Long Elsewhere Poems
Long Elsewhere Poems. Below are the most popular long Elsewhere by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Elsewhere poems by poem length and keyword.
In those far days, stars had stilts, shafts
that pierced every eye with a legendary knowledge.
There were celestial dragons
that roamed the daylight clouds,
actual myths glittered in the sunlight
as they shape-shifted through a gleaming creation.
Olympus could be found in every nest. Nirvana
explored in nightly rain puddles. Heaven was a word
for the ordinary and mundane.
Then a thing darker than the darkest of shadows,
cast its vast leathery wings over the minds
of these lesser gods and their magical beasts.
Conflicts arose in every land, fairies fled
to the timeless flowering fields of Arcadia.
Blood oaths were sworn and few there were
that would arbitrate for peace.
To this day, starlight walks elsewhere,
and we the ill-bred whelps of fear,
must travel with no thaumaturgic succor
or wit to discern
this wonderful macrocosm of us.
We never could get on. This was the last
of our attempts to find the golden mean.
We'd come here to the South of France, with wives,
a summer holiday of mending fences,
two colleagues seeking ways to rub along.
In Antibes (or in Aix - I don't recall),
as we were strolling down some tree-lined street,
I noticed an hotel. So very French.
Neat wooden shutters, graceful balcony.
The plaque above the threshold caught my eye:
"Here, on this very balcony, the great
Napoleon, escaped from Elba, made
an inspired speech. His fortunes at low ebb,
and hunted by his foreign enemies,
he spoke to France, and France took up his call.
His former soldiers, sent to capture him,
threw down their arms and wept. So Bonaparte,
here on this spot, resolved to fight again,
and see what kind of mistress Fate might prove."
Here. On this spot. A bankrupt, beaten man,
that Spring of eighteen fifteen, chose to roll
the dice again, to shape Earth's destiny.
I heard "Vive l'Empereur!" I felt the drums!
"You're so insensitive!" an English cry
thrust through my daydream like a metal spike.
McGill was pointing to a motor-bike.
"You walked right past this awesome piece of kit,
And didn't even notice!" That was it.
The die was cast. For good or ill, I knew
my fate lay elsewhere. This was Waterloo.
All hope of reconciliation gone,
McGill and I had crossed our Rubicon.
Firstly, having realized that PS Soupers cross the International Line, aspects of politics should be addressed. Clarity of 'Crossing the Aisles'. An American phrase references Congress and seldom elsewhere. I'm expounding on Congress via its members and how they find it useful. Members accord themselves with similarities fashioned by their constituents -- lest they seek a short term. Ergo, they'll ingratiate themselves on social issues that affect their daily lives, and the reciprocal benefit will ensure a mainstay in office. Members in opposition will ingratiate with constituents on those similar social issues that affect their daily lives from a whole different perspective thereby affecting said controversy from 'Crossing the Aisles' on a political level, whether it be, Washington DC, Ottawa, Canberra, or elsewhere..
Now on the subject of religion. I've bandied about my POV on faith and my pious mother via some of my posted poetry here at PS. In my sampling for the contest, I did make such an implication of that fact yet if you read into it, you'll note it was words of Christian standards that infer a mother's love towards her two sons that preceded her in death. I did not preach on the subject of my faith and have it dragged into the darkness of controversy.
Contrast on Controversy
Prologue
Life is not an accident, nor is it a machine.
It is resonance, a vast unfolding symphony of patterns, rhythms and harmonics.
Every moment carries with it echoes of the infinite, like ripples on the surface of water connecting us to unseen realms.
To live well is not simply to survive or dominate, but to enter into rhythm with life itself, becoming a consciousness.
This path is not one of control but alignment.
To hear the silence behind sound, to move with the current rather than against it, is the heart of wisdom.
In this manifesto, I attempt not to describe life as a mechanical process but as a living philosophy.
The call of the universe is not made of equations alone, nor of emotion alone, but of resonance.
This is a call to integrity, to live with both reason and reverence, to embody love and to cultivate freedom rooted in wisdom.
Love and Sacredness
Love is the primal field from which all meaning flows.
Love is not merely romantic attraction or fleeting passion - it is the force of unconditional love, a giving without measure.
Through love we touch the divine, and in touching the divine, we realize that it was never elsewhere - it was always within.
Sacredness is not confined to altars or holy books.
It lives in the smallest details: the stone shaped like a dragon, the rare clover with five leaves, the rhythmic overlapping of the waves.
These are reminders that divinity is not a distant abstraction but a tangible presence in the ordinary.
The divine is present wherever we look and wonder awakens us, wherever reverence requires us to look deeper.
Hear the sabre voices clash between children,
Watch the birth, the creation of dread,
Look closely at the glow about the fire,
Lost is the miracle of wonder,
It lies elsewhere.
Turn the log, it's warmth lies hidden,
Walk with care, beneath you lay the dead,
Souls that now form the silent choir,
Lie still and cause the mind to stir,
To imaginings in the air.
Living voices drift, the wind is calmed,
And the music dies away,
But the quiet, the silent is never harmed,
And lives again in every new day.
The rope that tightens around your neck in pain,
Will cause a grin as life is denied once again.
At the edge of the world
an angel bends down,
writing names in the snow.
Each letter is an unspoken breath,
each comma,
a grave where unshed eyes sleep.
The lamppost burns crooked,
the pigeons’ shadows spin over tram wires,
and only the ice-pencil presses
against my skull
empty of memory.
Under my eyelids, ash gathers.
