Long Edge Poems
Long Edge Poems. Below are the most popular long Edge by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Edge poems by poem length and keyword.
I
Ah what thrill’s life if guts we’ve to get lost!
To lose way once in a while is no sour sauce—
But way to live. Lose way haply pay cost,
A stone that goes about gathers good moss.
Let challenges dare to confront man’s life,
Life gets lived well in its serpentine length,
If it walks on edge of what we call strife—
A way to reach height, due depth, all the strength.
Two ways define passage of life to track:
Easy winds an oft trodden path to walk,
But he that creates one, confronts roadblock,
Enjoys thrills of the testing times to crack.
Life’s not to carry keys for the locked doors,
But to find it when faced with locks on course.
II
So, look for keys when needed, not before,
Nor resolve a problem ere facing it,
Nor care to know what future has in store,
Cook your own dish, enjoy it as ye eat.
In climbing an often-scaled mountain crest,
One can add to odd statistics, not joy,
Adventure there’s, nor thrill of a contest,
One grows an old boy, life gathers no buoy.
What use utilitarian attitude?
Where romance is, nor sense of adventure,
Write poems good or not, mind your own mood,
Let wild new winds through wide windows venture,
Look at life as a challenge to surmount,
Get lost for thrill, try on rainbows to mount.
____________________________________________
Crown of sonnets |02.01.2024|life, adventure
Poet’s note: The New Year is in its first week. The daily newspapers are full of how it might unfold. I hardly find anyone talking on how to tackle it and be ready how so it might unfold. Life is to try out a new, least-trodden path. It is lived well when one can throw away the roadmap and venture on still. As Lao Tse said: Walk on where there’s trail, nor track, nor a towpath. This two-piece crown of sonnets wonders what’s life without any thrill of adventure of the unknown.
as lover's stroll amidst the morning hush
silent eyes yawn, stumbling fingers entwine
whilst through frothy waves reflective skies blush
squalling seagulls sip the morning sunshine
silent eyes yawn, stumbling fingers entwine
as playful dolphins tumble in the waves
squalling seagulls sip the morning sunshine
through the mist, sandpiper perched on the staves
as playful dolphins tumble in the waves
momentary embrace of lover's lips
through the mist, sandpiper perched on the staves
as darkness excites in solar eclipse
momentary embrace of lover's lips
silently gazing at horizon's edge
as darkness excites in solar eclipse
trailing footsteps fade out from ocean's ledge
silently gazing at horizon's edge
whilst through frothy waves reflective skies blush
trailing footsteps fade out from ocean's ledge
as lover's stroll amidst the morning hush
November 30, 2019
Seagulls poetry contest
Sponsored by Eve Roper
Under the velvet of night, where shadows dance and secrets murmur,
Lies the playful essence of the deepest consciousness, unbound by reason or constraint,
A fire of frivolity, flickering and blazing within us all,
The blood-consciousness, the primordial pulse, a mischievous glow.
Sex, an enigma wrapped in the warmth of our playful existence,
Is the night’s playful consciousness, when the soul flirts with the edge of sleep,
A fire, both ancient and whimsical, igniting the core of our being,
Communicating in glimmers, in warmth, in the silent laughter of the flesh.
In this twilight realm, where the mind surrenders to playful whims,
We touch the sacred and the sensual, the esoteric beauty that defies the mundane,
This glow, this fire, becomes a radiant beacon,
And in that radiance, we sense the true, frivolous beauty of existence.
We carry this fire, a living spark, through the years,
Whether smoldering or blazing brightly, it remains,
A beacon of life, of warmth, of playful connection,
Even at ninety, it flickers, reminding us of our primal essence.
But if this fire dies, extinguished by the cold touch of disconnection,
We become those living husks,
Wandering without warmth, without the glow of life,
A lament for the living dead, whose fire has been snuffed out by the world.
In the stream of consciousness, where thoughts flow like a capricious river,
We return to this fire, to the blood-consciousness,
Feeling its warmth, its glow, its undeniable presence,
A reminder that in the deepest night, when the soul flirts with the edge of sleep,
Lies the playful essence of our being, the esoteric fire of life.
The heart when young, so blissful and knows no sin
the mind's ego knows no bounds, its strength within
The earth, sound and steep, its fruits the soul entice
the taste of spice great! to every slice a price
The eyes rain and the mouth would savour its pain
when dry is your land, sow no seed, reap no grain
Valiant steps fear no edge nor the burn of sands
wish die for the glory of walking God's Lands
Specks of dust make souls blind can turn lives to dust
just a spark of deep Faith heralds paths to trust
Ascend and observe, gems in you aim to earn
What seems as harm, a blessing if you would learn
God for you paves paths and lends many a hand
a deep well of Love granted to flood your land
Those warm drops of Love and Life, in time of birth
brought heaven under your feet, mothers of earth
Peace and joy in voice of heart to God raise praise
light in soul, a power with beauty would blaze
Brushes and pens paint and a language translate
the soul ebb and flow beyond language and state.
“False pride...true greed...
corrupt...agreed”
_by Poet
Fate is a fickle force that blinds
and often messes with our minds,
to pull the rug from under us;
comes out of nowhere without fuss.
Fate alters things we'd never guess;
but this one change, I must confess
removes joy in poetic art;
usurps true talents we impart.
