Long Emulsion Poems
Long Emulsion Poems. Below are the most popular long Emulsion by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Emulsion poems by poem length and keyword.
I’d heard of Persephone, that beautiful earthly maid,
Who’d vowed her love to Hades, although her mother forbade –
An enraged Demeter scorched the earth; a desolate paradise was made,
But Persephone visits still, embrocating this soil-
I know, because these winters would always fade…
But if time changes, then why don’t we?
My time is still stagnant as far as the eye can see.
They say that time can heal all those wounds and fill all those holes,
that rupture, corrode, poison and abrade the soul.
But I am waiting for time and time is waiting for me,
to forget, forgive and forgo my hurt; to set me free.
Time warps all, rules all- it renews and ruins all that was, is and will be,
then why won’t time help that sunken and lowly being, that which is me?
My memories flow in an emulsion of hate and melancholy,
They have flowed, and flowed, and flowed - this river is yet to join the sea,
The sea that will fall off the ends of the earth-
How I wish it would carry that sunken and lowly being, that which is me…
I don’t blame you; my life was a place where you couldn’t be.
Thought I could lock away my heart, and give time its key.
But the key is lost now, all my emotions seem to flee-
the tears, the pain, the helplessness that came when you went,
they trickle down my abraded cheeks- I’ve lost a part of my heart,
I am an amputee.
I do blame time, that awful, abstract, vulgar object that people desire,
they say that it’s not theirs, they don’t have it and do want it to wait,
Ha ha! Time is conceited, cruel, a careless entity-
It won’t help me; it will do no good now- my time sure is late.
I’m sure though, that your time has changed and time has changed you,
Time must have helped you to revive and yourself, renew.
But time has shunned that other half of the picture that lies shattered on my marble floor,
it chose not to fix me, and simply walked out my door.
We all are made, broken and fixed,
by the time that switches the season and tide.
It floods the dimensions, within which we thrive, seek and hide.
It is I, the one unwilling to overlook the past, is me-
And thus, I wonder, if time changes, then why don’t we?
Sponsor:Ryland Matthews
Contest Name:My Darkest Hour
My name:Valeria Iliadou
Rain is falling on my eyes
Rain is falling on my senses
In the middle of the night
In the middle of my darkest hour
Stand the detrited words I never said
The unpassable bridges of time
That is now passed, that is now vanished.
And I am waiting for the redemption
This small touch that is always late
Traveling on heaven's highway.
The wind is resting outside my window
The wind is resting outside my soul.
I have learned now to stop in front of a red light
To close emotions behind bars of steel.
And as time forgets and lets me go
I am here, in front of this fiery gate
With doors closed.
Dreams walked over me
Dreams seem to freeze in front of
Those unsaid words
Those lost smiles
Those deprived kisses.
And I know now it is so hard
To leave behind a blaze that could
Set on fire your dry earth
An ocean that could
Travel you to places only waiting for your step.
I believed in the oblivion
In the paradox of the unexpected
But at the corner life was waiting
To confute me.
The image of the lost dream
Brings me the pain I still try to endure
- A pain with components salt and sugar
Brings me a bittersweet flavor on the lips
The lips I will never taste again.
Into these rainproof silences
I am hiding from the merciless rain
Counting my empty hours.
Somebody has written the same words
Somebody has felt the same.
The Need of exodus.
Divided roads, separate channels
Through a course
Without a winner
Without a prize
Without an end.
The color of the rain
Will elevate us
Will make us reach the edge of a cliff
That we would fall together
That I fell alone.
I am looking at the night's emulsion
Expanding to the edge of the dark
While I can not set apart raindrops
From tears.
This rain is washing out
Desires and secrets
The loud silences of my soul.
In my darkest hour
I pray
As time is laying beside me
Spreading my reflection to the world
Comparing a hell to a paradise
Lost.
Night has stretched its star filled blanket over the little town of Bethlehem
Crickets singing in harmony, orchestrated by the breeze, rustling wheat stems
Shepherds are watching over their flocks
Captivated by the beauty of the full moon when there is no cloud
Town is vibrant with visitors from near and far
Kids are playing tags in the alleys built of clay mud walls
Mothers are humming sweet Hebrew lullabies
Missing their own cribs, babies will just cry
Pain has been excruciating not lessening my joy
Of seeing the promised one, my very own boy
Joseph has been knocking at every and each door
They offer no care but shrugging shoulders and snubbing ignore
The time is near and I just picture the mansion I would want
for the birth of Emanuel, the very blessed Son
Where are my many servants to wrap him in silk
To anoint him with the best fragrant emulsion elite
I wish I had a feather filled bed cushion,
a wooly sheep skin; as soft as the angel who once paid me a short visit
I wish I could prepare a comfortable bedding
for my precious Jesus magnificent coming
Oh my Jehovah, the pain has increased
Where I am going to deliver your prince?
