Long Cusps Poems
Long Cusps Poems. Below are the most popular long Cusps by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cusps poems by poem length and keyword.
Earth health-love resonance
is bird song
contrasted to dissonance
of non-ecologos
decaying cars
and non-theomythic truck technologies
of terror
and mismanaged motorcycles
flowing incessantly by.
Optimal resonance lives inside an eco-forested bird sanctuary
before and after a WestWind storming toward East
contrasted to challenged resonance
of living every WinLose day
next to a bird-nested tree
and a State HighWay.
These influence our polycultural health-love outcome potential
hearing Either-Or deductive contrast
as Left-oppositional and Right-appositional,
bipolar egocentric and dipolar eco-harmonic,
and see Both-And induced comparisons
polypathic wonder of ego-health potential
with polyphonic awe for eco-wealth integrity,
And not so monoculturing mundane much
as simply and always Win-Lose fundamentalism,
Either deductively successful
Or reductively impossible;
anti-inductive mistrust.
Future Search of a newborn child,
Both-And Elder RightBrained,
regardless of species
or multicultural seasoning,
is boundaried by DNA-RNA's historical
holonic iconic meaning
folding-unfolding fractals
in emerging-submerging bilateral Time.
In this same way,
Future Search of post-millennial Real 4Dimensional Time
regeneration
is double-boundaried
by WinWin PositivEnergy
historical and ecological confluent memories
and LoseLose NegativEntropic
dissonant
absence of Future WinWin ReSearchers,
whistling birdsong favorites
after climatic WesternDominant storms.
BeLoved Resonant
mythic mystery
lies within wu-wei cusps
Tipping Points of Left-nature with Right-spirit,
secular experience of and for sacred iconic memory,
ecologos and theomythos
reweaving
reconnecting Left with Right,
Yang with Yin,
EgoPatriarchs in healthy love with WiseElder EcoMatriarchs
inside as outside,
within as without,
below as above
Zero Health-Articulating Zones
for Win-Win love.
Starry Eyed on a Starry Night, I was lost inside
like a Shooting Star, Flame and Fire Intertwined
Pondering like a Heathen of Knights
Wondering, Gazing, upon the cusps of Eternal Life
what thence fore is I, when I have not Truly Lived
to wield a Boon, to wield a Torch, towards True North, my Soul Drifts
shall I commence an Excellent Dream
or shall I give in to what it may seem,
shall I Birth Forth a New Dawn from within
when all seems lost, when the troughs drift to High Thoughts upon a whim
shall I unmask the Shadows and Veils that swallow the Flame,
or grow Wings, to chase Dreams, for Heavens Sake
shall I acquire a Virtue of Solace or a Great Storied Ballad
or a Crook and a Flail or a Chalice,
shall I chase Stars when Ideals are things of past
when Fields of Dreams are deserted like a worn-out Hourglass,
shall I acquire a Shield, a Helmet, or a Sword perhaps
like Days of Old, like Chivalric Pasts
shall I Stomp through the Barren Wastelands a Prince a Paladin
where the Rivers don't flow, where there is No Hope and No Passions
and there where the Paths were Weary, I Stood Upright
and what was Found, was Claimed, I Was A King Of Light
When I am one in two
I hesitate
To let my thoughts withdraw,
For in the safety of that zone
I trust my friend who hears my voice alone.
She may not finish my unsaid words,
Though sometimes she does,
She may not understand where I was going,
But she always faithfully tries.
The art of being two is a garden,
Where one hand sows, the other grows.
When birth takes place in the womb of the earth,
The hands fold together as one,
Dignified with grace,
Thankful for the blessing.
A trace of the everlasting
Seen in the unquestioned root
Of how devotion
A good life fulfills.
In my heart there is a chamber
I share with no more then one.
There is but a single key,
Whose power is to open a world
Where a dolphin lies anchored
To an unbound universe.
Who is in possession of this key,
Is responsible.
To fear, flee and drop the chance to enter
Is a choice the unworthy can make.
