Long Fevers Poems
Long Fevers Poems. Below are the most popular long Fevers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fevers poems by poem length and keyword.
Wonder not
if my thoughts are thrilled and twisted
daily and deeply by the albums of your ways,
I succumb severely to the impulse of imminent interplay
so dumb with joy, grateful for the fusion of our fevers,
I've never let you leave my mind,
you haven't finished eating your portion of my heart,
there is so much more for you, still in my chest, on my eyes,
I am your rare happiness,
that bare beast of a woman's best distress,
trigger your storm sirens with a single drop of Goodbye,
serve you with the most sensational sadness,
replenish your youth with an admiration that won't die,
knowing that I am not a makeshift man, nor a loyalty within a lie,
that I'll punish your pulse with peppered pleasure
because I can, because I must,
pull your hair just to hear those breaths beg for big flares,
treat the smooth and sweet lascerations of love's lament
butterfly cut into the surface of a girl's search for sincerity,
we get intoxicated on performance of personality,
buzzed beautifully from believing in the addiction of adoration's affliction,
We know we can handle one another's hurt
as warriors bleed hard because they sell themselves the sacrafice,
that we can process history with humor by breaking the shame of blame,
synthesize epiphany with sympathy to nourish symphonies of Divinity
we realize that intensity is the regal implement of our tournament,
I like it when you tell me the tough truths,
that you want to be loved for more than one reason,
that being respected in segments isn't enough,
that he will never be me,
that words can outlast the disappointment of distance,
that the world overwhelms you when you most expect,
that sometimes you'd rather be a heart attack
before being a pretty song or a favorite memory,
I understand your need for absolute affection, absolute attention,
lets allow our love to be confusing, dazzling, on the verge of villainy,
it isn't steady as a sleeping heart beat
or ready for celebration like a " gee wiz " graduation,
it is our Love, and its undefinably volatile and lovely,
Your cosmos gives a question that feeds one answer,
that love is ours, safe in the arms of Armageddon,
I remember the ember of our future
spazing on the hearth of fresh earth,
don't ever miss me Babe, just keep lovin me -
J.A.B.
You wore your vernix like a crown on a budding successor
Head held up high and then there was an almighty scream
I cut the chord and crowned the royal moment with a kiss
The inauguration of Princess Sarah
Still a bit squashed from the passage of naked transmission
Dressed in heavenly light you wasted no time and held court
Infused with the power of birth you aligned all canopy’s stars
An innocent heartwarming Princess
The fragrance of your soft skin mixed with sandalwood scent
An aura transcended the air and vibrations entered my soul
Irresistible you began your reign with unshakeable prowess
Divine Sarah Princess of instantaneous Peace
A moment of silence and then you drew me into your reign
Fed on nature’s ambrosia and sucked in the power of love
Took a firm look around and decided to slumber for a while
A priceless Princess taking over my world
By your own future Queen’s acclaim you thrived on Royal Jelly
Like Agape personified you smiled and assumed the throne
Cuddled up in a blanket of violet shades in lavender petals
A modest Princess draped in a cloth
They say that the emperor rules better without any garments
And your hair tussled hair shone like a pure garland of prayer
‘I am not concealed’ you seemed to say ‘but draped in the truth’
This Princess needs no scepter to strike gold
Of course the quiet inception was followed by sleepless nights
Indigestion and fevers as well of reminder of fragile existence
Many a night I watched almost helpless right next to your berth
Even Princesses need sweet soothing lullabies
As you grew older you rebelled with purpose against the old order
Drew up your own constitution and rearranged outdated commands
Took to insurgence and regime change and nascent nonconformity
Novel nobility and a Princess in renewed charge
But when I first looked into your blue eyes and felt your tender skin
I knew all too well that my incumbency was finite and ready to swap
My council already waning for your ascendency simply waxed for me
To hand over the torch to my Princess Sarah
04th April 2020
Double dynamics in aesthetics
of life's wicked minds
provocative abstract
crimes unique designs
provoking mind with twice
the rhymes.
Double scripts in life's
wicked flips three verbs & throwing nothing but reverb.
Twice the lyrical lines,
avast steer clear of this
lyrical pioneer with mystical lines
futuristic rhymes killing the physics
of time.
I'm slinging dope rhymes
from grams to kilos at times.
Committing felony crimes
weight of these lines.
My word's hold weights of digital scales an impale compared to Harvard & Yale.
