Long Edgy Poems
Long Edgy Poems. Below are the most popular long Edgy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Edgy poems by poem length and keyword.
Soul Sanctuary
Wandering through a moveable museum of memories columnar
Dusting off exhibits of moments held fast in watercolors gossamer
Milestones chiseled into fleeting moments of atonement,
Soft edges of first love painted in golden moments –
Brushing aside gauzy cobwebs on photo negatives confessions
Blushing with pastel transparency of opaque blended impressions
Images emerge into negative space awash with nude opinions
Perspective layered into hard edges from edgy palette dominions;
Meandering through silent salons shaded dusky murals in shadows of rose
Lending sienna tints and hues to luminosity’s prisms in afterglow;
A sacred place vibrating in clear cerulean hues –
Holy space of signed wax relics - a chancel of still life in blooms;
Drifting through galleries of jigsaw puzzled passages
Fantasies spattered in bold black and white sketched with color assuage;
Visions staring back unblinking at lost victories buried in the abstract
Untouched prints, tattooed in rust, restored –restoration intact;
Still furnishing this sacred place
With an ever expanding collection displayed
Fragments of umber magic captured – deckled grief fading –
Portraits of choice set in unforgettable, studies of raw strangled cries invading;
Browsing hand in hand with free form time -
Lost in mazes of archival, acid free, displays in fine lines;
Within twisted illustrations featureless faces hidden -
Born out of the gasping barren abyss of flat washes in rhythm;
Framed in this breathing womb tiny points of pigment wait
Nurtured! Protected! Nourished! Building up a portrait;
Unfinished infinite design revealing watermarks
Cherished by the eternal conservancy in soaring arcs;
And in the brush strokes of this secret sanctuary place
Abides the master plan of the divine intimate grace.
Version #2 of Sanctuary – 7-27-21
Mr Webster's definition of loser
A consistent failure abuser
Turkey that has no wings
Sunkist lemon of a human being
I say Ol' Daniel's wrong
Ain't nobody that far gone
They're bound to have some use
If nothing else, squeeze them for juice
No wings on a turkey, big deal
Who wants wings for a Thanksgiving meal
A wingless bird would be unique
He doesn't say a loser's a freak
So a person has a few bad breaks
Always whines and bellyaches
Makes everyone else a little edgy
Social bothersome , tighty-whitey, wedgie
He may be down on his luck
But a loser, come on, that sucks
That is unless you're in this poetry contest
Then you'll be a loser, if yours ain't the best
an original poem by Daniel Turner
Change is a coming for mankind.
Nature now must leave him behind.
To see his mess, he still is blind.
He plunders this precious planet,
driven forth by greed for profit.
His moral fabric is unfit.
Always clever and never wise,
but now events open his eyes.
Global disease: surprise, surprise.
He’s edgy now but shows no shame,
for he is sure he’s not to blame.
But he suspects, he played foul game.
Now he’s an inkling, oh so slight,
that soon is coming his dark night.
Or does he think he’ll rage and fight.
He’s had the warnings, time on time.
Still he commits his plunder crime
and thinks it all will work out fine.
What was his love; what was his need?
It seems he cherished nowt but greed
and went ahead with feed, feed, feed.
Change is a coming for mankind.
Nature now must leave him behind.
To see his mess, he still is blind.
While the morning dozes in handedly
The sun paints inciting vegetation
Bit of greenly sward, applauds, snappishly
Moving, moping, in startled asp'ration
Lying in torment, unpretentiously
Wide-eyed land, romps energetically
Iridescent sunrise, floating flightless
Forenoon savors in sparkl'ng veracity
While the world spins in absolute hushness
And rattling in sweet regularity
Gloating tenderly, in edgy touchness
Warming the earth, raindrops, tumble from sky
And cockcrow holds its head high, in closeness
Feathered creatures in day peep, unify
Untamed wild, fills local space, once afresh
OLD AGE PAINS
(In Loving Memory of my Mother.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Old journal book soiled by life's pains;
Aged ugly looks, pages and stains;
Old people hooked to sad refrains.
Here in this room old odours cry;
Feel the sad gloom where unease sighs;
Here with late bloom pain comes to lie.
Weathered faces in sad stupor;
In odd spaces with dark decor;
Lonely traces just as before.
Lingering here, loitering there;
No sign of cheer to fit or wear;
Even harsh fear has gone somewhere.
Blank eyes can stare as silence creeps;
No words can fare as wit concedes;
Fair wear and tear waits final sleep.
Dumb and blankly that certain gaze;
Dementia sees all in a maze;
Completely blur that certain craze.
Fumbling stray lot of sanity;
Remnants of plots now so edgy;
Dreary grim thoughts dragging weary.
Yet we struggle to gain a grip;
Scream and juggle in blown mind trip;
Death's a hustle as body creeps.
Face now fading in these bleak times;
Slowly moving with stumbling chimes;
Release coming in dreadful rhymes?
Well-worn pages in setting sun;
Such ravages feed snoozing pun;
Death in stages in dreadful grunt.
Now beyond hope, faith has no cure;
Care cannot cope with lost allure;
Sad form makes dope of sure tenure.
In-between then and now, some poise:
Brief knowing span recalls lost voice;
Watch smiles pretend to attempt choice.
Such old age pains reveal once more
Life hazards stain sad corridors;
Where time speaks plain, no metaphors.
Our visit brief and strange and void;
Blame follows grief, babbling android;
Dash and achieve yet still devoid.
Our tale is told in fits and starts;
Our end unfolds in broken hearts;
Our crumbling gold in splintered parts!
Yet, I grow old with lapses clear;
And yes I'm told I forfeit cheer;
Forget to hold memory here.
Leon Enriquez
24 June 2014
Singapore
Old man here
Watching the world
Hurling in swirls
Poignant cheer
Blooming with grace
Upon your face
~~~~~~~~~
Old age calls
Shift to edgy
Poise turns cranky
Lone footfalls
No one comes near
Lost in new spheres
~~~~~~~~~
New world shouts
Noisy campaigns
Contrast now strains
Loud keeps out
Old tree alone
Cold feelings stone
~~~~~~~~~
Senses fail
Notice the taunts
A ghostly taunt
Death sets sail
Arrives on time
Glimpse exit rhymes
~~~~~~~~~
Much too late
Gone with the wind
Unknown, unseen
Old man dead
Death claimed a friend
A wise plan then
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
05 March 2015
Singapore
Urban jungle roosters,
born-again scarecrow,
to untutored city eyes,
tawny pipit stonewall nester,
jet black Inca dove bereft,
of dovetail on a croque monsieur,
idle bone grub crawl,
mother hen to sandy brown,
and velvet bill gazer,
from an nearby creak,
recent rural migrant now,
a tree house side kick,
chickadee a late date sitter,
on this air flock beaky natter,
or tweet between the ice float,
edgy grey day species wield,
their sprightly ruffled feathers,
as an orthopaedic surgeon,
and their spatula when scraping,
rancid bark off windmill elm trees,
gastric bugle trenchermen ahoy,
while ogling a fellow common redpoll,
oh these tummy rumble diners,
will zoom in on every gourmet,
tangled wire mesh feeder station.
round and round they’ll fly,
on zesty mission beetroot,
a cock-eyed scavenger‘s delight,
are they siblings of a noble order?
white tale mountain bluebirds swopping,
habitat for granite boundary habit,
off key off discordant choirboys,
six sided snow bird chorus,
ear splitter for tardy wakening,
they cheep religiously as if,
their only valid creed was,
window squinting prayer meets
this nonconformist city
breathes a calm but edgy air
through gaps in the graffiti
and the street art everywhere
its face is sometimes brutal
but its heart and soul seem not
and it walks a sexy diverse walk
that’s cold yet somehow hot
(but I know I’m getting older
when those fun thoughts in my head
reject the swinging KitKatClub
for KitKat bars instead)
and all those wearing AirPods
sipping hot drinks on the go
pass tourists taking boat trips
slowly going with the flow
while the 'high tea' of a bratwurst
served from food trucks on the street
is eaten at tall tables
en plein air without a seat
and just like high end stores at home
the windows dress up nice
displaying priceless dresses
that are shown without their price
note too that no one jaywalks here
by crossing roads at will
not even during rush hour
when the traffic’s standing still
and when it comes to bridges
here’s a fact that crossed my mind:
there are more here than in Venice
and in Amsterdam combined
and by saving time by taking trams
that move berlin about
we spent time taking time in parks
where locals take time out
while the aiming and the shooting
by the wall towards the west
was just us aiming cell phones
shooting selfies with the rest.
but the death camp films and clothes we saw
of the many that were killed
brought tears that drowned a silence there
for the blood that humans spilled
and I cannot start to comprehend
the minds of those who kill
and just because I went there
- and just because I stood there
- and just because I wrote this
doesn’t mean I ever will.
While Truth listens in
passionate loving wonder
on the climax edge of raw sufficiency
Growing enough passion
to accept everyone
and every relationship as we are spatially here
and deep listening now
To perpetuate healthy striving
at the wealthiest edge
of compassion
sufficient for a peaceful EarthLife,
for unconditional regard
of whole
multiculturing
Beautiful Earth.
But, whether or not edgy
yet deep stretching BeautyTruths
fully extend compassion,
Beauty exists out in Earth-sided nature
as Truth does and does not
in Anthro-Enlightened/Indarkened spirits
Choosing me to feel this attachment
to Here/Now Beauty sufficiency
conjoining relationship with integrity,
solitude with solidarity,
As if I could not be healthier me
in some other place,
some other time
Nor as joyful,
communing with Truth's deep dark and light passions,
dispassions and compassions
For a trinity of honesty
transparency
vulnerability
emerging as a fractal
with restoring eco-just integrity
Relentless courage of curiosity
about both Beauty
and Ugly choices, ecological,
and Truth
and FakeIntegrity voices, theological.
Reedth speaketh me listen
to this creaking squeaking tree
it make a bassoon proud
to speak out loud in detail
the things I see.
Speaketh me as wonderer
here in the edgy field
the moans and groans of
a tree so large
could frighten a person
to chills
fright not weary one
as I know the happenings here
the fibers within
bend with the wind
this trees end could be near
dense the wood
strong fibers too
might I brag that
it's a Black Ironwood tree
most dense of all the tree's
it was a present from
a host, a hoist that
gifted me.
It shall be felled
harvested
and made into tables and chairs
you look at me with
disappointment
do you wish the wind to prevail
oh i understand
you wish it to be fashioned
from this tree
a bassoon for those envy us
crafted for the world to see.
It expense will make
all who want
stop with a look upon there face
envy of unobtainable things
Envy and Grace
profound lyrical themes used
to explore the balance tween
artistic ambition, comparison,
Passion and redemption