To jump,
To leap into that island room,
Where seas,
Stormy, serene, salty and fresh
Blind the senses and reshape thoughts,
Is to fall into an ocean where a great dolphin
Lies in shackles. Time and action
In slow motion
Must move.
The setting free of divine spirits an art
Beholden
Only to she
The right one.
She who enters this space,
Where private thoughts wordlessly are spoken,
Where flowers grow on the cusps of waves,
Where faith is more then trying,
Where roots grow from a seafloor miles below,
Where stars in the sky whisper secrets,
Laughing with affectionate wonder
At the two below
Whose only prison
Is the freedom
To say yes or no
To a risky life
Both bonded and unbounded,
Is she whose nimble fingers will by love alone,
Sink the chains and set the dolphin free.
Oh so long has he waited for she his chosen one
So long has he dreamt of the journey to come.
Upon his back she wept and held,
And into the open world they ever went
And never ceased to be.
If age is a constant then daydreams and nightmares
will cease to exist when the best of life is achieved
as maturity stabilizes at a level of immaturity favors
the innocence in confidence-mired ill-retrieved
those hopelessly enwrapped by rhetorical triggers
stemmed by the proposer amongst the ill-believed
'tis liken a heist at gunpoint to corner those regretters
to have brains (methinks) to cusps their mind deceived
and churned their souls to enter their relievers
and entertain the premature notion that they conceived
participants to ascertain the wherewithal of achievers
better or best consciously the line of inquiry perceived
to mull over and enter the zone as one of the leavers
to post with the best, to the winners be my best-wished.
emotions of grief loss and bereavement had filled his days
for so long now and he had resolved most issues to some satisfaction
he dreamt of a turning point transition and profound metamorphosis
maybe he should have a butterfly tattoo on his physical body
the thoughts and feelings were necessary for moving on
yet he needed rest for his irritable soul and shift of consciousness
then came a profound emptiness not in the Buddhist sense
at least not so far as a personal Nirvana stillness serenity
more so a void a dark cloud waiting for a light lining of hope
he would have been tempted to refill his cup at the cusp
but what had defined him in the past was no longer there
and shallow pleasures or delusions of instant happiness
were not available on his horizon and the rainbow invisible
an empty vessel might be the better choice than hollow gratification
patience had never been his best virtue and the road ahead was rugged
full of rocks crevices speed bumps potholes and absence of direction
a tsunami had come and he could not push the river any longer
which made him hold on to the reed of faith acceptance and courage
he spoke to himself that one day he would wish to wake up
and say out aloud I am fully present in this day and the moment
right then he realised that he had just announced the very thing
he had been lacking and God had given him a simple answer
I stand on the precipice
the edge of nowhere, nothing
screaming
Screaming into the void
all that I am and, all that I will be
or ever was
I am at the edge of the earth
the rim of reality
the cusps of creation
the point of oblivion
the destination of all
nothing nevermore
the only thing never seen
the deep depth of the abyss
I feel the things never dreamt of
an unnamed, unloved oblation
I stand on the edge nothing
nonetheless screaming
into the void the space
in between and unseen
the void
the realm
of what was and what will be
all of creation in the heartbeat of atoms
The birth of an infinitival star
At the start of all, there is
& ever was or will be
the first last and all ways
screaming into the void
I stand on the precipice
the edge of nowhere, nothing
screaming an unnamed
unloved oblation
a fragment of a god
Memories of future events
Recollections of measures ahead
Reminiscence in fast forward
Aspirations leaping back
Projections of past reckoning
Icebergs frozen in conscience
Consciousness without borders
Recollective molten amnesia
Advanced reality looms precariously in forgone loops of oblivion
Renounced surrender pleads for reprieve in courageous defeat
A clairvoyant seeks to make sense of tea leaves still drowned
The backstage raven cusps darkened hope where none is left
Futuristic amnesia on the run is looking onto sunken imprints
