Long Fixating Poems
Long Fixating Poems. Below are the most popular long Fixating by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fixating poems by poem length and keyword.
I don’t mind your hurt in my heart
I don’t mind you, tearing all of me apart
Wipe my tears away for your sake alone
I don’t need your help; I can do it on my own
I don’t mind your hurt during these tough tribulations
I don’t mind at all...oh, I don’t mind at all...
I don’t mind your comfort to seek out my destinations
Fixating on my free-fall while you stand tall
I don’t mind anymore
I’m sore from soaring too far
You’re the one I adore
I accept who you are...
Will you do the same for me?
Will you see me through this pain?
I don’t mind the pain you put me through
I don’t mind your disdain of bittersweet rue
I don’t mind anymore
I don’t mind your hurt in my brain
I don’t mind you, flaring up inside me
I don’t mind, being driven insane
I don’t need your doubt - I have hope while I tread this route gaily
I don’t mind your hurt during these tough tribulations
I don’t mind at all...oh, I don’t mind at all...
I don’t mind your comfort to seek out my destinations
Fixating on my free-fall while you stand tall
I don’t mind anymore
I’m sore from soaring too far
You’re the one I adore
I accept who you are...
Will you do the same for me?
Will you see me through this pain?
I don’t mind the pain you put me through
I don’t mind your disdain of bittersweet rue
I don’t mind anymore
I’ve been through so much despair
That I no longer care...I don’t care...
You share with me something significant that I can no longer truly hold on to
You scare me with your words of hopelessness; is all you say true?
I’ve been through so much once more
I want to let it all go to the deepest core
I don’t mind your hurt during these tough tribulations
I don’t mind at all...oh, I don’t mind at all...
I don’t mind your comfort to seek out my destinations
Fixating on my free-fall while you stand tall
I don’t mind anymore
I’m sore from soaring too far
You’re the one I adore
I accept who you are...
Will you do the same for me?
Will you see me through this pain?
I don’t mind the pain you put me through
I don’t mind your disdain of bittersweet rue
I don’t mind anymore
I don’t mind the pain you put me through
As long as you love me too...like you do...
Snowflakes adorn blurry morn, gently, gently trickling down
As salted streets are turning brown across this weary town
While tilting trees blow wheeze of breeze in throe of snow
In aerial dance of wintry woe, as tips of twigs sun rays glow.
Driving slowly, traffic is moving, blinkers brightly turning on
As somber day, bearing yawn, is awakening bleak and drawn
When kids thrilled, frolic and build, a snowman on their lawn
Celebrating school closings on this messy, dampened dawn.
Peering scenes tinted gold, hushed romantic gazes behold
Fixating on meadows bold, where pristine paintings unfold
Delighting in the glowing blaze that brightens daze of malaise
Appealing to zeal of morning, blushing haze in emergent rays.
A deer ambles besides her fawn, exiting her quiet hideout
Curious to scout how leisurely strollers are sauntering about,
Ruminating sunshine while darkened clouds are phasing out
As bluing skies, sparkle eyes, illuminating zest of astral clout.
Beyond foothills, tall cliffs sigh, scintillating in sapphire sky
When far from here, climbing up high, cerulean motifs vie
As cobalt imprints horizons amplify, where birds merrily fly
Announcing to the receding storm: it’s time to say goodbye.
When daylight quivers on melting mound of thawing ground
Amidst whispers swirling around, muffled wind’s hissing sound;
Golden glints thrill, glistening hill, tinting the landscapes blue
Refracting puddles in ornate view of glinted beams’ opal hue.
