Long Cylindrical Poems
Long Cylindrical Poems. Below are the most popular long Cylindrical by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cylindrical poems by poem length and keyword.
On the seashore, stretching endless,
There stands a lighthouse, a beacon of light.
Staying alone, it faces the roaring waves,
Guiding lost sailors and ships aright.
It often watches thundering breakers
It doesn’t command them to be still
Nor chase the brewing storms away
But sheds light poised on a rocky hill.
How many stories a lighthouse has to recount!
Stories of havoc, plunder and shipwreck,
Tales of escape from the fury of typhoons,
Of love and romance enacted on the deck.
Each lighthouse holds a mystical allure.
Broader at its base and narrower on its face,
It has a cylindrical and tapering shape
And stands as a sentinel with a piercing gaze.
In each one, there’s a lighthouse shining within
It guards us from all storms brewing inside
Shedding light along life’s murky tracks,
Leading us to coveted destinations like a guide.
The bright lights of the night's feathers...
The ointment of a cylindrical prayer is now - Spy aphorism...
My Siamese soul, caressed between a woman's fingers, a stained, fat racket...
In an announcement that no one hears, the old baker sells bodies. Fingers fall from behind every window, a clan cemetery at their tips
The sound of children dying on watery slopes, approaches me in .sandals. I collect my shadow from the strawberry garden.
I find peace in sleep. Young gloom remembers my traces on my feet.
With every opening of a black encyclopedia, I search for my plural face in the pages.
Balloons fill the sky. In the bottle I blow, the ocean breeze...
Someone sings lullabies and my eyes swing in the newborn's cradle.
As is said, we are He, who we seek
Today, let’s find out together
Love beckons, we try to take a sneak peek
But fears and desires tether
Veiled remains The Divine Mother
Knowing not the way, we stop flow of thought
Resting in pristine stillness
Joy currents within rise, both cold and hot
Heightening our awareness
Kundalini consciousness
Sublime serpent at root begins to stir
Divine feminine awake
Energy centers in subtle body whir
Our spine does the shake-shake-shake
Trust us; our sanity’s at stake
Pathways three; Sushumna, Ida and Pingala
Snake divine makes up its mind
Upon path of least resistance, has a gala
Unless ego borne fears bind
Charmed by our heart, it’s touch is kind
Oh worthy lama, go beyond all opposites
Serpent’s Holy Spirit in disguise
Be bemused not by myriad composites
Now, ceasing to weigh and size
Allow divinity to rise
02-January-2022
The Snake Charmer Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
Notes: A short overview of our energy (pranic) life force field
Kundalini is Shakti - the divine feminine, coiled like a serpent at the base of our spine. It is the kinetic aspect of God’s energy. The potential aspect is Shiva, at the crown chakra, correspondent to our fontanel on the top of head. Shakti yearns to reunite with Shiva and so rises at the optimal time, when mind-body vessel is purified. The energisation is felt as living magnetism within.
Ida is the cool channel, correspondent to left nostril. Pingala is the hot channel, related to our right nostril. Both these paths are serpentine, intersecting at the sacral, navel, heart, throat and third eye (between eyebrows), merging there to connect to the crown.
Sushumna is a three layered cylindrical conduit in the geometric centre of our body, joining the root chakra to the crown chakra. It is referred to as the energy expressway, rod of initiation or staff of power in different scriptures.
A pile of dead branches lay on the ground,
Once proud, now forgotten and dead.
I drag them, with the tractor, off the side of the hill,
And dump them by the side of the shed.
Then the chainsaw comes out, all sharpened and shined,
Filled with black oil and fuel.
Two hours of chopping into cylindrical blocks,
This chainsaws a perfect wood tool.
And the axe and the splitter come out for a play,
And my back is beginning to tire.
Finally I have a pile of splintered up logs,
All ready to light a warm fire.
Finally I relax, staring into these flames,
Hypnotised by their whimsical charm.
And I'm happy and free, just a little bit sore,
A winter's day on the family farm.
As the sky turns from blue to grayish black
Lightning and thunder begin to attack
The clouds send down a never ending rain
People begin to run, not looking back
But the ones that did became struck with fear
A cylindrical force spinning so near
Leaving a path of total destruction
And that is when everything became clear
It's the wrath of a massive tornado
So violent there is no where to go
Homes demolished in the blink of an eye
Their worst nightmare, an unbeatable foe
They had lost the chance to evacuate
Now all they could do was sit back and wait
And watch natures monster take everything
Because the warning siren came too late!
Peeling Back the Bubble Wrap
Peeling back the bubble wrap on the ancient of days,
Back to when Nixon was still presiding,
He, leading with paranoid deliberations,
Sold his yeses to the Goldbricks, and the Mustard Men;
And while he was dipping into the rubbery tides of the latex surfers,
I found your shadowy pointing breasts, shivering outside my backdoor.
You were standing in the dark, waiting for me to turn the key…
1973 was the year you taught me how to love a woman;
You, at 21 years, and me, ensconced in the stereo-lit darkness,
Of my dimly-lit bedroom on Hoover street;
You, wearing a wool skirt and that ruffled low-curving blouse,
With those tan buttons, like a half dozen corks, ready to be popped,
And you, sitting at my black upright piano,
The 1907 Schumann, made of stubborn black mahogany, and
You, with your long curved nails, femininely tapping the ivories,
Soliciting an intimate song I have since forgotten, but can still hear,
Your cylindrical tan legs pressing the piano pedals,
Like a fragile dancer made of fine glass, and
You, exploring human desire with determined pressings.
And then, into your garlanded home we strolled,
Hand in hand; And with our lips, we cleared the stoney path
Leading into the sun garden, amongst the cats and the posies,
And found astonished silhouettes behind the peephole.
Still peeling back the bubble wrap on the ancient of days,
Back to when my door was locked, and a green candle burned therein;
I saw you in the naked flickering, riding the tree of silver ascensions,
And with five pulsing fingers, I eagerly picked your finest flowers, over there,
Inside the throbbing, sun-lit bed of this poised sun garden; then,
You told me you loved me. Told me what I never wanted to hear,
“Even now, with me on top of you, in this silent grinding darkness,
I cannot bring myself to lie and say, ‘I love you.’
There is something about you I don’t want to know.
Yours is a long and complicated book I do not wish to read.
Your mind I cannot calibrate, or truly understand, so…I am sorry.
I deserve to be called an ass, deserve to be brushed off like a gnat, but
With you, my shoes never seemed to fit. My ears never seemed to hear.”
...when the copter went down, witnesses heard you scream…
“I am truly sorry.”
We are the strangest creatures...
those henchmen following the villains;
their urgent command we must obey,
a human brain we don't have as they!
Our shape is rather cylindrical,
our appearance is yellow or blue;
some have one eye, others two...
we are those minions so comical!
We set out to do unfair deeds,
deceiving people with promises,
" Vote for him, he's the best candidate! "
And speaking we shake hands...
hoping they'll go to the polls and vote!
It's such a campaign of despicable social hypocrisy,
we're limited in either intelligence or equality:
but what's in store for us, dumb robots?
They program us to their liking, afraid of riots;
and we keep on walking with happy hearts...
convincing folks to trust and believe in democracy!
Written on 2/24/2016
Scents of apple spice
Vacillating through the wispy breaths of air
Hide through the crispy iced branches
Honey-vanilla spews into the thick, lush forest
And its sap trickles onto the mushy earth
Tiny iced droplets start to form icy pentacles
And the marshmallow vapor travels through the cerulean meridian
Shooting cylindrical globes onto the gigantic atmosphere
As the liquid gold oozes from the gigantic amber orb
And the neon magic marker pains the winter sky
Icy pellets shape into crystal teardrops upon the bent branches
And the neon magic marker paints the winter sky
The rustle shushes
The tiny creatures hide
As the red curtain opens up for a grand act
The earth awaits....
Tinted glass whimsies
Seductive slowly spun
kaleidoscopic pairings
changing in illumined awareness,
tinted glass whimsies
“How far can you bend the light?”
Sculpting temptation,
seeking colored fancies
in cylindrical designs
consistently different
“Do you dream in color?”
Mosaic contours flow,
prismatic burst of joy,
variegated vivid visions,
not alike another
“Is your heart the variable?”
Passion is vibrant
intensely hued brilliance
ever changing within
twisting and turning patterns
"Did you know sunsets could dance?"
Painting evening heavens
amethyst shades,
moonbeam reflections
woven in stardust eyes
“Nothing ever appears the same when you are in love”
Good night Soupers
4/20/24
The truth not fictional
If you don't get the principle
Then it's not clearly visible
No it was not biblical
Or mythical
Zero to do with being political
Yet they'll treat you like a criminal
Making themselves look cynical
By being analytical
As well as overly critical
It's become whimsical
Is it clinical?
Often typical
For an individual
To think it's unfixable
When it all gets difficult
Acting like life is not livable
The evidence is inadmissable
Since far before this world became digital
The gap is not always bridgeable
Especially with those that are inhospitable
It'll get despicable
By staying sad and miserable
You just may do something unforgivable
Don't think your invincible
By doing something pitiful
Quit taking it all literal
Not everything will be visceral
Can you understand the subliminal
See past the physical
Among all the minerals
While at the peripheral
At first it seems miniscule
But it may backfire with ridicule
How could anything be winnable
By only doing the bare minimal
I just hit the right syllable
I was always smoking something medicinal
Breaking the mold of what is traditional
I can only be myself, I know how original
Still aiming toward the pinnacle
Just can't keep doing the predictable
My love unconditional
Pay attention or it's miss able
I can't afford to be an imbecile
Remain stuck and puzzled by something mystical
Since life can get formidable
The cycle continues on and it's cylindrical
Could almost call it intrinsical
Always out to trick with calls
Scammers want you to click install
Getting sick of y'all
There's no crystal ball
I've no time for whiffle ball
Got to risk it all
Just may slip and fall
Or climb these big obstacles like it's a little wall