Long Electrically Poems
Long Electrically Poems. Below are the most popular long Electrically by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Electrically poems by poem length and keyword.
He's so phoney in poems, moaning only,
same tone, same story,
a war he can't endure anymore that beats him sore and sorry,
exploring his core for strength absent before in writes of sheer folly.
Wanting to write powerfully like Churchill or Eminem,
but unable to create an impact as do many men.
It's easy to ridicule the metaphorical irrelevance,
as he revamps old writes lacking in intelligence.
Always using the same twist from behind a different mist,
ending with insistence he can return from great distance,
but he's not fooling anyone,
his fall's evident to everyone.
If he'd focused when he wrote this and applied a thought process,
he might have aspired beyond mono syllable rhyming and formed continuous structure,
but too useless to see it rewrote and tidied of mess,
he tirelessly goes on n on with simple investment of
contagious rupture.
He used to try and rhyme three words in each line,
double-rhyming words that evoke the mind,
concludes over time ease occurred with decline,
now forcing sounds heard or spoke in the rows behind.
By this point in the poem he is aware of his failure,
after reading back the words he's just tailored,
happy to cliche but not be a sunken sailor,
he tells of new fire, desire and determination to respond braver.
Follows the procedure of "seeking the peak",
covering up the fact he's pathetically weak,
forgets he lives worn down, always too tired,
and suddenly he's electrically alive and wired,
the traits of the self conning compulsive liar.
Self critical now in his inhospitable soul,
existing solely pitiful on the whole,
typically critique doesn't motivate towards the goal,
believing he's snowballing too fast to stop the roll.
All he takes from being mentally broken,
is his bravery to tell and let it be spoken,
doesn't care how they judge his way of coping,
because all he has left is being completely open.
........jiggle clumsily; post halter-
behind braids- busy in evacuation of the cool pool water,
like a carefree bull in the field.
Her eyes sharp and cruel, unyielding to the faulter.
Fixating on a fool,
one caught looking,
looking around in a house of slaughter.
Baiting fingers thread the hook at the back of the neck.
Electric eel, slippery Brook,
Devil's daughter-sees her slithering tool- He, electrically awestruck like
A fist magnetic, en route to the face spilling drool onto Tesla spool archway portal of open space.
Strings attached, loose and taught,
drawstring and shortest lot of toothpick drawn from maw aftermeal twisting twirl, say ahhh.
Umbrella, sundress, undressed girl, with dimple and curls, Salem's lot,
lizard kind of you're in trouble.
You are aftermath wreckage, rubble.
Thrown into a dancing fire.
Inn-keeping-with something to visualize and desire.
He becomes her familiar,
one that roils in a mire.
The catch of the day
hung out to dry, for the letting.
To bleed, into the night.
Like a stain setting.
Sniffing helplessly like a hound
in the open airs entrails- in the dew of it's misting device of shroud.
Hellbound
In a twisting abyss of chance -romance,
in advance of death in a trance.
Hade's Siren smirks at the arrow holes of Eros bow.
Marksmanship, gamesmanship, act 3 underwaymanship, with an encore and a show, and a tip.
She takes a bow in mocking disrespect-
turned about face in splay.
O the feel of the steal.
The flash of a blade.
The flash of ages, gone to seasons
of gray.
Cursing in looks of kill, of a dialect universally known but unnamed.
Of that wet and silvery feel.
As you open that door…
you don’t know that there is
an ocean behind it
If you had to choose between feeling nothing and feeling everything, would you succumb to the flood? What if what you felt was more than most—if your body and mind becomes a single ravaged nerve for every throb of the world? When something scrapes the very soul of you, it does not bleed—it sobs, endlessly, until you forget what silence felt like. And a person like me avoids—craves—the numbness, the quiet.
You try to be a small stream. Gentle. Contained. But the water always remembers its source. Before long, you’re a river cutting through your own heartbeat. And then—an ocean. No warning. Just electrically charged emotion, crashing against your chest, spilling out of your eyes, filling your mouth with salt and confession.
And the only way to diminish it all is that you learn to shrink. To hold your breath longer each time. To become the shoreline. To diminish all the feelings… all the mess that washes up on the sand. To diminish yourself, deny yourself….
You tell yourself that less feeling means less breaking. But really, you are just boarding up the cracks, while the storm brews inside.
And still, there are those who knock gently at the door—asking for small talk, asking if you’re okay, not realizing there’s an entire sea pushing against the frame.
