Long Flexed Poems
Long Flexed Poems. Below are the most popular long Flexed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Flexed poems by poem length and keyword.
PART I
The Joy of a birth, his own shine penetrating his eyes,
The new out born fruit of a long spend love,
Her hands rubbing against her red shiny chin,
Her legs crossed, the beauty that sings till the last breath.
Her thumb in her mouth, blowing, saliva flowing all over,
Her tiny grassy hairs and a sensational smile!
His mind throbbing with a pleasant paternal pain,
Oh, the enduring love!
He curls her onto his lips, the roses of affection,
Fell on her bright cheeks and a spurt of emotions,
Through his blood, that glowed the heavens between
And his two round globes filled by a sea of passion.
“Come to me, my baby, my love, my little daughter….
My sweet little doll,
I will love you till my death…
And I will carve a heavenly doll,
For you to sleep with….My angel…”
The man thus became a father and a true paternal love
Flew through his heart, into the unknown worlds.
PART II
The enthusiasm of the youth, and desire for the taste of love,
Her tiny grassy hairs grown long,
The soft fabulous filaments of keratin hanging by her curves,
The dream of a girl, for a handsome prince haunting her nights,
And eventually flourishing into a full blossom shiny daffodil,
Her lips wet, her legs crossed, her red cheeks burning
And the sweats flowing through the blankets.
Oh, the youthful pleasure!
The ghostly love takes her into the world of souls
From there the memories of her father,
Pulling her back, into the past world.
The affection fought heavily with the gods, but, only in vain.
And the gods decided to keep in their beds, the beauty of hers.
Unknown of these realities, he opens the door
And finds his love fallen prey to the love of an unknown.
All his dreams to carve her a heavenly doll to sleep,
Perished only in the mightiest darks of the underworlds.
The life in his soul had gone and the bird shall sing no more…
“Not yet, my love, not yet ….
I haven’t died …my love ….I haven’t”
He fells on his knees and takes her into his arms,
Her head hanging down by his flexed elbow,
Her breast pressing hardly into his heart,
His face bends, lips on her forehead,
And his teethes hurting her pale feathery skin,
Tears of unfinished love dribbling from his spheres, her face wet,
He cries loud with no breath in-between.
THE END©Anees Rahman
Warning - Mature.
Sweet night, a blanket made from scented space - holds this would-be poet in its arms.
Tightly - yet with care. Caring - yet with passion. Smiles her heart. Trembles her dreams. Hides them silverine in moments indescribable. Night caresses her spirit with unspoken thoughts, echoing from places foreign to her understanding.
From time taken by liberties, he waits, stubbled chin resting in broad cupped palm. He longs for her. Needs in the flame of passion's roar to fly that time long laid in stone.
Clouds drift. Days flee. Eons wreak weather to endless confusion. Creatures fall within time. Fossils lie crushed in their past. Ocean drowns land. Land erupts from water. Breathing rents the air. One step. A second. Knees buckle. She waits in her wondering why and what.
Hidden within cloud where the highest mountains touch the sky, the man sits. Alone, he is, wrapped in silence. He groans, wanting. Weeps. Prays to the gods, calls to the elements. Weeps more.
A sound, gentle, soft said, drifts space. Man hears. Wonders. Frowns. Understands. Wanting becomes pain. He groans. He moans. He laughs! Somewhere, she sleeps!
A rippled breath gasps my palm,
floats 'tween fingers flexed,
darts space behind my ear, laughs my neck
caressing thoughts I've not yet dreamed..
what language now,
what meanings, what delight,
pray tell?
you touch me with a hint of
honeyed power -
oh sybarite -
wrap me in heat so high I sizzle in my sleep..
look me.. sheet rushed aside I wait,
I moan, I sigh
to float 'tween fingers formed too much,
intentions still unsure but now.. oh now..
you lean forward
closer..
closer..
inhaling deeply..
sensing my gender
sighing -
sighing yet more
until..
temptation dared
and passion flared
I soar, I fly,
thereby -
thereby
however perceived
evol becomes reality
turned inside out upon its cap of what you will
emotions motion..
tumble in
turn and
turnabout,
spinning words, knitting language into shape..
explorers of such subjects
binding heart to hope and - yes
exotic inamorati all,
lie bed or floor or chair or shore
let loose that secret word
that spell - that lost civility
from A past where and when
when
one word
once found
once felt
once shared
was is forever..
love
Written: May 12, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
Quote: “Set yourself on fire and seek those who fan your flame.” By Rumi
**********************************
I sliced through the strings
that thawed my dreams in shadow,
tossing them into the time tiara
of celestial orbs and supple styles.
