Long Dusted Poems
Long Dusted Poems. Below are the most popular long Dusted by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dusted poems by poem length and keyword.
My parents had a chandelier
When I was growing up,
Above the table in the room
Where company would sup.
Its crystal doodads dangled down
And sparkled in the light,
Creating quite a festive mood
When it was lit at night.
But cleaning it was quite a chore
And had to be entrusted
To someone up on tiptoe,
On a stepstool, to be dusted.
Plus once a year or so, I guess,
Each droplet got a bath,
Which adds to lots of hours of work,
If you just do the math.
I always found that chandelier
Too gaudy for my taste,
A little bit pretentious
For the home where it was based.
Yet when I'm at a venue
With a glitzy chandelier,
I envision my old dining room,
My mem'ry crystal clear.
She lifts her head and blinks
seeing no one she remembers.
We are visiting,
straining lumps of silence through encouraging smiles.
Clouds revolve behind rheumy eyes.
Workers glide through the retirement home
tending to the restless,
the thoughts of dream-talkers are swept and dusted.
She struggles to peer over us.
The window behind our chairs
is milky with un-wiped memories.
“They’ve built new shops over there,”
she says waving toward nowhere in particular.
“Buses pass right by here now.”
The sparrows no longer interest her
and there are no nearby shops.
“They turn the lights on too early,”
she grumbles.
An aged cat meanders into the room.
I lift it up,
its stiff legs paddling weakly in the air.
She looks at us,
a cataract of perception creaks open.
"They call it smoky," she says
"but it don't smoke."
We all laugh, relieved
to see her back again -
for a while.
“We have two lives, and the second begins when we realize we only have one.” - Quote by Confucius
-------------------------------------------------------------------
It is at this time of
the year I clearly gaze
longer, searching for
serenity in my home
I have inherited
40 cartons of books
on literature,
Dewey sorted, dusted, rare
I have collected
stationery too
much to be true, many
unused, many of no use
I even bought ten
trendy books on art
of decluttering but
failed to read them through and through
Cluttered mind races.
I sit with my soul
in lotus pose feeling
at home in my cluttered home
“I know my heart will never be the same
But I'm telling myself I'll be okay”
Sara Evans
My heart no longer
beats the same,
as I’ve wiped away
tainted tints on
vain valves.
Bleeding out
shattered dreams.
Colors of fallen
needle-shaped leaves,
emanate shades
of memories,
lost along a clamor of
fragmented pieces,
where linchen-dusted lies
confused my
flower-patterned spirit,
adrift in a pastoral
landscape of melancholy,
scumbled in roseate oil,
calligraphed from
the fragrance of
forget-me-nots,
but sunflowers no
longer bloom,
although I still
see a thread
of salvation
surfing through the
airy breeze that hides
behind green
grass across
untouched,
yet butterfly nested
water mountains.
I chose to be
content alone,
with me and my
heartbroken bliss,
over passionate
petal-like serenades,
that caressed
my midnight blues.
So, forgive the stars,
named with our love,
as I bid
farewell to half-adorned
illustrations
of a perfect sunrise,
stolen by the past
that always punished me,
with trust issues,
obscured in somber clouds
that follow my
silhouette, faithfully.
I s t r e t c h my arms,
caressing collapsed dreams,
l o s t
within the
debris of darkness,
rising from the
volcanic vortex,
drifting with scorching fragments
resembling a love turned to ashes,
from scarred skin and flames.
For I am the constructor of my own chaos~
singing Lilith lullabies
in this cold confinement~
poisoning vermilion
valleys with vicious vines,
watered with kohl tears,
as these lungs inhale toxic rain,
drowning in the demise
of primrose promises,
while pain bleeds
doleful drafts,
and empty pleas
paralyzed within pages of turmoil,
unable to break free from
the
sinister sequence
of the synthetic sun.
Yet I paint
a landscape
thriving with ill-omened orchids,
oblivious to the shimmering gold
dusted above
the black-magic boulevard…
O mystical faeries
must I forever be
a victim of midnight tremors?
Am I to remain
c h a i n e d
with diamond-glazed knots,
in the macabre chambers
where desolated phantoms stroll?
Perhaps it is written in the sands,
with cryptic strands
of sweltering grains~
I am the cacophony,
draped in infected illusions,
basking in hues of hallucinations,
surrendering to the hypnotic sounds
of satanic springs,
drinking from chalices
filled with pomegranate lies,
from the shadowed spirit
of Persephone on Hades’ throne,
engraved with splinters
from inescapable fate,
scripted with somber i n k ...
Somewhere between
veiled visions,
incensed with vanilla,
and the untold sagas
of a crestfallen lunar,
you'll taste
the aromas of alchemy
I've conjured~
shifting like zestful light,
of neon auroras,
deceiving the deceitful
with their distorted colors...
I am K a r m a ~
clothed in sequined starlight,
scattering lessons of life
upon nefarious sighs.