Words are incapable of expressing my silent rage,
rage at myself for locking me to the confines of my own cage.
It's been an eternity, it seems. since I have felt such innocent bliss,
how ecstatic I felt even before when it was still just a kiss.
Then that night, our connection flowed electrically,
we both glowed from the inside out, smiling quite frequently.
Shyness still intact but I felt I could just be me,
so there we were just gazing at each other till we'd burst out laughing.
No words required or said, as our faces took turns rotating shades of red,
nervousness starting to remit, as we fell asleep talking, not desiring the night to end.
How my melancholy emotions prior had evaporated away,
with every look that said more then words could convey.
Yet my guard went up due to what the past has put me through,
and the situation, the uncertainties, have cast me back into the blue.
I merely wished to ensure that this was not a game,
and instead my selfishness, my insecurities have led me to be ashamed.
I‘m screaming inside, deafening my thoughts with the echo's of a cavernous heart,
The constant agony of the few memories, hopes, dreams, they wrench me apart.
I feel as if I am to fade into some abysmal, tormenting nightmare constantly taunting,
The fact I chose to question and doubt your stability, makes this nightmare seem to become my sadistic reality.
I’ve lost my chance, when I should have followed my instinct,
and as quickly as you blew a kiss and winked,
I knew that any hope was now extinct.
Sorry, if I hurt you and showed how thoughtless I can be,
I can’t undo what has been done you see,
but know this fact, that in those moments, I was happy.
Side-walk treks along concrete ribbons.
Listening to the passing cars,
to the slipstreams of travelling minds,
their encapsulated lives
humming electrically just as mine.
I don't know this part of the city,
people in my neighborhood
tell of dark days and violent nights
in this borough.
Maybe I should whistle,
stuff hands in pockets,
as if I had a gun,
or a bible?
Occasional smiles
as folks swing-on by,
even the kids are happy,
to be just where they are.
This walk is leading me onward,
and if I get more lost
than I am now,
I shall have found my way
into, a better roadmap
of myself.
We’ll be leaving in a day or three. School’s starting again soon, so I’m taking some last summer looks around.
When it’s vacation time I want vetted recreation - who wants to take chances?
Last spring, in the last few weeks of school, on the metro or when I should be studying, or on cold nights - when I should’ve been studying - I’d try to visualize these pactolian Héraclée beaches.
The bright, exclusive, Héraclée summer sun - that electrically-radial herald of beachy fun - bestriding a seaside indigo summer sky - like a fiery, winged messenger of heaven-spun blessings.
Hemingway, a man who lived in pedestrian Florida, wrote that the French Riviera was ‘the garden of Eden.’ Picasso said, ‘in sunflower sun, the clean, quartz-grained sand of Saint Tropez glitters like diamonds.’
Héraclée is slower, wilder and more natural than touristy Saint Tropez and its beaches are practically deserted. Craggy hills slope down to a pristine shoreline, where the sand is as soft as cotton.
We’re at a private area, where ‘plage-attendants’ (severs) circulate among vanilla colored cabanas, dressed in understated, tans and beiges - silently delivering food, amenities and drinks.
Waves chatter a timeless prose that lulls you to trance in cool bungalow shadows - this mile of riviera strand - totes private - is clothing optional.
The heat of the day brings out fragrant scents of native scrub blossoms - jasmine, rosemary, mimosa and thyme, sea salt and umbrella pine to produce aromatherapy-like fragrances that seemingly dissolve time.
This shore of sanctuary, where the scented air itself seems to compose rhyme, has always been a poet’s muse - with its golden afternoons and moonlit, tinsel-flecked tides.
Héraclée is whatever you want it to be - you’re free to inhabit multiple polarities.
It’s not, in fact, heaven - but it’s close.
.
.
Songs for this:
Don't Forget the Sun - The Explorers Club
Summer Girl (Bonus Track) by HAIM
A Valentine Write For My One & Only Street Angel -
I met you in a town of a thousand hustles,
a big stage supporting a million words,
a large world where the hunted & hunter interchange desires,
our souls touched eachother electrically, gently
long before compliments & reasons garnished the billboards,
you were an invisible passion simmering within me,
you've become a woman strengthening my very Being,
creation is the ambition that excites us most,
revelations and truisms scampering and giggling
up and down the streets, all about the universe,
angels couldn't ignore us even if they wanted to, wings with no frost,
Poetry, our vehicle for adventure, the stich to our begining,
on this Valentine's Day I need you to be mine, with Love unrehearsed -
J.A.B.
