Long Fibrous Poems
Long Fibrous Poems. Below are the most popular long Fibrous by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fibrous poems by poem length and keyword.
"These souls shall soul the garments of the labors as they toil in the creation of space might those who's concerns are of music and the industries music fosters!"
"Might these filtered clays be danced upon with cement and water and straw to be the walls of an Ampitheather where musicail theatrics can be adorned and charished!"
Oh thee who wish to retire and be part of creatively invest in the dreams of many as the souls are danced into walls; the houses of creative men shall stand from generation to generation!"
"Oh thyn of encouraging trust as thee would in worship seek me as thyn own, might the edges be sealed so the thermals to protect and keep warm thyn folk within!"
"The terms of contractual sciences must encourage not dismay each suiter of bookings, so that concertgoer and concertentertainer might reap the rewards of gathering in a positive sense!"
"Cut down these trees to make floors for our theather: danced these clays in to fibrous walls, to reflect the sounds of now in a historic sense that these retired folk can play there instruments to inspire a world of doubters and naysayers!"
"Collaborate in good faith might fortune find us that employment from talents is neither worshiped or misunderstood, but valued as much as any other natural resource!"
"Songs of nights rehearsals in day to audiences who appreciate the art of song and music in it's collaborated affords!"
"Cut the forest down and make the trees the floors of our stage!"
"Each Anniversary shall began today!"
The wood is too seasoned, the grain hoary.
the moppet has grown insane,
its wood now riddled with timeless lies.
A cat in a dark corner will not look at it.
Mice cower under its grim shadow.
In a twilit kitchen an old man mumbles
as he gums a boiled egg
while deranged eyes peer through walls.
Pinocchio is old,
he has been set on a hook.
fibrous sinews dangle
from his notched frame.
knotted veins grind together
inside the oaken cage of his chest.
Made to imitate and deceive
he has become what we dare not look upon:
a hollowness within a dead core.
In the potbellied stove,
logs pray with crackling flames
hope to never become that thing
that hangs and glares,
a wood wormed ruination,
its painted adolescence flaking now
to a crackbrained fantoccini
gone feral.
I plant a tree on top of the hill
and there it stood still
I water it with my tears
and it kept blooming throughout the year
and now it is spreading it’s branches everywhere
and its trunks is parachuting into the sky
but its main root is getting dry
cause no more tears are left in my eyes
the hill top tree has a short destiny
its fibrous roots are withering
and the people cannot sing.
meet me at the hill top tree
I have an important message for thee
Gather the team and come
before the mid-night hour is done
The cuts are deep and everyone is
loosing precious sleep for the
tree root runs deep in the ground
and suspicions are swelling around
You have to hold onto democracy
before it dies, get aboard the mid-night train
and your life will never be the same
the heart is were good deeds grow
and from the abundance of the heart
your emotion flows
meet me on top of the hill
I just want to sing.
Dare to live!
Stop insisting on chasing after death.
Stop trying to die!
Quit the grand delusion.
You shall never die!
Grow your wings and fly to the mountaintop
of your world. Breathe stars.
Bravely go alone. Only you can do this.
Regularly in your day–exercise conviction,
visualize. Take in
golden, fibrous threads
of starlight, of sunlight.
Take them in through the nostrils.
This is nothing less than soul’s power-fuel.
Inhale slowly and experience
the gentle music of love’s fire,
as flames would pull up
a chimney stack, up pipes of ovens.
Faith builds with such breath practice.
Greed cooked away.
Anger melting.
Ignorance surrendering
to ways of knowing.
Transformations to flowers.
To gratitude.
To generosities.
Prepare that your purpose
shall speak to you.
Breathe starlight.
Are you surprised
that you feel no heat?
Your unique timelessness
awaits your recognition.
"Got your fluff again"
(for purpose of this poem
pronounce last word uh gain).
The missus uttered
aforementioned phrase
as she pulled a clump of my hair
from out the clogged shower drain
for no rhyme nor reason lemme explain
how so many globs of these strands
linkedin to scalp courtesy hair follicle,
which hair follicle essentially
a tube-like structure (pore)
that surrounds the root
and strand of a hair.
Hair follicles exist
in the top two layers of skin.
The average individual
born with over five million hair follicles
in their body and over
one million hair follicles
on his/her head, and as I aged
about that many seem to
get loosed when washing then rinsing hair,
nevertheless more hair continues
to grow out of hair follicles
smaller in size than sand grain.
I surmise that if laid end to end
each hapless hair that got plucked
out me noggin since birth
would fill many a railroad car,
(extending from Schwenksville,
Pennsylvania to Ukraine)
railcar (American and Canadian English),
railway wagon, railway carriage,
railway truck, railwagon, rail carriage
or railtruck (British English and UIC),
also called a train car, train wagon,
train carriage or train truck;
a vehicle used for the carrying
of cargo or passengers on a rail transport.
Said locomotive boxcars full to the brim
with globs of hair (mine)
after lathering locks
(each filament evincing
fifty shades of gray fibrous)
composed of 95% keratin,
a fibrous and helical protein
(in the shape of a helix),
which also comprises
composition of the skin
and of all the phanera (hair, nails, etc.).
Synthesized by keratinocytes,
keratin insoluble in water,
thus ensuring waterproofing
and protection for hair.
It was as if a dead man had a hold of my throat.
Each of his fingers (he had but one hand),
was a bone handled butter knife
dull,
but together they clamped my breath like a vice.
"We’ve got to get you in ASAP,
You’re going to choke to death."
Death loosened its grip on me
as if hearing its name said out loud.
The Doctors office jumped sideways into
an erratic twilight zone, inflating and deflating
as I sat in a bleary bubble of shock.