Mesmerizing my life & time's
provoking line's
commemorating provocative
crazy mind’s.
Bleeding & seeding impeding heart's
repeating & pleading succeeding reading my rhymes conjuring unique
crazy mind's.
Ambidextrous configurations
accentuate double dynamics of wicked rhymes a philosophical philosophy
of conjuring wicked mind's.
I Promote innovation without hesitation or else
the desecration of creation by strangulation.
Asphyxiation of dynamic creativity longevity
of exquisite multi-faceted wizardtrii & ageless
philosophy's streamlining ergonomics
of unique crazy mind's.
Roam conceptual "crazy minds"
seeking philosophical philosophy
writer changing worldwide sentence's
timed artists limitless fears strength,
limitless power abilities of
"crazy minds"..
Transduce fear to fevers,
love philosophy,
conception of a philosophical
"crazy "mind
call me crazy a poet,
crazy me what you
change crazy every time,
before crazy ever changed a
"crazy mind"....
Retrospect rear view mirror,
clear as crystals clear view,
no mirror it's the rear view
retrospective preview premier
broadcasting worldwide
Premiering...
Composer's of compromises the sediments
of our settlements are noteworthy symphonies
in musical scales an impale
to life's frail detail.
?Universe interconnected?
®O?N~§ € £ F€º
?Interconnected»«Universe?
Pen's Broadcasting Brilliance
21st century's Poet
#WickedRomancer
Last night I awoke to the sign of Orion, and the big dipper pouring beauty into her
countenance.
Though the stars say she is a Capricorn, a meager goat, I see Orion’s majesty every time I
stare into here full lips and wide Sophia Lauren Smile.
Her sleek and slender body bodes of Spartan stubbornness.
A stubbornness that’s had me fuming on the wrong kind of sides, of the wrong kinds of days.
Most days, we spend our lives like firefighters, putting out 101 degree fevers, cars
breaking down, and trying to make ends meet on a student’s stipend,
And as days pass, we see separation as an impossibility for how could we possibly survive
without each other?
But last night, I was freed from the stress of overfilled garbage cans and overdue
research projects,
To see her high and lifted up in the unconditional light which she shines for so many,
So many children, to whom she’s been a second mother, screaming, “Ms. Lucas!!!, Ms.
Lucas!!!,” as we see them in the mall.
The countless times that she’s saved me form suicide with a hope unfettered and sincere,
You see last night, I got a quick glimpse into my life as heaven sees it, and I saw my
wife for the first time, lifted high into the deep night, shining for the world.
Oh don’t get me wrong, I truly see her everywhere,
Every where there is courage, I see her wringing the neck of the crack head that almost
kidnapped our oldest in Chicago,
Every time I see kindness, I see her soothing voice in my ear saying, “Keep going baby,
you’re almost out of the tunnel.”
Whenever I see pain, I see her face when she looked down at her dead father’s body, stoic
and resolved that his tragedy would not mar her memory of his greatness.
Every time I see strength, I see a woman who buried her brother in the same summer of her
honeymoon and still smiled wide with sincerity.
But last night, God removed the veil, and I saw her through heaven’s eyes,
Glorious and heroic,
And in that moment I realized that nothing can stop me, because I sleep next to Orion.
Machel, the hero of old.
Pop was quite a poet,
though his bio wouldn’t show it,
with the exception of this little poem
which I really do feel I owe him.
He was happiest working in the wood,
and did so when ere he could.
That was one of his necessary incomes,
for his five daughters and four sons.
It was then he would sing a song,
Always short and politically wrong.
The rhymes could make us boys smile,
If not but for just a little while.
In the woods he was a self educated master,
He loved it there; peace is what he was after,
Everywhere else, us boys were a bit wary,
His temper trigger was a little hairy.
Brought up roughly, a Canadian farmer’s son,
A machine gunner in the Second Big One,
I never heard those gruesome stories very often,
Only when he allowed his heart to soften.
PTSD and nightmares were his living hell,
complicated with Malaria fevers as well.
With depression a formidable resistance,
He farmed for his family’s existence.
In good moments he would sing poems of an alter life,
Where there was, obviously, no such strife,
Of “when he would go swimmin
With many bull legged wimmin”.
Those feeling good songs rang out loud and gay,
To keep his painful depression at bay.
“Yes ... we have no bannaners,
We have no bannaners today!”
Canadian French was his language norm,
So many of his songs took that form.
I’m sure Mom was his best and biggest fan,
She must have really loved that man.
