Long Facet Poems
Long Facet Poems. Below are the most popular long Facet by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Facet poems by poem length and keyword.
this middle aged rue stirring bummer
haint no stranger to cold,
when dark hen stormy wintry days
eggs hit from Arctic portal en fold
ding Atlantic Seaboard
in a blizzard of bitterly, blindingly, and
brutally sub zero temperatures
from an occasional nor'easter
fiercely gripping hold
the majority years, sans this prolific
recalcitrant scrivener lived
in various and sundry abode
housed within Southeastern
Montgomery County, Pennsylvania
with 19*** zip code,
and during my boyhood recall,
how massive ice sheets did erode
the (then) opened expansive farmland,
in preparation for planting time,
where runnels of frigid water flowed
with childish cheeks exposed to glowed
after hours upon
many a green acre got tilled and hoed
despite feeling energized and refreshed
with arms and legs n'er fro zen
aye didst eagerly await with exuberant yen
kickstarting thy body electric
experiencing hearthstone nook
designed and built by Christopher Wren
after heading indoors counting fingers
and toes to make sure, i still got ten
soon hearing the chorus of fauna,
and floral kaleidoscope of color
aground or taking wing
thus, upon thawing out thoughts
drifted toward approaching spring,
the season revitalizing
dormant natural inhabitants,
whose excite (like mine) didst ping
announcing the debut of fecundity
nsync with screeching from the lizard king.
This Spring Equinox (i.e. man date:
12:15 PM Tuesday,
March twentieth two thousand eighteen)
doth rejuvenate
inviolable hibernating animals
and plants, and me equate
to experience sensation,
whereby entire being does inflate
and (despite marital status),
nonetheless envisions another gal asthma mate
no...no...no...please do not think this chap
mean spirited and under rate
the woman (at present taking a siesta,
and i breathe easy),
who oft times doth henpeck, a trait
inherited many a chic hen
(with tantalizing tail feathers)
now (until she awakens)
proscribing yours truly to wait
for my repast most likely ad hoc
moist ideal for any nerdy kid to knock
senseless, the worst facet of self important jock
consisting of pop slop mock
Hungarian Goulash, a melange
of relics from age old meals
transformed into a petrified sawed little rock.
The (former) Double Life Of Matthew Scott Harris
Dove finch he following iniquitous
licentious, lecherous longing
extinguished quite
some years ago,
when eldest daughter
stopped being polite
actually she ceased - might
tee angry talking heads
to this papa for months, whose
only asks prays foe praise,
and who doth newt
wish to ignite
animosity from any beloved fan,
whose critical judgement
toward my errant friskiness,
aye snuffed out light
and accepts dues
against prickly don'ts,
and opted to risk broad
casting general height
full actions, which attestation
spiritedly burst asunder
blitzing Lenovo external
screen within minutes bite
mutt hung lest
censorious replies pillory
this sensitive chap
I merely uncorked
irrepressible facet
(asian iron maiden
strangle choke hold)
forced these words
to help give hollow explain
nations of this nada
so shiny white knight
philanderer (juiced now cum
ming clean) by night just
an oon din
aery in Das scribe
bubble during -
the day until...zee...
wife found me absent - yee
(ping, and sowing, thee
rather desiccated oats)
celibacy playing tree
men dose impetus tryst,
viz midlife crisis spree
from sleeping quarters re:
at 724 West Rail
road Avenue, pre
planned within
the basement nee
tricked out as cellar quasi
pent house suite for me
comfortable sleep
ping accommodations,
pleasing this wander
lusting NON GMO lee
burr teen, sans mat,
(and also Scottish Matt)
tress atop boxspring key
ping stockpiles of prurient frilly
laced female lingerie, je
nais se quois, no matter
escapade usual lee
took place in pitch black dark
accouterments singularly, solely,
and strictly necessitated,
arousing, coaxing, and
exciting libido asper
one barenaked lady for
yours truly, whereat
aye do blatantly
confess flute'n glute'n guilt free
to concocting, hat
ching, and orchestrating
profligate secrete
rendezvous aspirations
toward sordid man of la
cherry munch ching Lothario
(a combination Casanova,
Don Juan) wannabe.
