Long Dilation Poems
Long Dilation Poems. Below are the most popular long Dilation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dilation poems by poem length and keyword.
Her heart is located in every part of her being
and bones, calcified with the vitamins of meekness.
Peace begins and ends her collection of any intention
and her reaction, irrespective of situation
always avoids its rights of being thorough.
Softer than a hot dough, and more flexible than a rubber band
even in the midst of hungry chewers
and the threat from playful band stretchers
she holds strong to the emblem of her personality
putting the eyes of calm in a shock dilation
to the awe of her tolerance and irritability.
If nations were like her, humanity would have no scar
her deeds incarcerate pride and incriminate greed
with an intuition structured by static trees
beside a slow moving river
enveloped by the faint whistling of happy resting birds.
The healthy mystery of such an existence
adds royalty to the privilege of being human
because she gets hurts
only when the devil himself directly strikes
with the mercenaries of hell yet unknown to possible actuality.
Lean into me Luv,
abandon the logic of romance,
be naked in the nature of my need,
pant openly as weightlessness prickles your pink parts,
Tonight I do not want your love,
I don't deserve it anyway, a villian in exhuberance,
I just want the secrets of your sex, without plead,
to suck the salt of your secretion, feed on the spray of your darts,
Slaking my savagery with the skin of your submission,
unlocking the vault with nimble pick, to teach with a spanking stick,
having that naughty nook spilling a confession of capitulation, dizzy dilation,
an Angel of excess, I place your safety on a shelf of disarray, caution on delay,
I want to ravage the basement of your beauty, finding hot boxes of remission,
rummaging the attic of your aggressions with the precision of a magic trick,
I don't need you to be my nurse, a Nightengale of negligent rehabilitation,
I don't want the chill of charity, just the alarm of your domination in dismay,
Melt upon the mercy of my meat,
let me take the wet wisdom of your woman's weapon
smear it along the dagger of my undiagnosed demolition,
under a Blood Moon your body will flex without rest, hesitation does retreat,
I gently grip your throat, as I feel your moan in the soft palm of my hand's vindication -
J.A.B.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My vessel is ink on folded pages;
I don’t need TARDIS* or a Wayback Machine*~
my words alone bend time, each line stretching moments
into constructed poems that create a time dilation.
I travel freely, unbound by time or place~~
my pen is my sextant, guiding the course of my thoughts.
I hitch rides on comet trails, crawl through worm holes,
and write poems on the strata of extinct volcanoes.
I disappear, traveling backward on a filament of myth,
landing softly in the ruins of ancient cities,
slipping into ancient dust and the sound of bronze,
tasting the abhorrent ash of forgotten fires,
recording the tenor of moments lost to history.
I leap ahead on metaphor’s swift stream,
glimpsing the future and tasting the sterile air
of generations I will never physically meet,
documenting futures that might still be avoided.
I move through time never aging,
returning to the present, a silent witness,
to fragile cities built of glass and vapor
burdened with visions and heavy truths.
No passports stamped, no customs declared.
I leave no quantum footprint, only ink~
the residue of my translocation
depositing strange knowledge on folded pages.
*The Wayback Machine was a fictional time travel device from "Peabody's Improbable History" allowing users to travel to any point in history. TARDIS was a time-traveling spaceship from "Doctor Who," known for its exterior resembling a British police box. (Source: denofgeek.com)
(1) IN all of the pain & hurt
in all of the hurtful
words since Birth
i hear my name screaming
through the woods of nature
(2) "Still cold & damp but the
winds and nature are friends
~ gone too long since you
left us" : AND HEAVEN
SENT a wave to the, "no-ones"
so half the world in darkness
from Niburu and all the
world's people scream & leave.
(2.1)i am the NO ONE
i am the defeated
i am hanging my head
all within my FEAR !
(3) Grossly dis-configured
by Einstein's equation
of time dilation we
ARE NOW the, "Will Be
Was" of the DEAD.
:: ;;01-20-2017 ::
POET'S COMMENTARY
1: wHEN i WAS born i remember hearing sounds and seeing bright
lights. I had just been born.
2: After-birth all upon my skin. The instincts of a newborn
are reasoned by pure nature. It was so COLD to be in this
world after I was born!