Fate has directed us to cheat;
AI – invented, to now meet,
the inborn talents we all share;
write poems fast- no work or care.
It uses forms correctly, while
can duplicate a poet's style.
But, using what A1 has learned-
sets a false “pride” for prize unearned.
God-given gifts to write, compose-
now must compete with AI prose.
Yet, “greed” may use this selfish pass
to earn high ratings that amass.
Will AI steer my urge to cheat?
Give me that edge to fast-compete?
No! Honestly, I won't do well-
knowing my mind's a tarnished shell.
Midnight skies encompassed the Earth
As the wind gently ruffled my tesselated dress
My feet caressed the soil
As I neared the edge
Cold waters spilled through my fingers
As I fused them into the stream
Redolent and succulence suffused my senses
Enrapturing me towards an evocative harvest
Dulcet lips pressed against mine
Our two hearts become idyllic
Your eyes are crystalline as you stare back into mine and
We unite, you become my chrysalis
Our ways are without form
Our souls are exuberant, care free
Nature becomes a somnolent lullaby
As you caress me in your arms
Gracefully
You are opening my cellar door
My heart is no longer lost in oblivion
Ever long, I am yours
My pendaulum, my lily in the pond
A kaleidoscope of wisteria
Your love knocks me out cold
Until I hear sonorous tintinnabulations
Your lyrical tongue awakens me
Painting enticing visions
The words you speak, resonate in my eyes
I'm tongue tied and mesmerized
Clinging to isolation
My world had stood still...
A dead spherical hell
Before I knew your name
Your words succumb serpents
Yet justify angels
Bring curved smiles
Rolled eyes of jealousy
When I open my eyes to hear your melody
I fall for you and land in soft autumn leaves
I capture menacing memories
Trap them in a jar
Tie it with a pretty bow
Just to smash it
And never feel that low again
You bring out my hunger
With you I finally realize
I'm human
I'm not lucid...
I'm just a wildflower.
Herein lies the problem, and I need a fix
A reach into my deep, dark, abysmal bag of tricks...
Blinded with rage when nothing is there,
To cure my dis-ease. Intense wrought despair
Compels me to act, to seek and to find
My only distraction, my time out of mind.
A wise man once said 'To thine own self be true'
Since wise man was drunk, I'll follow his cue:
Twas not to thine own self but to thy drug of choice
That truth be thine aim, spoke forth through thy voice.
I suffer withdrawal, I'm bored and I'm scared.
My outlook is grim, I feel unprepared
To face such a brave new world without fear
If I'm without soma, so much so I jeer
At those who fly sober, who lack my good sense
To grasp their addictions, understand why they're tense.
Whose outlooks are hardened, who look at me and scoff
When we all need something to take the edge off.
With morning brew, I strolled outside
To hear the jabber of a squirrel up high
Made my rounds to visit each tree
To my delight I did see
Newborn buds did plenty peek
From deciduous and coniferous all unique
Mature strong boughs cradled nests
Wide-mouth chicks at mother's behest
A troop of ants marched in line
carrying rations in rhythm time
I made my way toward the woods
On the edge, mouth open I stood
To my surprise my hands did fold
My heart sang with the sight to behold
A sea of white flowers, I dare not step
Trillium Grandiflorum, tears of joy I wept
It made my day and now each year
I make my rounds with awe and cheer
Happy Mother's Day to thee
A living bouquet from Creator to ye
The back room
of creation
where much of life
is spent
Victim to
the waiting game
where doldrums
reinvent
All dressed up
and ready
with nowhere
clear to go
Waiting for
that flash of light
to put me
— in the know
*****
Reality Preying
Not killing
time
Time killing
him
The hourglass
drains
As life
grows thin
Slaying the
dragon
A fantasy
still
Reality
preying
On folly
— distilled
*****
Stepping Out
More than a
lifetime
Unmeasured
by years
Enlightenment
prospers
No doubting
or fear
Stepping out
of the circle
And into the
light
Dimension
is truant
With reference
— contrite
*****
One Slip
Life
on the edge
where finality
threatens
Hope
meets disaster
both tightening
their grip
Never
look down
with redemption
above you
One slip
and the promise
of glory
— submits
*****
Darkness Retreating
Writing
to a standard
new standards
are drawn
Light
disinfecting
a bevy
of wrongs
Writing
to a standard
the truth
is upheld
Darkness
retreating
deception
— expelled
*****
To Bask In Its Presence
Writers
have a double edged
courtship with time
Cutting both ways
past and future
defined
But the moment’s
unwritten
unspoken unrhymed
To bask in its
presence
— you live it sublime
(The New Room: June, 2026)
Barely out of the womb
And a score card is given
As the count immediately begins
Born into a world of sorrow
Suffering, wars of power
Then it's the end
...what's the point!?!
Did anyone ask a question
Or did servitude arrive with breath
Shall we bow to the system
Until our days are completed in death
Seeing a man along the way
With a cup in his hand
Can't receive a reward
Only those, hard at work
Earning a wage
Can connection afford
The people on the edge
Who dared to live, and failed
Score card destroyed
Humanity has bailed
...the system...or humanity
Can anyone see the TRUTH
Blaring horns roaring
My ears hurt, it's so loud
Take selfie's while you give
Accolades from saints
And never, ever, be without
...a score card
Written by Trudy Schrader on 02-26-2022