I Dont Give A Fig About The Brouhaha...
of new year's eve,
yet yours truly does consider
at least one singular plum me facet by Jeeve
er...Robert (or Rabbie) Burns,
a profoundly poignant poem, he did conceive.
Anyway, this wordsmith fascinated
by historical lyricist whose unbelieve
hub bull lee brief life, nonetheless
made a lasting contribution,
a psalm burr tune folks across webbed
wide world sing to grieve
of recent sorrows past, plus pay
homage to joys summoned from
deep within core of soul bellowed
forth with an exultant heave
perhaps unbeknownst to most Robert Burns
(25 January 1759 – 21 July 1796) did leave
his lasting legacy, sans (as national poet
of Scotland celebrated worldwide)
particularly the classic traditional chestnut
auld lang syne rendered in many versions
waving white capping
New Year's eve celebration proud
accomplishments one did achieve.
Coincidentally, "Auld Lang Syne"
and "America the Beautiful"
at which juncture, I interject
a historical grace note to mull
how latter named above patriotic
song in the United States,
(lyrics written by Katharine Lee
Bates saw many occasions
after music composed by church organist
and choirmaster Samuel
A. Ward at Grace Episcopal Church
in Newark, New Jersey) dull
lighting oomph and pizazz, extant
since early 1900s, origin gin null
intent format arranged as poem,
"Pikes Peak first published
Fourth of July full
edition of the church periodical
The Congregationalist in 1895,
now sung by mull teat hoods at Super Bowl
every year since 2009, and appeared pull
say ting stadiums at some sports events
after the 9/11 terror attack hull
lob bell loo in 2001.
The song comprises four verses,
one of isung before kick-off
in NFL's showpiece game.
Just by giving cerebral activity free rein,
this inquisitive mind of mine
learned how twenty first century New Year's
celebration include auld lang syne
linkedin with feted mid eighteenth poet
laureate, whose death at thirty seven, his spine
tingling spirit issues forth to give
him immortality almost divine
everlasting longevity within the pantheon
of August artists who humanity did assign
an eternal place future generations will
revere such metrical design.
Aspirations are a self revealing Impress,
peeping in gem facet placeholder-
of ruby glimpses
of
Fairy tale covers,
covertly-airbrushed by the atmosphere,
over genuine zirconium expectations.
In inner light magistrate cache cow-
in the crystal stereo
of the now and here,
flashes impetus clear like a streaker revealing
to illustrate, the daring, self inspiration of its baud rate
of liberation-ad-here.
Geniing the busy body of it's own needful premise
of seedful impetuous implication, promised on premises.
A banner at happy hour suggesting intoxicating ingestion.
Drunk with in-advertising
getting premonition of-promotion, imbibing
the "jasmine in your mind."
Relation-ships moon causes the roiling sea
to gem carats of her sparkling sirens.
Alluring rocks to dash you to pieces
in drawn compliance..
Unsown light can give you the creatures of her disease,
calling bluff to serve her touring manifestations.
With marked cards to lay down in flush that had lay dormant but surfaced up from the sleeve
and from the seep of pasts saved ante ups.
They are a whiskey shot at a saloon.
Liquid courage that causes you to bark at the moon.
Tide a naked ride tied to the back of a train,
of bad ideas, after tion, ction and igeon
blows your cover, like sudden electrical storm
over the rainbow over landover and hot air,-
balloons like a mushroom
clouded idead ideal that transports you into the stratosphere of her thundering strutopeels.
Her bubble puts you in her hair brained funny papers, periodically.
To keep you sober, from occupying
a van down by the river. (Which sounds good to me) incidentally, but that's neither here nor there,
immaterial, witness,
these thought bubbles-seductively
siring, serial 'vamped vapor round firing
like a ghost mistress who puts you in a stupor
on the grounds of desiring, her consecrated things.
