Long Exteriors Poems
Long Exteriors Poems. Below are the most popular long Exteriors by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Exteriors poems by poem length and keyword.
Seven half-naked men gather around the table
For a meal that is to me only foreign
They speak in tones of joy
Tones nearly obscure to my ears
But oh, so near
My eyes avert from my glance
Picking up a dish from the sink
I scrub the grime away
The laughter grows in a masculine crescendo
And the tone is nourished into vibrancy
My curiosity is but a dull pan
Awaiting a wash and rinse
Stuck into the sticky filth of envy
I envy the joyous expression
Yet I welcome insipid depression
Happiness and content so far from me
But merely. . .across the way
No embarrassment of their exteriors
By far their lives feel superior
The language they speak is nothing to me
But tones and emotion I can never reach
Oh, how far you are
The motivation; the nourished vibrancy
From me you are clean
As the guck collects within
Somehow I cannot hide from the light of their words
The distant, alien joy
My sense of inner unity is so coy
Compared to these gathered strangers—my neighbors
The brotherhood—that I can only discreetly witness
I can only pick myself up
Like this lonely, dirty cup
And glance at the seven half-naked men
Across the way
Broken People
I wish to be with the broken people.
The get in your face challenge me people. The sometimes hidden sitting in a dark corner kinda people.
The “Don't you love me?”
I wish you seen me sorta people.
People just being real people.
Not having to have it all together people. Them doing their best to figure it out people. Dancing and singing without the smooth moves people.
I don't care about the color of their skin, or what others think of as their sin. No need to be perfect to win.
Seeing and listening is where I'll begin. Beyond appearance of fat or thin. I only know what I know
I've never been where they've been.
We'll start
with our broken smiles
it's the best we've got.
It might seem like so little
still I think it's a lot.
Through life's struggles we've all fought. Lessons needed learning
experienced not taught.
Real is real it couldn't be bought.
So forget the fake people,
the all about perfect hair and clothes people. The I live in the right neighborhood and drive the right car people. It's all about me, top of the hill people. They only hang out with the supremely cool people.
those too important to talk to me people. Thinking they're the best of the best kinda people, when all along they are merely Sheeple.
Ba ba baaing, thinking they are strong instead of feeble.
I love characters
people who are unique.
I look under exteriors to gain a peek.
Strength of lions disguised in meek.
Unconcerned with fab or being chic.
Worth listening to if allowed to speak.
The stories they tell will make your eyes leak.
For in the end
we are all broken
stumbling and choking.
Disguising hurt with our joking,
victims of others and their poking.
So look close maybe you'll see
eyes that aren't blank
hearts that aren't empty.
Who we think of as complicated
in the end might not be.
They might push when others come close,yet they are affectionate times three. Each just a bit afraid and broken. All the while wishing
and wanting to be a part of something. If only we choose to see
those on the fringes are a part of the we. All we have to do is let them be.
perspectives,
&beyond first impressions
moving images
notions,
found objects
refracting light
restless
shifting
silhouettes
incomplete structure
recesses in exteriors
informal
at
scaled
angles
or a
complete whole
nothing visible
pointless to
speculate
the lines of hopelessness
in a
downward
spiral
the emotive aspects
of a sense of place
everchanging
beyond telling
a special time
of intense interest
an intimate presence
unspoken
in a dedicated space
reflective profiles
circles in spectrums
of colour
distinctive
explorations
acquisitions of
legacies
all
motivations
of a
creative influence
upon
the curious heart
The soft self-praise of your own heart,
Is this not our lost secret?
Bring forth that feathering truth
Like fields of canary bells
You ring, you're ringing,
Ringing from the rib cage.
Poetry is the land where all rules fade,
Rules for yourself and rules for others, replaced with spools
Of no code though every color
As the innermost leads this boundless, heralding march,
march, marching, towards where?
Does it matter? Cry your bloody tears out.
Let loose the hysteric mess of a laugh.
No manic tide can take the seed of your joy
And turn it to some shriveled past.
Though what of some perverse prattle?
Is that not wild life, too?
You are writing now.
You are always writing now, the source of blooming miracle,
And aren't we all blooming into something ugly or radiant?
Confounded or brackish? What madcap nonsense of exteriors we wear.
What a looney song we are.
But what's inside, what's inside the clamor of it all?
Are you forcing words into the dumb quiet?
Your one raised hand rising out of infinite dunes?
Tell your face it's okay.
Relax your grip on the organs of your body.
Write this crazed flood and smash through the dam.
What dam? Damn the dam.
Your nose is a dam,
Right between your eyes.
Oh, your gorgeous eyes!
(Have I told you?)
You are the riptide, the holy puddle, the frayed lace.
Now set yourself anew.
Blooming, blooming and true.
Yesterday's stub in your hand, the Life Fair goes on and on.
Go today. Go tomorrow.
Relish in the joy as much as the sorrow.
We Look Up At The Family Of Tracery Architecture
Tracery architecture began seeing the light
From the Gothic Age on it gained its birthright
Its beauty spread left and right, day and night
In the stoneware dividing the glass with all its might
It took shape in the rising windows to a viewer's delight
The molds and shapes symmetrical and out of sight
Where the decorative patterns do please the eye and incite
With grooves, twirls, and colors holding the window tight
Many a cathedral today share its passage and sprite
Like an acquired custom, blessing, and rite
That duly accentuates the interiors and exteriors flight
Where the parishioners do see more than the rays of daylight
1/28/23
TRACERY Poetry Contest
Sponsor-Julia Ward
The sun’s devouring rays
Reveals an astounding sensation against the marvelous universe
It caresses the earth with warm hugs and gives life to the motionless gaze
Its auras are above nature’s designating exteriors
Its swaying beauty is beyond Earth’s inhabitants, deserving my praise
It treasures the sky with joyousness and forms swarms of jeering birds
The sighs of the wind attracts clamoring herds
The sun’s appalling flames
Unshackles a zealous tune that reveals the Earth’s accord
It embraces the atmosphere with remarkable claims
Unraveling my curiosity; my ears are pleading to hear more, so I go forward!
It prizes the ocean with eagerness and forms swarms of screeching seagulls
The strength of the waves draws in scorching souls
The sun's unattainable rays
Motivate life to trail on till its duty is done
Its auras seep through the whirling sky and strays
Embracing ambitious love like a father and son
Teal entreats and cuddles the appellant granted gifts
a third spun away and sprung a new course to breathe
a new blend of Flora life amidst the Fungi and Fauna breeds.
Soon it'll cast a shade of dryness and thirst for the blues, soothe all those who will drink and sop in the order to stay above and be watered.
A sway to filtering reds and oranges rustling in its fall,
building in heaps as an old raker takes a coffee break
watching future rakers, frolics about them.
It's not until the winds blow them away and maintain a steady course of Ivory flakes. They kiss the virgin ground as an introduction that winter snow will tether about and around. As it mounts up so Frosty's can dot neighborhood front homes, with roads for precious souls to view besides colorful well-lit front yards, decorate interiors and their immediate exteriors
All are processing those distinctive Ivory flakes where no two are alike. Their crystalline prisms boast for a while hosting their time as their own. Ivory particles and or Ivory flakes bless the grounds, as well as the eyes that behold them.
Melting does not rob memory bliss, as the fortunate beating hearts pause for a short period as the first sunrise, adrift the last Ivory Flake as they kiss their nose-tips ... a fond farewell.
A parched land, thirsty bird, worn wild, hungry beggar,
This heart of mine yearns and pines for something better;
Fresh orchids, love birds, content wild, happy humans,
Yet, in such paradise, would one find no nuance?
An empty space is void, indeed, physically,
It's blue-black-space contained in all - mystically;
It's 'dark night of the soul' psychologically,
It's salvation par excellence - religiously...
This is no pessimism nor nude rude negation,
It's, for me, a search for meaning -truth probation;
Like the parrot pecks the mango's interiors,
Yet not intending to hurt its exteriors...
It's not seeing gloomy dead darkness in the tomb,
It's witnessing a precious soul in the tomb's womb;
It's the holiness of the highest form and state,
It's nothing determined by the hate-bait of fate...
Void, sometimes, like the death-filled fearful mind of threat,
That, like nightmares or phantoms, do great frights beget;
Absurdity and nothingness when poison lit,
Its purity gets aborted; its throat gets slit...
Void is subtle and needs to be handled with care,
It's like burning the bonfire yet not getting flare;
If we learn to see void like our marriage banquet,
We'll be blissful! Not spiritually bankrupt!
"Empty yourself to fill the void with love (Debasish Mridha)
10 August 2021
The Void Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Halloween
A twin we do not already harbor on
The inside, cannot reach from without grasping
Its relationship — as love needs love to complete
The docket...so does fear. So does terror need
Its own horrid port if to impress.
Halloween...little devils in costumes —
wee, creatures dressed for the parade,
Door to door. Trick Or Treat! The real trick,
Is that of evil seeming harmless. Playful. In
Theatrical, fantastical sense. And the treat,
The Devil activating negative seeds for future harvest.
Evil — sly, subtle.
Our makeup exteriors reflections of far deeper
Dyes within, tattoo illustrations, spiritual stains —
The many indelible, wrongly nurtured traditions —
World fruit bear witness to their sources —
Man retaining affiliation with dark illusion.
Pelicans
Dipped in a hard oil exteriors in LOUSIANA ARE SUFFERING
Why must natures angels suffer from human destruction
Their mouths quieted by the fact that their vocal chords are voiceless
and they choke on liquids humans define as precious
But their eyes like a crystal balls show that their hope is beginning to deteriorate
Their angelic feathers now drooping like 10000 lb heavy weights
Agonized by poisons they grieve the acknowledgement of what a beautiful life they could have had............. before we took it without consent
Lackluster from exhaustion they hang their heavy heads
Defeated, is their miracle coming to save them yet?
Such graceful beauteous creatures lay with their feet in the air many are inanimate
Still they hang on defiant against the weary arm of death
Awaiting to soar higher than the sunset