Long Downturned Poems
Long Downturned Poems. Below are the most popular long Downturned by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Downturned poems by poem length and keyword.
Long to touch the rows u p o n rows of coneflowers,
but the bees, they b u z z, and the butterflies own.
Favorite intrepid host, the red-winged blackbird, towers
over the purpleness of his downturned petal throne.
Eyes flit back and forth as g o l d e n splashes cool
the p i n e y pond of koi. Serenity of zephyr scent
sends introspective id swimming like this school —
no longer in this worrisome world, exhaustion spent.
Traverse the paths of no work, no play - merely a b a n d o n
to holly bushes, lady slippers, roses with whimsical names.
Snowball hydrangeas, blueberries like goose pimples - stand in
the nether of shadow and sun, the hometown of God’s acclaim.
Close my eyes - bluster of multicolored petals from the sky,
cover my i n v i s i b l e frame… uninvited flocks gather
in an undecided decade of “don’t know when or why.”
P o s t u r i n g — shan’t get myself in a botanical lather.
Have faith, the untouchables are thriving with grace,
waiting for the usual feet to pass time, adorn this place.
7/31/2020
Silent one’s Petal, buds, blossoms, bees, birds, butterflies! Poetry Contest
Pocket-Gazes
Night depressed—
black spirits, spiders,
demanding, retorting,
an empty vessel, titanic with trauma.
A downturned smile, flagellate,
disillusioned, demoted, disinterested—
dystopian dysmorphia.
Dolls.
Masks.
Spills.
Blood.
Oxygen.
Water.
Decaying. Degrading. Devolving.
Despair, disaster, disappointment—
disappear.
The lexicon collapses inward,
a ladder whose rungs only fall.
Sand sighs. Water shifts.
Hands disembodied.
Faces detached,
checked out.
I flail,
a swimmer drowning in a teaspoon.
Watermelon empathy—
bloated, barren.
A clock face melting, Dalí’s sky.
I am Picasso’s fractured mouth.
I am Van Gogh’s shell-ear,
smashed on the rocks.
Amy Winehouse cries, hollow,
vodka-veined, restrained
inside a music box.
Maya’s muteness.
Florence’s failure.
Mary Seacole’s poverty.
Nightingale’s lamp guttering.
Angelou’s song stilled.
Seacole’s hands trembling empty.
Yet outward—
instead of inward,
instead of into my pocket-gazes—
there might be,
just might be,
a shimmer of stardust,
a touch of moonlight.
Hope, a dot of light
in a cavern of dark.
And yet,
it illuminates the sky.
~
"Give me a whisper and give me a sigh"
Those soft words following the emotions in your eyes
exhale poetry on my whimpered dreams
Take from me all that I can give while
reaching for that sunset…a distant prism of light
"Give me a kiss before you, tell me goodbye"
Soft lips in sad shapes, downturned towards darkened fears,
moist as they meet in wilted wishes
Walking away…a silhouette of that which I long for
as tears drift on silent zephyrs
"Don't you take it so hard now and please don't take it so bad"
To know this feeling, I swear I don’t,
still calling out in echoed chants flowing naked valleys
Hoping you hear, praying you smile, asking you to listen
before the moon fractures in cosmic sorrow
"I'll still be thinkin' of you and the times we had...baby"
Eternal visions find you and me, hand in hand,
dancing on quiet shores, melodic surf rhythms
In memories of what can be, should be
as stars drip into anguished teacups pleading
"Don’t you cry tonight…"
Written with a little help from the Guns n Roses song, “Don’t Cry”
The italicized lines are lyrics from their song
This song came on the radio today and it reminded me I had written this poem.
I thought it would be appropriate for today…this is a repost
John Hamilton and Heidi Sands may recognize this
but hopefully it is new to you.
I hope you enjoy it.
Don't you cry tonight
"Give me a whisper and give me a sigh"
Those soft words following the emotions in your eyes
exhale poetry on my whimpered dreams
Take from me all that I can give while
reaching for that sunset…a distant prism of light
"Give me a kiss before you, tell me goodbye"
Soft lips in sad shapes, downturned towards darkened fears,
moist as they meet in wilted wishes
Walking away…a silhouette of that which I long for
as tears drift on silent zephyrs
"Don't you take it so hard now and please don't take it so bad"
To know this feeling, I swear I don’t,
still calling out in echoed chants flowing naked valleys
Hoping you hear, praying you smile, asking you to listen
before the moon fractures in cosmic sorrow
"I'll still be thinkin' of you and the times we had...baby"
Eternal visions find you and me, hand in hand,
dancing on quiet shores, melodic surf rhythms
In memories of what once was, what should be
and the stars drip into anguished teacups pleading
"Don’t you cry tonight…"
Written with a little help from the Guns n Roses song, “Don’t Cry”
The italicized lines are lyrics from their song
Do you feel an ache from your virgin breasts,
as you paint the Madonna whom God blessed?
Your eyes present an almost haunted glow,
hands delicate barely hold onto brush.
Insanity almost seems within your reach.
You barely smile as you look my way.
I'm left to wonder where I should gaze.
Mother leans forward baby speaks in ear.
Are you cultured woman able to hear?
Has the Christ child left you in darkness?
Will light ever shine beneath your cloak of black?
