Long Extinguishes Poems
Long Extinguishes Poems. Below are the most popular long Extinguishes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Extinguishes poems by poem length and keyword.
Rumi said, “The minute I heard my first love story, I started looking for you.”
And how ancient tales can still feel true.
The odyssey of my heart began with barely a clue—
then there you were on stage,
and then… then I knew:
my searching ended with you.
Vivacious Vee, rare as a golden diamond you are to me.
Your presence is sweet ambrosia nourishing my soul;
with you, the future feels already foretold.
You are the oxygen sustaining my flaming coal.
“I” is for inimitable—my phenomenal frau.
I could search high and low,
wade through sand and snow,
and still find no wonder on this earth
with a smile as beautiful, as luminous as yours.
Confidence is what your mind and body exude—
never one to stagnate or brood.
To understand, you display presidential patience;
to forgive, you wield wisdom that extinguishes every feud.
Taste sweet as philter’d wine with an addicting scent,
like a whisper of vanilla drifting through a vineyard at sunset.
If I could bottle your essence,
I’d promise to keep it
and label it Victoria’s Secret.
Omnipresent is the connection of our yearning souls,
waiting to unite and once again be set ablaze.
Our highest moments are still untold;
The Great Liberators will be our hymns in future days.
Ravenous is my heart when your energy stokes its conflagration,
burning inside me, shaping new cosmic creations.
A passion even time will never sate—
only tamed by the sweet taste of your sun-kissed nape.
Impossible… maybe forever ineffable to describe
these heart-strings of enigma
that overwhelm my chest with warmth and purpose—
the greatest phenomenon unobservable by the eyes.
At times I ponder
what magnanimous deeds
my past life must have done
for God to bless me with your heavenly presence.
Rumi… I did it. I found the one.
Fin.
What was here — before the Nothing —
Before the Breath was tried —
Before the Clock — in timid brass —
Confessed it ever Ticked —
Was Silence but a folded Thing —
Within a Larger Hush —
Or did Eternity rehearse
Its syllables — as Dust —
The State — with careful, mortal Hand —
Extinguishes a Flame —
Yet cannot certify the Dark —
Nor docket — Whence it came —
A Scaffold — is a punctual Act —
The Soul — a rumor — wide —
No Statute binds Infinity —
No Warden halts the Tide —
If Life — be all — how fierce the Blow —
If more — what Court convened —
To trespass on the Invisible
And stamp it — “Closed” — between —
Perhaps — before the Nothing — stood
A Door — without a Frame —
And Death — the shy Attendant — waits
To whisper us — our Name —
(William Hammer, Thomas Alva Edison's assistant,
has reached the end of his tolerance. His boss is
planning to electrocute an elephant for a publicity
stunt.)
If he goes through with this, the dam has burst.
I'm done with him. Of all the tricks he's pulled,
this is the lowest, cheapest, cruellest. Worst.
Yes, Edison. He can't be serious,
can he? To execute an elephant?
He's out there, grinning like a Barbary ape.
Where two or more newspapermen are gathered,
Alva loses all his self-control.
He'll be there now, perspiring, shouting, lathered,
excited to his flinty, vulgar soul.
I'm William Joseph Hammer. Who are you?
A quarter-century I've spent with him,
but now the scales have fallen from my eyes.
The man's a pirate and a charlatan.
Inventor? Him?
Well, since I'm stranded here
in shabby Coney Island in the rain,
ignored and slighted, spited yet again,
I'll tell you. Edison did not invent
the light bulb - that's what he employed me for.
Besides, I'll name a dozen scientists
who'd made a working lamp some years before.
What is he good at? He's a patent-mill!
He takes out patents like a dentist, teeth
(except that dentists never put their name
on what they've pulled). The man has got no shame.
The team has all the talent, he the grin:
we think the thoughts, and Alva cashes in.
I think he's met his match in Westinghouse.
The so-called war of currents. Who will win?
America will buy one set of goods,
and where this country leads, the others go.
To get his system in American homes,
He'd kill his grandma.
Hence this all-time low.
