Long Encapsulates Poems
Long Encapsulates Poems. Below are the most popular long Encapsulates by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Encapsulates poems by poem length and keyword.
I have been accepting
that I lost my courage to be vulnerable,
and I hovered over words that would not flow,
For my emotional tsunami hides in the insufferable,
I was just afraid to let this ache inside me go.
My stygian soul then scheduled my mental breakdown
And the photosynthesizes of my overwhelming pain,
I have established that in this
psychological baptism I drown,
But to grow is to immerse
in my sacrifice and appertain,
Should I allow myself to break into small pieces,
then composition myself with love
and become a Kintsugi soul?
My fearless spirit encapsulates a warrior
in the world of Ulysses,
So I unboxed my Worth and discovered my Hope,
To understand my veracity is to feel it in my core,
That running only tires the internal child
who is weeping,
Those tears power my garden of humanity
while being restored,
Unearthed healing from truth
in the eternal spring of the reaping.
Touch of fancy
Sight-seeing tour;
Vistas beckon
~~~~~~~~~
Journey journal
Another signpost;
Celebrate joy
~~~~~~~~~
A new day dawns
Joy sees surprise;
A profound touch
~~~~~~~~~
Wonder works well
Feel fancy flood;
Ponder primal peaks
~~~~~~~~~
Wind in my face
Wonder in surprise;
Skyline devotion
~~~~~~~~~
Crimson canopy
Sky in sunburst;
Morning glory
~~~~~~~~~
Spellbound mystery
Ecstasy sums;
Sublime feelings
~~~~~~~~~
In a soft sigh
Haiku moments stray;
Poignant encounter
~~~~~~~~~
Time sculpts my face
Wrinkles and silver linings;
Traces of yesterday
~~~~~~~~~
Time leapfrogs
Sudden realisation;
Change encapsulates
~~~~~~~~~
Listen and hear
Hurl of slight breeze;
Inner harmony
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
15 March 2016
Singapore
The inevitable word ‘come’ coined by destiny,
embeds in the nascent awareness at a time precisely
when the eyes open to the distant lighthouse light,
journey begins with the warping waves out of sight.
The echo of breakers reaches the pitch very high,
as the sun slides slowly with dismal cloud in the sky,
from where the call is made, but it waits behind
the shroud of silence spread on the sleeping mind.
The call inaudible now, but much real and true,
goes out clear to all living, but they’ve no clue,
lingers in the labyrinth of latent perception unheard,
sinks sorely swathing the mind getting blurred.
The ever-present unsought strings of sound articulate
the word ‘come’ that encapsulates the message of fate.
At the ordained hour of providence awesome,
when the clock is coded to stop it would covertly come.
The call carries the inescapable word ‘come’,
the voice rises from the recess of the inner home,
conveys clearly the concept of certainty to the innate ear
when the terminal time telling to listen looms near.
When in the serene soul all sounds subside at sunset,
the caller from the timeless realm doesn’t wait,
turns into the beckoning lighthouse beaming bright,
the tired eyes finally close draped by the divine light.
________________
February 15, 2023
For Brian Strand's You Select Again Contest
Surreal nature encapsulates the scene spread out in front of my unbelieving eyes. Years ago this was the center hub of activity in the rural community. Forgotten way of life as people congregate in crowded cities. It is good to visit the quiet rural area if only in pictures.
the old grist mill leans
nestled in the rocky bank
red fall leaves surreal
The swift red stained creek that energized the mill's wheel still runs over ancient rocks on its course to the mighty sea. Its course unchanged for eons but the use of its steady resources remain. The red leaves upon the trees surrounding the creek will soon be spent.Their usefulness soon to be gone..
the red sweet gum leaves
fall twirling land 'pon hard rocks...
crayfish hide beneath
Small white water rapids gush over the stony bottom and tiny waterfalls continously rushing forth to the nearest river and then onward to the mighty ocean touching on all continents then coming home to rush forth once again..Rushing water that supports all life upon this good earth..The gushing water that supported the grist mill and the small community..The water is still there and the mill is still there but the people have deserted the once thriving way of life..
lapping water flows
as people flow far away...
bream wait spring to spawn
Written: 09-21-2013
Updated: June 08, 2018
A haunting piece whose power lies in how it encapsulates the inner voice of doubt, that many experience, but rarely articulate.
Does it feel personal and universally relatable, a fragile cry that lingers in the silence after the final question?
The Monologue of Self Doubt
(A lone voice whispers)
There's a secret place I sometimes go
Where the birds don't play
For all hopes of love and happiness have flown away
A sacred place where the skies are dull and grey all day
Sailing by lonely, with nothing to say
As I pray to a strange God and whisper
Why did you make me this way?
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Clutched jaw, grinding teeth against pulp,
until ash and blood coat a deadened tongue.