Periwinkle-plum dawns defy time;
Bright blooms grow in cosmic cracks.
Dusk falls on barren land, esoteric embers;
With an aching heart, I walk alone,
serenading with blue lotus meteors.
The wand of Kismet gleams akin to stone,
as cinnamon-glazed magic unravels.
Each shift is a fascinating fight—
light-flecked drape, lyrical elixir, elegies;
curling mulberry-leaf marrow fades.
After the kernel, I strive for clarity
without crash or catharsis, without pain.
A lovely wind touches my smile—
In the pulse of erased promise.
An impending divorce is stipulated.
In echoes of exquisite and ubiquitous,
lavender-sequined crystals of shift,
I sail beyond the rhyming reefs to embrace divorce.
Cut wistful strings, salty lines, diving into rhapsody...
Torn uncanny links below heavy waves,
free to explore unmet routes
amid vanilla plankton tears.
May I find solace in every crooked teal smile.
O, if sepia pearls and reverie state a split,
I release and love what is not meant to stay.
Even with moon megalomania, using past wisdom,
the plants wide wings amid the warm sky
and herbs flexed with a deceased breeze of joy.
I sip in the glorious, gold-and-cherry air,
Clouds of bewilderment have dissipated.
In a captivating cosmos, clarity clings.
Hunger, turmeric-tinted roses follow an idyllic climb,
and whispers shout boldly—unafraid, Nix!
Ominous night glows appear as we fly across the sky.
We claim our position under brilliant beams
and the rose-glazed moon,
while myths merge across endless twilight.
Heartbroken after its fateful odyssey,
among the stars, free from a fixed kismet.
I will sleep calmly, wishing for plum rings
to create a pearlescent paradise.
The Estuary of Esoteric Embers
laces my home with soul-searching chimes,
whistling away in flavors of forgiveness.
Not long ago when the summers seemed warmer and the winters were whiter. When the trees grew crown of leaves bright, a transparent green. Then tossed them to the ground for a little while. In piles of amber, crimson and umber. Before the earth was asleep in the frosty blanket of white. The trees all barren. Brittle with ice. While above the fire place sat the greetings of a wonderful season.
As embers popped and sizzled you sat and stared at the flickering flames. You would talk of pictures that play in the dying flames. The demons you saw or other worlds you claim. Danced in the weaving flames. The tongues would lick and sway. Snap and brake. The spires of candle flames would show you kingdom's of the soul. The shadows would move in a seismic rhythmic trance. In wakening dreams you would see people walking past a bright sun dappled days, by a pond you would sit watch and sway. Not make a whisper. You would sing to yourself, long lost melodies. Staring at the bright dabbled ray of sun pooling in your hands.
Seeing something not of this plain. You would say you saw the oblivions back yard. Endless Horizons afar! Then nod into sleep. Your head would tilt. All time turns. The world swam in the hearth. You would only watch. Your hands never idle even for a little While. Those hard cracked hands. Time runs like sand through pur broken fingers. When the storms would come and gently rumble the house. You would tilt your head and look skyward, you would hear the silent drops of distant rain. Water falling on the eaves of the house.
You would nod your head in it's absent rhythm and watch it streak the window pain. While you clenched your brittle hands. Flexed there pale fingers tentatively. But that was years ago. Now you ride and play in the distance fields in the backyards of long ago. Your eyes are vacant. Your hand are hard, your arms are crossed. No more nights of watching the fire or listing to dabbling rain.
No more catching pools of sun rays. You are now grown past this world, lost to this wide universe. You are in a man's final season, his great Winter on earth. At last your hands are healed, still, resting at peace. The idle hands of Jacob. The ruined hands of humanity.
Early in the morning
as the sun began to rise
as the birds began to wake
and fly into the sky
soaring high above her head
in the misty morning dew
while the rivers trickle onward
to greet the day anew.
she stands along the banks
amongst the waters streams
dropping petals, one by one,
Into a sunrise beam
Chanting their names with each petal that falls
she whispers upon the winds to all
For the existence of a love not found
to never make her heart be bound
her words, she called with each petal tossed
a love she never knew, a love she never lost
Protect my heart she silently prayed
from a love that can never be made
This is my wish, she closed her eyes
her heart cried out in pleading sighs
A man who's gentle, oh but strong
A man whose heart, she would never belong
A gentle touch, a warm embrace
that certain look upon his face
Soul of fire, Spirit of good
Straight and tall, the way he stood
A wise mind and a creative hand
could melt my heart from a faraway land
a man of silence, a man of words
a man of kindness, a man absurd
One with the creatures high and low
one with a presence all would know
One like the lion, with the lamb in his eyes
One who could understand my cries
A rider of the endless nights
underneath the moonlight bright
these things i plead to not make live
to save my heart so not to give
she ended her words and gave her thanks
and walked away from the riverbanks
she saw not what happened next
the petals she threw bent and flexed
they rose upon the air and swirled
dipping and twisting in the winds curl
she continued on her way
knowing her heart would never be swayed
the winds they laughed and began to play
whispering amongst their magical way
the petals danced their way to the door
of a man whose heart was nevermore
hurt and sorrowful he bled
of a love he'd never had
the wind it swirled around his feet
up to his hands the petals did meet
at that moment she felt her heart
its beat had changed she felt a part
of something she had never known
touched by what the winds had sown
she felt his presence she felt his sorrow
the winds just smiled and whispered
tomorrow....