He's worse than Czolgosz. At the very least,
the latter had nobility, although
misguided. Alva has no other cause
beyond himself. Those motion picture-things
are here for Alva's glory. When the blow
extinguishes that poor beast's life, you'll know
whose self-promoting hand was on the tiller.
Saint Thomas Alva Edison's a killer.
In the abyss of our soul, a secret fire burns,
A flame of desire that brings warmth and comforting light.
This radiance, when it reaches absolute purity,
Envelops us in a sense of profound and eternal beauty.
The fire of sex, a hidden magic, a sacred ember,
Always present within us, whether it burns fiercely or smolders subtly.
Even at the twilight of life, at the age of wisdom,
This ember never extinguishes, remaining our living essence.
The flame of desire, a mystical dance of light and shadow,
A firework that illuminates the inner night of the soul.
It is the primordial song of day and night,
An anthem of humanity, a profound magic that regenerates us.
Every touch, a warm wave of pure light,
Every gaze, a spark that ignites endless dreams.
We live in the light of this divine inner fire,
Finding our way through the dark labyrinth of existence.
Like mystical alchemists, we keep this flame alive,
Clad in the mantle of our desires and aspirations.
We do not let the flame fade, even in the deepest melancholy,
For this is the fire that never dies, our source of vitality.
Through the magic of this flame, we transfigure and are reborn,
Rediscovering the beauty and inner light of our being.
In an ocean of wandering shadows, we are the keepers of the sacred ember,
Living in warmth and brilliance, finding hope in each of our dreams.
Thus, we transcend time and matter, becoming pure light,
A beauty that knows no end, ever-renewed.
In every flame, we find the essence of sublime life,
A mystical magic, an eternal poem of infinite desire and hope.
Delilah is a temptress with the magic of allure,
but special potions or devices aren’t required by her.
Women notice (enviously) her flawless skin so fair
and the unusual style of her lustrous long sleek hair.
She walks into a restaurant, a club, or any place. . . .
Silence falls as everybody’s gaze rests on her face.
The eyes of men are quickly drawn to a rosebud mouth
before they ever let their lustful eyes start traveling south.
That perfect mouth is painted pink. She lays one fingertip
seductively upon her pouty luscious bottom lip.
She wears a look “come hither” with the freshness of a girl,
and violets adorn her silky chestnut locks that swirl.
But merely entering the room is all she needs to do
for everyone to notice her most beautiful tattoo.
A rosy blossom at her eye the people see begin
to bloom out toward her cheekbone, and then narrow toward her chin.
A mark of beauty like no other they have ever seen:
this flowery tattoo must be the symbol of a queen!
Delilah only looks upon a man; his heart will burn,
and then he will do anything, this woman’s love to earn.
But the poor unfortunate with whom Delilah leaves
will taste forbidden fruit, and afterwards, he grieves.
That’s because Delilah cannot be with just one man.
This was the condition of another’s vengeful plan.
Because she spurned a powerful ancient god above,
he ruled that she would come to earth to never taste true love.
To keep her beauty, she must feel a mortal man’s desire,
but having one man more than once extinguishes the fire.
Should she stay with just one man, the tattoo near her eye
will fade away and like that flower, withering, she’ll die.
So the temptress - never staying in one place - moves on.
A night of passion, then her victim wakes to find her gone.
Having spent one night with her, his joy stays in the past,
and she, that lovely goddess, is denied a love that lasts.
Written by Andrea Dietrich
Inspired by the contest: "Tell Her Story"
Sponsored by ~ Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~
Divine love sweetly prevails
flowing from the breast of compassion Source
vanquishing hatred with its wrathful zest
treading down lofty haughtiness.
Serenity offered by sublime love
extinguishes despair of guilty soul
as gracious Sovereign pardon reaches the heart
through honest confession within assured fellowship.
Loving kindness of the Saviour
keeps me blest while I seek Him by faith
warming me against freezing apathy
so I can reach-out, sharing His goodness-bliss.
Grateful that He first loved me indeed
I nestle in Christ’s love* where I’m forever freed.
*Romans 8:38-39 For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
June 30, 2020
Honorable Mention, "STRAND completely new (3) any theme any form" Poetry Contest; Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 7/1/2020.