Look! Joseph is pulling our ride inside
At last, I no longer will be giving birth under the staring eyes
Joseph come help me, bring me some hay
Don’t worry about dusty floors, I really need to lay
Bring me the manger and a piece of dry cloth
As I was wrapping him, didn’t he open his beautiful black eyes?
God, how I wonder in your awesome ways
I am a mother who worships his son
You blessed my life with the curse undone
You are the splendid king who has always won
Thank you my Father, for promise fulfilled
For my very own eyes to see the Son of God unveiled!
November 19, 2015
Written for Christmas with Christ - Poetry Contest
I still remember the first time I met
You and i said to myself not yet
And now i got to live with regret
For not accepting for free the gift
Of everlasting peace and tranquility
A life filled with joy and placidity
Problems and troubles dealt in serenity
Where you walk bold with total serendipity
Oh Lord Jesus forgive me for not
Following you back then. I thoght
A christ-like life is kinda fun free
And folishly enough i have to flee
To the world maybe looking for a degree
In Stupidity how embarrassing could it be
Now that I am enlightened on your word
Luke 4:18-19 a proposed lifestyle laid
Down for us to follow and show others the ways
Of the Lord everyday till the end of days
Everyday he is trying to reach you brethren
My son My daughter so faint
The first coat of an emulsion paint
The lord is speaking to you
Soo deep within and you know
Why do you pretend not to hear
Your heart soo hardened a super glue
Waiting for a big sign out of the blue
Right by you everyday he is there
All you gotta do is open up dear
Let his will manifest in you
Defile not his temple your body
Feeling all in control and bossy
Still enjoying life you ain't ready
Oh please give me time Lord, you may say
Redemption is personal better hurry
For what shall it benefit to loose
Your soul instead of a vanity.. gosh
Your personal vendetta over God's will
Really...Playing chess with your Maker
For the Lord thy God is Jealous one
Be faithful and see to his work being done
For he surely rewards the faithful one
My name is dreaming
as a verb
but I have spent my whole life as an adverb
like a side dish
that prepares you for the main one
and I don’t know
which paths led me here
or it’s because of all those paths that I missed
my spatial orientation is fuc*ed
mind has it’s own will
it aligns according to the needs and desires of other
just like a side dish
sometimes I'm too much
so they postpone me aside
or I’m used for digestion layering
paving the way for the chef's recommendation
in other scenario they just skip me
as I "value" less then the preferred main course
value
such a discriminating word
forcing gradation division between two poles
creating binary emulsion where we all suffocate eventually
I can’t breathe
accumulated stress from constant apprehension
whether I’ll be delayed, ignored, or consumed
constructed thick cobweb layer above my larynx
which caught me in the adverb matrix where you don’t have time
to rebel against side dish label as you’re occupied by grasping air
I can’t breathe
my bio is laid on the last page of the menu
I’m tired
I’m so tired of being accompaniment for someone else’s happiness
I just can’t breathe
my heart is trauma bonded
mind is living in side dish delusion
and lungs have misplaced their confidence beneath that cobweb
I want to fire the match
and start my own private big bang
I need to
A seam in a sock is a whistling clock. Wheelbarrow hours like a treading of grapes for wine. But swamped with the rest of the waters, teas, coffees and creams can bring a mingle of music to a break. But breaks are not breaking nor brave really for the breaks are merely for beakers and brooms. Who enter rooms and chat in slow monosyllabic voices with largely low accentuated accents. Apathetically apples appear appropriately at a arch. And the dust busters move in with their cloths and clothes hinged with a tinge of lint emulsion spray. Lint emulsion spray is quite popular and should never be confused for a carnation, a carriageway, a cart horse or a canned carrot cake. It is to be said that there is over one million ninety three thousand nine hundred and fifty three trees lining up in the foot long yard. How rather interesting that is really? And to say hello from the frozen pieces of pie is to take the meaningless ingredients for a walk on an extendable lead. Well they must exercise mustn't they? Little pieces of cut meat and vegetables love to run and run. And sauces can climb quickly over stiles. Ha the bracken bracket beckons to a bullfrog. Ha the deluge of indelible inks in a cotton shield of sanctification. Ha shoes on a coat walking with a petticoat in a goblet. Xxxxx therapeutically z z z z z taking the washing line and abseiling down the stairway of the breaded grassed house of Oven. Z
Form:
I can feel my blood,
Gushing through my veins,
I have two beating hearts,
One to lose and one that pounds,
At the door of my skin,
A caged vulture in the jungle of my ribs,
For it wants to be lost,
With a jar of ashes addressed to the ones I love.
