Long Entrances Poems
Long Entrances Poems. Below are the most popular long Entrances by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Entrances poems by poem length and keyword.
Yellow lamps illumine closed eyes
yet shed a pale light upon black noses.
There are unsynchronized tail twitches
there are breath-blown whiskers.
Then there are the bodies
the sleek or fluffy, the trans-gendering
of their eclectic, electric souls
forms that can stretch to a feline infinity,
each one is a varied shade of languid.
Their limbs run like rivers
in an ocean of stillness.
They are yours; they are mine,
but they dream not for us
but we for them.
We are doors for each other
both entrances and exits.
The litter box our sacred calling,
to labor as one.
We look through the same windows
see sparrows dancing with garden tigers -
purr together.
Beliefs, rituals myths... are like organs of religions,
To god and goddesses, in respect, we fear like pigeons;
Apollo, Artemis, Athena, and Ares... of Greece,
Presided over by Zeus and Hera, did fear increase...!
Sumeria, Columbia, India, and Egypt,
Though varied, like treasures, had their age-old religious script;
Philosophers or poets or saints or serenely sages,
Invoked gods and goddesses before beginning their pages...!
John Milton called on the Spirit; darkness to illumine,
Lift his soul from mundane; always to dwell, in the divine;
Denise Levertov had his reason to make his house yarn,
Like a bear; and the snow blocking all the entrances, darken...!
Christians begin thoughts, words, and deeds with the Lord's great Prayer,
Muslims submit supplications - Dua - with great love and care;
Hindus chant Mantras, holding sacred power and virtue,
Sikh Akaal Moorat, Ajooni, Saibhang... have great value...!
The Eternal God living in me, I invoke, in awe,
Alla or Guru or Mohammad, or Christ of love-law;
Illuminate my lone paths in ways I do not know how,
To them, in love, sincere worship... ever I humbly bow...!
May my life, like mirrors, reflect your love, to each and all!
May yearnings of mine, like streams, in you ever rise and fall!
May no harm to any beings, in my heart spring at all!
May my soul, like a waiter, stand ready to heed your call...!
20 October 2021
A Most Beautiful Storm
A stormy night,
It entrances me.
The thunder rolls through me,
To the very center of my being.
The electricity of the lightening,
Dances along my skin.
Giving me delicious chills.
The rains pour down my body,
Like a lover's fevered kisses.
Tonight of all nights,
I need to feed the storm that has awakened inside me.
I need to touch, taste, and feel my lover all night.
The storm outside & the storm within, rages and demands.
It will not be denied.
There is no rest as long as the storm goes on.
Needing and feeding my desire,
My body hungers for more,
Enough is not enough.
Twisted sweat soaked sheets,
Moans that become screams of unbridled ecstasy,
Calling out to the heavens,
As the thunder crashes,
Lightening flashes,
The pinnacle of the storm reached,
Fury, frenzy, gasping, and clawing.
Till finally, the storm passes,
Leaving behind it's marks.
Flowers glistening with raindrops, As the sun begins to peek from behind the clouds.
It shines down on 2 lovers curled in one another's arms.
Peaceful almost smiling,
As their dreams replay the night of seduction,
And a most beautiful storm.
‘All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts.’
(As You Like It, Act 2, Scene 7)
By Shakespeare
If this is so
I hope it’s
more than
one act.
What of us
who are mere
understudies
or stage hands?
I don’t remember
rehearsing for
any parts-do you?
My entrance
wasn’t so grand
my exit probably
won’t be either.
Hope I don’t
fall off the stage
and I know I don’t
want any singing parts.
What if I get
Stage fright?
does that mean
I don’t get to act?
Is this Broadway
or off Broadway?
Is it local theater?
Whatever type
I hope I can win
a Tony!
He beats on the drum
The vibrations thrill
It makes me succumb
He goes for the kill
He sways as he plays
and beat after beat
puts me in a daze
He brings on the heat
My body's in time
to his every move
We are so in sync
This is a great groove
My eyes are transfixed
to him in the band
Drumsticks are flying
in capable hands
His eyes are shut tight
Lips? Slightly parted
Oh, how will he know...
what he has started?
Thumping and thrashing
his instrument quakes
Just like my body~~~
that quivers~~and~~shakes
I squirm in my seat,
wipe sweat from my brow
I get up and dance...
the moment is NOW!!!
Oh glory, oh me!
He opens his eyes
They fixate on me
can't hide his surprise
My fire consumes
Drum beat entrances
I want him so bad!
What are my chances?
His eyes fix on me
That look takes me in
I'm know what it means
Tonight is a win!