2007
*
the country stile
hedged the wild flower meadow
where I sit awhile
*
shadows in the sky-
fluttering across my eye
a brown butterfly
*
on the wind,a bell-
muffled from across the square
raindrops fill the air
*
on the lawn
lily petals timeworn-
summer draws to its close
*
the tiles dusted with snow-
trickle down fills the
rain butt
*
kissing-gate swings-
eternally hitched to you
my heartfelt love
*
in the paddy field
waters of Spring-
green shoots in my heart
*
2008
*
shadows lengthen
chestnuts roast-
winter bides
*
2009
*
Summer peepshow-
snowberries sunbathing -
autumn preview-
*
2010
*
frozen into epigrams
tripping off a brush-
haiga images
*
azalea perfume hints-
yellows the lawn
this summer morn
*
a long parting kiss-
imprinted upon my lips
her lingering heat
*
shades of shadowing fall
highlights the pampas grass-
rose hips ripening
*
2011
*
words left unsaid
drift upon the east wind-
freeze in my heart
*
breeze in trees
tiny moths flutter -
cherry blossoms me
*
no breeze tonight
the trees pose statuesque-
thoughts holds on pause
*
the email opens-
through a veil of tears
a rainbow appears
*
a sunset backlit
sculptures the aboretum-
I ,on 'morrow gaze
*
Indian summer-
out of depression's shadow-
Autumn leaves my heart
*
in my old calendar
her yesterdays-
in tears I reminesce
*
neath the chestnut tree
conkers* abound,all around-
a none-er strikes me
*
*conkers=horse chestnut seeds-provide a schoolyard
autumn pastime-wiki or google for more info
Cleaning Clyde got to the other side
Feeling sparkly with lots of pride
Puffed up with zing
Cleaning had been his thing
Angels felt so sorry for Cleaning Clyde.
Your mission the angels said in a kind way
Was to learn how to open your mind and play
You failed at Earth
So you will have to re-birth.
All that cleaning had made him lose his way.
Cleaning Clyde did not understand.
Nothing cleaner than his pots or pans.
Washed and dusted
And nothing rusted
He stared down at his glove-covered hands
The same mission the angels said in a gentle way
Get down to earth, this time be a kid and play.
Clyde was quite mad
Angry and sad,
Had to relive a lifetime for he had lost his way
Butterflies~
scarred and stained,
breathe within a glass cocoon
spun with black-widow silk and smoke,
waving weary wings
in the midst of nothingness,
c h a i n e d with bleeding petals
from a garden of grief,
caught in gossamer greed,
that feeds insidious seeds
to this chrysalis heart,
weeping in seething silence,
as the world cares not to heed
tunes of trauma,
ricocheting through
flutes of patience,
oblivious to the p a i n they flutter
upon fickle fields of Zeus~
a battlefield designed in crestfallen roses,
a home that froze my desire to dream.
O my bloody Valentine,
bloody valentine,
I see through your
bouquet of bleached bones,
wrapped with paper promises,
perfumed with lethal potions
to lure me back into
the crystalline cage
of a vindictive vulture,
dressed as Romeo,
armored with Cupid’s charm,
f l i r t i n g with fragility
in narcissistic grace…
But must I forever
be a prisoner of the sinister sun,
carving my skin
with poisoned rays?
Or am I to remain mute
in your mansion of malignant marigolds?
For I feel the deceptive dews
floating through those corpse-like eyes
that seized the skies of innocence,
dragging diamond-dusted daggers
amidst wistful stars,
leaving me unheard and unseen,
while I scream through scorching stillness,
engrossed in somber solitude,
awaiting the
delicate d a n c e
of morning glows
to caress the insomniac
pillows I rest my fears upon,
questioning the next wave of violence
that would
clothe me in nothing but deep blue~
b r u i s e s.
There is a holiday beating in my heart
that merry joy ignited by the spark
Of your sweet smile met by mine
my lovely Christmas Valentine
City sidewalks dusted with snow
window shopping hand in hand we stroll
Christmas decorations and twinkling lights
greet the night with cheer so bright
Shoppers scurry home with treasures
the gift of giving the season's pleasure
The corner Santa Claus rings his bell
his merry laughter warms the night's chill
Hot chocolate cozy our souls
cuddling in the booth kisses we stole
The night is young our dreams true
no misletoe needed to say I love you
There is a holiday beating in my heart
the merriment that each Christmas starts
A season of hope, love and joy divine
with my lovely Christmas Valentine...
Walk Away
I woke up this morning I can't bring myself to pray.
I check the clock to see the time. It says time to walk away.
I search my mind for another time like looking through a crack.
I saw the hurts of yesterday and I began to pack.
Pictures of my loved ones now locked safe inside my heart.
Hopes and dreams I can still dream to give them a new start.
I checked the drawer of memories in the box called you and I.
My smile seemed to turn away back into tears I cry.
I closed it and I shut the drawer looks like that will have to stay.
Some things I can't take with me when it's time to walk away.
I grabbed what little still remained of my pride and self respect.
Damaged from the years it seems of abuse and my neglect.
I dusted off that old trunk filled with things I've learned.
Put it on the curb right next to bridges that I burned.
I'll learn life all over if it's what I'm meant to do.
Surely it can't be as bad as all that I've been through.
With one sliver of a memory when I turn old and gray.
Looking back I'll see that crack and the day I walked away.
Edwin C Hofert