Long Fleeting Poems
Long Fleeting Poems. Below are the most popular long Fleeting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fleeting poems by poem length and keyword.
The Mermaid's Rescue
A lost and lone survivor of a sunken warship
back into conciousness the sailor finally did slip
All alone in the vast, vast empty water prairie
fleeting thoughts of home and his sweet Marie!
Hazy, crazy thoughts swirled in his aching head
had he not drowned , O' why was he not dead
Memories of being saved by an unseen guiding force
O' but what a song , what a beautiful angelic voice!
Visions soon appeared for his mind's eye to see
of a beautiful creature rising to his rescue pleas
Hair of radiant gold lying lovingly upon breasts bare
a swimming angel appeared ever so swiftly there!
Now waking upon this small and desolate rock
feverish and deep in the throes of a tragic shock
Suddenly hearing voice began to softly, sweetly sing
his spirit , soul healed so quickly that voice did bring!
Searching eagerly across the shining ocean's waves
for a mysterious hero that did desperate lives save
A wished for vision soon appeared at the water's edge
a mere dozen feet from the jutting rock's lower ledge!
The same beautiful face he saw in his vision's haze
the magical creature he now knew his life had saved
One even prettier than his cherished, loving wife Marie
now it's entire form he could astonishingly see!
A Mermaid ! Heavens how could such vision truly be
strange tales, fictional legends of very magical seas
Could this have been answer to his desperate pleas
a vision so tempting that his faithful heart it did tease!
Singing stopped and that voice began to clearly speak
telling he had been fast asleep for an entire week
A rescue ship would be arriving there that very day
as it appears I must say goodbye and swim away!
Final hours his Mermaid and he did pleasantly share
he in awe of her glory, her sexy body and golden hair
So many amazing stories of many a daring rescue feat
telling of rescues where sister Mermaids even compete!
Suddenly that promised ship raced coming in so fast
sailor knew this was his only chance, his very last
Please, he asked, will you give me a good-bye Mermaid kiss
wished granted , Mermaid vanished into the deep, blue abyss!
Rescued and now safely aboard his miracle life-saving ship
his story told and nary a miraculous part did he dare to skip
His tale he told to all that sat amazed at his strange ordeal
so mythical and strange, even he wondered was it truly real!
Robert L. 05-29-2014
I behold the rose in bloom, and I cry,
I weep and I wail, then I sigh.
As the night draws in, my painful thoughts begin to wake,
I retreat into my mind and with fear I do shake.
Your clammy hand on my neck, your touch just like lead,
I close my eyes so you will go, you bury further in my bed.
I know I’m worthless, but please do not hurt,
And I try not to scream as you begin to insert.
The deed almost done, your sneer of disgust,
Your toes curl as we prepare for the final thrust.
You roar with delight, I exhale with relief,
My virginity now taken by a wretched old thief.
The memory still haunts, and the damage goes on,
I unravel the silk cloth that my knife lays upon.
Slowly but surely destruction is on its way,
I fear for my soul, but my body must pay.
Anticipation takes hold, and the blade does its work,
I press firmly down, blood appears with a jerk.
Is this the pleasure I've longed to have?
And a voice deep within screams "YES! ONE MORE JAB".
I am so frail, my young flesh so weak,
I can not go on, for my virginity he did seek.
The cold steel blade tattoos my white maiden flesh,
And the untouched skin becomes like wheat for the thresh.
I must abate, I must restrain,
This is the only way I mask the pain.
My eyes glaze over, my body feels weightless,
Each stroke is a prayer, and every cut a caress.
The guests have arrived, my relief has been fleeting,
He stands there staring, my heart is beating.
He looks at me inquisitively, mouth gaping,
And my mother knows not that her brother likes raping.
His gaze upon me, I'm his gift to unwrap,
He would rip me open and toss me like scrap.
I wish he would vanish and leave me in peace,
But his lust won’t be sated, and on me he would feast.
My legs are so withered, and my wheelchair’s a cage,
I wish that man in the Skoda didn’t have road rage.
I guess I should be grateful I can’t feel a thing,
But my mind is alive and every inch of him stings.
He gives me a present and pretends to be nice,
But don’t be fooled, it comes at a price.