Two old men. That’s all; not much to look at.
Their frail, broken shadows shrunk against the sunny morning
Brightness slowly searching its way through gnarled branches
Overhead, and crisscrossing the red and black pieces
Upon their welcoming checkerboard.
I placed a solitary peanut into the waiting hands of a small, grey squirrel.
Withdrawing my offer of other gifts, I moved away,
Drawing closer to hear their wrinkled voices still
Clamoring over the last move of their deadly waiting game;
Spattering salty remarks with knowing chuckles of old combatants
Echoing former rattlings of their rusty swords.
Beneath their stubby beards sat the once strong,
Straight line of a stubborn jaw, thrust at life;
Hot for the chase that breached the perimeters of grand arenas
As Time swept aside the long-suffering hours
And slowly chiseled away massive, symmetrical bone.
They had been young, sensuous men with lapping fire at their cores,
Melting away the wet walls of passion and the searing, sticky
Sting of a promising, promiscuous tongue.
Yes, their passion was still lingering there,
Below the masks of debilitating age and cracking bone.
Their passion for life and pleasure still written across their
Wrinkled, wincing brows, clearly there for anyone to read.
I wondered how many summers those faded eyes had squinted
Against a broiling sky and felt the power of that which they are---
Two old gods, sitting in the ruins of their shadowy kingdom passed,
Oblivious to the ticking of unearthly clocks.
Two faded, gnarled and twisted husks sat in peaceful friendship
Beneath the cool and darkening, park lined sky.
Below the surface of their shabby shrouds, pinpoints of eternal, celestial light
Sought the vaporous freedom of untethered ether.
Beneath the surface, the gods still flexed their mighty,
Quiescent muscles, forever young: aged mantles flung
Against Time’s eroding shores and fog misted dangerous rocks.
A fist clenched, face muscles flexed on pinched cheeks, huge sinews appeared on his neck,
The veins in his arms were like twisted lengths of blue rope and his eyes bulged in his anger,
His brother lay face down in a rancid pool, a lifeless corpse, another name in a very long book,
Ghosts in a grey dawn, moving then disappearing, then boom as mighty cannons fire into the sky.
Turning the body over, wretched wounds had ripped his face, ripped his youth, ripped away his life,
A gray morning, the same as other mornings, cold grey twilight, but this day will never be forgotten,
The strong brave man, who had seem so much, cried uncontrollably and his hot tears fell bitterly,
He knelt in filth, to cradle his younger brother and rocked backwards and forwards, unbelieving.
Once they played on long sultry hot days and when the rain fell it refreshed scents in the warm air,
They ran through fallow fields, pretty meadows scythed clear of hay, into a fine wild flower garden,
In days where the air slumbered lazily, they climbed thick leafy masses of high, ancient oak trees,
Always watching and warning his happy little brother, never climb too high nor stand on dead wood.
Laying down and looking up into autumn skies, warm, soaring winds shaping passing fluffy clouds,
Rising early as the sun once more shines, on those brilliant days, the calmest most impressive beauty,
Watching from afar in school looking after him, chasing bullies away, enriching his early days,
Beneath these warm shimmering suns, running, over to hedgerows picking sweet ripe black berries.
But those days are gone, gone forever, replaced by fear and hate, nobody will ever be the same,
Every day staring at death's grinning sated face, trying not to be caught in its cold red eyes,
And we all know the piper must be paid on these killing fields, but his wages are far too high,
Today on this early grey morning, shadows disappearing, a young man and his brother paid in full.
