Long Ear Poems
Long Ear Poems. Below are the most popular long Ear by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ear poems by poem length and keyword.
Moon in the Ear
My shoulders blinked an orgy of eyelids dancing in strange rhythm,
women remain unmoved before the hurricane that howls wildly,
with the metallic taste of the hurricane burning on the tongue like living fire,
with the hurricane's shape that strangely resembles a part of my blood.
With the hurricane's blood on hands dripping like melted red wax,
with the hurricane's skeleton on my head like a crown of white bones,
these women more beautiful than waterfalls of crystalline water,
the women who cross the street for a lost cause or for nothing.
With sticky darkness on fingers like a black velvet glove,
with heavy silence on breasts pressing like a marble stone,
trampling the soft shadow of trees that tremble slightly,
which shudder caressing the sleeping passersby on cold night sidewalks.
Or inhaling the thick fog like a bouquet of silver carnations,
we will still wonder about the cause but the cause always hides,
this time the cause will be the effect of the last cause forgotten long ago,
it will be the white bone I carry in my eye like an ancient amulet.
It will be the tired clock that got bored and beats backwards through time,
from midnight toward noon passing through the violet evening,
it will be your hand that you bring from time to time to your warm forehead,
to see if the lamps still burn in the city asleep under fog.
Boredom silent as a wet leaf falling soundlessly down,
the comforting drink of night flowing like a velvet river,
the moon that enters the ear whispering secrets from distant worlds,
carrying liquid dreams and memories floating like petals on water.
And I carry on my shoulders eyelids that blink watching in the long night,
looking at the woman who comes with the tamed hurricane in her hands,
with blood transformed into melodies and bone melted into fluid poetry,
in the hourglass measuring the unhurried time of the disappearing cause.
I wear a smiley face, the sad world to cheer,
With a red smile painted across my face from ear to ear.
My shoes are monstrous, my laugh billows, raucous out loud.
I'm the jester dancing in your face to please the crowd.
But deep within this masked disguise of paint,
Something inside has died, that's neither funny, silly nor quaint.
For the tears painted on my face are not fake but real,
For I cannot shed the dark cloud's doom, and its thunderous peal.
Playing the fool, clowning around is a shield,
For the somber dark sadness felt within and revealed,
When the tears of clowns roll down my painted cheeks.
Warm, wet and fresh, as the sadness within wells-up, and bleats.
In the depths of my soul a question appears
Whispering softly and echoed thru the years
"Who has my ear?" it asks, so sincere,
Who do I confide in, who do I trust to help steer?
In moments of doubt when paths become unclear
I seek guidance from those who lend a trusted ear
For wisdom and solace, for insight and grace,
I turn to the loyal ones to help me find my place
Please let me not forget as I rise and stand tall
I must listen and heed the call
It is too easy to think I'm above it all
Humility teaches me I am not immune to the fall
So, I ask myself with honesty and care
Who do I confide in, who is willing to share?
Navigating with me during so much noise and gust
l treasure loyalty and those who hold my trust
In moments of vulnerability strength is revealed
Bonds are fortified and wounds are healed
Let us band together and we will stand
Sharing burdens and dreams as we field life’s demands
Who has my ear? A question so profound
A reminder to cherish those around
In the tapestry of life, we share many common threads
Sharing the journey makes life easier to tread
Careful—what you hear
is not truly what mind heard;
bias wears a voice
we sort the world by its sound—
kinship hums in tone and tongue.
Talk sounds funny—strange,
not what you're used to hearing
through your native ears
guardrails narrow to constrain
how you render each word's sound.
Hearing listens first
for cadence, tone, inflection—
truth dressed in accents;
one voice rises, one falls through,
judged before the words arrive.
A child chooses friends—
not for faces, but a voice
that feels like their own;
in accents they speak at home
echoing inheritance.
As youths grow older
their speech bends towards the room,
softly converging—
to belonging in the crowd
with a learned change in accent.
Careful—he might hear
you—not as you fully are
mutual bias
is voiced in accented sounds—
kinship strummed in scope and tone.
To those who have ears, you must be listening, to hear,
sound the alarm's, without God be in awe with fear.
A change, a new breath, a second wind, for you,
a new strength, new stamina, and a fresh mind to.
God's children should fill their lamps with oil,
trim their wick's preparing without the toil.
Watching, waiting, patiencly for our Lord to arrive,
for only in Him shall, and with Him shall any survive.
Know the truth, speak the truth walk in the truth till you be,
a royal priesthood a Holy nation, a peculiar people, see.