My overcast mood broods. In a mental melee
across my mind’s skies, as far as the eyes can see,
maddened crowds of electrically charged thought-clouds prey
seized negative space surrounding the heart of me.
Across my mind’s skies as far as the eyes can see
brain-storms rise in cumulonimbus angst, roaming
seized negative space surrounding the heart of me
with flashing lightning jags. I seethe in my gloaming.
Brain-storms rise in cumulonimbus angst - roaming.
Blowing the chastised chasms of my blackened mind
with flashing lightning jags - I seethe in my gloaming
under dark emotions thundering and squall-lined.
Blowing the chastised chasms of my blackened mind,
‘I-should-have-known-better’ flared-up winds are fuming
under dark emotions thundering and squall-lined
seeking to shred your justifications looming.
I should have known better! Flared-up winds are fuming...
Maddened crowds of electrically charged thought-clouds prey
seeking to shred your justifications. Looming,
my overcast mood broods in a mental melee.
Susan Ashley
April 14, 2018
Universe
Universe is now well ordered whole interacting entity. We explore and try to perceive through our senses. Was there any Master Plan? Was there any Creator?
.
Dark void was Cosmos
No Matter, no Energy
No Space set
Big Bang exploded.
Energy, Matter appeared.
Space sets, Time was on.
Matter, Energy, Space were captivated by Gravitational singularity. All were squeezed in infinitesimal small dense super extreme hot state. Cataclysmic explosion termed as Big Bang gave birth to Universe Instantly Universe started to expand rapidly everywhere round.
. Energy can neither be created nor destroyed. Big Bang just released the already –existing Energy.
.At birth Universe was not ‘Big’, but smaller than a single proton. Explosion didn’t come up as ‘Bang’.It was like a snap breaking sharply
Sea of sub atomic particles appeared
within one second of Big Bang.
Protons, electrons, neutrons, positrons,
neutrinos and photons all sang.
As high as ten Billions degree Celsius
Bell of tremendous temperature rang
Photons influenced by free electrons sprang.
From opaque state Universe suddenly turned transparent illuminated by after-glow cosmic microwave radiation. Gigantic clouds of primordial Cosmos particles coalesced by Gravitational Pull.Cluster of stars and galaxies started formation.
Within three minutes simple atomic nuclei came up. Universe continued to cool down.Thousand years passed to shape electrically neutral atom.
.Gravitational pull was supposed to control the expansion of Universe. But Universe is going on expanding. Far away are the galaxies, greater is the acceleration to recede. Something other than Matter or Energy is pushing distant galaxies apart.
This mysterious stuff is not to ignore.
It is termed ‘Dark Energy’, yet to explore.
Will the expansion of Universe stop by chance?
Or, will it ever crush on a Big Crunch ?
Gaggles of ghetto girls mollycoddle, dandle cranky babies;
some cradled on arm and hip, some hustled along
on low-rolling rides. Granma’s noodle their talk
together with headshakes, busy body elbows akimbo.
Thin men lounge outside bodega’s, soft-soap,
play imaginary guitars, flash smiles at the slack sun,
dare it to glitz elsewhere. Daughters and aunts sit
on the steep stoops bare knees out and breezing,
smoke the tarry air with dreamy eyes, pass their whispered
words around like ticking tome-bombs. Street pigeons
rubberneck and preach like pavement parakeets.
Many a backyard mechanic bends over an engine block,
imagines curvy garbs air-dancing, blown outward from
street grates - hems billowing from vents, hormones hang
as heavy as greasy clouds.
The brownstones take a knee, sweat breaks over rooftops.
A scurry of hands work the rumbling city, roads beep ways
to late shifts. Those that ply less punched-out trades
slip into hankering gaps, the alleys, all the half-way loitering’s
that flicker into sight and are electrically juiced by the scatter
and clatter of bat wings.
The town steps down into basement bars, warm cars click like clocks,
beer cools the hotheads while on a midnight stage
wild women bump and grind for the sporting crowd.
who like all devoted followers of the tinsel and neon arts
launder old dollars inside the G-strings of plump
and twerking nymphs.
The town unravels itself then knits its windows out of the dawn
to ply its daydreams shod to walk and strut once more.