The beat, it dies down
He talks to the band
Comes down from the stage
takes me by the hand
He pulls me to him,
both dripping in sweat
We go on back stage
Make music? You BET!
Eileen Ghali
With eyelashes fluttering, irises caught in a blink,
those windows of yours are opening and closing
like a metronome ticking time to symphonies played.
Within flesh are entrances cradling a floor to nowhere,
leading to a somewhere hidden to all but you. Pebbles
could be placed upon freckles to map out a path; bundles
of autumnal leaves, crunching and burnt amber, could form
steps upon the arch of your nose. Perhaps swimming against tears
upstream, leaping with rainbow salmon, I might reach the
precipice of your eyes. I could scale down branches bowing, from
fringe and eyebrows, lowering myself onto your golden lids.
Those doorways to nowhere, to somewhere, to anywhere, see
the future ebb and flow into a momentary present, with
visions hidden under a lock-and-key past. Those eyes of yours
I could dive into, like gravity plucking fruit from a vine.
The American Library Association
implores cognoscenti tubby alert
impersonators, who
call themselves Ernie and Bert
took a page from Sesame Street Playbook
oft times accompanied
by a Soundcloud of dirt,
boot none other then Pigpen,
(who worked for Peanuts),
and pay-dirt, though
dismissed, cuz he did not exert
true grit, plus more seriously scandalous
sordid details suppressed kept from press,
(which scurrilous breach of conduct
involved said scallywag
violating more than flirt
discovered in prurient compromised activity,
where his skin flute encircled,
with an ambrosia girt
transgressions possibly affected
public television station benefactors,
and sterling reputation of bottom line, nor hurt
locker talk (albeit via exaggerated mainly
to make a profit sounding proper
sanctimonious Cliff (hanging) notes,
asper faux expected by
a "FAKE" trumping prophet,
sans motley crue comic
stripped of more'n
motion picture PG ratings,
hence future lurid, graphic,
banal, ampersand
(&) dressing room banter
muted, disallowed, and banned
so storied characters birthed by Charles Shulz,
(who passed away prior to near canned
aforementioned indiscretion debacle)
returning amidst fanfare hoopla
much as possible grand
jour "Making Peanuts Great Again" hand
diddly restoring full metal paperback jacketed
glory and apple pie order land
ding rebirth of cherished popular iconic
easy to digest bookworm feed
which unexpectedly, inadvertently,
and horrifyingly
brewed ferocious breed
on par with the Alaskan Bull Worm,
whereat armed guards
strategically stationed
at libraries entrances indeed
aware voracious young readers,
would pay no heed
to any obstacle, and such unstoppable
ravishing knowledge
hungry kids did exceed
capacity security details dashed away,
faster then Clifford
the big red dog speed!
Where are the magpies?
Where the ruined cathedrals
where are the birds
that once made their homes
in the hollow heads of saints?
Here all dwell in the new or the old
the days between are bulldozed,
the waste rubble resold.
Crowds seek out boarded-up exits
other crowds construct entrances
for new homes
that when assembled resemble all other's.
I need a hill to howl upon.
The land is flat, even the water is flat.
Mountains are small or not at all.
Yet there are midnight Magpies,
there are crows cawing in woodland churches.
Mythical back-eyed catbirds roam
from home to home. Many places are
not condemned to the newfangled
and yet still unoriginal.
Some magpie nests and appear almost near,
just under the eaves of a middling nowhere.
Nameless hurts evolve within the galaxy of the heart,
breaking the soul's grasp of eternal delights.
Bitter voices stir the brewing poison of judgments,
bringing hatred to the human mind's faulty sight.
Blame's lies escape each mortal lip,
hissing with a belief's fractured thought.
Pain drowns the songs of truth,
making waves from the tears so easily bought.
Grudges block the entrances to peace,
letting hate grow within the human shell.
Souls bathe in misery's dark glow,
leaving love trapped in despair's cell.
Anger carves sorrow into the fragile spirit,
hollowing out the breathing breast.
Tempers erupt with selfish passions,
as human egos fail compassion's test.
A tunnel entrance into a building
Can be very pleasing to the eye
You never know what you will find.
It can be interesting to walk through
You never know what you will be seen
Some entrances are short others longer
They have different items hanging
Along the pass ways as you walk by
It could be art work or mosaic design
You never know what you will see
I have seen stripes on walls
these stripes look like archways
Leading us into a special place
A tunnel wall that leads us into
a building is never boring
Always something to see
It could lead to theatres
Or into a shopping mall
Or an art gallery show
Tunnels into buildings
Can be interesting
You never know what
You will see on the
tunnel walls