I can feel its emulsion in my blood,
A pellet of germanium in an abyss of red,The burst of colour in my wrist reminds me of death,
And how the roles reverse in circumstance,
A blush of pink on my eyelid,
A blush of pink on the periphery of my jaw,
I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive
Guess I’ll play a song, I’ve heard before.
But it beckons me so,
The thin films of glass against my wrist,
Cold fingers running over jagged edges,
And I sip clean, every blunder I make,
Guess I’ll kiss my wrists pale again,
I see the crevices of my mind unfold,
I can see a face, a body to hold,
I choke on blunders, I choke alone.
My wardrobe has skeletons with sardonic smiles,
There’s crosses on the glass beneath my feet,
There’s crosses in my throat,
I’m running down the nape of my bones,
And like the phoenix once arose,
I’ll hear my voice at the bells when the church door swings,
My consciousness is an ocean, my awarness is a wave,
I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive
Mind racing with horrid thoughts of this so-called end time
not knowing what to believe from all the hearsay floating
The chatter has gotten louder no matter the source, true
or false has always been the questions with no answer
sounding safe to trust.
People driving around looking for households items they
assume will run out of stock. Fearing not having enough
survivor products to keep a sense of safety in case of a
major catastrophic event. Fear has always been the worst
enemy of any time in history.
A planted seed of something disastrous used to get unconscious
minds of the fearful to conjure that illusion as a manifestation.
Quiet way to use most unknowingly in a worldwide ritual. This
has/need to stop, people wake up. Change fear and grief to
power of love. Yes, it can be difficult, learn to overwrite fear.
A conscious mind in coherence with a healed heart is the manna,
the kingdom, and the heavens within. The balance of the emotions
are the acceptance of a emulsion(duality) of light and dark which
give comprehension to the flow (polarity) of positive and negative;
yes, ups and downs are normal.
You trembled the morning he asked you for bread,
Unfleeting suspicions raced to your mind,
Your eyes sang prayers,
Prayers they hadn't sung in years,
For the fireworks that you had designed.
Your son had thrown stones at his door,
Laughed at the kohl in his eyes,
But has seen the growing patient delight,
From a time when Taqiyahs did not decide,
A trust borne of painful demise.
The sonorous boom of a detonation,
Red alleys in the streetlight,
Or the delicate emulsion of blood in rain,
Whence left behind their daunting stain,
Had blurred your trusting sight.
The night he returned,
His kohl mixed with blood,
And a cape of colours dressed his skin,
A part of you died within,
A pain in your heart churned.
You touched the ground,
Hoping to clean his blood off the porch,
The stains remained,
You hoped that his body decayed,
But his torso blessed the floor.
The 5 o clock prayers, the ones you loathed,
your ears yearn to touch their notes,
The taqiyah soaked in sweat,
You hold it closer to your chest,
and as soon as those feelings were loaned,
You only found his stolen bone.
Mrs. Hickey, you’ve been on my mind,
just like a ball of twine
on a spool that never ends.
Though I’d never clapped an eye on you
my hands explored you:
feel the knees on me!
Hey, baby, let’s take a chance:
I left the condoms in my other pants.
Rollicking times,
late November back in sixty-three,
that’s when I shot John F. Kennedy
(superstar, but he didn’t get far).
Olivia Neutron Bomb,
you can ring my bell.
Gonna take a trip to Lonesome Town,
gonna stay at Heartbreak Hotel.
The aerial’s broke
can’t watch ‘Gunsmoke’
how are we gonna get by?
No BBC no ITV
above us only Sky.
Gypsies, stamp your feet.
Scrape that muck off your face.
Take your teeth out,
tell me what’s wrong.
Don’t go painting with emulsion.
Ain’t no sausages now.
There’s a ghost in my house.
Just one look and I can hear a bell ring.
We’ve got a liberal dad and a bachelor pad
and we do it.
Four hundred children and a crap in the field.
I can see Deirdre now Lorraine has gone.
I didn’t get the point
of Barton Fink, though.
I think I’m turning Japanese,
I really think so.