November 16, 2020
Poem of the day on November 18, 2020
Placed 1st: In rhymes sublime poetry contest--by Joseph May
~ (~) I believe now... am being-shown; "The plague of the heart is the-very... buried-yes-the-very-
truth/proof of hate's indifference, blind tendentiousness keeping it well pruned; feeding its
root." (~) ~
~ (~) The eyes spilling over opening up the gateway-lips murmuring their passion, the heart
the guide knows the higher the mountain, longer is the journey to own peace with a soul full,
filled of denial; yes greater is the struggle home. (~) ~
~ (~) Grace the compass, faith-hope-the-weight of the truth fixating forevermore the
pointer... . (~) ~
~ (~) Love the emotion, time the honest jester ultimate, relevant are they, their fledgling
desire leading the weary soul moreover into their own, overt their joy skipping elated... . (~)
~
~ (~) Jaime, addicted;
robbing stealing-from no-one only; ultimately from-her self... running, funning around
throwing her very life away...
beauty the word could never do her justice, running that same game every day, and-night... .
(~) ~
~ (~) It was the sixth day already of no sleep-for her when I met her, found her. (~) ~
~ (~) So often a different Bo moneys good-sometimes real good, running that same old
trick... . (~) ~
~ (~) So is the crack I hope for her sake her child's... her husband's heart; probably aching,
because I believe he's still honest enough to treat her nice. (~) ~
~ (~) For just over three-hundred dollars I allowed-her to-take-me-too...
and sadly, you know the-next time-you can bet-she won't be-open either, and that her
shame-compounded; left-alone within-her it-won't save her... because-she doesn't know...
quietly... her-tears have-been buried-their scars-have all but-grown-over... . (~) ~
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nZNvQMJ7N0s
Bleak existence portrayed,
nonetheless this (baby
boomer) hybrid dreamer
oft times evocative
edenic reveries bekiss
mine psyche with pastoral trappings
evoking utopian bliss
on par with drawing
winning lottery ticket,
which fantasy I quickly dismiss,
where dolorous voices within me hiss
mocking pipe dream compensating
for unlived life hide miss
whiling away hours
of young adulthood...
this threescore aged man did blithely piss
away enraptured with Swiss
Family Robinson fantasy,
gladly exchanging tsoris
entailing breathtaking adventure
versus sequestered bookishness burr
rowed nose engrossed
with page turner capture
ring imagination of this erstwhile drifter
addressing, fixating, and keeping coiffure
as disheveled appearance, where daily
father and mother showed me the door
particularly on account, cuz for one more
nanosecond, they could not endure
this healthy sole son vaping expenditure
as both parents toiled away,
they tired trying to swallow failure
while primarily main feature
of this poem lackadaisically
exhausted as an Evansburg Park fixture
(calling squirrels on first name basis),
no sooner this bookworm gave vague gesture
after setting foot inside abode - 'pon dusk
asper whereabouts, off
into bedroom I did immure
and disappear into story
maybe one about main
character pledging indenture
role as heavy footsteps shook
324 Level Road domicile infrastructure
awaiting the wrath
of Khan spouting ultimatums
our father/son rapport long did inure
a "NON FAKE" wall not immune
to malicious, noxious, vicious... lecture
to offspring who long outwore his
Harris Tweed Scottish welcome mat,
yet... feared testing nonsecure
mooring which familiarity bred contempt!
Das dada = codified bonafide anachronism
me thoughts infused
with thom hankering for yesteryear
circa antebellum i.e.
American Civil War era veer
rilly, teetering, smoldering, rumbling
upon iniquitous tier
United States greenacres crossroads
with petticoat junction spear
ritually hexed courtesy anti abolitionists
pitted against unfair
slavery, yours truly spellbound
gravitating, fixating, entrancing,
an invisible sonneteer
disembodied spirit transported
back in time,
qua closing first decade
of twenty century aware
how historical events will unfold,
yet lacking means
to affect alternate outcome,
though yearning to spare
fledgling democracy deaf to blare
ring coming fury me unseen
relishing preponderant naiveté
and childlike innocence
before internecine warfare
many stripling young lads,
yet to sprout facial hair
trumpeting, scampering, rejoicing
after favored lass with no care
gathering rosebuds while they may
before their brave hearts got
touched, torched, taxed...
with fire, ah... so cavalier
wondering, speculating, nursing
curiously piqued how adaware
those who frolicked
within Autumn mist did revere
observing what didst appear
oblivious laughter and attitude
analogous to good cheer
omnipresent at Renaissance Faire,
no doubt trials and tribulations
compromised welfare
envious countless scores generations
past knew not global threats,
nonetheless societal fabric circa
early/mid nineteenth century
severely wrenched when
Emancipation Proclamation didst declare
manumision, though sadly
blatant anti semitism, bigotry, racism...,
trumpeted within rank putrid odor
doth still fill the air!
