Long Familiarity Poems

Long Familiarity Poems. Below are the most popular long Familiarity by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Familiarity poems by poem length and keyword.


Summoning Storms

I was once called fraudulent, malicious 
Life of lies, because would I even know
what the truth looked like.
What storm did I summon.

Head held down
Forgiving...
Forgetting, a constant 
I sought familiarity in validation,  in approval
I sought friendship in trauma bonds, shadows of  brokenness, 
whether glued or drying
People pleasing, being the fixer
Filling cups with shattered casings
Placing hands in sugary dough only to taste it's saltiness
I, a pleaser looking to be amongst the crowd, only to find 
the crowd wanted nothing more with me
I was damaged goods washed ashore by Humberto. 
It's winds ragged on, but I withstood her implications.
Her twisted storms of rain and shine
I summoned this storm without gust.
Fury forged within, felt like a boat with no anchor
like a plane without a pilot.
But, I a pleaser, a wanter of the crowd, the one who
sought validation within crooked lines, tested waters without heed.
Harvey blew from southeast, meandering till I solaced in emptiness.
Darkness opened it's arms, I climbed back into despair, a place I was accustomed to. 
This fury forged, but unto who.
Storms of clouds align but I was left without wind to build a cyclone 
Like tangled threads of yarn, I could not find my bearing
I thought the rainbow meant an apology for tumultuous weather 
but those below saw no warmth in its rising. 
Nor they in an Olive branch
They were content with hate
Content with flamed arrows stationed at the front
I sought to bury the storms that I summoned,
I built damns to hold it's fury
Erected walls to forge an alliance 
Yet the surge of rain and thunder would not let up
I am like an island once occupied, now deserted 
Storms that blew, took all that I knew
What remains are those that were true.


Premium Member Was He a Bat a Crow a Man a Vampire Or a Devil

She was startled by the demon in her dreams.
His dark eyes portrayed secrets of wonder she knew not.
Was he a bat, a crow, a man, a vampire or a devil?
She knew only that they were linked in an ethereal way.
He came to her often, satisfying every urge she ever had.
She told no one, keeping her secret safe inside her heart.

Other women shared their romantic exploits, they were tame.
There was a wildness about this dream that she cherished.
She chose to keep it to herself – the exotic erotic entanglement.
Was he a bat, a crow, a man, a vampire or a devil?
She knew only one thing. She coveted her dreams of him.
She knew he was coming, she felt him. He was handsome and sultry.

He came in her twenty-seventh year; she had almost forgotten.
He arrived with an explosion of familiarity.
She recognized him immediately. He claimed her with a passion.
She knew they had lived many lifetimes together.
Was he a bat, a crow, a man, a vampire or a devil?
She knew not as she wailed for her demon lover.
Form: Narrative

Premium Member Measures of Time

"Idle, wasted time rapidly escapes in boredom;
    active, creative time lingers longer in diversions."
                                                            _by Poet 

The measure of earth time is set for us
	by numbers on a clock, and by the sun. 
		Our calendars and seasons are a plus,
	as are the holidays that meter fun.
But, speed of time- within oneself is spun.

In younger years- time passes slowly, then
	reverses, as we age, to speed up fast.
		Why is that so?  A thesis is- that when
	time zooms- too little stimulus is cast!
To slow it down, zoom life- and feel time last.


July 28, 2019

Contest: ''T'' Contest, New or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Theme Chosen: 5 Time


~2nd Place~
Premiere Contest: English Quintain Poem 
Sponsor: Janice Canerdy
Judged: September 7, 2019

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note: Escape Familiarity
"If familiarity is the initial cause for time moving quicker, then by
deliberately seeking out the unfamiliar, we can effectively “influence”
our perception of time. Escaping familiarity can be as simple as
pursuing a new hobby, meeting new people, pushing boundaries,
and learning new skills. The point is to break out of routine."                
Reference: "How To Slow Down The Perception of Time"
www.travellennial.com

my angel

you never knew all of me
not truly
and for a while
i thought that was something i needed

i called it honesty
i called it selfishness
i called it protecting you
when really
i was only protecting the person
i had learned to become

now i think
the cruelest thing i ever did
was mistake being known
for being exposed

because you were my angel,
not because you saved me
but because beside you
i wanted to save the parts of myself i had already given up on

i couldn’t stop smiling
no matter what you said
no matter what you did
i just couldn’t stop

i remember taking pictures of you,
waiting for you to complain
about how badly i’d taken them
i’d take 1000 more terrible photos just to hear it all on repeat

there’s such familiarity weaved throughout you,
your hair, your smile, your radiance
i knew you could see my eyes fawn to you,
but that time nothing could stop me

if you read this, or if you don’t
finally releasing has given me my first step
into truly being myself once again,
writing all about you

your little hands wrapped around mine
pressed up against those cold cheeks
i love that it warms you,
as your presence warms me

there’s nothing i want more,
take that second glance at me,
look me in my eyes,
i see you brighter than ever,
knowing i’d rather go blind than look away,
i let your presence consume me once more.

maybe in the next,
i’m plating your breakfast,
i’m sorting your clothes while you study,
i’m cleaning up as you were running late,
i’m laying on your bed editing your music videos i recorded

maybe in the next, i’m everything i promised
promised to you, from me, my angel

Time Out of Time

Gone
        lit-up-light-of-
nothing peculiar
we-you-and this
sewing tight the nebulous.

Salted tongues of silence,
pillow-sex for the nearly departed.
Adjust body-images,
                    fill cupped hands with
day and nightly needs.

