Long Diagonally Poems
Long Diagonally Poems. Below are the most popular long Diagonally by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Diagonally poems by poem length and keyword.
There he is...
On his biz
Unbothered and untethered
After many pernicious pulls and tainty tugs
And so many ghastly grabs and sheisty shrugs
After huge stretches with hopes of breaking
And so much tension, pressure and shaking
Every time!
He snaps back like the seats in that 'ole' Cadillac
Pulled in so many directions with the aim of popping
But it's in his nature to keep bouncing, 'cause ain't nothing stopping
Vertically, horizontally, and diagonally, he's pulled
But he never breaks; instead, he bounces back like a basketball off the old hardwood
Yet so many continue to grab and pull to see if he'll break
But little do they know this will only cause their world to shake
There he is just stretching and bouncing...
All knaves and NPCs he's renouncing
So, who exactly is this man that stoically bounces throughout the land?
"Hear ye, hear ye, bounce back he can, 'cause he's none other than
the Rubberband Man!"
"I repeat. Bounce back he can, 'cause he's none other than the Rubberband Man!"
Oh, Marianna Grazia...
was my friendly neighbor,
a lovely lady in her eighties!
She became a widow when her
husband died of a brain tumor,
he was a sailor of many oceans;
how evident was the sadness
of Marianna Grazia!
She had a Grand Piano, made of cherry oak,
not covered with a speck of dust, and smiling
she played an improvisation with style;
and it depended on her mood! The rays of sunlight
entered diagonally and rested on it, while
her feeble fingers played the same, harmonic melody;
and her hubby liked to hear those notes enthusiastically...
that's how I remember Marianna Grazia at her best!
Oh, Marianna Grazia...
went to church every Sunday,
and passing by my gate, she always said
hello, and asked how things were going!
She gave every kid on the block candy
and flowers she grew in the back-yard;
oh, I miss how you hummed that song...
oh, Marianna Grazia!
Today I walked by her house,
the Venetian blinds were closed at noon,
I was overtaken by a sudden gloom;
her youngest daughter approached me
and mutterred very grieving words,
" My mom has passed away in a tragic way,
she slipped and fell, and hit the cement;
she passed out as blood gushed from her forehead."
Oh, Marianna Grazia...
never will I have another conversation
about her experience in Normandy,
and the stories of a nurse during World War II,
were as inspirational as her vocation!
Oh, Marianna Grazia...
look down below and wave gracefully;
life is not as everlasting as that love given by you,
oh, Marianna Grazia!
early this year
gentle as calm ocean waters
lapping along a weir
thumb and fore finger
of right hand would peal back,
(via diagonally flippant motion
asper calendar
representing progression of time)
gets flipped over to veer
in one direction (linear)
revealing the next month at lightspeed
vis a vis tempus fugit galloping tear
thy head immediately lost hirsute thickness,
i starkly share
male or female pattern baldness
extant along
Harris genealogical trunk line rare
yet divulging distress
about limp decreasing strands
sends shivers along spine,
gloomy feeling linkedin
with old fashioned meaning of *****
and perchance tis foolhardy
reeding this Samson night issue must ap pear
tis unstoppable inching closer toward
as mortality gets near
youthful robustness fades
replaced by senescence mere
really ambling along tragicomic stream,
one evinces gargoyles mockingly leer
loosing sleep and kept raggedly awake
in conjunction dreams fraught
with frightful haunting monsters jeer
ring sound reverberating hair
splitting decibel jamming primary cranial gear
aye tell mice elf nothing to fear...
yet maximizing this plight with poem 'ere
Yukon also temporarily part
blond, brown, gold, et cetera locks mud dear.
Form:
(Even Poetry can recall the warm days of summer.)
** In the August Heat **
———————————————————————
August roasts the red pears
Sitting crowded on the sill…Spoiling
With no protection from
The open, lime-tinted curtains
Speckled with tiny violets.
Shimmering sunbeams stream diagonally
Through the room’s air, while outside,
A lost cricket, cornered under a deck step,
Chirps! A repeating string of chirps!
His true place is elsewhere
In the night, by a willing mate. The natural
Balance of his 250-million-year-old species
Is upset — with only the heat sustaining him…
With his chirping! Chirping rondo!
With the promise that she will come.
So, there he crouches. Night…Night will come.
Heat will stay. His summer life yet has time to go.
So he waits. Chirping! His chorus repeats!
She will come. They will touch when meeting
Then flee on to their otherwhere.
The coming night’s course will please.
So he waits…Earnestly chirping!
Feeling the vibrations along his black back,
He waits. In his summoning melody,
He chirps! And, she will come.
———————————————————-
(c) sally young Eslinger 1/2022
behind the straight line joining the
numerous drawn curves of the sea
the golden glow of the rising
sun is pouring into the waves.
the most beautiful melody of this earth
is heard all around, the arrival
of the rays in a stream of ice
have taken the form of a star.
there are two nice icebergs,
one is as a grand entrance
and other is two sides are like
a steep sloping mountain, middle
a bit flat, sloping in front.
THE GIRL DRESSED IN RED IS DANCING
IN HER POSTURE ON THE ICEBERG.
waves gather crowds in front,
body of some of the
crowded iceberg is
collapsing into the source.
last posture of the dance -
an ice piece in the right hand
extending parallel to the ice
plane, the left hand diagonally
upwards and creating a love
symbol with the middle finger
and thumb behind the ice,
left leg parallel to left hand
the right leg protect balance.
this time, two soft lips say -
“dear earth,
my life, my love, my peace,
you are one of the best creator;
but i know we be trayed you,
pardon, we promised and we’re
fulfilling your fulfillment again.
then iceberg says -
” you are a real person who
speaks and does help to one
and another,
there is only one source of
birth or death,
get yourself freed up by being
honest in white, we are all
members of the earth,
forget the difference,
let’s all shake hands.“
immediately the girl hugs
with iceberg and says - “ sure ”.
also she can see breaking
an iceberg and creating
a new iceberg.
I grow pitiful eyes of face so pretty
My laziness flee from village to city
Teach schools, writing on free table
Run wires... am never for once stable
Looking for survival but only finds ace
Lowlife gambler, I run chances by grace
Give me town
not a romance
One day down
up next stance
I landed on a star
sits silently so far
Lonely eyes hectare
seedling grows memoir
Out of clues, life’s becoming gritty
Bailing bills grow reckons so witty
All matched up, strikes diagonally
Shot bloody eyes off tears rationally
Sleeps head in thought of blue birds
Caressing empty sky with quiet words
Glow gut grip
far foes fetch
No far trip
Cum such sketch
I landed on a star
with ideal radar
Longing scar
Settling for wine's jar
Walking along a road, diagonally,
through someone's house briefly
and back out where there isn't a door
across their vegetable patch and
eventually over the bones of some buried
unknowns.
Cows are currently grazing in someone's
hallway, while a tree grows in the kitchen.
As I walk, I trample through a Roman bath
where in a different time a rotund, well fed
Roman is relaxing in his water.
My next foot down stamps the hand
of a warrior who has just fallen to the sword
As he, in his battledress and beard,
lays in someone else's hearth
where a herb-filled stew is being cooked.
I tread effortlessly over walls and pits,
rooms and murder scenes, above oceans
and below oceans.
These layers of time leave layers of life
which layer the ground silently screaming
voices and echoes of stories once told.
There will then be a layer to come
where someone will tread their feet
over my life, my house and my bed.
Everyone is in a rush, and they are getting ready to board the bus, everyone is going somewhere, for something dynamic is moving in the atmosphere. The weather is fine but there is something moving on the line. The pattern you see is running diagonally towards the sea and a giant tree is blocking the path where you should be.
There is a radius stationed in the sun, pushing the energy towards the earth and I stop a while to measure the distance from the earth to the sun but the forces are strong and the journey is long. Time creeps upon the earth with tears dripping from the sky, lamenting a city that will fall like troy and die.
The Trojan War was fought with love and passion burning from above, but the soul of man is baked in the fate of the earth surrounded by the mystery of his birth. You have searched long and hard to unravel the mysteries of men, but destiny takes him to another place and announces his fate. There is nothing that you can see that I haven’t seen, places hidden from the sun, the moon and the star has answered the call and they walked briskly through the hall.
There are places in the atmosphere that are blowing fresh air, but no one has ever been there, there are strange people living there with human and animalistic nature and gutter snipes living among stagnant water. A helicopter can land there, but there are creatures that can cause you to fear.
I longed for a place to go, where lots of fruit trees grow and juicy grapes running on the vine and a vineyard that is divine. There is no secret line there and no negative energy to make you feel unhappy; there are places I have never been, that is waiting to welcome me and show me what I must see and grant me the courage to be.
Check out that unfamiliar spot on the map and look underneath the felt hat; you placed it there with apple vinegar the last time you went there. Places I have never been waiting to cleanse me of my sins. See you there!
Liturgy of the Pawns from Ashes
Shadows dance on the walls of memory and lights weep in mirrors broken by silence,
grief and wailing emerge from mute depths, echoes that birth lights in darkness.
Romania sleeps with open eyes, dream your forgetting with hopes hidden in icons,
a wave come from afar wanders lost, the bag full of clothes carries broken wings.
The system of systems dies while living, drinks its poisons with mouth dried by thirst,
the red pill burns in throats, and the blue turns to ash beneath your eyelids.
The swindlers count the dead stars, their future falls upward like reversed rain,
and the pit of history climbs toward heaven, the raftsman sleeps keeping endless watch under the earth.
Televisions whisper in the latrine, and truth smells of rotted roses,
the red files write themselves, with white ink on papers unseen by anyone.
The Romanian makes popcorn from tears, watches how wolves are defeated by united sheep,
and the rabble crowds into its own grave, biting the hands that fed them for centuries.
The pawns fly diagonally through fog, and the king trembles on his empty and desolate throne,
a chess game played with pieces of smoke, decapitation is done with hands of red silk.
East and West meet in the mirror, tyrants and the free are the same dream written in reverse,
and Romania floats between heavens, anchored by chains that break their own knots.
The music of tone writes the choreography, politics dances on wires of dried tears,
the thickets speak the language of fire, and the player knows silence better than the word.
The wave is too large to be stopped, and yet it stands motionless in the storm that births it,
mountains are moved by unseen hands, and the silent vote screams louder than thunder.
We will write the future with dead ink, on pages that burn before being read,
united hearts break together, and iron will melts into stronger steel.
Romania counts its shadow ten times over, each hour passed gathers unborn moments,
and hands are yesterday overturned, a black sun that illuminates clearer than light.
7/28/15
Actually
It's not the way it has to be
Another casualty
Inside the galaxy
While the wind blew diagonally
Offsetting several strategies
And physicalities
Across any region
Things will happen without a reason
During every season
Regardless of if many terms were ever even
Or there never being cohesion
Concerning religion I care not about what any believe in
And the same goes for any discussion about how much we sin
Don't fret or pace with nervousness
This place in space can be rather merciless
With or without great turbulence
Strange occurences
Across a vast amount of changed surfaces
And nearby where almost all ran into the same terminus
By: Dalton Ogletree