Show forth your faithfulness, being loyal, honest and true,
let His Spirit be alive and well inside of you.
praying always, knowing this, "a mirrored reality is true.
The image's casted are backwards, just take a look,
the bible casts image's forward, we're to be that book.
If you have an ear and these word's you hear and feel,
the trueness in God's word's make them alive and real.
Children of God fill your lamps with oil,
trim your wick's with out toil.
The Groom is preparing for the travel to receive His Bride,
to take Her away and forevermore be at His side.
Watch without fainting preparing with each step you take,
walking, talking, casting you're image's of God you make.
Shining the way for God's children, as your vows you surly keep,
always each night, earnestly in His Spirit pray before you sleep.
Forgiving and forgetting those thing's that bring forth death,
pampering, grooming, tending to those things which gives you breath.
4EVER AS I LIVE LET ME BE HIS LIGHT--HIS COMFORT IN TIME OF NEED--
AS I LIVE EACH DAY I WILL SPEAK HIS WORD, THE HEART'S PLANTED SEED.
Don’t judge me when you’re not near me,
I’m not someone you hear or see,
painting blind my portrait blurry,
projecting out lost and fury.
Did you tell others this is me,
this made up personality,
do they believe and think it be,
though it not reality.
It’s what’s been said,
and what all think,
don’t trace the thread
don’t doubt the link.
So is this my image, the way I’m seen,
this person that I’ve never been?
This reputation so easily hated,
am I a character someone created?
I don’t care cus you’re not near me,
you’re not someone I hear or see,
I won’t damage your name unfairly,
by letting fantasy carry me free.
In time they’ll see it truthfully
things you said a mystery,
question marks of my story
sparks of curiosity
look at you for logic and find they can’t see,
look at me properly and find the proper me.
He who talks the talk of reality,
talks of events an actuality,
Gossip talk near close to insanity,
fills an empty existence, a sad act to be.
Don’t judge me when you’re not near me,
in time a truth will be set free,
no one speaks, they see it clearly,
a very visual insanity.
I hear myself talking to the radio;
the shock-jock stops pushing words
into my vehicle,
a pause, as if he is listening.
I don’t get paid for my opinions
my place is to be a listener, a non-combatant,
just ears and a vast echoing space between them.
The dead-air threatens to kill its audience.
The broadcaster voice gets louder as his mouth
moves closer to the microphone.
He knows! He heard my counter-arguments
and had no reply!
Then the radio signal is lost,
static nothing but blaring static,
I don’t turn the sound off
now the car has to listen only to me
as I carry on a heated conversation
inside my talking head.
my thoughts
are on hold..
up&down..
await
the pause
the chord..
then..
suspend
evoke
emotions
of
calm
reverie:
phrase by
phrase
on repeat
revolve
circles
intervals
pause
await..
an ethereal
image
to
appear
appear
appear
This poem 'happened' as I listened to Cage's Dream piano piece (7min )the words and patterned are as I listened.
here is a !ink to the piece which in reality is a part of my poem
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=9hVFCmK6GgM
Your sweet soprano is so distant now,
dear Mother,
So far from my fearful ear.
Did it cherish me yet chooses now to chastise,
as if I needed punishment?
So why do I hear
such a call, such a note
moving further away,
dear Mother,
moving further, further,
into that distance?
A soprano still
but falling, falling.
Where are you,
dear Mother?
Will you return to my head, my heart,
even to my timorous ear,
though chastising, may indeed cherish
with your soprano,
cherish yes, even treasure,
becoming less distant,
closer, closer,
yes, less distant still?
I knew you would never disappear,
but one fears.
Oh yes, one fears.
(May 2022)
Though sapient vision limps short,
And digs no eye into nirvana's fort;
Albeit most vivid dream’s flips stop,
Instinct excels where iffy triers flop.
And that sharper divining seer tells
Sweeter tales no deft lyricist's bells
Ever rung a one bereft of Love's ting,
Who jilts fine gold to hear a bird sing.
He needs no fumbling eye to behold
What yet lies beyond horizons’ fraud,
Nor flimsy ear's wit to sweetly divine
Blisses and nectarous lickings mine.
His are all-espying orbs steeled in hope;
Netting honeyed things before here pop
Tangible sights for showy ears and eyes
To grab and boast and stir belated sighs.
Known to him are times of lost rest
From lonely stints icily cold at best,
Thrills discerned many days before
They stir faint ears and eyes below.