He wheels me outside for a fresh of breath air,
When no one is watching he sniffs at my hair.
I wish I could lash out with my thin spastic legs,
But they are as useful as ice-cube clothes pegs.
I hope my diary doesn’t land in the wrong hands,
And if you’re reading this now then I’ve suck-cummed to his plans.
- Anonce
Remember when that flash of insight
last self-ignited in your expectant thoughts
blasting away the fog of uncertainty, complexity and doubt.
A sudden aha Eureka answer, pure, simple, so succinct, beautiful.
To some this flash of aha is called duration, or a blink. insight, acumen, Eureka!
But, my friend, how, why, when, where, do these Aha moments arise?
Can we conger up more for ourselves, fill a treasure cheat with insights?
Or is this quest a waste of time, as no treasure map exits. But does it?
Can we ever know with what, and how, and when to cast the magic wand?
Does our search for meaning, inquiries lay the foundation?
Can we prepare the way ahead in some way or other?
Think back, my friend, did these gems
always spring up unexpectedly, and what occurred beforehand?
These aha Euekas cannot be scheduled or delayed,
cannot be snuck-up on, snared nor detected,
cannot be forced out nor guaranteed to appear.
Euekas are not rewards for hard work, perhaps the opposite is true.
How often does lazy and shallow wader get the creative rewards.
Chance is never fair in its rewards for hard work.
Often, an Aha taps us on the shoulder, we are least expecting it,
out of the blue, saying: "Look at Me. Look at Me".
When gobbled up with glee, it washes over and transforms us.
We are never be the same. It makes our day.
Does begging the question, ignoring the answers laid out
make it pop up from the soup into an inquiring mind?
Or does it appear when we raise questions to that have already been answered well?
Does it appear when we thin-slice the book to separate the leaves?
Often mistakes and errors have led to great breakthroughs
like penicillin, radioactivity, the color mauve and plastics.
What does this mean to you and your Aha Eureka pot of gold?
Should we be less careful, more observant for the unusual?
The Aha Eureka is a fleeting feeling, easily lost in the blink of an eye,
rampant, capricious, imperceptible, unbounded, elusive
like seeing something in the corner of the eye at dusk,
if you look straight at it, it's gone, look back again, it's there again.
For me it can be a matter of serendipity.
The more I see, the more I do, the more I explore, the more hits are triggered.
Many total restarts from scratch, often helps.
But, for me the one simple things
that works is lay me down to rest,
and to sleep on it!
The poem "VANTABLACK" exhibits a profound exploration of emotions and existential themes. As a poet, one would appreciate the nuanced use of language and the depth of introspection conveyed through the verses.
The title, "VANTABLACK," immediately draws attention to the darkest substance known, emphasizing a profound sense of darkness or void that permeates the poem. The tumultuous street and the notion in flight evoke a sense of chaos and uncertainty, setting the stage for the emotional journey that follows.
The poet skillfully employs imagery and metaphor to convey the complex emotions experienced. The notion that "hastens in haste" and then "averts its gaze" suggests a fleeting and elusive quality, mirroring the transient nature of emotions. The descent of the heart's echo into a "crimson abyss" hints at the depth of emotional turmoil, perhaps symbolizing pain or longing.
The lines "Your name, I called, yet emptiness replied" and "A bloom of yours, I drew, withering away" express a sense of loss and unfulfilled connection. The act of calling a name and drawing a bloom implies a desire for presence and beauty, but the responses are characterized by emptiness and withering, adding a layer of melancholy.
The exploration of choices in the lines "Life's lines extend before me, To choose, where your love resides" delves into the existential theme of navigating through life's possibilities and seeking love. The word "resides" suggests a search for a meaningful connection within the vastness of life.
The recurring ritual mentioned in "This ritual unfolds each day" implies a cyclical nature of introspection and perhaps a daily struggle with emotions. The poet peers within, describing it as a "melancholy abode," suggesting that the internal landscape is characterized by sadness.
The concluding lines, "Where my heart, a vantablack canvas, remains," encapsulate the essence of the poem. The heart being a "vantablack canvas" signifies an emotional void, absorbing and reflecting no light, emphasizing the depth of emotional darkness or emptiness.