The muscles flexed like wings for flight
I saw fell down from heaven like light
The trees shook
Off their callous demure, grew gold green
My masked look
Came where adoration feathered preen
The cold pride that risked my life
The risks that gave me strength in youth
Disappeared in conformance too rife
And I risk done, for old age turned to soot
Undone by trusting to be secure
The man becomes impotent like the child before
ii
Some will not see old age in anything
Except to know dying leaves are gold
And a drying river seems like a spring
Dead winter too as white innocense unfold
Some will not understand metaphors still
Deeper pearls in images of hard shells
The sun gives life and same time does kill
But nothing alive deters the cycled knells
For we conform and then we fall apart
To believe is where the beginnings start
iii
Winter hairs atop the head, and winter beard
That even in the sun will not melt. This tree
Has no green leaf left to show for life. Seered
By the cold barren branches faking all glee
Replaced their groans with creaking songs
Death is kind, it is old age that's glum and gloomy
I fear its frightening, and unfumbling fangs
The little niche of hole to a world so well and roomy.
iv
Bones leak like roofs, and no rain yet
To moist the scales of the crinkling skin
The joy of today is to forget
Memory has no next of kin.
I go beyond the end of the line to write
My children in meaning after my tongue
Still against the forlorn night
Cleave leaves for specks of dew soft hung.
v
I have opened hibiscus for your tongue
To bird hum and suck
Its honey out among
Shrivelling stamens sagging into muck
I gave you light that may understand this
Lapse of petals dried
Fantasizing for a kiss
A mouth that left the flesh mob crucified
All this roar of dreams and desires vain
This birth to know, fell
From grace, grows pain
Man's life, the eager urge of empty shell.
TWO OLD GODS
Two old men.
That’s all; not much to look at.
Their frail, broken shadows shrunk against the sunny morning
Brightness slowly searching its way through gnarled branches
Overhead, and crisscrossing the red and black pieces
Upon their welcoming checkerboard.
I placed a solitary peanut into the waiting hands of a small, grey squirrel.
Withdrawing my offer of other gifts, I moved away;
Drawing closer to hear their wrinkled voices still
Clamoring over the last move of their deadly waiting game;
Spattering salty remarks with knowing chuckles of old combatants
Echoed former rattlings of their rusty swords.
Beneath their stubby beards sat the once strong,
Straight line of a stubborn jaw, thrust at life;
Hot for the chase that breached the perimeters of grand arenas
As Time swept aside the long-suffering hours
And slowly chiseled away massive, symmetrical bone.
They had been young, sensuous men with lapping fire at their cores,
Melting away the wet walls of passion and the searing, sticky
Sting of a promising, promiscious tongue.
Yes, their passion was still lingering there,
Below the masks of debilitating age and cracking stone.
Their passion for life and pleasure still written across their
Wrinkled, wincing brows clearly there for anyone to read.
I wondered how many summers those faded eyes had squinted
Against a broiling sky and felt the power of that which they are---
Two old gods, sitting in the ruins of their shadowy kingdom passed,
Oblivious to the ticking of unearthly clocks.
Two faded, gnarled and twisted husks sat in peaceful friendship
Beneath the cool and darkening, park lined sky.
Below the surface of their shabby shrouds, pinpoints of eternal, celestral light
Sought the vaporous freedom of untethered ether.
Beneath the surface, the gods still flexed their mighty,
Quiescent muscles, forever young: aged mantles flung
Against Time’s eroding shores and fog misted dangerous rocks.
slam it to me punk you think you’re so cool
this bald headed old fart will take you to school
you think you’re the first generation to revolt
if you read a history book you’d know that’s a joke
yes that’s a joke
go ahead punk – take a poke
hell i was sitting down in a war protest strike
while guardsmen flexed their muscles and sticks of the night
don’t talk to me about your troubled young fate
until you’ve been through a night like at Kent State
people died there
shot by the man
four college kids killed right where they stand
go ahead shout, curse and be rude
show me your underwear and your attitude
pretend you’re real mean and ain’t scared a nuthin
brag like you think you can beat out my stuffin
i’m an old fart of fifty plus years
i’ve already shed an ocean of tears
i aint got nothing much left to loose
which is what makes me much more dangerous than yous
pain ain’t nothin when you’ve had a rectal exam
you think you can scare me more than the doctor can?
think again
young man
i’ll slam your slam
this ain’t writing
it ain’t exciting
its simply yelling and telling lies of being tough
it ain’t enough
now go write some good stuff
you think this stuff makes you a hero
you think it ain’t conforming to norms?
you’re a real zero
you aint the first
heck you might be the worst
you are just replicating
duplicating
other punks beat you to it
now write a sonnet – if you can do it
you’d be the only punk out on that island
that would make you brave
make you stand out
give you some clout
if you could do it
but you can’t can you
instead you say you’re one of a kind
don’t waste my mind
you think I’m blind
i’ve seen it before
you’re just a slam whore
easy to ignore
i’ll slam your slam
now go jam my jam