Dragged feet are pegged to a ragged core of stuttering insanity
Wild wings roar raging on collision courses with roots’ firm recall
Yet the fool seeks wisdom if only for reruns of nascent madness
The black bird is caught in a trap of concerted voices in aphasia
A torn music sheet drifts down an abyss behind closed curtains
But the clouded clown’s mind refuses time's penultimate applause
Claps his bound feet and decides to enrol in imponderable cheers
21st February 2020
I combed cool waters of your baby blue
crystalline Jewel as you waded waterfall
waves washing my stellar rainbow rays
arching it melted into the warm womb
of transducing tangoing Earth
Her Violet Flame devoured us both
as nectared dewdrops to fuel the fire
our soma swirling into ecstatic orange
oxytocined crane flowers whispering
wisdoms to a hundred yellow butterflies
fluttering and flirting
They circled a sunken Atlantean apex
atop where you ruled anew with Baconian
brown locks surrounded by sirens serving
savoury silver sardines, oolite oyster shells
sang solos as dolphins dived, oceanic mouthed
In Ancient Egypt you followed my runcinate
rulings or indigo sorrow siglums, sighing
becoming slimmed seeker who served
Thoth well whilst wreathing my wounded
worthiness and fallow fallopian tubes
at pyramidal plumed midnight hour
In our Grecian lifetime you draped alabaster
urns lighting my marble mantelpiece
I watched breath enter your nebulae nostrils
as you crafted provincial proverbs instructing
slaves to whiten your garb with lemons from
our sculpted garden
On lavender Celtic hills we exchanged kilts
not knowing whose waist was whose
barefoot we flaunted sleek sharp sapphire
studded swords dancing necessary wild wars
Who remembered and who forgot
where in ether our nestling niche napped
as games of betrayal, fear or doubt
doubled into involuting circles and spirals
each tried to neck THE VOID as naked
excuse for not excavating heaving Heart
How much escaping, escapades, evolutionary
clocks cloak our cusps or cues or custard
synchronicities
how many summer summit starlings must
seek to sing of sorrow or of wolves, withering
willows, watermelons on this Planet of
coloured curriculums
holding dear our distinctive designs where
lacy lament is but another aperture into Space
I seek not to know !
Late November,
and lonely resonance of harmattan
salutes this solitude.
A weaverbird's contralto, in one
gale-sweep, lays bare the lower balustrade
of a maisonette,
and the romance of the last seasons
shoots the long throat of the clarinet...
O'classicals, on wings
ye come;
leaf cusps and petal ears —
classicals, swearing oaths of
mellifluous assembly...
Calm rhythms hasten to the
ears of Beethoven —
summon him for a serenade,
lest the dark shelter of a
decrepit day strips this solitude.
Anodyne hisses among
this hidden threshold,
curing and healing the weakness of
Clepoatra's hair, dampened with
the venom of haters of vanity.
Classicals,
rid us now of this grief of mundane
dances...
Even in death, Stravinsky hails solitude
on notes of the keys.
From the clarinet,
the bimetallism of barter —
the platitude of life and death
(symbiosis of percussions)
epitaph to the aftermath of
inveterate tradition —
now and forever...
And the clarinet looms.
The boudoir joins us in absorbing feeling
a Goddess right next to me under cover
breathless and inspiring we share the muse
of all muses as we preside over wedlock
hands tied around leather bound spines
filled with passion and undying whispers
Senses filled to the brim at cusps of delight
we do not require picture book illustrations
because our desire goes deeper than images
Exquisite coupling of rhythm meter and verse
then with glowing faces and filled with warmth
we talk philosophise read and weave our stories
Poet trees in motion swirl in moments forever
rooted in foundations of memories and covenant
like book binders we glue sweet narrations together
kiss wet lips in suspense and come together again
In the beginning there was the word and we follow
the humble script of pleasure and truthful vows
When we move pages and are moved by each other
our pillows are drenched in tears of joy and the scent
of never-ending new beginnings at the heart of elation
and tender triumph over sadness we know only too well
But we position ourselves in gratitude and serenity and
only a reader and lover understands the privilege we have
20th March 2021