As a poet, one might commend the poet for the rich tapestry of emotions woven through carefully chosen words and metaphors. The poem invites readers to contemplate the complexities of human emotions, the ephemeral nature of connections, and the existential quest for meaning in the face of emotional voids.
The sun peeks his face out from the passing wind
still chilly and cold, and in this air the tree branches
stretch their arms to hold the sun as if sails on the deep and gray sky
The sun that is out of reach of a hand
may be a hope; no, it ought to be a hope
One night I saw a wayfarer, becoming a moonbeam,
going toward April stepping on the footmarks March
has left behind
Although he has gone through so many hills and high waters
with a knapsack on his back that was full with the countless
sentiments he put in it for pity’s sake, the sack was emptied;
for the lapse of time makes things wear and tear
his garment was worn to rags, and when the wind
passes through it penetrates the garment to chill the bone
The deep anxiety he is unable to shake off, and therefore,
reflected on the running water murmuring through the field
as ripples of moonbeam, which is not from the fleeting of time
or his sufferings while he was walking among the foes, but because
he is sorry for and worries about friends he has to leave behind
The friends, not many in number shared his happiness
at the time of banqueting, surrounding the table though
plain and simple, abundance in God;
at the time counting the falling stars lying on a stone pillow
by the gap between rocks. The friends, not in damnation but
in endurance and warmhearted understanding, talked about better day to come while burning the passions in the bone fire on a day when they were wet and shivering in early spring drizzle
For the days he was with his friends were too short,
it caused him an embarrassment in counting the days,
yet they were unforgettable moments of joyous and happy experiences
As he walked through the field with friends he talked about tomorrow
standing on the hill top side by side, he asked them to pray for him,
sitting on the sands by the water he sighed for he has to leave
the friends, the sweet and bitter memories behind
Nonetheless, he cannot just stand by a roadside as an emotionless stone,
he crosses the hill under the shade of a waning moon, and when
the humble hearted teary-eyed wanderer blooms as a lily on the other side of
the hill in dawning, the sunray fall on the lily on the dew
as hope to those who remember him, as happiness to the friends
he left behind, as the covenant of the Lord to all who trust in him
Life carried on brushing up pain
Each day I could hardly remain
Darkness seemed to be my only course
As I falter and enter ultimate remorse
I could not see what's going on before me
As life seemed dim I could hardly see
There only seemed to be one way out
Only one that I have known about
Sleeping pills were taken extremely
All at once, I was feeling sleepy
In a last minute impulse I called emergency
They swiftly came as I was quickly
Fading fast from this course of reality
I was nodding off to sleep completely
They kept me barely awake to the hospital
Where I was contorted to spill all
I was gagged forcefully as darkness came
Awakened again to find more pills taken
My throat agonized with pain within
From the horrible gagging motion
Pill after pill flowed out of my mouth
As I neared closer to oblivion, further south
Finally I was allowed to sleep
My dreams now were mine to keep
When I awoke people surrounded me
Looking very worried, disappointed really
I had survived the attempt on my life
A fear I will always remember, the strife
Now the world is back into my life again
The pain is seemingly always pounding within
Worry is written all over my family
Fear escapes my mother’s eyes completely
They do many tests to see if I’m stable
Then the diagnosis is depression, certifiable
Therapists become a part of my new life
All present and accounted for, no new strife
Things weren’t anywhere near like they were
When everything was dark, fearful for sure
I hated life, it was lifeless, demure
Then it seemed I had the perfect cure
But life chose me, and I survived
Now things work simply and I thrived
I had the presence to make the best
Of what life brings, to take in the rest
I hold dear now all things that this life brings
A warm feeling comes when fear is fleeting
A perfect happiness comes from simplicity
Bringing complexity down to earth sincerely
Love came swiftly with joy in the heart
Never felt more pure, never to be torn apart
Now that I had survived the brush of death
I now take pleasure in each and every breath
This is what happens sometimes when death knocks
And life gets switched around, time tick-tocks
Now since the terror has come and gone
Joy and pleasure have arrived as one
The future now looks a lot greater
Now that death will be a lot later
Russell Sivey
Entrant into Richard Tarr's "suicide survivor" contest
11/12/2012
Infallible
I fall into the rain, beneath me;
My sky a glittery dust to thee,
Calling the joy I hath not met,
Thou cometh sweetly, but late.
