Long Curved Poems
Long Curved Poems. Below are the most popular long Curved by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Curved poems by poem length and keyword.
A belt of blue cheese at the feet
Makes the mountain beyond Bachuma gate
Glow in that mysterious hues that all distant
Mountains carry upon their crooked humps
A wall behind which the Mombasa sun sheepishly hides
Until the herders of the low lands suffocate it with dust
From a thousand pairs of hooves, then it rises up the mountain
That splits a people into two Counties, a farmer and a nomad
The watchtower of our fore fathers
Against animal and fellow man
That mountain saved lives
And became a shrine
For the exaltation of HE who curved it
From raw matter, embellished with caves
That invites humanity from E and W to drop jaws
A fair day will beckon from this mountain
With orange smile of a sun eager to ascend into sky
A dreary one will keep you waiting, encumbered
By a shroud of fog, that smoky mesh that covered
Burnt sacrifices in the golden days, yet a day
Of profound beauty, as colourful as a people tending a field of crops
Watered by the mountain spring, will emerge
The mountain of peace, for the elders swear by it
While mending feuds, Will remain forever
Its work among the creatures of earth undone
Interminable strife betw’n man and beast
Getting louder by day in the corridors of Tsavo Park
May the stony humps echo the survival anthem
Before the giggle and belch of hyenas drown it
Herders of low lands, for a century, scrutinize the mountain’s shadow
To stay off hoof breaking haste driving their speckled animals to rest
That mountain will be standing there tomorrow
Waiting for the sun and rain
It will hear man sobbing
It will listen to birds singing
The hyena will growl
It will not hear
The theme of this story
is a brown beagle puppy
with a blocky head, large ears,
a curved-up tail and white pawns.
I proudly mamed that gorgeous pooch:
Lucky...the hound that loves to smooch!
I was asleep, cuddled up in a warm blanket...
when I hear the bark of a dog, and
as the howl increased, the wind whipped the iced window;
and hurriendly went down stairs,
without putting my slippers on, so curious
to know where that high-pitched bark came from.
When the door slammed open, there surprisingly, I saw
a stranded, shivering beagle stucked in snow:
staring at me with innocent puppy eyes,
and I could tell he was hungry and cold;
he tried to lift his frozen and stiff paws, but he couldn't...
a quiver of sympathy gave me goose-bumps!
I picked him up and brought him in,
and he started to lick my face to thank me,
so affectionate and loving was that expression,
which I reminisce quite often, going back to that winter's evening.
I laid him in a small crate with a thick blanket, and he went to sleep;
how calm and happy was he, lightly snoring and dreaming!
The next day I took him to the nearest Animal Hospital,
and they gave him a warm bath, and how he loved that!
Yes, the beagle was out of danger and he was healthy,
like he was before he got lost and couldn't find his way home,
and since He had no tag on his collar, he couldn't be identified by name;
I wanted to keep this beautiful dog so badly...the playful dog I called Lucky!
many are lions as once was I,
but now I sit on the porch
and swing.
As I watch my lives go by.
would it be so bad to dream
and of dreaming be enclosed
in the circular motions
of others
I once wore a paisley shirt
and said goodbye,
watching an only ball
rolling down the gutter
disappearing
into the mouth of a sewer.
Those empty moments of every life
where the thought never occurs
Astonishment
is what they call it:
the unexpected experience
a dead zone.
the zero.
Our heroes
always appear in bright spots,
hence the halo.
I have not seen my blood for a time.
It is the red that always remains
who we are, where we are,
what we are not,
it allows the internal to emerge
the external to enter
more often than not
there is fear
but when fear comes
you must remember that it comes
it comes.
therefore, it was never really here
to begin with.
I have tasted wooden spoons
when the batter is gone,
my tongue brushing the fibers
of the wood, it feels good.
that curved kernel of popcorn,
a golden retina of shell,
married to the curve of enamel
Artfully bonding to an outside tooth
where the tongue cannot dislodge it.
I tasted metal lips pressed to mine
where water and life emerged.
the faucet was my friend.
I tasted places where tongues explore
and eagerness collapses,
touched the velvet back of caterpillars,
stroked pollen wings of things
more beautiful than I.