2.1: These three lines express how I feel being human.
3: And with a twist of my mind I am expressing how spiritual
life collides with the physical being of humans. I feel that
time itself burns our life's wick (the stem of a candle).
Sponsor Tom Woody
Contest Name Alice Through The Wormhole
Flowers outside the schoolroom grew bigger and brighter of their own volition. " Alice, Alice !" the teacher called. All she saw was a saucer eyed girl sitting, staring out the window. Sober as a Deacon she sat there with her mind blow-stitched to the earth. Fireworks burst in the sky as a big purple blubber bounced out "Alice, Alice" ssssssssss was the sound it made as it cupped out O with a sticky jelly mouth.
he was from outer space
unlike her own race
he was soooo, gooey gooey!!!
A slight change in atmosphere and suddenly Alice fell topsy-turvy into a dark hole. Exotic energy clung to her as she spun out of control and dropped into an inter-stellar tunnel filled with brilliant stars. Faster than the speed of light she travelled into a non existent wormhole. A sweet little paper plate with eyes, nose and mouth greeted her on the other side. He spoke the infographics of his knowledge to her, sending shock waves of pleasure to her extra-sensory perception with telepathic communication;
Lost in gravity waves
time dilation ...
She arrived safely.
Oh the flowers, the flowers were everywhere! Each specific tessitura sang to her in baritone, soprano, mezzo soprano and tenor. It was an elevation of the highest senses. Through vertical angles the sound was outsourced, so she listened with continuum " Alice, Alice " is what they sang in chorus. She tried to determine where the melody was coming from but deep down she knew that this heavenly music was an extension of her and them. Oh what a sweet tonality it was. Both subdued and energetic at the same time. As the galaxies split, the tidal forces merged together and suddenly it made no difference where she was or how she got there. All she knew was she was finally home !
The End.
‘I don’t want you to get over me.’
‘I don’t want you to move on.’
‘I don’t want you to forget me.’
All the confessions, the desperation and the shameless, selfish desires.
The way you’d admit to the craved crimes yet to be committed.
Your words of devotion wrapped in the promise of a threat; I’m wherever you are.
The way you’d hold onto me, so tight, I didn’t know if the pain bordered on comfort or captivity.
The look in your eyes when you’d whisper, “you belong to me.”
The dilation of your pupils, as the black swallowed the brown.
The muscle that ticks in your jaw as you refuse to look away.
The fear in my eyes as I’d lie to myself that you don’t mean it.
Because you didn’t.
Right?
I leave the house and I double check for the illusion of footsteps behind me.
My heart skips a beat at every red car, but I can’t seem to look away.
The air leaves my lungs; every man seems to be you.
Because you’re everywhere and you’re nowhere.
The paranoia wraps around my bones like silk; I can’t decide if it’s too cold or too familiar.
I can’t decide if it’s electrifying or horrifying.
A dream or a nightmare.
I can’t decide if it’s everything I’ve ever craved or everything I’ve ever feared.
Because the truth is I’m a runner.
Since the vex of your skin, the trail of your scent and the promise of a hunt.
I can’t hide, I can’t think, I can’t wait.
Because I’m thrilled, I’m terrified and I’m waiting.
Come find me.
Witness if you will, the occupants of Deep Space Flight 6952,
on a mission to the farthest reaches of the galaxy.
A short time ago, the spaceship experienced turbulence,
and soon they'll experience fear, and even doubt reality.
They've just entered The Twilight Zone.
'What a rough patch of turbulence!' said Thomas. Nicole
responded, 'I believe it's the worst we've encountered yet.'
Then Nicole suddenly tasted coffee, that had not even
begun to be brewed, to her regret!
The rest of the crew noticed strange things, too,
like thud sounds before stray asteroids hit; and also their ship
speeding back the way they'd come from, like a comet!
The increasingly disoriented crew also noticed clocks
and watches flowing backwards; for these were causality days.
That wild turbulence must have been a worm hole.
Time as they'd known it was gone, like tears when the music
plays!
The crew then ate an odd and sumptuous meal as stars flashed
in reverse, like a weary clown, with few joys left to disperse.
But, the meal was partaken of, before anyone had prepared it,
promising someone work, without future reward, while wishing
others had spared it!
