Long Fibers Poems
Long Fibers Poems. Below are the most popular long Fibers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fibers poems by poem length and keyword.
I noticed that one of the Kennedy patriarchs,
probably a Joseph or John or Ted or Tim
or Robert or Matthew or Mark or Luke,
Why do they all begin to look and sound the same to me?
Anyway, one of these informed and educated and good guys
responded to decriminalizing ingestion of THC,
cautioning us regarding potential public health hazards.
While I share some of these bleary and yet age-specific concerns,
Mr. Kennedy and I do seem to view these potential pathological influences
through two quite different frames of reference.
He approaches dangers of THC influence
in contrast to a population that would otherwise presumably ingest
organic goat's milk and wild honey.
I see the prospects for a THC cooperative addicted society
in pleasant contrast
to our current alcohol dissociative indigestion
addicted to bipolar shouting
oppositional dis-civilization.
From a public health perspective,
given only a choice between THC or alcohol decriminalization,
the evidence of history appears to vote
for the more regenerative THC.
Now,
if we could addict honeybees to THC pollen,
and goats to voraciously foraging on cannabis fibers,
and we became the land of goat milk and THC honey;
that, I suppose,
would be so much more
our healthier wealth of opportunity.
How delicately you connect my whole physique,
The upper part and the lower half into one;
Leaving no organ to be unworkably weak,
Uniting the whole like the universe fine-spun...!
Joining my legs and the trunk of my body well,
Fibers, tissues, nerves, bones, flesh, and blood together;
As a honeycomb combining each little cell,
You have bound the body like the wing and feather...!
Knit into, like thread in a loom or rods welded,
Two bones: the pelvis, and the thighbone or femur,
Ilium, ischium, and pubis - well felted,
All beautifully set as though by a reamer...!
Like heaven and the Earth delicately unite,
O hip, you maintain my physique splendidly tight...!!!
Fallowed mind on barren ground toils
Winter's cold streams radiant beams foil
No incubating current cuts through the dense soil
Muses' bright glint the dark, thick clouds roil
Blipping sparks can't light my sensory console
A dormant seed sprouts on a rocky knoll
Promising strands on frozen surface stroll
Chilling winds over shallow-rooted thoughts troll
Vapid ideas from stagnant un-imaginative threads loll
Without depth, the promising figments spoil
In due course, Spring's thawing tides do roll
On horizon's mount, azure panels scroll
The brighter patches degenerated conduits parole
Fecund spores with soaring visions cajole
Wispy tufts of dander blow into cranial hole
Into thawing seams, germinating inspiration bowls
Enervating muse, implanted seeds into interstices dole
Granules of wisdom brim from gilded boll
Leaving pod, enthralling, pearly grains silt the soul
The congealed fabric spins around each, sensory pole
Ginned fibers into imagination's colorful tapestry burrow
Why is it that we do that which we don’t want to do
And we don’t do that which we want to?
This is the question that troubled the Apostle Paul
A man of God, who still struggled with those inner tendencies.
It’s a question that troubles me, too,
The good that we should do, seems so hard to do
The evil, so easy…because it is in our nature to err
I find it mind boggling that the very fibers of my being
Seem to be drawn to the forbidden…
Is it because it is sweeter? Easier? More fulfilling? Simply…human nature drawing me?
Ah, but there is a transcendent joy
From doing what is unnatural to us:
To love the unlovable
To uplift the fallen
To be faithful to the faithless
To return blessings for curses
To forgive instead of get even
To love instead of to lust
Are we justified in doing what comes naturally because after all…we were born this way?
We are just following our natural inclinations?
Then, I ask…what makes us different from the animals that follow their basic instincts?
Is there a difference? At times there doesn't seem to be. Delayed gratification seems unheard of. We want to relish this moment...there here and now...whatever the cost. We put our morality on a shelf and give in to the basic instincts to posses...to be possessed...to satisfy. Is there a difference?
Yes, there is…for we have been given the power to reason and to choose the high road.
It isn’t by accident….we were created with that power. We need to put it to good use, and we will have divine help to do that, if we so choose. It isn’t easy….but then again, sacrifice never was. It has a price. Ask Jesus….it cost Him his life.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Dancing in space
Waltzing in the universe
Pirouetting on cloud banks
Aah yes
Come with me
Let’s dance together
Ancient flute notes echo
Amidst starshine and lost memories
I feel you there beside me
Peeking around planets
Your eyes seeking me out
Our fibers entwined
Through passion and loss
Our unspoken words
Spun like gold thread
Around our bleeding hearts
An inhale ~ a memory
Meeting you in the ocean
Immersing ourselves in blankets of mist and fog
Lavender foam adorned with turquoise sparkles
Glinting off wave tips
My nakedness enveloped
Salty tears
My mouth open
Searching for you
I walk through time
Through walls of water
The waves part
As I find my way
Inward
Onward
To the sacred place within
I feel the air ~ quiet now
My fingertips sense my surroundings
I smell your heartbeat
In darkness my palms touch yours
A vibration of heat
Of laughter
Of knowing
Of ancient memories
Coupling our souls
Forever
You may think that caffeine is one of those things.