When I blink,
the world’s windows open,
and light enters like a pilgrim,
tearing its stone robe,
becoming, for a moment,
my trembling body.
Elsewhere in the poem, a door slams.
A woman carries bread in a thin bag.
The clock in the square
ticks like a saint
biting glass.
I carry my heart like a candle
through a roofless monastery.
Its flame bends to every prayer wind.
Beneath my steps, psalms of ice,
and I tread carefully,
as if beneath each verse, children sleep.
No one sees.
Outside, I walk in silence,
greet passersby,
but inside,
the angel shakes its wings,
and the feathers drift through my mind
like handkerchiefs forgotten at a window in a nursing home.
A cat watches from the end of the street.
A train breaks under the bridge.
Words fall from my mouth
like paint peeling from old icons.
And yet,
on the night when language shatters,
the angel leans beside me and whispers:
“You are alive because you are silent.
You are alive because you carry the light
like a beautiful wound.”
Then the snow begins to sing
under my steps.
The road stretches,
a white sentence,
written for the one
who will never arrive.
There is a face lives in my mind, has been there since my birth
It may have been quite blurred at first, imagination knew it's worth
I knew what I was looking for, though times I must admit
I thought I saw you here or there, would feel like I'd been hit
As I grew up I saw you less, my mind would be elsewhere
So busy with my life as such, I seemed without a care
Then one day I was walking, on a beach down near the waves
I saw your face there in the foam, it brought back early days
But this time it was far more clear, with substance and 3D
I knew I had to start again, search for the one for me
I took a holiday from work, to travel round the world
Hoping fate would take me to you, my life became unfurled
Once I had been a steady lad, but that was in the past
I'm sure if I can find you, there will be a love to last
Saw many girls so beautiful, I traveled here and there
But I never saw the one, to lay my feelings bare
My life went on I met my wife, the hole was always there
The face I had been searching for, could not find anywhere
Then when my baby daughter born, stood rooted in my place
The little girl my wife gave me, that tantalising face
"Until the fish learns to fly
Or until the birds learn to swim"
You will be my light, my light
In cloudy even dark days of my life
Hugging and holding me so tight
Sometimes squeezing even breaths of me
Building dreams of tomorrow
Love flying heights like the sparrow
I have believed and love you
Entrusted my heart to you
Breaking rigid laws to be next to you
Holding tight or lose to keep you
Yet, what have you done!
What you have done?
Loving two, not only one!
You left me without proper goodbye
Darting me, dead shot on bull's eye
Bursting me, from a haven of bubbles
Letting me fall. from heaven to hell
Backstabbing me, sudden and hard
Letting me wander and wonder, why?
Why oh why?!
Droplets of salty water flows, night and day
That even summer sunshine cannot erase
Deep cuts of joyful memories
Becomes a resonating sad requiems
Here and everywhere a bask of blues
Casting me elsewhere as I remember you
Betraying my love that's true
Oh my God please carry me through!
By
olive_eloisa
11:30 am
02/26/2014
CONTEST: BETRAYAL
SPONSOR: FRANK H.
2nd Place
Though it’s still partly cloudy in this street
& everybody follows the king’s fleet,
I’m following you to the ends of this world,
where I’ve replaced everything with your word,
I remain elsewhere like the empty plea
because you’re that fire burning inside me.
Though those agencies that create duets seem
to believe that a system employing well over
2, 000, 000 couples with infusions of bright visions
will need certain clearly specified characteristics
with objectives & noting costs to protect the new moon.
You’re that whirlwind blowing everything away,
that’s why in this play, I pray not to be the next prey.
I’m too late this morning & I won’t catch any bus,
though traders in their market won’t understand us.
To them, we’re actors in a tragic-comedy stage.
& we made a bold decision to try out the phage.
Give me your hands for a warmth of touch
& I won’t be in operational form in that skutch.
Give me your mouth for a kiss
when I listen to your coos.
Give me your whole body for burying me completely
when I pledge fealty.
I was thinking
It would be different
Seems familiarity breeds contrition.
All I get from you is competition;
You used to listen, now you are always contrite;
At all cost, you wanted to be right,
While I wanted to be effective.
We are getting nowhere fast,
me feeling more neglected.
When your wrongs, became too strong
It was time for me to get gone.
You complained and nitpicked
You were supposed to be my safe world.
Follow the trail of tears
There is a message to be found
Loud and clear.
If you had paid attention
To the signs, read the handwriting on the wall.
Yet, you got the mess, and missed the message,
I pulled out all the tricks I knew,
desperate to continue loving you;
Even when the thrill was gone,
I still stayed, and prayed yet,
you made our bed with thorns,
I pulled out my magic wand
And abracadabra said, “horns be gone”.
I begged for your tender side;
I was tired of the “paper chase”
Sex was more like marital rape.
I needed that extra kiss and hug
there will be no makeup sex;
As you walk around the bedroom and flexed.
Since you love only yourself
I am going somewhere else.
Before I become reclusive,
Your sense of humor is abusive.
I felt there was no use;
Tonight, there’ll be; no dinner waiting:
No more anticipating; just a note, to say
“You're not funny -just a joke”
Tired of dangling on this rope.
Life is too short- I’m out like smoke.
I made a conscious choice to leave.
Needed room to breathe.
Going elsewhere to seek my needs
Breaking the ties that bind.
Searching to find, my own mind.
Your wrong is too strong-
And your right is too light.
Whatever be my plight,
I’ll take my chances elsewhere.
I’ll be finding my future without you”
Abracadabra, I am gone!