Dear Earth
The place I call home and the mother of all around me.
On whose ground I stand when I contemplate the stars,
Whose coarsing rivers flow in my very veins,
And whose molecules constitute my very being
I am amazed by you.
You
A blue and green cradle of life
Rocking us slowly in the elliptical sliver of space that you traverse.
You, a celestial body with a hard exterior but a warm center
Not even amongst the biggest in this universe but an enigma all the same.
You, the sight of which transfixes astronauts as they gaze from afar
And me from up close,
Each of us appreciating you from a different perspective
I am amazed.
I'm amazed by you in all your forms.
I'm amazed by the undulations of your hills,
The majesty of your mountains and the mosaics of color that cover them in the fall.
And I'm amazed at the brilliant greens of your forest and fields as they offer verdant serenity.
You are lush, and you are beautiful.
I love your golden sunrises, blue skies, blushing scarlet and smoky sunsets,
And the way the lakes reflect them.
I hear your voice in the creatures that run and fly.
I hear your whispers in the trees and feel them on my skin.
Your breath fills my lungs and becomes my own.
And when I look upon the vast oceans, with their rippling sheets of blue and see life beneath them I know there is more to you than I could hope to fathom.
When I stand upon the beach, feet in the sand and watch the waves surge back and forth I feel your spirit beckoning me.
The fall of your rain upon rooftops is music to my ears.
Im amazed at the weather, even when its harsh
And I even love how looks it when you're covered in snow, even though I hate it when its cold out.
I love you from your shifting sand dunes
To your cold ice caps
When you hurt, so do I and my only wish is for you to heal
For I am not separate from you
And nor are you foreign to me
We are connected
And our relationship is mutual for better or worse
And with that being said I want to say
Thank you
For everything that you are and everything that I am
For my life
My every atom
I have only ever borrowed from you
The one who gives, gives, and gives again
In every facet, and every way
Thank you
Dear Earth I am amazed
And I love you
I don’t know how many times I have shed my old skin, like a moth seeking light under the moonlit sky,
Leaving behind pieces of myself that no longer knew my name, shadows of a silent past,
I wandered through labyrinths of memories, seeking answers in echoes lost in time,
Wondering if change is just another facet of the same self, both old and new.
I don’t know how many times I have stood in the shadow of my own fear, feeling it tighten around my breath,
Anchoring my feet to the cold ground, and yet, somehow, I found the strength to step through it,
Each step trembling under the weight of uncertainty, yet moving forward, toward the light,
Knowing that the shadow of fear cannot survive in the face of courage that blooms in silence.
I don’t know how many times I have burned in the pain of my scars, like a flame dancing on the edge of a dream,
Feeling old wounds flicker back to life, as if pain never forgets the body it once called home,
But in that fire, I found an unexpected warmth, a memory of life still pulsing beneath the skin,
Each scar a story, each burn a lesson written with the ink of time.
I don’t know how many times I have risen from the ashes, gathering the remnants that remained of me,
Standing up, still burning, but alive, still yearning, seeking blindly for the meaning of my rebirth,
In a world that continues to change, finding beauty in the imperfection of the moment,
I discovered that each rebirth is a dance with infinity, a journey toward the eternal self.
And yet, just as the sky changes color with the passage of time, I continue to change,
Borrowing the light of falling stars, hoping that one day I will understand how many times I must fall,
To learn to fly, to understand that although pain knows my name, it does not define me,
That each rebirth is a new beginning, a dream waiting to be lived under a sky of hope.
In every step and every fall, I have discovered that life is a mosaic of moments full of longing,
A continuous journey through which the soul finds itself, learning to love each moment,
And thus, even among ashes and shadows, the light of a new beginning shines, carrying me forward,
For deep within, I understood that the true beauty of life lies in the endless rebirth of the soul.
Little Bo-Peep adored playing hide and seek, hence the fond nickname;
Just as hued rainbow is named for its dazzle, so radiant over every lane!