Arms shrouded in animal skins,
            see the bones
of long gnawed desires?

Rhythms, be thee in-sync,
REM cycles of desire
be thee loosely hitched
      to mutuality.
Grind not - just yet.

Making it, doing it
feeling your it-ness,
our conjoined selfsameness.

The mind has invisible mountains.
                                let us jump,
just I
and that familiarity
of a former you,
go leap,
both riding shotgun,
with flammable
double-barreled begetting’s.

We do,
we slip in and out of empty shells
smudged by the powder burns
                       of spent emotions.

We-are-this-long gone    togetherness,
meeting again
in an overdue daydream
embedded within a night-ride,
exposed             way behind the optics,

playing the black keys
on high tide crests,
tunnel visions narrowing
to ne-plus-ultra disclosures.

We the cross-hearts,
            cross-stitching reality,
time out of time,
                      yet again.


Forever High and Low

I often ask myself what I'm wondering
What's the riddle that has me stumped?
How much longer will I feel this way?
Why am I forever riding swells?

Endlessly lost on a familiar path
The same brown bricks I've worn away for years now
Forever searching for a new meaning for a tapped out source
Forever chasing a certain nostalgic high

There wasn't much to see outside that window
Couple buildings, a road, people clutching their coats
It was the first time I'd seen this land enshrouded in darkness
And as a cold breeze blew, I lost myself in warm food

So I've walked that same path a thousand times
So much so that it's lost all meaning
A world of infinite potential was lost in familiarity
Forever searching in a world of lows

When the destination is so far away
It's easy to lose yourself in the journey
Creating fantastic endpoints and starting lines
Pushing back anything that reminds you it'll end

I claim these bricks as a throne of memories
As my destination draws nearer and I've given up on this land
No longer a realm of bright innocence
Forever lost as a tomb of jade

And thus I sit on a throne of ice
Firmly attached to the past as I've ever been
Summer heat and winter chill
The two muses I eternally draw upon

Forever lambasting what summer has dealt me
Forever reaching out to what winter stole from me
Finding purity in old pain, and sins of ancient saints
Forever my Kingdom of High and Low
© Derek Chos  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Prose

Her Life Begins At Forty

Her life begins at forty, 
Shining as the sun so bright; 
The beautiful bride years ago
Remains the same day and night.

Her young and pretty face
Is always an inspiration; 
She brings hope and strength, 
As well as joy and elation.

Everytime I hold her hand, 
So soft, warm and tender; 
She makes me feel real safe
During the rugged weather.

The sweet sound of her voice
Is refreshing to my ears; 
She takes away the sorrow, 
Saving me from falling tears.

Her heart, mind and soul
Say that she feels my care; 
Even the billion stars above
Witness that love fills the air.

Her name Mai Leen is unique
But sounds in familiarity; 
She was born to be my love, 
Her life begins at forty.
Form: Verse

Premium Member Rusted Horn

He assembled in darkness the corroded horn
by familiarity and sense of touch.
Then cast as thunder into the empty night
long tones void of musical melody.
Sustained tones, fierce and woeful
in succession paraded the street.
Each note precisely chosen, unfurled
and carried aloft in chilly air.
The flickering street lamp understood
as long shadows on a cobbled walk
slow danced in the warming glow.
But the music was not for them tonight.

The musician’s voice transformed
and angry staccato flares broke.
Chop, chop and chop on the mighty tree!
He watched it fall dead against unfeeling brick.
Snapping of limbs and morality
but the tree was just a thug anyway.
Indignant “Quiet downs!” 
rained from high-rise windows
mingling in the blood of the fallen;
and tears…so few tears.
Still, the music wasn’t for them tonight.

Yet they could not escape the song, 
that guileless voice in the darkness, 
which once again transformed.
Weeping heaves bellowed through aged-brass
amplifying every tremble of the lip.
Pitiful notes, harsh on either end
and broken by uneven vibrato, 
yet piercing in their rawness, 
turned away the wrathful storm.
Tremulous begging it seemed,
accompanied a hopeful plea for dawn,
which lulled to sleep the very stars above.
The moon halted to listen as well,
before tucking itself in, cathartic,
as the pitiful busker concluded his song
of remorse for un-lived dreams
and unspoken things

The music wasn't for them tonight.

10/18/15

Premium Member Still Miss You

Today I heard your voice echoing in my laughter
You brushed pass me for I felt your familiarity
I sense you watching over me, peeping through my tears,
And you still stand victorious when I win. 

I envision you in the corner of my life 
Arms crossed, head reared back with that critical stance 
I have grown about the same age that you were then
You would be proud, your lessons and warnings paid off
For you see, I was paying attention.  

I keep you close in my memories and I tell your tales
The children you never met know you well.
We speak your name and we sing your songs. 
You are my strength; you are my legend.   
I miss you Mom.
Form: Prose

Premium Member Indelible

here you are, indelible in my heart. 
You nestle there, comfortable, sometimes 
 Nudging my consciousness if you 
Temporarily fade from view. 

There you are, a stain that cannot be removed. 
Covered sometimes with a cloak of concealment 
But always jostling for attention, 
Poking, prodding my awareness. 

There you are, permanently marked. 
Written in my history, always a mystery 
That can never be solved, yet mysterious 
No more in your familiar familiarity. 

I cannot remove you from the blueprint of my life. 
You are penned there enduringly, alluringly 
Tempting, pulling on my fortitude: undaunted 
Undeterred, there you are - eternally.

Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace