Long Delirium Poems
Long Delirium Poems. Below are the most popular long Delirium by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Delirium poems by poem length and keyword.
stirred and utterly shaken
I used to find my olive friend
in a bottle of madness
always tried to be a seeker
yet was under the illusion
that this time it would be different
from an outcome of insane destruction
forbidden and fermented fruit
the treacherous divination
foretold a future
but the message of spirits
never sunk in
instead carved a hollow path
of despair and destruction
crazy delirium
unsound and cacophonous
lured my hellish mind
mental dissolution forged a pact
presented nothing but sorrow and pain
until the gift of recovery
only left one path ahead
a day at a time
a saintly miracle
washed away my demons
blessed this lost soul
transcended the impossible
today ice cubes and lemons
grace my thirst
for sobriety and humble surrender
wine changed into water
with the help from angels and friends
I found privileged sediment
at rock bottom craziness
ascended on a road of redemption
amends forgiving and purpose
it has been an intoxicating journey
but the suffering of change
lead to faith and contentment
paramount where on the rocks
simply means undiluted pleasure
with love kindness and compassion
I even appreciate myself once again
and am not deluded anymore
to wallow in self-pity self-harm
bedlam and lunacy
instead I howl to a sober moon
recall that without darkness
cannot be light and trudge
a road of happy destiny
29th November 2024
Lemony pines spring from my Summer mind,
dangling their scent, like Christmas ornaments.
I close my eyes and follow the sapphic breeze.
My bronze feet bounce through the mossy sea.
Feeling giddy in this faerie paradise.
I dosado amidst lichen and bark of ancient trees.
Buzz of bees, and rustic call of feathered friends.
A cup of honey and birdsong, a virtual violin —
played by the lonesome and serendipitous wind.
A long-winding face, a leprechaun plinking gold
through his kaleidoscopic fingers — I see him, who
never procreates, but his coins multiply — he has sinned.
Daffodils dot the streams of open pasture.
Eye-popping delirium, as if I am in oz.
Butterflies in conjured-hues, plenipotentiary patterns.
Suddenly, the wholesome forest burns with unrest,
as it turns to look at me in tatterdemalion dress.
“Be gone, you witch! Eden does no dalliance with slatterns”
I fall to the crackling ground and sob with salty tears.
Beggar, I’ve become — closely matched
with my seedy occupation. “Change me into a good thing.”
Pity in the form of clouds sweeps through the handkerchief-sky.
A dusting with faerie wand — magenta and cerulean magic.
A brand new pixie feels the purity of spanking-new wings.
7/22/2019
Tri-Con Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Emile Pinet
24 Lines
Tri-Con (listed as verse) created by Connie Marcum Wong consisting of at least 4 three line stanzas. Each line has no set meter or syllable count. The last word in each stanza must rhyme with the following Stanza and then you need to change your rhyming word again in the third stanza and so on.
Dear December, Forgive my silence,
I’m still bleeding from
the lacerations,
I still hear the echoes
from our confrontations.
So much was
lost in translation,
though I’ve been
healing in isolation.
Warm is the smile,
when you stretched
your arms
with compassion,
understanding that
not everything
is black or white.
As I’ve learned about life:
it goes on.
and In the midst of the
somersaulted journey,
I still remember those
who boosted my sanity,
when September sorrows
slayed my spirits,
as I slowly severed my thorns,
to watch them drown
in a sea of
broken breaths,
whilst perpetually
praising the painters’ pain,
and the abstracts of
architects articulating
a peaceful pathway,
although I still dwell
on the regrets from
strawberry fed wolf moon,
the night when my
heart yearned to be heard,
as I delicately smeared
my emotions across
clementine and
cranberry twilights,
in hopes
of forgetting
withered willows,
whilst letting it melt
Honeysuckle vines,
with hues of the sangria
sky reflecting ever so softly,
showing me reasons
to believe again in
better tomorrows,
for there is a rainbow
aching to glow
after every storm,
and there’s far too
much to be grateful for
in this life of delirium,
so shall we allow this
winter to be the seed
of warm light and water~
forgive the stars that
veiled their silver,
as fate turned
her back on our garden,
let memories float in
paper boats of
lilac feathered forgiveness,
along the river of reconciliation.
Let’s flow and flourish together,
leaving behind an aroma
so divine on
cashmere sweaters,
with unwritten poems
tucked beneath velvety pillows,
that tasted so many tears,
and have seen too many
vanquished fears.
My skin petrified, mummifying my hand
upon pools of brittle ice
like curdled blood piercing veins: I watch
the moon bathing its flesh,
in crystal yellow, waxing a sheen...
my pores dilate as cubes slowly melt
when this fired orb heals from above
till its velvet breath climbs into my head,
extinguishing limbo of a daze…until I convulse in joy
when chunk-stone changes into glimmered dew.