Taps on your shoulder, feels like goop.
But every once in a while you get tangled in seaweed.
Become a seaweed monster.
You might not know that the cameras could descend at any time.
Eat the garbage that got scattered around.
And the cameras will see you as if they are real people.
Letting go like a bite of candy that is unexpectedly crunchy.
I have tangled feelings in the doorknobs of my house.
And extended periods of the fans being on in the winter.
You may think that caffeine is one of those things.
That makes you eat dust like carpet fibers.
But you don’t eat dust anymore.
No coffee mug with stains on it exists.
Just collapses in my mind.
Like the seasons wreck me.
Then fall came around.
And a seaweed monster is unseasonable for now.
Whew…
There is no such thing as caffeine or bad things.
Shaking but it’s not caffeine.
It’s just winter, we don’t know how months became months.
I don’t drink coffee anymore.
I don’t think I ever knew how.
Imagine being born into the world as a guinea pig. An experiment that as the ‘master’ of this guinea pig, you have a complete rule over to torment.
Imagine telling this ’guinea-mouse’ in a glass house, that the very walls were the only thing it could know...Then, the mouse thinking for itself.
Imagine every event, situation, life lesson, relationship, experience...All forged in a foundation of glass.
Imagine telling this mouse it was free...Yet, keeping a proximity collar attached to its leg and saying it were a bracelet.
Imagine this mouse asking questions and getting shamed, mocked, called out for having mad cow disease…
When no, it was indeed just a curious mouse in a fabricated house. Fabricated on the highest pillars of propaganda.
This mouse wants to go to Fiji. This mouse wants to no longer be held captive.
This mouse wants to think and live for itself freely. Not under anymore cracked windows, that can be seen through easily.
Imagine this mouse saying; ‘’No more!’’ But only coming to realize, this mouse house is not a house at all.
It’s a rattrap...An elaborate, well thought out plan over the span of centuries. To keep rats inside their little hidey hole, glass play pins.
This isn’t mind control. This is torture. Practiced. Intent. Bound. Malevolent. Hideous and sad.
Why did this mouse need to be put into a rat cage?
This mouse ponders the ways of being content with what it’s got, knowing that what it’s got was made from the very fibers Rumpelstiltskin forged.
Warts and all.
The quality of the yarns has faded
Colors clash, knotted memories
Woven together, re-stitched,
Worn fibers straining for recognition
Seek the truth of each knot
The wisdom of each choice
The tint and taint of time.
Has it always been “My” quilt?
Was it “gifted to me”
Already bearing pieces
Of other’s stories?
Has memory fused feelings
Tempered the truth
Of the weavers
Allowed us all to claim
So many “oh so similar” stitches.
I doubt it covers “everything”
Some squares must have been left out
Some trimmed away, chewed by the dog
Lost in a sibling tug-o-war.
Don’t get me wrong
I still cherish “my” quilt
I just have trouble believing
That it is “all” mine.
John G. Lawless
7/10/2023
I was reposed on green velvet
when a notion struck,
so, I took out my tweezers
and set to task
painstakingly I separated
minute fibers of spirit,
away from itself
after examining each shimmer
as it waxed and waned,
a lifeline of ego and id
refracted from Father
I fell into conundrum
what had I done ??
it was only when
daffodils bloomed
and the blue heron arrived
that my tweezers
breached a void
I was astonished to find
a vast empty cavern,
and without its whole
the inner was,
nonexistent
I begin a new endeavor
of reconnection
for, what was once
a spirit for life
throwing a dustcover
on the typewriter,
and sheathing my pen
I have but Milli seconds
left on this page
I detect the scent of lilies
mixed with myrrh,
I follow,
and in my wake
a white dingo steps light
as riding his back the claws
of a blue heron relax,
into the syncopation of journey
at each step the strips
of separation,
refashion a new age
on the horizon Esperanza
swirls veils of green velvet
and in the peripheral
La Mort’s shadow
curls, ever closer
Neck a smooth, cylindrical mold
As sheathe with fibers carefully rolled
Pale, satin sheen artfully scrolled
Grace on soft, silky strands doled
In light, silted hologram to behold
Calamus breathes through each fold
Herbal essence from tight pores cajoled
Swabbed cheeks cloud high cheek bone
Naturally brushed with light coppertone
Puffy mounds rise from savory scone
Cherry gum drops brim o'er mascarpone
Cherubic glow of a polished sandstone
Exuding savory Rose scent laced with pheromone
Nature's stimulants, a nurtured love to hone
Bosom, gilded vines on terraced grove
Sprouting cherries, fertile arrow of Jove
Dangling from chest sealing frothy trove
Coarse sifted mounds, plump kneaded loaves
Descending into a deep, musky cove
U-shaped funnel vents steaming stove
Releasing mellow aroma of a sweet clove