Bo-Peep was eight, and lived on a farm. She had various loves and joys.
Her world was full of magic and make believe, and she had sparkly toys.
But Bo-Peep loved more than anything, tending peaceful, fleecy sheep,
A task she'd only recently started. She loved the gamboling and leaps!
Friends Frances and Faye flew kites with Bo-Peep, in berry colors, deep;
And loved folk dancing at sunset flame, under the fuchsia sky mystique.
Familiar February had fallen fast, and yielded to fresh, fragrant flowers,
In leap years of fevered, family visits, when green bared mystic powers.
Bo-Peep lived in the house of enigma, ever hailing moments unfamiliar,
When moon and sun played hide and seek, as time turnt gold and silver.
Red robins roamed rouge, dusk skies, near the royal, Ranunculus Road;
And buttercups really brightened the rosy route, where breezes blowed.
Nature knew nothing but budding, when neighbors visited the sunlit days,
In a nectarine season of noble lives, when they followed the golden rays.
Crimson bellied birds faced ruby sunset, raining its beams like cherries;
And 'lady of the night' orchids reveled in moonlight, observed by fairies!
Elegant orchids were dressed up and dancing, along hot streets of gold,
When 'blanket flowers' draped stuff with color, prettying the dull and old.
One day Bo-Peep got lost in a daydream, as the frisky lambs wandered.
She abruptly realized they'd all gone! Like seconds eternity squandered.
No bleating or baas could be heard, and there was no sound near or far;
For, not even pink robin was heard in that moment-in a stillness bizarre!
After searching the farm in vain, Bo-Peep confessed it all to her parents,
Who were calm, wise to ways of sheep; as diamonds ken facet moments.
'Little Bo-Peep has lost her sheep,
And can't tell where to find them;
Leave them alone, And they'll come home,
Wagging their tails behind them.'
Everything was coming up roses by dawn, like burgundy sun and blooms;
And the lambs had all returned, like spring green, emerging from its tomb.
There are many facets of love
And like the most precious of jewels
Love radiates a light that transponds
And touches souls
There is the love a mother has for a child
It is a deep bond and all forgiving
Knowing one day that child will be gone
but your love will be there for all time
As they were part of you once
You nurtured, you cared
And you let go
There is the love of a dear friend
You care deeply
But in your heart you know
Friends may come and go
Some stay and others move on
You and they grow and you gain and receive
Each facet independent of one another
There is the Love man has for a woman
And woman for a man
How fragile this facet can be
Shimmeringly beautiful even dazzling
But it can be shattered like a fine stemmed glass
Where Love can be snuffed out like a candle flame
In the puff of an ill wind
And then there is Spiritual Love
Few of us rarely attain this
But when it does
The colours it shines are hauntingly so exquisite
Awe inspiring
It is the love greatest of all
The love you'd sacrifice all for
The love you'd give your life for
The love so precious it can tear your heart
tear it into a thousand shreds
And yet that love does not sway
It is an all forgiving love
That needs no physical reinforcement to survive
So beautiful no words can describe
How the beauty of this jewel
It will touch your soul
In ways you can never imagine
It will take your soul soaring so high
You never fear falling
And yet it is the most painful of all
As it is beautiful
The tears it brings stings
Like salt in an open wound
Like a serrated knife in your heart
Twisted and turned and repeatedly stabbed
And why
Because with spiritual love
You are part of the other
You are half of the flame
You feel all the pain, the sorrow, and the joy the other feels
You know how the other is inside, instinctively
Because you are they and they you
You love enough to let go
knowing that your love will go on
For all eternity
And it hurts like hell
Yet you know you shared the greatest love of all
You are part of the twin flame
That burns for all time
That can never be extinguished
How exquisite is the facet of this most precious jewel
Like the diamond it NEVER dies
Form:
On a shattered pebble beach my kernel,
becomes this dervish dancing to the maniacal symbol rash tune,
of inchoate monsoon grass beat timpani,
that’s dimly frowned on by sonic virtuoso,
but terms like briny carrageen sea sweep gain purple splotch kudos,
I gaze with indigo ocean eyesight,
at sheer rock face sunken mould gradient,
where faculties solicit august maxim,
from eternal parchment, grain whirl sand dune smorgasbord,
mud-strewn psalms primed and pumped by ebbing sotto voce stream,
gust smitten lighthouse whose solitary pulsing wink always welcome,
syntax that gray matter genesis scorned geoform tag,
I scribble quintains in a quagmire that ooze magma inkling,
prose stolen from jagged facet incline or whatever,
has this elemental moment turned ghost writer by sixth sense?