*I held ice cubes on my palms and was transported
back to scene of one night when a high fever drowned
my senses… for some reason, viewing the glory
of the moon relieved me from delirium…
Ice King Contest of Skat
( in less than 10 lines)
25July2013
by nette onclaud
A crepuscular theatrical serene speech prompt,
slip spill in an echoey pattern down my soft skinned ear,
as I was captivated by the gloss quilt luminance of,
glow worm stars, silver moon tarpaulin, indigo horizon,
elysian sidereal dust that so magnetic trance,
I dwell on flawless antique navy blue tapestry,
of enthralling nocturnal mirth streamed murmur,
timelessness a slow tick second hand mesmerizer,
symbiotic solitude on moulded granite bench,
whets intense yearning as my elevated odyssey,
where gilded gust a universal sage’s hint from,
invisible zone whose through the age enchantment,
forevermore a velvet hush, a lush chrysalis,
metamorphosis at a peek, diurnal cyclic mystery,
forevermore I am an affluent lodger to telluric haven
riddle of the night
unveils its lucid passage,
beyond mortal span
Heaven within an effervescent spiral steam moiety,
juxtaposed across emblazoned morning patch
immortal,
of swooning sun whose rays bounce off garnet veins,
me, spectator, bard, curator of reflection for posterity,
this tantalised dawdler in a dewdrop leaf coppice,
majestic mountain summit under dawn spell,
arousing passionate interwoven interface of cordial,
bonhomie link to merriment, auroral pathos,
perpetual and beyond expansive firmament,
romantic fingertip alignment in surreal fog tango,
where pounding heart oath infinite in salient scope,
blue lagoon bounty, argent cascade, rainbow chaser,
dizzy upper echelon beauteous my twinkled torrent of delirium,
forevermore, longer longing, forever as this wonder world dervish,
waltzing through eternal mists, with my zest for life,
as gold encrusted passport to a rapturous paradise
daylight points the way
to lasting beauty on earth
cherish the vista
Last night we danced in sweet romance,
we burned like the midnight sun.
Your wanton kiss was utter bliss,
our hearts fused, then beat as one.
By candle-light I held you tight,
lust played our favorite song.
Our bodies moved, sizzled and grooved,
seduction's magic so strong.
Our two minds raced as my lips traced
the smooth contours of your skin.
Fingers kneaded as eyes pleaded
for hunger to glide on in.
Burning, shining, redefining
the power that pleasure holds.
Deep and slow, two bodies aglow,
our rhythm was liquid gold.
Desire ached as our flesh baked
and ecstatic rivers flowed.
Our bodies screamed and our eyes gleamed,
for delirium... We rode!
The love you gave, the love I crave
reached inside and made me whole.
Each sated breath, each little death
hurt so much it healed my soul.
In La Crosse we see it's not very pretty; a goliath is towering but Altman is gritty'
The numbers are stacked the way I see, but number One can make your enemies flee
I'd faced the foe five weeks in all, with burning eyes cold sweat did fall; the darkness
Loomed as with ears on fire; I staggered and crawled under covids fire no mask no gloves
For me three cared; If we had known more we might have not so well fared'
Yet this is Dec 2019 the UK was supposed to have no sickness there' yet many signs I
Bore that year; a weight on my back; and delirium dreary wore, depression stalked the walls closed in
My chest near solid, air seemed oh so thin, in my nostrils thick the stench extreme, yet I won through with the
Lord and prayer; a quinine tonic ever there, till the storm within me calmed then I knew
My sight was harmed.' My retina displayed clear dots of light; I thought what type of flu?
And rued
The fight' yet after weeks my sight was improved , I'm healthy now my breath is well'
For 99'6 percent survive that's the fact I know to tell' and that's why I strive; against misinformation
Against the tide' that beats against the free world's will, yet don't despair dilute the swill
James Altman makes a worthy stand, so Rally Rally around the man' no one is right
Before the Lord, yet to serve in adversity we are called'
The forlorn wasteland of deprivation traversed
by my indigent life that tried long so very hard
to smoothen the angularities of the obtuse mind.
Swirling in egregious whirlpool of indignation,
sucked into the abyss of despondent delirium,
I searched out for me a path of passion within,
leading through the pulsating portal to my heart,
not yet frosted in the bare winter of desolation.
The spring of desire came with hour of awakening,
soaring on the dreaming wings of the flying time.
In my sky you flittered like an beguiled butterfly,
its fluttering cadence created a silent symphony,
synchronized with the rhythm of my revived heart,
where emotions danced on the ripples of rhapsody
that rolled endlessly between two of us to entice me,
and to consecrate the divine institution called love,
make it diaphanous weaving the delicate tapestry
with motif of belonging for us to unfurl in eternity.
August 28, 2019
Brian Strand's Contest A Brian Strand July 14
Turpentine waters of paranoia
ripple beneath an opaque surface,
merging with the burnt umber sun,
ravenously setting
over the savage distance.
Did the earth just crack open within its core...?
An ungovernable fear
hastens—
up my spine
tracing each vertebra
meticulously,
as the flavor of iron
and
burnt charcoal
plates my tongue—
leaching into
semi-paralyzed bronchi.
Each breath
of stained oxygen
gets harder
to inhale—
Hypoxia,
smiling mechanically,
rears
its ugly head...
and the tips of my fingers
turn from
porcelain
to
ultramarine.
Trying to scream—
yet silence
is all
that escapes.
A plethora of thoughts
buzz—
like a horde of bees
within
my mind.
If the earth did crack open,
then
why is everyone acting
so nonchalant?
Conspiracy theories
ruminate;
paranoia-fueled
delirium
takes full control.
Consumed
by panic,
abdication of rationality
unfurls—
amongst the
receding world.
Nero was a cruel, unfair emperor playing
the lyre as his disguise to conceal his consuming guilt;
and he caused destruction without feeling
an ounce of pity for those he governed with distrust.
Why did he want to destroy a city so mighty and glorious,
and replace it with a Golden Palace and magnificent gardens?
It seems inconceivable, but it was confirmed by many as the Great Fire
which ravaged Rome for six horrible days...who dared to call Nero a liar?
On the rooftop, with the widest view of Rome burning underneath,
Nero played the lyre as his disguise...singing,"The destruction of Troy" with derision.
And while looking so innocent and sad, he did nothing to control it;
wasn't his madness an evident sign of that contemplated act brought to completion?
Finding the scapegoats was too easy for him, to cover up his evil deed...
he blamed the Christians and had them thrown to the beasts of the Colosseum,
but many more were crucified along the Via Appia and was Nero appeased?
No, he still continued to play the lyre as his disguise with increased delirium.