Despair awakens in this barren world,
Like a long sleeping serpent,
Opening it's large orb-like eyes,
Illuminating the darkness that surrounds it.
Fixating it's gaze upon the golden light,
That seems to pierce through the stained glass,
Sketching a darkened shadow,
Across the dingy carpet,
Of this old forgotten room.
The smell of roses fills the space,
Very enticing to the senses,
Yet nauseating at the same time,
Creeping deep into the brain,
Planting it's roots,
And sapping out life.
Upon the bed are dried stains of blood,
From a past horror that claimed a life,
A tragedy that was left to fend for itself,
Screams stifled by the cries of the ages,
As blood spattered the walls.
This place really has no name,
Supposedly once a lavished inn,
Sometime back in the forties I suppose,
Back before the ill-fated curse,
Had taken hold and transformed it,
Into a house of nightmares.
Death has crept here,
Yet never fully left his mark,
Chased off by the unwavering light,
That dangled from the almost caved in ceiling.
Many hearts rested here,
Long forgotten lore,
Of the depressed and down trotted,
Hoping to find some peace,
Only to find a prison of their own impending doom.
At night, possibly the devil's hour,
Blood streams down the windows,
With an icy breath,
Making the room dark and full of lurking beasts,
Painting the faces of victims across the floorboards,
Only to be driven back into the abyss,
As morning's first light pierces the stained glass window.
The house will perish one day,
But the memories it holds,
Shall remain trapped,
Forever playing out their role,
As they take shape,
Under the light of the fading moon.
Form:
........jiggle clumsily; post halter-
behind braids- busy in evacuation of the cool pool water,
like a carefree bull in the field.
Her eyes sharp and cruel, unyielding to the faulter.
Fixating on a fool,
one caught looking,
looking around in a house of slaughter.
Baiting fingers thread the hook at the back of the neck.
Electric eel, slippery Brook,
Devil's daughter-sees her slithering tool- He, electrically awestruck like
A fist magnetic, en route to the face spilling drool onto Tesla spool archway portal of open space.
Strings attached, loose and taught,
drawstring and shortest lot of toothpick drawn from maw aftermeal twisting twirl, say ahhh.
Umbrella, sundress, undressed girl, with dimple and curls, Salem's lot,
lizard kind of you're in trouble.
You are aftermath wreckage, rubble.
Thrown into a dancing fire.
Inn-keeping-with something to visualize and desire.
He becomes her familiar,
one that roils in a mire.
The catch of the day
hung out to dry, for the letting.
To bleed, into the night.
Like a stain setting.
Sniffing helplessly like a hound
in the open airs entrails- in the dew of it's misting device of shroud.
Hellbound
In a twisting abyss of chance -romance,
in advance of death in a trance.
Hade's Siren smirks at the arrow holes of Eros bow.
Marksmanship, gamesmanship, act 3 underwaymanship, with an encore and a show, and a tip.
She takes a bow in mocking disrespect-
turned about face in splay.
O the feel of the steal.
The flash of a blade.
The flash of ages, gone to seasons
of gray.
Cursing in looks of kill, of a dialect universally known but unnamed.