He had a hard life and his song poems helped him through,
We were often at odds but he did what I could never do.
An unknown hard man with a well hidden poetic heart,
I don’t think he knew it, but Mom did from the start.
For each of his children’s names, he made a French rhyme,
Making the most of poetic license for each of his nine.
They probably weren’t politically correct…
But at least for that one moment,
we .. Each of us ... were his elect.
( Dedicated to the memory of
Rene Francis Dufresne 1917-1998 )
written by Bob Dufresne 6/5/11
I love you, you said
So we didn't get out of bed
Marry me you said
And it went straight to my head
Funny I thought how the words were true
Silly of me to really love you
A game that you played
And oh, I would have stayed
To hurt and to cry
Only every night
But I didn't know love
Wasn't really supposed to hurt
I didn't know you
And that is more true
But I made a life inside
And lived with it not being so right
And when you told me to leave
You cried in my arms, I begged you please
Don't let me go,
From the only thing i did know
But you made me face the world alone
With a new baby in my arms
And I didn't know why
All the times you would spy
Wanting us from afar
But not giving us your heart
And now I've moved on, yet here you are
I have to say he's my shining star
Where have you been, I no longer care
Of dreams lost and memories shared
I still don't know you, I can laugh in your face
And love the one who has taken your place
So go away, it's been years too late
Who are you to mess with my fate
Who are you to say where is my son
Is he smart, is he funny, is he the one
To make it to the top of every mountain
Every limb, tell me all about him
And I say oh, yes, all of the above
But it wasn't you that showed him all the love
Where were you the nights he cried
From fevers, sick, up all night
When he laughed, when he fell
Learned to count, and broke out of his shell
It was someone that stepped on your plate
Someone who will stay up late
If he needs to talk, can't sleep
Helps with the homework, helps him believe
He is all that he is, and only more
Shows him options, and to open every door
Of life, of love, of hope, of trust
So sit back and watch if you must
But don't say you're sorry, don't say you're wrong
That it should've been you all along
Because I made it happen I make us see
There is no other, no one like him or like me
CORONA'S LOVE
I am the innocent victim
held on house arrest
eating one meal a day
no visitors,
I was put on lockdown
for shaking hands, giving hugs, and kisses,
how can this be, as if I created the bubonic plague,
I never held a gun nor pulled a trigger
but they said guilty as charged,
with a curfew as if I'm 16 again
sneaking out to see a boy,
how dare they lock me up,
in a personal prision
with a glass box and I see
a whole nation with a new
style of ankle bracelet
as they monitor our every move,
in the asylum, of untold stories,
if I sneeze
if I cough
If I have a fever
I'm guilty, yet I have none
they say Corona sold me out
tho I'd prefer Heineken or maybe Redstripe,
even a Malta would do,
but I never tasted corona...
but I bear the stamp
as if I'm back in slavery or nazi camp
I hold the I.D with a number while taking a mugshot as they stamp my forehead
patient 21 Corona,
now quarantine alone with my thoughts
I ponder when will I be free
as I now send virtual hugs, handshakes while blowing kisses in the wind hoping they touch the ones I love,
again in my thoughts all alone
pleading with Corona
to set me free,
for the lie you placed on me
keeps registering guilty
yet I never tasted you
as I was told you're bitter,
and in my thoughts
I've come to realize
that I did taste many Corona's
which led me to cough, sneeze, and hold fevers
of parasites sucking me dry;
I regurgitate all these years
of choices I labeled mistakes to ease my pain
now cage free I am a blank canvas
ready to be painted,
but this time I choose wine,
leaving the sunken place
filled with drunks,
I am the architect
building as I select colors
to mirror the soul
being set free,
I am the white dove
released never to return--- ~Queen'Anyah Divine aka Suzette Campbell
(c) 2020 Copyright All Rights Reserved
March 21, 2020
I’m a witch of the modern times,
Nay my caldron is not round but square,
It has four sides square, and it’s called a microwave.
No bubble, bubble toil or trouble, with this new
Modern age tool, I just add these mystical
Prepackaged ingredients, then sit there on my
Broom stick and drool.
Forget the bat wings, and the eye of nout,
I prefer the minute bag of hot popcorn instead,
Wouldant you.
I’m the wiz of a wiz with this squared box of
Miracles, from the mid-night munchies, to the
Commercial button pause freeze zone, on the
Talley blue screen.
There is no more a sacred sound ever heard
On this earth, then that dinging bell going off,
Then ever buddy scrambling to check out, what
Homemade goodies mom has cooked up?
Now the crook top is dandy, and the stove
Maybe handy for more flavor, or special
Occasions of the holiday persuasion,
But I prefer the minute satisfaction,
And gratification of this microwave
Magician.
My personal idea of home style cooking,
Is pierce the bags plastic top, and stir,
Then serve, boy that broke this fevers
Sweat, are you ready to eat my young ones.
Now in my spell books of cooking perfection,
There’s just no place to plug in this modern
Tools connection.
So these massive volumes are just dust
Collectors, but I have a dust buster for
This readies problem, I just have to pop
Dinner in the magic box first, before I can
Solve them.
So what will it be tonight my friend,
Pizza or Pasta surprise, with an Abracadabra’s
Ding, and a POP, I can feed a whole troop of soldiers,
Or a hungry family of five.
Just call me a modern wizard with technical
Support, the best invention of all times
My microwave caldron, with its four
Squared sides, excuse me please,
The bell just went off!!!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
DEDICATED TO MY DAUGHTERS AMANDA AND ASHLEY
And also to the inpatient animals of the world, thanks mom!
It is a quite Sunday morning
It was a weird outing in the evening
We saw fuming ashes
We saw failed elephants
We heard the tales of fallen petals
We saw drifting continents of love and lust
It was a quite Sunday morning after a tepid Saturday night
I saw many men sulking under the weight of their own dreams
I heard many women lustfully languishing their tongue twisters
They were all eloquent
They were all spellbound
They were castrated
A Carnival in the oddest of the hours
A Caricature of my self and many other selves
Our pulses were travelling to Venus, Mars and Pluto
We were simmering in the heat of the market mongers
We were boiler plates to the typecasted experiments in human nature
Have you heard about Pavlov
Who embarked on an experiment to create machines in human mindset
Have you learned about Vygotsky
Who smiled at the smiling babies and loved their zones of evolution
Have you wept when Maykovsky shot dead himself
His poetry must have been boiling faster than his heart impulses
When I end up embracing the dichotomies of Mikhail Bakhtin
I know I have become a scoundrel, polyglot, a hedonist, pagan beast
When this hetroglossia unfolds and scarlet fevers engulf the nations
Fear of languages, life and all sort of glass house effects will prevail
Do you know the fissures in your palace
Do you know if it is made of marble, mosaic, or even a piece of pitch blend?
Now I know only about primordial stones and shadows
Who build pyramids and prisons in the middle of stone hinged and laggard society
Who are in multitudes, nameless, nation-less, necro-manic living echoes
I live their turquoise blue rings, silver palms, their mythical fear of tortoises
I dig a grave to heal their zest for anarchy, and to unwound their zeitgeist
Painting You
Before painting, I first sketch you
In my mind’s eye…To compose
The lines, shapes, shadows and lights,
That work altogether to form a semblant sight
Of you for any relative, friend or acquaintance…
Next, I embrace the required courage
To face the blank canvas; to dip my brush
In sublime tones for my wild orchid wishes,
Wanting to stroke across the heavens
For reflecting starlights bright,
Which I’ll situate to split the darker places
Where the inks bleed and branch out
Around you, smudging your purest colors…
That I endeavor to recover
When illness tries to smother
You with a viridescent blanket for on-going days;
Cloaking the glance of your azure blue eyes;
Pulling gray and white from your skull
To streak through your forest brown hair;
Rushing flag red moments to your cheeks
When you growl, “No. Don’t—“ when I
Try any way to help you through the fevers
That hang dredged plum-violet clouds over
The sofa — away — where you stay sleeping…
While I sit crimson awake worrying,
Watching you breathe…And asking
Through faith’s golden prayers for your healing;
For our holy Lord to send some ministering angels
— With their glistening opaline feathered wings;
Who side by side, place hands on you ~ veiling
My first view of prayers’ answers coming true;
Lifting me to a bloom of rosebud gratitude.
I paint you never far.
I paint your ocean blue eyes opening.
I paint you always beside me in a sandcastle brown.
I dapple the air over us an effervescent pink.
I paint your prism presence close.
I paint your mid-night’s Arora Borealis dancing hues.
Our love is a stippled, rolling color wheel
Of our linked diamond destinies: journeying
Together on amber roads under sapphire skies.
—————————————————
(c) sally young eslingwe 10/17-18/2023
Glory to God…