Then the crew began looking remarakably fit, as if all were
ten years younger; so to decrease time dilation, they sharply
reduced their speed, to make their position stronger.
All agreed they didn't want to return to a world, where day
began at sunset; for if life was lived backward, with no future,
life would be filled with regret!
They must find that wormhole, where the future had died, and
enter it again. For the nostalgic past had already been lived,
and much of it was a pain.
Flight 6952 is on a quest, to find space and time as the crew
once knew it. If they find the wormhole, they hope that they can
manage to get through it. Until they do, they will just have to
keep trying-in The Twilight Zone.
I wonder if my eyes have the strength to carry the dusk of my dearth.
They say eyes are the window to your soul.
But could the silhouette amplify the accosts of my void you claim with tangibility?
Could you name the poverty of my shadow within the dilation of my pupils, as they expand with a willingness unseen beneath anything but the weaves of your labyrinth?
Could you caress the convolutions of my heart, so twisted by the absent twinkle that determines the lifespan of my irises?
They speak a language so extraneous to the snarl of desperation; a hope clinging onto a surfeiting glut of insomnia.
They speak in syllables of a pitiful, pathetic articulation; a fleet of a cascading deluge.
They speak in a dialect so degrading to the ponder of my wondrous conclusions.
Not the ones you see in classrooms.
Not the ones you see in lectures.
But the ones you wish to lapse into; something as condescending as the melancholy of my amber.
And something as demoralising as the delinquency of my destiny;
The windows to my soul.
Moving through the pulse and the flow
A timetable of fixed dilation
A given
And measured
Ellipse
To the people it trips
As they ride the crest
Of the waves
Of emotions
Just prisoners of
Perpetual motion
Never ceasing
Never pretending to be
Anything more
Born into the days
Of a future long past
Spying its records
From the start to the last
We are all
Just second hand news
In a land of ne’re to be
Nonsensical devotion
The prisoners of perpetual motion
Elate
And repress
The We
The US three
The Me
Myself
and I
Come to share in a life such as these
Checking out the view
I’m just second hand news
In the land of Ne’re do we
Strolling on by and
Pressing on through
Tasked with its provisions
And it’s riddled revisions
Nonsense and fiction
Have found their new diction
Of solar progression
As they encapsulate
The US Three
Strolling on by
Pressing ahead
The RIGHT
And the TRUE
It’s textured and layered deception
Held a managed intervention
Holding within its folio
The signatures of digression
Devoid of emotion
As it’s pendulum swings to and fro
Never able to leave
Or break its grasp
Transcending all in its path
Nonsense and fiction
Wear a guise of suspicion
Take on a new face
A perplexing division
With its sweeping broad strokes
To embrace and replace the US Three
Brushing on past
Just a page before
You knocked on the door
Of the garden where flowers once grew
These steps you’ve taken
Left to the tender mercies
Of fiscal conservancy’s
Hyperbolic uncertainty
Common knowledge
Given breathe
As stolen
A thief
Of the Inspector in chief
His notes plainly written
A solider in part
Has taken my enemies heart
In a fruitless pursuit
Of passion and pain
Here
I remain
In its orbital dance
The great mechanic has cast
His players
The WE
The US Three
Cry the home
On this ellipse
As we roam
The WE
The US Three
The black crow
Watches unfaltering
With his stalwart gaze
As your counterfeit lies
Sought in other men’s eyes
With a forbodance
Which can not be denied
In the wink of an eye
Like the pearls on a string
That glow
And
That shine
As it squares with the facts
In the drivers seat of circumstance
And at length in perpetuity
YOU hold the charter to men’s hearts.
Day one of our first conversation
My mind in mentation
Of your flirtation
Your pupils in dilation
Day fifty your smile
Has my heart racing miles
You were beguile
I hope my number you dial
Day seventy two your blush
Made my heart rush
You spout sentimental mush
My heartbreaking crush
Day ninety nine my heart cries
My eyes set for the prize
To tell the words that make me die
No longer able to hide behind lies
Day one hundred my confession
My heart crushed like compression
Passing by his transgression
You not my possession
Day one hundred and ninety four
My heart still broke forevermore
My pieces I cannot restore
Forever stuck in love's war