I have seen the beauty
of those things that mount the sky
I have slain and lain with things
and wondered why.
And I have thought.
This alone ought to be enough,
but we are always
and have always been
more than enough.
I wandered from a dream into a nightmare
when a desperate voice I continued to hear.
As her weeping grew louder, I felt her near
catching a glimpse of white lace hovering in the air.
Too quickly to see her clearly, she disappeared.
Anxiety nearly paralyzed me with fear
She materialized again, eyes swollen and red.
Her tulle veil was pulled back for me to see
that she seemed to be real, not a mere reverie.
She floated away, then gave me a start
when I saw her body detach from her head.
I was chasing shadows of an apparitional bride.
Was she taunting me in some ghoulish game
by calling to me, using my name?
A daunting task to find a ghost that can hide
inside a chimney, or floating through walls.
The halls were too dark and I could barely see
when suddenly, something cold touched me.
It was as if ice had brushed across my lips,
and then I realized it was her finger tips.
A pale vision, dressed in tattered Alencon lace
stared into my face. Her eyes implored,
but I didn't know what she wanted from me.
I dared not move or take a breath.
I was filled with dread, wary of being haunted
as I looked into the countenance of death.
I heard the raspy voice of this specter speak,
asking if I would be a good wife, and then
something about my life being a good fit
but I couldn't grasp the meaning of it.
I opened my mouth, and tried to talk
to this phantom creature in front of me.
I trembled then fell before the pale ghost
for now I knew what it was that she sought.
A host so she could live again.
By her spirit within me I had been wrought.
The last thing I remember were her wistful eyes,
fading as though she were saying, "Goodbye."
Tears clung to the length of her black lashes,
pink lips were curved in a halcyon smile.
I was vaguely aware of the scent of woodsmoke,
my night clothes covered with soot and ashes.
I cried out in a voice that wasn't my own,
begging for help, and that's when I woke...
wearing a tattered Alencon lace gown.
October 13, 2021
Ghost Lace Contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
I stepped up to the plate,
with my old, familiar stance,
thinking my set routine,
would parry the pitcher’s prance.
The first was a curved ball,
curiously spun with such intrigue.
I watched it drift in, then away,
off the plate. A ball!
The next was a fast-ball, right on line.
I swung too early, too locked up in dreams,
Convinced I was right, as ever, this time!
A Strike! Being right on line. It ain't divine!
I saw the third pitch dip out of the hand,
I flinched with doubt, opting out, I folded.
It was a knuckle ball! I bailed too fast —
Missed the moment, let it pass! Strike 2!
A slider sent, brought my memories to the fore,
I thought back to what I'd done before.
When the ball leather smelled so fresh.
Sure enough a Hit, but alas, a Foul.
The fifth came cloaked in abject silence.
No wind, no banter, just hollow air.
I was frozen out, by the silent treatment,
Left waiting, waiting, burning insane.
I swung too late! Phew! Ball 2!
Then came the soft one, slow and low,
a change-down thrown, as pitcher sunk low —
with eyes half-closed, head bowed,
in a sorta 'It's ME Time' trance!
A hit! It soared, the crowd went wild —
A Home run for the inner child!
Now my stance, is more tuned,
more still, more considered.
Reading each pitch as it comes,
not too heartfelt nor willful.
Not naming the pitch, nor predicting it,
just knowing when to wait,
to bend and meld, to get an even break.
July day
A heaviness entraps with the folding of the clouds
Paleness, thunderous, symmetrical and curved lines.
Stare into the stillness escaping the shroud
Look for the glimmer it is there bending entwined
Monitor the evolving motions changing
The nimiety of gas rolling, engrossing even captivating
Slices of flash and echoes erupt
Merged hues austere yet enticing almost bewitching
Panic intense…
Then - gallons rolling, descending, pounding arriving
Landing on the solid and rebounding in rhythm
Grassy aroma, dust fluctuates on earthy mounds lifting
Concave pools forming gushing and flowing
Hush proceeds - the effervescent fizz now draining
Escaping their landing by gulps into the crevices
Drips into the nooks, sills, rails and leaves
No trace just reflective is remaining.
Form:
It's been 2 years, and I can't get over you
I tried to move on, but all I see is you
I mistake names, I mistake dates, what did you do to me?
I just want to let you out of my head, out of my reality
Baby it has been 2 years since we broke up
I can't get you out my mind, I'm fed up
I love you, love has still
I love you, when i see you my heart softly thrill
when I think about you, you are all I need
when you look at me, I'm the flower because you were my good seed
I would do anything to get you back
I would cross the seas, i would go to Iraq
I would listen to your lies, I wouldn't complain
I know i'm crazy but Without you I'm getting insane
I would do anything to get by your side
I would run to you, in your arms i would hide
2 years has past and you are curved like a tattoo in my head
I remember our first date, I remember the sweet words you said
I know that I deserve some1 better
But it doesn't matter to me, will you please stop making me suffer
Everything is changing around me but my heart refuses to change
It still wants you peacefully, without any harm, without revenge
It snowed, It rained, there were thunders and storms
But, forever my big heart will be your warm, lovely home
When I do , I would get entwined with lady Faith
If she is not, I will wear her a name hung on heaven's gate
She would graciously be delivered of a set of twins
Beautiful they would bountifully fit into God's beings
I and my Faith would give them both biblical names fix
One would wear a name curved from Hebrews ten ticking three six
Called Patience, One will wear a name sculptured from Hebrews tenth
ticking three nine called Belief Cos' Faith gave birth to both
Coin from Hebrews ten ticking three six running towards three nine
6/23/2020
Jenish Somadas
Let the Pens Flow - Rhyme Poetry Contest
"A Mother"
An angel planted itself
in the womb of the world
for a short while
a mother carries humanity
trying to heal her wounds
the chalice of her ocean earthed
bleeds life for all it is worth
Gaia cries but she is so much stronger
vibrating dimensions higher
uncut in the heart
solid and so much stronger
than any god
a mother
ascending
dimensions higher
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
gvlm
"Viðrar vel til loftárása" / Sigur Ros
https://youtu.be/gwkcdRE6JEY
“I sink down into my body as into a swamp, fenland, where only I know the footing…. I’m a cloud, congealed around a central object, the shape of a pear, which is hard and more real than I am and glows red within its translucent wrapping. Inside it is a space, huge as the sky at night and dark and curved like that, though black-red rather than black.”
“The tulips along the border are redder than ever, opening, no longer wine cups but chalices; thrusting themselves up, to what end? They are, after all, empty. When they are old they turn themselves inside out, explode slowly, the petals thrown like shards.”
“Here and there are worms, evidence of the fertility of the soil, caught by the sun, half dead; flexible and pink, like lips.”
“Every month there is a moon, gigantic, round, heavy, an omen. IT transits, pauses, continues on and passes out of sight, and I see despair coming towards me like famine. To feel that empty, again, again. I listen to my heart, wave upon wave, salty and red, continuing on and on, marking time.
“I think that this is what God must look like: an egg. The life of the moon may not be on the surface, but inside."
“I used to think of my body as an instrument, of pleasure, or a means of transportation, or an implement for the accomplishment of my will.”
“We have learned to see the world in gasps.”
“...like a pathway through a forest, like a carpet for royalty, it shows me the way”.
“And so I step up, into the darkness within; or else the light.”
(The Handmaid's Tale/Margaret Atwood)
Viðrar vel til loftárása (Alternative Ending)/ Sigur Ros
https://youtu.be/re999Tgj3ns
The woods burn dark with heat.
The tree's have broad tops
That are sharp and winged.
As if they were named Ariel.
Green moss drips yellow water
Drop by drop.
Inside out their curved beards.
Old and new are entwined, together
Apart, as if green, each bush is.
Water yellow,
Flows from her, thick with fish.
Tadpoles and frogs,
Stuck in the necks of the storks.
Snakes large and larger still,
Where any could see, no one does
Or nothing of this is spoken of,
Because.
Smooth and round the swamp in length
Is.
Feeling the squirts, fifteen or twenty,
pulsating each time, flowing from
Away into the dark yellow swamp water.
Roots twist into the thick, callused,
Bruised flesh.
Mirrored in the warm, humid air.
Shaped as if an hourglass,
Caught in between, the middle.
Going in and out,
Are the long dark salamanders.
And then comes sleep.