Of that wet and silvery feel.
solely reduced to communicate
via my choice online mode
(ease of use preference
via Facebook Messenger), candidate
said Modus Operandi aye find tubby great
even though this papa doth hate
to say "good bye..."
after lingering delay followed
by "I love you"
swallowing tears irate
as bittersweet poignant end
ding our irregular chat as if
(analogously)...aye ab duck kate
(albeit temporarily),
the joyous role of fatherhood
especially denoting young womanhood of late
said offspring, I helped beget (with ma mate)
i.e. wife (which marriage
experienced rough patches)
nine or so months ceased to ovulate
just a tad more'n nineteen Earth Orbitz ago
as reckoned via dull lix gray matter
encapsulated within
thine barnacle encrusted pate
her virtual presence encountered
earlier today - March 24th, 2018
doth highly rate
as supremely blessed,
through swallowed sadness sans tete a tete
only after clicking end conversation
does this dada
(with genuine muffled sobs) ululate
agonizing with reality empty nest syndrome
asper averred second daughter
aye helped yes sire re:) to beget,
whose tender loving care)
under voluntary auspices
sans strong willed kid sister (Shari)
decision immediate decision needed tubby made
(concurrence with birth mother - Abby)
already couple years zipped,
her homecoming (who knows when),
dud dada Matthew Scott Harris
must keep away fixating on requisite adulthood),
argh...now...must needs wait!
The ants and the beetles were all celebrating
As I wed the spider that I had been dating
And soon sixteen legs would be consolidating
I could say eighteen but that’s exaggerating
But all of a sudden the ground was vibrating
We tried to get clear but the plants were gyrating
We made for a drain with a safe metal grating
To hide from the beast and it’s red armour plating
We froze at the passage the beast was creating
By severing grass with its twin blades rotating
In fear of our lives we then started debating
To run off together or try separating
A not so near miss meant I’ll never be mating
Sometimes the obvious doesn't need stating
At least while my wife finds that rather frustrating
I won’t be her lunch when we’re done consummating
We tried to escape with some skilful pond skating
It helped that the air machine wasn't aerating
But there was a fountain that was agitating
The surface too much which was infuriating
I turned to the man and began contemplating
If spiders could ever do human castrating
But soon he was done and he started inflating
A pool with a puncture, he found that deflating
Reward and his effort were not correlating
And that made him mad, made him start salivating
And just when we thought that he might be fixating
His face went all blank and his eyes were dilating
He glared at us spiders, his ire not abating
So we thought it best to be reciprocating
But he had a brick in his hand elevating
I’ll tell you right now, that was not constipating
Perhaps it’s now time for some quick relocating
This isn’t the fate I was anticip.....
Just outside his window,
moonlight turns the pounding rain
¦¦ into gems that glitter on the grass
Crouching, with his face
mere inches from the lower pane,
¦¦ he fogs up the bottom of the glass
He's been acting strangely
for at least a week or two
¦¦ Now, the pieces start to fall in place
While he is fixating on what he's about to do,
¦¦ grotesque changes flicker on his face
Suddenly, he shakes with pain, the likes he's never felt,
¦¦ next, awakes beside the garden path
where, revived by spikes of rain that drive into his pelt,
¦¦he comes back alive... a psychopath
Abstract thoughts identify a full moon as the cause
¦¦ for the transformation he's come by
Driven mad by hands and feet that flatten and sprout claws,
¦¦he lets out a howl that spans the sky
In due time, he's acclimated to
his altered state,
¦¦ steady now, enough to leave the trees,
he heads to a town that he has visited of late,
¦¦where he will begin his blasphemies
Upon his arrival, he is met with blinding lights
¦¦ Townsfolk holding torches in the air!
Shouldering their muskets, several have him in their sights
¦¦ but the danger doesn't come from there
He has caught the scent of one who sits some feet apart
¦¦ Someone who has got a proper gun
BANG! A single shot, then molten silver hits his heart
¦¦ and his reformation has begun
As he writhes and howls, the townfolk move in gingerly,
¦¦ peering past thick clouds of grainy smoke
Having slain a monster, they are stunned by what they see -
¦¦ They've gunned down an ordinary bloke!