saline vista swung pivot on tsunami doorway,
brackish carcass rife with clamped seashells as mirror,
weather-worn thoughts skim eccentric apex,
behemoth undertaker facing self-scripted gauntlet,
but this pilgrim shall yearn evermore imbibing loose mist,
with marble slab as jotter and squid ink another fountain pen,
who really knows what tidemark gems may yet surface,
do metaphors sequester diurnal cycles like day/night swop?
rhetorical or not this lambent aspect must be met on grit-etch blue boulder,
vice-grip of visual plunge belies gravity,
yet this blustery conundrum is just this water drop,
something inconsequential for one clutching at faint will-o-the-wisp,
pepper-strewn haze does obstruct linguistic odour,
despite a caustic rebuff from deep down warden as inner slant,
zany whirlpool blob grasping at ambiguous twill plume,
faraway tangerine canvass might stir tongue-tied raw sketch,
ingenious quest might throb for charmed portrayal,
nought shall thwart this dreamer off-course,
spectral pantoum, geometric quatrain, jewel-crust tanka,
prolific silken sentient suzette an overarch odyssey,
regardless of vernal totem, sumptuous literary harvest,
with its dogged catalytic compass point,
to maunder without curb despite prevailing opus storm,
sculptured outcrop on an apt idyllic text,
once off ephemeral from boundless paragon,
a colour burst vocabulary pending but when?
You are the dusk that masquerades as first light.
In the stillness of descending twilight,
your spellbinder's expectorant
opens the passageways of the feeble,
weevles like a gloworm
in dark fertile soil.
Whispers of memories that never were,
in a soft lament,
in a lofty raimant.
I am lost in the shadows of yesterday's song,
longing for a love that once belonged.
In risky fantasy,
I play your suspect invitation,
as a night thief with an accordion,
iron lung.
Too powerfully drawn am I,
unable to resist your decisions-
Wringing me dry.
Shift of weightlessness density,
snap-twang, propensity-thick and numb.
If I had just one last guess,
I am the cotton and you are the laudanum.
Why am I the salivary gland and the gum.
The wavering field of rye that a beast
tramples on.
Invisible chains they bind my words,
like a palsy stricken tongue,
grasping my chords with ghastly cords,
poetic enslavement,
thoughtfully borne divided by
my pasts sum.
Rosehips- tea soaked gingerly-
your spell lingers on SOS morose telepathy
morse code, telegraphed, telegaphed
to see your confident smile mockingly know,
peering into the eyes before expected wind-up
and mesmerizing blow.
Your fluiro-essences spores inliquidity,
wetness of morganite,
juices leeched,
leaving me in my parasitic derangement,
unable and unwilling to fight-
familiar arrangement.
Your jaded facet to sparkle
as a trophy against the light.
That which you neon flash to be.
From, for, to, too spun,
I am a sugar crop to make into candy
that you drool upon the lips,
as I drink you in
electroponic abomination splice of caine
and Hawaiian Punched Drunkenness.
Hey Kool aid, break through my walls
and offer your solution.
Stain my lips.
A fermented wavelength I will become,
dialing your frequency,
of restless dream,
silence of my soul's dark night,
moonlight beamer ride of twists and turns.
Some people never learn,
me being that one,
you being my classroom distraction
passing notes of gossiped ink of juicy gossamer,
till you are commanded to "release
this dumb- one, who knows not of lessons,
of touching what burns".