Death squeezed harder
until I wheezed like a broken accordion.
"Look!"
I looked at the X-Ray, my larynx, and around it
woody vines, fibrous ropes clutching
a narrowing breathing tube. A Gordon’s knot.
I told the surgeon about the knot.
He nodded gravely and said,
"It wants to strangle you."
Is there a name for this condition?
"Yes, we call it:
‘Dead Man Strangling Syndrome,’
surgery is the only answer,
delicate, difficult, decidedly unconventional surgery,
that’s the only way forward.
First we need butter, lots of it, and an exorcist.
Are you a Catholic?"
Yes I was born in original sin
and a spreading guilt.
"Excellent" he said, rubbing his hands together,
"then we may have a chance."
Donald Trump Das Fuehrer's Braggadocio
Wrapped up in the Christmas holiday spirit,
I surmise doth allow
nationally collective obliviousness
to steer ship of state
(these United States)
to suffer retaliatory browbeat
ting activates, detonates, generates
je nais sais quois maliciousness
upon North American consciousness
from wickedly vehement uproarious tirades
the "FAKE" president doth crow,
whereby every word uttered
by the misfit mealy mouthed madman
in the Oval Office directly
impacts Lady Liberty, sans dow
wager even when the brash,
defensive, haughty...commander
in chief doth raised by alternately
by one or both colored eyebrow,
which nonverbal hostile
body language triggers
concomitant domino fallout
to devastating effect,
whereby analogous nee
palpable invisible reverberations
trigger thee threat
of global mortal Kombat flow
war moves the dial on
the Doomsday Clock to foreshadow
the stark realization of glow
bull thermonuclear conflict to hoe
var ominously over planet Earth,
which scenario haint Noah Joe
king matter, cuz
more'n juiced *****sapiens know
wingly, would be decimated,
where from Noel fierce
riding hobby horse, could
weather thee irrevocable low
down, once bombs away loosed,
and poised to strike
every fibrous marrow
with an irreversible tendon cee,
yet some hardy
species might narrow
lee escape radioactive fallout,
and blithely usurp meaning overthrow
this most menacing creature,
whose opposable thumb didst pro
pell the nasty, short tempered,
and mean minded
to upset status quo
and shred of a fatalistic,
graphic, and horrific roadshow
no Wizard of Oz (zee us born)
negating, obliterating, and pulverizing
the uninhabitable landscape
with burnt offerings
much more frightful than scarecrow,
which worst case scenario,
could explode today or tomorrow
leaving no trace of unlovely bones
merely mass cremated powder,
hence forsaked salvation
from... say Beto
O'Rourke, whose actively
democratic gumption joisted paradigm
grim fate recklessly
(hypothetically) did veto.
As the fulcrum of awareness shifts, soul don't go adrift
Affirmation: We are more than body & mind connection
Let us leave all attachments behind and vaporize,
like space. Mesh with the sun, recognize that we are One.
Like a caterpillar at the beginning stages of life
the egg, the larva (caterpillar), the pupa (chrysalis or cocoon) and the adult
we are solid matter at birth,
Our souls remain in a cocoon stage until we decide
to explore its fibrous non-matter lignon.
Anima is to our souls what the cocoon is to the chrysalis.
A thick protection goes over our souls and the only way
to get it to be a viable spirit, is to use breath and
MEDITATION as our key life chi.
We may not be butterflies, but we have our very own
pupation pitfalls, we are human having a
human experience, with a spirit that wants to be free
to fly.
When we respect our souls and give them proper nourishment,
time and space, they will embrace the human body as it heals.
We are spiritual souls inside a framework made of flesh and blood.
And only when we teach ourselves how to relax, breathe
and accept all that encompasses us, can we truly find inner peace.
The sun in its melancholy phase
dazed swirls, sun dial spinning
Pale moon but a mere shadow
empty ball, psychedelic haze
Into the bleary copse I tread
for a twilight detox of sorts
nerves on end, psyche suspends
light with shadows, a disco portends
Blipping pulses of light filter down
the pin pricks cause vertigo,
as disoriented interloper, stagger
through the bifurcated maze
Bristling limbs tap their snare drums
dissonant rhythms, arrhythmia creeps
swaying arms shroud every move
Damocles' sword swaggers o'er my head
The ground's tangled web straddles
my feet; jagged stumps, fibrous roots,
slippery Lichens harrow each quaking step
the seismic swell rises to my shaken core
An eerie wind serenades my imagination
grainy outlines appear in the distance
wispy figments dance in the shadows
above, silted holograms prance through trees
Picking up the pace, now double time
my lagging adrenaline to prime
shedding my sensory shield
my naked soul conquers the tempest
Into the snow white castle only tepid feet bound
Head mirror of quilted bed reflects a glimmering compound
Satin blanket spreads over each frozen mound
A blinding glare from the silted bed doth rebound
With each heavy step mist arises from fluffed goose down
Arching o'er head a crystalline canopy doth crown
The hooded frames as glowing sentinels ballast ground
The woody rails in their icy coat of arms surround
As tempest blows, crackling arms in groaning chorus resound
From portholes beaming, frozen pellets wayfarers confound
Alighting from pillowy perches, Red-shouldered hawks with wings unwound
Strafe the bystanders; with their prickly dander doth hound
A fibrous parapet of occluded, twining roots shields ground
Each truant sole straying from the beaten path will impound
Buried stumps as pulpy landmines on periphery abound
The errant, plodding heel with shocking pain to redound
Pace must quicken in the late afternoon stound
Dusk's chilling tides o'er snowy copse leaves laggards spellbound
As the last rays of light funnel into
the background
Enchanting visions of woodland nymphs mind's eye doth astound