I fall into the cold, and just me;
Only I understand the clouds,
Oh! I cannot seek that ‘tis so loud,
Too much noise, sickly around me!
Those fallen tears around my head;
The soundlessness of one’s fate,
And hark, in such quietness,
The decrepit being of hotness!
Those ragged stars about my hair;
Closing in on me, and my air,
With hues dyed in drowned sunshine,
But proud still, in its dried signs.
For such heat hath closed me;
Hath sifted me away from you.
For such guilt hath haunted me;
Hath kept me away anew.
For such a love, that thou felt;
But not yet felt again, today,
The gaze that I once beheld,
The words my heart cannot say.
Wherefore art thou, my beloved;
For t’is passion is tainted but pure,
To behold, to instill, to demure,
The meaning of this first love.
Wherefore art thou, my paint;
These poems hath not been said,
I see chaos, and not a flesh of fate,
I hath been loving in vain.
Wherefore art thou, my gaze;
Why cannot I see you through my face,
To hear such a bountiful voice,
To be about thee, in this bliss.
Wherefore art thou, my voyage;
I cannot stay this sober longer,
And hysteria, turning into sobs,
Like death, as my heart throbs.
Wherefore art thou, my colour;
Bestowed on thee my honour,
And age, with my fleeting skin,
Waiting in haste, to be seen.
Wherefore art thou, my winter;
Having too many doubts in summer,
Awaiting a lover that lasts,
By the moonlight and stardust.
Wherefore art thou, my rain;
And the sung that sings again,
To release my midnight, its pain—
To be my beloved, then.
Wherefore art thou, my kiss;
I can see your solemnity,
A thousand unsung melodies,
To bless, to make love to me;
Wherefore art thou, my art;
Too much of me is in my heart,
But none with a charm like thee,
Like the poet in fire, that in me.
Wherefore art thou, my sword;
I am bland now, and unheard,
Unheard as the rain that falls,
Amongst the sheltered walls.
Wherefore art thou, my piano;
The sound that arriveth late,
But not late to be my memento—
To remove all conscious hate.
Wherefore art thou, my word;
Improvised but reckless, my Lord,
Ah! Calm but poisonous, like me,
A fastidious silver, like thee.
I write to you
from a quiet place within,
where words
gather like wind through the leaves,
a murmur of truths
that neither time nor fear can erase.
You speak to me
like the tide to the moon,
a silent and inexorable pull.
I see your questions, your fears,
your tender hope
masked beneath a cloak once of self-doubt.
And so,
I answer with the language of the heart,
for that is the only language I truly know.
I speak of being an old man,
afraid
of both success and failure,
watching
the world spin without you.
But oh,
the world does not spin
the world does not without you—it spins because of you.
Every breath you take,
every thought you have drempt,
every kindness you give
is a thread
in the tapestry of this living,
moving universe.
Success, as others know it,
is but a fleeting mirage.
True success
is the courage to feel deeply,
to love, to wonder, to embrace to endure
so pick one last fight a wrong not made right so that
another may endure too write.
The velvet sky
I now mention that they hold the stars
as witnesses to your life,
and they do not make judgement against you.
They see the roots of your being,
the tall trees of your yearning,
the bushes that stay green
even when unseen by the others.
You are not trapped,
though it may feel that it's so.
The heart, like the wind,
is boundless.
If you can give love—yes,
even love to yourself—you will find
that it flows back to you unseen in all ways.
Grateful, you say,
for the family that you never see.
That gratitude,
quiet though it may be, is a bridge.
It is never too late to cross,
even in thought, even in a prayer
whispered up into the great void into the night.
Empathy, the great gift of understanding,
shines through your words.
That is the way to love—by seeing,
truly seeing it all, the world
and all of its pain, its beauty,
relentless in life.
If knowledge is, as you say,
that he himself knows,
then you are already just and wise.
I ask this of you
can I be loved before the end of my life?.
To you my friend, you are loved,
even now.
The valleys know it,
the trees feel it, and I see it in your spirit.
Keep that spark alive,
for it will guide you along the long road
you call home.