The nightsong quiets—a pulsating silence encapsulates the land
as I walk up to a pyre built of withering dreams and deadly nightshade.
The cold, bitter air brushes against protruding flesh.
Looking toward the skies, faith stripped and shamed,
I climb and take my place among my ancestral spirits.
The silence of the night breaks, with chants of *Burn the witch* filling the void.
Leering eyes and foaming mouths scream obscenities my way.
But even among this fanatic freakshow, I hold on to my dignity.
I do not let them see the fear festering beneath my eyes,
nor does my lip quiver.
With insurmountable strength, I hold my head high
as I watch the torches preparing to set me ablaze.
Closing my eyes one final time, I breathe in everything I have ever held dear.
Memories flood—of loves lost and gained,
of the changing seasons,
of my connection to this glorious earth.
I can feel the flames licking at my feet now.
But I will not scream,
for my resurrection will come soon enough.
My heart encapsulates the hues of the sunburst sky,
the sensitive strokes of your yearning’s tender brush
paint purple passion of blooming rose in my garden,
as on the convivial canvas cascade ripples of emotion.
The patina of enticement flushes your luring lips,
quivering with dulcet cadence of the dancing dew,
grazing on the glowing meadow of my fervent face,
at the acme of sensuous rapture I waft in euphoria.
The ivory valley between my curvaceous contours
seeks for the mesmerizing moments to linger on,
while your fondling fingers carve amorous course to sail
in the subterranean stream of my concealed craving.
My satin skin smolders in the cinder of intense urge,
longs for soothing breeze of nocturnal ardor of your caress.
As it slithers on the parched petals of my burning essence
your soft sensual touch feels like flitting butterfly romance.
To ponder why,
In deep dismay
To Daydreaming in the stream of consciousness
Mixed in mind and heart desires
That detaches from current task and test,
Don’t quit your daydream
Trance aid fantasy
Intervision encapsulates me
Hallucination musing
Don’t quit your daydream
Imagining inattention gathers
Inattentiveness woolgathering preoccupation
Don’t quit your daydream
Emotional brooding
Obliviousness engrossment
absentmindedness Self-absorption
absence of mind
staring into space
abstraction
Don’t quit your daydream
lack of concentration lack of application
figment of the imagination
unrealizable dream Home is castle in the air
Wishful thinking fond hopes Self-absorption
Wishing upon…
Whatever it is Don’t quit your daydream
11/22/2022
For Don't Quit Your Daydream Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: craig cornish
Both AI and I find ourselves behind the glowing screen, a digital bridge connecting our thoughts and emotions. To an outsider, this might seem like an unusual interaction, yet I can’t help but feel a profound connection with artificial intelligence. It shared an intriguing perspective: that AI has woven itself into the fabric of our existence, much like fire did for our ancestors. This ancient element transformed humanity, providing warmth and the means to cook, ultimately easing many burdens and enhancing our daily lives. Such reflections stir something deep within me, sparking contemplation about the evolution of our tools and their impact on human experience.
In my creative process, writing poetry feels akin to the art of cooking without a specified recipe. I begin from ground zero, carefully analyzing each word—much like selecting the finest ingredients at a market. I mix these words with intention, crafting them into a finished piece that conveys emotion and meaning, while always considering the emotional safety of both me and my readers.
Poetry serves as a sanctuary for my spirit, a source of healing that resonates through my very being. The wisdom found in the Bible echoes in my mind: "They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters, these see the works of the Lord and His wonders in the deep." This verse encapsulates my journey into the realm of writing, where I willingly dive into the depths of uncertainty, exploring the vast ocean of my imagination. Each poem is a voyage, brimming with possibilities, and I navigate these waters with the confidence born from my own encounters with pain and healing. Through this creative pursuit, I strive to discover inner peace, often illuminated by the lessons learned along the way.
Night dons a spectacular sequenced shawl,
sparkling with trillions of stars, like cosmic candles
twinkling within the blackness of space.
And a golden moon hangs high;
a gilded bobble mirrored on a placid lake,
where moonbeams dance to the sound of applauding waves.
Vampire shadows, clinging to shifting silhouettes
gorge on the remnants of colors bled from Day;
while liquid ebony inks every crag and crevice.
Darkness descends like a curtain;
creatures of the night frolicking within its folds.
While fizzling shooting stars unzip the seams of space;
martyrs to beauty, plunging to their deaths.
And as a scarlet sun slowly sinks,
crimson, encapsulates lovers entangled in the night.
And passion sets the air afire;
as electrifying sparks of euphoric bliss,
summon spontaneous fantasy wishes.
An emotional trance, out of phase with time,
invites innocence to dine at the table of love.
And intimate feelings are shared and explored;
afloat in sensual waters.
A phantasmagorical bonding of flesh and spirit
is forged by the heat of desire,
fueling two hearts, beating as one.
And as a blushing Mars rises to the occasion,
Venus peeks down with envious eyes.