Long Deform Poems
Long Deform Poems. Below are the most popular long Deform by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Deform poems by poem length and keyword.
December is approaching with gelid gusts,
soon the candid snow will spread its white blanket
and dominate the lifeless and desolate land;
nevertheless, those pallid swifts with wide wings
search for warmer places livelier and more pleasant.
Gianni and Lucy follow their flight and look sad,
no birds flying around while they build with fast hands
a fat snowman with a tomato nose and cherry eyes;
it's not what they had in mind, or saw in Winterland!
" We need a wool cap to cover his head and he'll stay warm,
if ravens come by, they'll eat the cherry and tomato and deform
his face not hearing his sobs and his tears turning to ice;
what an unhappy snowman Jerry would be without eyes and nose...
oh, if only glue could hold them in place, we would get some!"
And through the entire afternoon, they watched their snowman
ready to send away any intruders with a huge rolling pin.
Those pallid swifts with wide wings have left the hushful Whitestone*,
and proud of their work, the creators of the chubby snowman
smile and clap their hands when more snow comes down;
their dream is realized, mom rewards them with an ice cream cone!
* Whitestone, Queens, NY
October 2025
Dalton Ogletree
I see halos made of smoke,
Dreams decay with every note.
Heaven quiet, hell just spoke,
Said, “You’re the truth that never woke.”
Money can’t fill what’s hollow inside,
Love don’t stick when your hope has died.
Time keeps turning — I can’t hide,
From the voice that lives behind my eyes.
Energy bleeds, I’m losing form,
Fate reborn in another storm.
The sun feels cold, the stars deform,
I’m calm now — but far from norm.
Buried secrets under my skin,
Stories fade, then start again.
Truth don’t lie — it just depends,
On how much pain you let it mend.
I used to run from what I feel,
Thought numbness meant I’d heal.
But every scar that didn’t seal,
Taught me what’s fake and what’s real
Still searching, but I ain’t scared no more,
Every closed door just opens one more.
Still learning, still unsure,
But peace don’t come from keeping score.
People change, that’s part of the plan,
Some will leave, but I still stand.
I been down bad, I understand,
Pain builds you up when it shakes your hands.
Used to chase things that never last,
Running from now, stuck in the past.
But time moves slow then fast,
Every mistake — another class.
Birds still sing when the sky turns grey,
I still rise when I lose my way.
Every fall just clears the clay,
So truth can bloom another day.
I see beauty inside the pain,
Growth don’t happen without the rain.
Even loss got something to gain,
Even ashes remember the flame.
I been low, I been high,
I been praying just to try.
Now I thank the tears I cried,
They showed me life don’t end — it multiplies.
Still searching, but I feel more free,
Still hurting, but I let it be.
Still learning what’s meant for me,
Still turning — endlessly.
“Collecting life’s treasure from the moments of bliss I walk the last mile” - Quote by Poet
In the vibrant life’s changing dynamic landscape,
the pathway across the undulating topography
meandered to the nebulous future beyond escape.
I configured desire in the template of transient time,
and the designed footprints of the dormant destiny
I followed ardently in beguiled mental state sublime.
Many surging streams in spate I swam in the storm
with the unfurling buds of nascent dreams held close
to the adoring heart, lest they wither and deform.
Through the rainbow arch in the chromatic sky
as I chased in the floral valley the passion butterfly,
my ardent yearning on its wings soared high.
As the spent sun sinks in the horizon’s fading color pile,
on the faint trail of time covered by twilight dust,
with the cornucopia of fulfilled life I walk the last mile.
Traversing content the unpaced pathway out of abyss,
lighted by the benevolent glow of God’s grace,
I look back to see the snapshots of the moments of bliss.
I write. That is what I do day and night,
write write write but I like to do it outside the lines,
the curve and the shape and the pattern,
to go against the rules of all poetry!
I let my words fly like the birds above. Free and swirling.
All the twirling words in my head I send whirling . . .
Saying no to metaphors. And all devices that poetry is suppose to need!
I say NO NO and NO . . .
I need to be free to spin and fling my poems.
Here and there. Let them be what they want to be.
Not be chained to a form. To a Rule. To convention.
To not be restrained by meter or syllables or lineage.
Yes, to just be.
Joy is to twist, deform, reverse, go verse crazy and way too long
I will destroy what should be . . . into what I want it to be
_________________________
October 16, 2018
Poetry/Verse/Contra To The Strictness of Form
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1071-794-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Contra
sponsor, Jesse Rowe
Third Place
Metaphorically speaking, we all lost our virginity at birth
Born free, infused with ego poison, stifling innate mirth
Reality of pristine dreams replaced by myriad illusions
Conscience deadened, conditioned to trust delusion
We became akin to a dead man walking in stupor
Past regrets, fears of morrow, no childlike caper
Fierce winds of duality reinforcing false belief
Chasing desires fleeting offering no relief
Being thus transfixed in deep hypnosis
Became victim of our own prognosis
Habit patterns our mental prison
With head-heart disconnection
Feral animal in human form
Our soul began to deform
Limited by mind body
Labelled somebody
Shortened stride
Our false pride
Having fallen
We now awaken
Upon so choosing
By mind discerning
That the joy we seek
A fleeting sneak peek
Pleasure yields to pain
Self-serving desires slain
Body over time withers away
Brain cells too, dementia slays
This contemplation ushers silence
Wherein rekindles love of innocence
Aflame within heart, veiled from sight
Thought rested awareness feels delight
As nodes within, throb with bliss magnetism
Each cell of our form an electrified joy sensorium
Essence of our presence thus beholding in surprise
The dance of magic divine enabling the Phoenix to rise
22-March-2021
In the labyrinth of thought, where neurons weave,
A cosmic dance, where perceptions deceive.
Synaptic constellations in a quantum trance,
Reality's illusion, a cerebral dance.
Thoughts, elusive particles, in strings entwined,
A kaleidoscope of consciousness, enigma defined.
Perception's prism, refracting the known,
In the quantum realm, where ideas are sown.
Metaphors meld with quarks in a linguistic storm,
Words, like quanta, their own rules deform.
Similes spiral in a cerebral ballet,
In the quantum reverie, where concepts sway.
Dimensions fold, and dreams intertwine,
A surreal tapestry of the conscious mind.
Parallel verses in linguistic rifts,
In the quantum theater, where cognition lifts.
Time, a vagabond in the neural expanse,
A non-linear journey, a cognitive dance.
Memories echo in quantum refrain,
In the cerebral cosmos, where echoes wane.
So, let the mind wander in quantum allure,
In the synaptic galaxy, thoughts mature.
A superposition of ideas, a mental climb,
In the quantum reverie, where universes rhyme.
I was a soul born in chaos
my beginnings and consciousness infinitesimal
I have been blasted by forces
outside of my own natures call
and yet I can see the raw beginning
of a mind fluid
with the elements of the cosmos
this "life" has been an experience of
implosions , explosions , explorations
bombardment , impartment , eruption
corruption , inattention , and deliberations
my consciousness is aware of it's implications
my judgments categorize the experiences
such as a minute star is transformed
by the particles and forces
to which it is subjected
So too are we
but cosmological law
is annulled in it's full power
when in contact with chaos
I am fully cognizant of both
moral and cosmological law
I can jump off a cliff
or commit violence upon humans
I can actually pervert
the substance of cosmos where I reside
instead of planting , growing , harmonizing
refining my alignment with nature
I can poison , deform and subject
every participation to destruction
and as long as mankind's children
continue in the predator mentality
of their six thousand year experiments
of every violation of that which they should love
I am in total agreement with nature
that which is destructive to growth
needs removal , only with mankind
removal is "replacement" of ideology
a transformation of perspective and viewpoints
where the mind finds it desirable
to increase the beauty of LIFE
and not to poison it's fluid
the superlative and majestic cosmos
that our tinkering seeks to dissect
manipulate , rearrange it's manifestations
and in reflection this one thought
is of itself an infinitesimal insignificance
when standing before the face of LIFE
but it is my thought , my mind and
created by the most intensive force that
exists among mankind , LOVE of LIFE
HOPE in LIFE , and the seeking of every
manifestation of it's Glory
no man has seen God
but we at great length consider
all that we may perceive that to be ...
COPYRIGHT © 2015
C Michael Miller
PoetryofProvidence
I understand the hermit now,
going off far away from it,
why man would choose an exile
in the face of all this bullsh-t.
When last traces of youth wear off,
higher reason reveals itself,
you can’t help notice that so much
of this earth seems a living hell.
It starts external, when you see
how power messes people up,
the right acts timid of the world,
the left just evil and corrupt…
Even a small hit of the stuff
leaves a person’s soul with new scars,
HOA Karens rule like queens,
dishonest fools play the race card;
the corporate guy breaks the law
thinking lawyers can get him free,
the parents who abuse their kids
if it’s excused politically…
Depressing, and slowing things down,
feasting on your God-given rights,
designed to nitpick and delay
until you’re too tired to fight.
Then you’re confronted by the folks
who don’t want to know that it’s wrong,
don’t value their freedoms or truth,
they only care to get along;
just to live a life of comfort,
not wanting to fight or to think,
be they dumb, lazy, or afraid,
from any wisdom they will slink.
Much simpler to mouth programmed words,
distract themselves most of their days,
and hating those who dare point out
their lives have no value this way.
From here it becomes internal,
see human nature fight its own...
why improvement comes so damn slow,
even when the methods are known.
You want to think it’s good out there,
as good as it’s bad, you’ve been told,
but so many don’t value it,
so many just live without souls...
Leaving you thinking it’s futile,
that there’s no reason to explain,
some shrink it down to their family,
but even that can’t shield the pain.
The good you do raising them up
is assaulted on every side,
by public schools, the media,
all scheming to deform their minds.
Until the child that you love
becomes an enemy to you,
some are wise enough to see past,
but then, some of them never do,
leaving you feeling that the world
offers you nothing but the rod,
stripping away all you value
until there’s nothing left but God.
Do only mad men block this world?
That’s something I no longer think,
I understand the hermit now…
and why so many people drink.
The word "is" ... What does it mean?
"Is" just "is" ...to others a verb link!
"Is" just a simple passive word
That links the subject to the verb!
"Is," however, stands alone
"Is" just "is" but never disowned!
It is what it is
Whether a smile or embrace
An act of mercy or precious grace
A laugh or a wink
Without a blink!
A kind word...a patient act
The truth and all its detailed facts
Humility and meekness
Never a weakness!
Loyal and faithful....through and through
In act or deed - in all we do
Always expects the very best
Overcomes all obstacles in our life's test
Victors and conquers all things on its quest
"Is" ... though a linking verb
Don't be baffled or perturbed
"Is just is" when it links to love
Because in all of heaven - stretched out high and above,
Stands in its purest, finest and richest form,
Without a blemish, defect or any deform
So holy, so genuine, so rich in purity
Like that of a saint's undefiled dignity
When the subject is about genuine love
It is what it is...and it's not what it's not
It is straight and direct...not tied to a knot!
Love is the very essence of love itself
Love's reduction is of self
To lift or raise others
Without linking itself to one or another
Though its beautiful harvest of mercy, kindness, and grace
Are but mere fragments, love yields to better complete one's race
Love is...it just is
It's NOT "this" much or "this little"
It's not to be measured in quantities to be magnified or belittled
Love is....It just is
Love cannot be detailed in words and no deed is suffice
To accurately and adequately have words to describe
For there is no word that will ever exist
No feeling or emotion that can ever resist
The strongest and most kinetic power
Of love's first and infinite Spring Shower!
Love just is...it just is
Because all words come short and fall
To adequately and accurately detail
What love is ... other than indescribable and unsearchable!
Love is not a noun,
Regardless of its position or how it's announced!
Love is a verb
Love is...it just is...
As God is...and just IS....
No links...no connections...just stands alone
Long Live love....may Love remain
Selfless, independent, and self-maintained
Controlled, managed, and self-retained
Until the established hour
It awakens to kindle its magnificent power....
losing claim to fame
disappeared to hinterlands
nothing will be same
weary old folks fold their hands
others rearrange their plans
words too many say
imperfect in every way
stealing light from day
debts, too numerous to pay
selling dreams which won't convey
not what we came for
low dark clouds approaching fast
home with no front door
holding on to what has passed
restless dreams soon fill our glass
once alive and whole
now fully marginalized
laughter becomes droll
not what the experts advised
nothing comes as advertised
blown in with the storm
teaches those lessons wind knows
promises deform
not even gods can oppose
status quo soon turns and goes
secret dreams time stole
can produce a troubled soul
half but not a whole
but a name where fingers scroll
another for whom bells toll