I am humbly yours, in deep understanding,
Merry Christmas to you, always in love,
I am your's
J.E.
James McLain
I heard so long before, crying from fields where blow
it 'round the lonely stones, hair-waving gentleness.
Were it a poison o, still I would ride its breeze,
trailing so finely forgetting resentfulness.
How can it worry, when ne’r does it lack its ease
Winding and binding the waters and highest cloud?
Oh that I could have run past those unbending trees,
For to return to the land were my thoughts ring loud
when the breeze takes me away from this bleakest light.
Unto the storm! I go unto its lighten’d shroud!
Perverted science, our earth, oh our earth in plight.
Need them we never shall, for we shall never leave.
Stormy winds blow past our necks, and the gods, they know
When ones like we have found what they could never show.
Me, oh for me, thus myself low, in mourning. Such
men blame themselves, their lost love from whence hope arose.
Hope, it depends only on wishes ne’r conceiv’d
past what primordial dreams that men hold so close.
Fantastic imag’ry, happiness here receiv’d,
tells himself that which he wishes so much to hear.
How can a man so himself cover, so deceiv’d?
How did he think that this love, unthought, would appear?
How can he walk down this rail-thin road while so blind?
Whether he wonder’d if living or not, its here!
Sailing across the sea, riding waves, felt so kind.
Parted his life when his glass house did shatter, and
there in the fields, he lie on his back, pain’d so much.
Where was his love? Could it have been in fleeting touch?
Cried out he did when his life shatter’d ‘fore his eyes.
He wanted never to look back with morose face,
Only look forward to future loves, of this kind.
Laughter and joyous voice, sounded in man’s cold race,
touch’d by the countless works of dissilusion’d mind,
art from adversity, love from the artist’s heart,
pain’d from eternal grief, mark’d by eternal grind,
in love’s name, his one wish, from whence his hope would part.
Realiz’d that his heart will never see love again,
Turn’d to in desp’rate resistance against his heart,
winds, rays, and waters, his void fill’d with life again,
Were it a poison o, still he would ride the breeze.
Love loses meaning, emotion, no more he cries,
Only the sun, the stars and dark, cool ev’ning skies.
ABCBCDCDEDEFAA
Dactyllic Alexandrine
On the day of your birth, joyous or tragic at the girth.
With sun or light, opportunity gains flight.
The moon or night, once begun always a fight.
A choice to make, a path to take, to find your way night or light.
Signs along the way, though in plain sight have no sway.
Words and actions unmatched, alludes balance and remains detached.
By the time a connection is made, aged and tired we begin to fade.
Born to die, lived a lie.
2
A death begins, with truly no end, regardless of the course.
The start as well, has no tell, of what life contains, within it’s well.
Seek to find in this grind, a way, a path, a place.
Where peace at last has finally cast a role, a sign, a space.
For time has no friends, it’s always there at the end.
Do the best, pass the test, meet every challenge.
When this is so, the time will go, like the tides ebb and flow.
In the same way , make every day a death that can never stay.
3
Remember when the days begun, fiery like the midday sun.
Battles fade and wars won,
Heated by words and deeds fired by our own guns.
In a time of no fear never knowing what was dear.
All things gained and nothing lost
leaving someone else to pay the cost.
Like this is not the way, to waste this precious day.
In the end we all pay at the end that’s all to say.
But to realize before begun, a job that must be done.
For born are we to die, living when we know the reason way.
Die we all do, return to dust we will.
Taking nothing when we go leaving everything for life’s show.
So the question remains,
Born to die or live and know why.
4
In the brew when we begin, never knowing till the end.
What, will we become, when our time, here is done.
Lead your’s through stress and stiff or glide with glee as joy fills your life.
Regardless of the circumstances as we enter life’s stage
We alone will or won’t choose to play the roles life has paved.
It’s not a fight when we begin, we know it all and can do it all too.
Toward the middle we start to wonder, if we shoulda...,
A fleeting thought because another distraction comes along.
Before you know it, the time is gone.
You sit and think, you ask why.
As you think you realize, like a brand new light bulb, Bright.
It shine, you see on the places and seeds,
you chose thus far not to go or sow.
Your at the middle and again you choose.
You now know, what will you do?
Form: