feeder.
The language of significance
grows louder.
The dead are my neighbors,
three, four, six times removed.
The living fret over the mail,
but the ones I barely knew,
the once that have moved on,
sit out front
smoking cigarettes in the rain.
I see them
the way a mother duck
counts her brood
from behind her back.
As regular as street signs,
they appear. The passing
and the past away, guide me
over this small suburban patch
Here at the end of the road,
it feels okay
to be led this way.
I had just got my hands
on the new ‘Sergeant Pepper’ album.
The four girls that lived above my pad
were notified by jungle drums.
Soon we were six, Roger
with his blonde Mexican mustache
and shoulder length hair came over.
We sat about a portable record player,
passing the album cover around
and swaying to the music
filling the room with prayerful smoke.
By and by,
Roger took Diane to her room.
Michelle led me behind the curtained alcove,
Isobel and Maggie got it on together.
When we had done with the music
we had long disbanded
the lonely-hearts club band.
Later, Roger died from the hole he had dug
in the London drug scene. My mate.
One grandmother lived to see Lennon shot.
One lived on long enough
to hear of Harrisons stabbing.
Michelle. the last grandmother
she who broken heartedly adored Paul,
died peacefully
listening to her signature tune.
I know this because the Maharishi Yogi
came to me in a dream.
He was seated on top of a multicolored
Rolls Royce surrounded by
happy, nubile grandmothers.
None of them seemed old,
the girls were playing with lots of children,
and looked just as cool as ever.
I could have called this poem, Love,
but we all know:
Love Is All You Need.
the bottom lines scripted peripheries in a mirror
a headline toppled and reversed time and place
left became right and wrong pretended its centre
denuded illusions spoke in forked shiny tongues
lingua franca became subversive and spun yarns
and the spike of a spindle put wool over her eyes
prologues anticipated an apocalyptic message
hindsight firmly foreclosed unhinged shutters
framed in warped memories she recollected
blinds and veiled faces curtained in rags
holes and apertures appeared in the lore
essence void of existence smudged in tears
she relived captions and small printed subtexts
post-scripted antecedents and false premises
edited reminders and pasted virtuous contrasts
until meaning blocked out the pain of denial
a book mark covered in dust had refused to fade
and sealed approval onto questions and doubts
22nd June 2020
Before the Dawn — the Soul awakes —
Within a curtained Room —
No Candle lights the Consciousness —
Yet stirs — within the womb —
A Whisper through the Watery Veil —
A Music — faint — and near —
The Fingers start — the Eyelids dream —
Yet Thought is not — quite clear —
The Chamber — soft — with Silence sways —
Sedation — sweet — as Sleep —
The Mind — unknowing — gently folds —
Its Secrets — yet to keep —
No Ladder yet — from Flesh to Flame —
The Circuits — still not formed —
But now — at Twenty-Six — they weave —
A Tapestry begun —
Reflex — like Petals — open slow —
To greet a foreign Air —
And Consciousness — like Morning Light —
Unfolds — to find it -- there --
“A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than he loves himself.” – Josh Billings
When I was happy, you smiled.
When I was sad, you cried.
When I was lonely, you consoled.
When I gave you my heart, you gave me yours.
Thorns pricked, and you put your cheeks against mine,
healng my wounds in your soft furry touch.
Licking my face, you squirmed all over me,
your paws tangled in my hair, your tail wagging in joy,
dancing and swerving at my feet, you snuffed and kissed.
Reflecting sunlight into my foggy curtained nights,
Whispering small sounds deep into my soul,
As you caressed my pats, I radiated in your warmth.
Resonated in a passionate bond of karmic nearness,
devoted prayers, I saw in your dark, silent eyes.
Brimming with love, you fed my undying hope,
Courage to hold back tears, and strength to cope.
And then you betrayed me .... you died…
You will not wait patiently for me to return home
You will not run to greet me.
You will not nap with your face on my neck.
But as you leave, I have your parting gift.
Your watchful eyes, they guard me all times.
everlasting impressions of melancholy chimes
Man’s best friend, You taught me humanity.
You lay buried in my heart, in your love of eternity.
Dated 24th April, 2021
There were special places
where the mind could hide,
way up in the branches
of a tall tree, safe within
a ball of leaves,
halfway to heaven.
Or on a bike aimlessly riding
streets when the hypnotic
hum of tyres and the constant
rhythm broke through
and sent me
into a pleasant trance
as if the body was floating
free of the ground.
Then there were places
where you couldn't hide,
dark and musty hollows
they called holy places
populated with legions
of dead souls sniffling
their sorrows
in the candlelit air.
Dark cubicles carrying
the odor of sin,
the sour breath of absolution
filtering through
a curtained grill.
And all around, images
of pain plastered on walls
pressing a claim
for love under the threat
of everlasting fire
just for refusal.
It all sounds silly now,
the hellish props stacked away
in an unused corner
covered in ash.
Discarded remnants
of an ill informed past.
And yet at times, I am sure,
I can feel something small
still twitch on the end
of a severed nerve.
I call out. But nobody
seems to be there.
Behind The Curtain Door
There's one in front,
there's one in back,
Both keyless doors,
with wooden latch,
All else there hangs,
the curtained door,
A simple sheet,
and nothing more,
Be the thirties,
ere Pearl Harbor,
Her dad was a
country farmer,
Mom just a girl,
preteen to be,
A wealth of growth,
a life carefree,
Her known siblings,
decade that's next,
For it was best,
be so complex,
As mom had lived,
during hard times,
People lived off,
nickels and dimes,
Her mom and dad,
gave her great cares,
For just be quite,
the child of theirs,
You see mom knew,
when told to wait,
Back of curtain,
door, yon lies fate,
Behind the
curtain door she saw,
Siblings crated,
by ma and pa,
She saw ma weep,
and pa steadfast,
For another,
sibling had passed,
Soda crate box,
aligned with sheets,
Adorned flowers,
on top completes,
Her mom then called
my mom by name,
From yonder curtain
door she came,
Grandma had,
*kukui-hele-po,
Grandpa had,
her sis. or a bro.,
Slowly she walked,
respectfully,
All offered
prayers, thankfully,
Mom was the
eldest of thirteen,
Outlived them all,
be piety,
Five she did share,
a life and more,
Nay, seven seen,
yon curtain door.
2020 February 26
*Hawaiian word for 'kerosene lamp', "kukui" is the oil from the candlenut, "hele" is to go, "po" is light
Howmanysyllables;
32 lines x 8 syllables per = 256 syllables total
In opulence you lie and dream
Of nothing but your Harem Queen
Her honeyed eyes and silky thighs
Those sultry moans and sated sighs
You dream of touching rounded breast
Of dipping into lover’s nest
The scent of jasmine on her bed
You feel her kiss anoint your head
The giddy taste of flowered dew
And all the things she does to you
In opulence you lie and dream
And taste again the sweetened cream
You feel once more the curve of waist
The sultry dance of thoughts unchaste
The searing trail left by her kiss
And how her mouth led you to bliss
You hear her panting out your name
When torrid storm, you can not tame
In passion’s throes, she bites her lips
Your vice like grip is on her hips
The time has come for her to know
You are the master of her show
Her tent of love, goes up in flame
You've danced and won Desire's game
Sated senses seduced to sleep
You know your peaceful thoughts she'll keep
In opulence you lie and dream
Of her who is your Harem Queen
When eyes awake to light of dawn
The curtained veil, away is drawn
What blessed sight your eyes will see
Your dreams were but reality…..
Eileen Manassian