Perhaps downturned lips will rise in ecstacy!
A child to love who suckles at your breast.
Secret joyful sounds a heart caressed.
Attempt at an inverted Sonnet for the renaisance
woman-- 2nd in the series contest.
Sponsor Cyndi Macmillan
Self portrait with her painting a picture
of Christ child wispering in Mary's ear.
no one sees them
as the veils begin to shift
and night falls
ghosts begin their walk
high heels tattered and worn down
jeans stiff from two days wear
jesus dangling between their breasts
at the corner of a downturned mouth
spit and a cigarette gather
jittering and itching they rub their arms
awaiting the next rush and run YEAH !
when the cops are around ? like rats
they scamper and skitter into the shade
will-o-wisp's they arrive and depart
and into unknown destinations they travel
for moments of ecstasy with new and old
'friends'
the hours draw thin the air turns moist
day is coming, and like vampires
they withdraw to the shadow of light
until the darkness echos once again
Clumsily tripping, over our own feet
Sometimes, minds aren't meant to meet
perhaps we're off just a micro beat
thoughts obscured, behind glass covered in sleet
Sure there are those, who wish to exploit
but really in the end, what's the point?
We're all merely visitors, in this joint
Trying our best, with words to annoint
Cloisterd in shadows, wanting to be found
glimmers of earlier selves, clowning around
When others laugh, why do our fears compound?
Downturned mouths, strangled crying sounds
Embarrassing moments, last an eternity
Sometimes I'm my very worst enemy
Thinking hidden messages, are meant for me
Is that what poetry is meant to be?
I let essential words, roll off my lips
Credentials have no taste, when I take deep sips
Preferring a message, from a page that drips
My mind unfocused, takes many trips
I like the power, of words intrinsic
Flavors and texture, is what I like to lick
If it's too saccharin and sweet it makes me sick
My pleasure comes, from words hot and thick
So you see, I too like to word explore
Words found, behind a cryptic door
I start upright, end up on the floor
Keep on reading, until I can't absorb anymore!
Written at the request of James Horn.
Response to his "to Come Back Again" Poem.
Thanks James, our interaction led to a poem of the day!
Form:
i lost the dream
of keeping you at arm’s reach
you and your downturned mouth
i wanna know what you’re about
take me seriously
take me like you love me
it’s hard to push you when it takes a shove
take me to the limits of your love
your mouth can be so bitter and hollow
from those lies that it pains you to swallow
don’t act like you mean it
you do it like it’s breathing
i’ve been moving slower lately
but you don’t know it, baby
crying in a bathroom stall
you know nothing at all
two seconds to turn your gaze
my life for the littlest mistake
let’s not be ourselves for a day
lose all our color until we turn gray
we’ll talk about getting married sometime
you can kiss me and i’ll take it this time
i promised to the sinking sun
if i was weaker, you’d be the one
Sun-lit gloom and pearly arc spill from sombre leaf;
Crying in the leaden joy, laughing in the grief.
I'm shadow of Celestial Rose,
--Nirvarnic Nimbus mounds;
The sad birds and wilted leaves;
Silver-lining of clouds.
When I get mad, the wind does too;
Tries best to swish the leaves.
I let the uninbivelant sky soften on the eves.
Silent waves stir the shore,
In beauty, in despair!
Heaven, Perdition - setting sail
--if only I were there.
I've seen indifference of a stone,
The carelessness of wind.
I watched rubbish rot my soul,
I've loved and I've sinned.
Tears, pouring down a face,
the lady in a downturned hat.
When grief can't find a way to darkness,
it turns the sunlight black.
I've smiled through tears
Almost as if Jackfruit
crammed in a hole.
My heart is in the untold night,
and moonlit shade of coal.
How fickle is the arc of Sun,
White spume of rolling waves;
How full the phantom of the heart,
How empty are the days?
"November Guest"
understood it best:
"Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks but I am fain to list.
She's glad the birds are gone away.
She’s glad her simple worsted grey
is silver now with clinging mist."
I've drowned in muddy puddles,
Cherry Blossom in blue light.
revived in Empyrean grief
and the Holy Cosmic night.
And when the Sun is bright,
In cyanic sky,
A circle of joy fills the heart
or meaningless of why
I cherish night, I weep in joy
like hearts of a two-sided leaf.
Like black hole thermodynamics,
--reconciling grace with grief.
Kodie Moon.
A Life
My life has three stages, I was young once
it didn`t last so long, and the downturned came
in my middle thirties, I sank into a gloom which
now is called depression, everything terrible happened
in quick succession divorce, booze and lose women.
I sought company with people who were my inferiors
and they took advantage of my need to be liked.
It took a long time to get out of this fog I never got the help
I needed all I heard was “pull yourself together.”
But dawn came into my life I went to live in Portugal
I discovered the joy of writing and the pleasure of silence.
I have lived a wonderful life for thirty years and let
go of my ego, to enjoy the day I have the freedom to do nothing
And feel good about it. Today I have been listening to music
on you tube until the strange cat that lives on the terrace
protested; well” the three tenors” sing loudly.
There is much poverty among the old also in Portugal should
I feel guilty because my life is good? No, I will not have slept
on a park bench I have been through the mill, and it was luck
that got me out of it, so I go on living as long as it lasts