Mired in muck. Appendageless.
Sinking in shadowy whispers.
Surviving is senseless.
Eternity is a marathon with no bathrooms, no water, no finish.
I pray for light, Satan pulls the shades
No hope, no truth, no tomorrow.
I need a friend to throw me a lifeline
But they are all busy avoiding the muck.
Spinning on their cotton candy bridges.
They spew their words gilded with silk and honey
Dripping from forked tongues.
It's not until the subtle meanings catch the wind and scatter that the honey turns dark,
And thick, and makes their teeth black and their hearts dull.
I wait for the splash as another like me has had her life's bridge eaten by the acid of jealousy and fear.
She screams, "THE TRUTH WILL SET YOU FREE!"
And the muck bubbles and shifts exultant
As it silences her cries and extinguishes her fire.
Laughter falls like shards of glass from above,
Because they know the truth but never speak it.
An unwritten oath that all jail keepers vow.
Lock the truth away like a bird in a cage until its colors fade, its feathers fall, and music is only a memory.
A man dangles from a swinging cord
Halfway between the mockers and the muck.
His white collar hurts our eyes
Smooth words of redemption that almost awaken my sleeping emotions.
But then the cord breaks, and faced with the truth of our existence
The man flees back to the bridge
Our heads his stepping stones as he escapes to the sterility above.
His collar stays white,
His hands clean.
His memory is short -- he doesn't even remember why he came.
Or who sent him. He is the lucky one.
Memory haunts me. I long to forget:
How to love
How to hurt
How to breathe.
My cocoon of woe promises no future flight
It's a straight jacket of hate
And my prayers just bounce off the padded walls.
I need a knight; I get only night.
I need a hand; I get a slap.
I need understanding; I get overstepping.
I know three things:
1. Nothing will ever be the same.
2. I will never trust again.
3. You cannot will a heart to stop beating.
Sleep is my only friend, death my only goal.
That is the truth that will set me free.
I ask of the night why it slips into my bedroom and
extinguishes Earth's light,
He replied softly "I'm a jealous lover and my shade
of evening lies down beside you, as we bid the
augustness of the sun adieu."
I laugh and weep at the same time,
as I'm in love with the four season's soirees
he enchants my heart with.
Many years ago, walking slowly hand in hand
with my lifeguard lover on the sands of Fire Island,
I thought love's charms would last,
his fire with starlight, jewels of moonlight,
and kisses-
with summer's wane he faded into September's
wooing embrace.
Yet glorious eventide was always there,
and, as he filled my eyes with the swallow's flight,
he whispered breathlessly, "You are mine to keep."
You come to me, again
in the midnight hours feigned
where only darkness and control reigns,
and life seems soured resignations
to unfulfilled expectations
that fill the nation with dissension and conflagrations,
some seek truth alone on which to rely,
others readily accept the lie
what conspiracies lay in disguise?
Clear your mind, open wide your heart
this was not the plan at the very start
of a free republic to be set apart
from acceptance and stagnant dependent rule
recalling historic lessons from school
now changed and reconstructed to fool
actions quite the mystery
as the past becomes rewritten history
extinguishes the dream that only becomes trickery.
Love's a fluid chimera, flowing through a maze,
Its essence transforming, in a damp misty haze.
A mystic phantasm, defies any grasp or hold,
Its omen of joy, a tragedy, yet to unfold.
In its tender moments, it's a charming embrace,
A gentle murmur whispered, a touch soothing grace.
But, all in a flash, it transforms, changes its guise,
Becomes a raging tumult, a stormy surprise.
A chameleon of colors, emotions entwined,
A blend of flavors, so intricately combined.
A sweet, salty, sour and umami, salsa dance,
Fleeting and elusive, just like a furtive glance.
Love's chimera pulls the threads of desires,
Ignites fierce passions, breeds hot, wildfires.
Then, extinguishes them with its morphs and shifts,
Leaving hearts to ponder its myriad rifts.
So cherish the moments it brings, both strong and mild,
Embrace its mystery, like a curious child.
For love, the fluid chimera, will forever be,
A wondrous enigma, in an ever-changing sea.