Long Flutters Poems
Long Flutters Poems. Below are the most popular long Flutters by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Flutters poems by poem length and keyword.
There seems to be silence within the serene night,
yet those indoors have eternal cries of unspoken fright.
One man drowns in chocolate, shamefully eying his hips,
as the woman next door kisses the hundredth man’s lips.
Two floors below, one screams out in pain,
as fatal anger has won the game.
The killer, shadowed, makes no remark,
but watches the blood flow, immersed in his soul of eternal dark.
Three doors across, an elderly man sits, rejected and broke,
hiding his face with tendrils of smoke.
His trusty cigarettes always at the ready,
when his finances where never steady.
Another flight down, a woman drowns in her agony sip by sip,
her life seems to slip by like a commercial blip.
Yet all she can think
is that her marriage is on the brink.
Before she fades into the night of another day,
all she remembers is throwing her wedding ring away.
Traveling down to the ground floor,
the troubles seem to equal more.
A woman tosses about in her anxious bed,
while her worries do pirouettes in her head.
Try to let the past and present go,
but the future looms like a horror show.
Outside, in the darkness, a piercing light shines
as a moth flutters by, on the still air it climbs.
It seems this beacon, as bright as the sun,
new hope has just begun.
The moth bangs itself against the glass,
trying to reach glory at last.
Yet no matter how much its antennae bend,
or wings grow fragile and not able to mend,
it seems like the only thing to do
to deal with its feelings, old and new.
Until it steps back and looks at the light
realizing that harming itself won’t set anything right.
With the last of its strength, ending its plight,
the moth flies off into the night.
At this moment, the man decides to rid his house of fat-packed glory,
as the woman on the ground floor takes a deep breath, changing her story.
The killer at large turns himself in,
the end to his years of sin.
The woman pours the bottles of wine down the drain,
finally she can remember her name.
The elderly man exhales his last puff of smoke,
the grueling memories no longer prod and poke.
And the woman kissing her hundredth man
lets him go, heart no longer sinking in deadly quicksand.
The light of dawn finally breaks,
and the darkness of the mind no longer takes
away from the people’s lives
as the light of hope is now by their sides.
SPECIAL INTEREST
With the thought processes of the masses overwhelmed
By the heavy burden
Of no influence on policy
And with little scope for advancement
Up the greasy pole
Insurrection and rebellion abound
Catching the chattering classes off guard
Traducing a broke government is the new game
To incite discontent and to pander to
Front page democracy the new weapon
Of those whose frustrations
Know no bounds
Unions and lobbyist throw their
Handbags out their prams
Yet they provide no new income streams
For a government on its knees
The pension pot is the new not to
Be touched holy grail
Its reverence brings to the fore those
Who wish every proceeding generation
To pay for today’s profligacy
Money comes money goes
Often the government seems to have none
To spend it all on special interest
Is a very selfish goal
This new era of austerity is but long overdue
A curb on the excesses that let the selfish
Do as they would please to do
With society’s blank cheques
A welcome break for the taxpayer
The one who petulantly foots the bill
Those that want more may need to pay more
A progressive system is not unwarranted
Tax is but essential to fill the pot
Those that have but give not
A blot on an otherwise decent lot
How selfishly all sides do behave
They want but refuse to give
To be the one who wins all
Exceeds all other considerations
No compromise is considered best policy
To lobby
To influence
To fool
These are the goals of the one sided
Minstrels of the selfish school
Knocked from their little thrones they rise
They but skew interest towards their cause
An unfair system
Built like a house of cards
That flutters in the wind of change
Selfishness is but a wanton Unhealthy game
A grand state of decay is society
Where wants and expectations
Outgun reality
A government unwilling to be brave
Allows democracy to shiver and shake
A useless waste of a vote
A dismal disgrace
Society is but made up of parts
That only function if all contribute
And everyone gains
Grappling hands should be slapped
We must all enjoy what our hard work has begot
A delicate balancing act is government policy
Frustratingly it seldom meets its aims
For the unintended consequences
Forever drown the initial good
Not everyone sadly wants policy to do some good
Seek out what’s best for you
Always remembering it’s not
All about you
He was born with a bushy round follicle-free head
and walks with two legs, because
he is a Neanderthal(1) mutant,
for he is a mutational product,
he is an android(2) not found in the evolutionary tree,
and that’s why he was so sad; he began to roam the surface
of the earth, he climbed up the mountains, crossed the rivers
and traveled over the expansion of fields beyond the horizon;
to soothe the sorrow of being alien
he labored to find another android similar to him;
and if he finds one, he is forced to lay her down on the ground
and sow the seeds to establish a new genealogical table;
the seeds grown to Hominidae.(3)
As time goes by his hair on his head became thinner
because the roots of his hair decayed from no follicle
and at last, he became bald;
each time a sun-ray reflects on his head
his anguish grows in the valley of misery he is trapped in
and leading his poor life. He escapes from the valley and crawls
into a cave(4) peculiar from all the other caves he’d seen so far,
and he fixed a flag.
As the wind rises the flag streams,
when the flag flutters the sky roars to pierce the ears;
then the sky falls to the ground from a gap between
the roars gushing out ashes and fires. The fire heats
to burn the stones lying here and there by the water’s edge.
When sky, earth, fire and the stones intermingled in one
it tortures the Neanderthal with the red-hot iron of death,
then, *****Sapience survived from breathing the oxygen
that Neanderthal left behind; and as day grows taller and taller
*****Sapience finds the way to preserve oxygen;
thereupon, Hominidae mixes this excess oxygen to produce
black powder with the ratio of 10KNO3 + 3S + 8C,
and stuff it into a bamboo-tube;
tomorrow therefore explodes, time stops,
the sea swallows the earth. As things come this far,
though there may be worse things waiting in the future,
the crippled time, comes with quick steps winding a malfunctioning clock.
NOTE: 1. *****Neanderthalensis and *****Sapience are different *****species, therefore, though *****Sapience Sapience is not a mutated species, but just so regarded in this poem.. 2. Android: in this poem this phrase is synonymous to synthetic organism rather than electro/mechanical robot. 3. Hominidae: this term is used as existing modern Human. 4. Francis Bacon, Idra Specus.
MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE
My new friend,
Your eyes pleasure my words.
Hands fresh in a world unknown to me--
New in wonder and mysterious splendors
With delight I greet you.
Long flutters of time may have passed,
But in days gone by
I was a woman of steadfast heart.
A soul with passion for life and those I love.
I did not ‘go gently’ into the darkness.
In this spirit,
May I offer you advice.
If you,
in discouragement,
Shall sometimes wander--
Find delight in things small--
The toothy smile of a child
The memory of times lost
The lingering kiss of a lover
The embrace of a long absent friend
Remember us—
our luxurious foolishness,
our craving for technology,
our crushing intellect without remorse—
Remember us
With kindness.
We loved
We laughed
We helped others when we could
Or when convenient
Cherish your world
As we did not cherish ours
Find possibilities in peace
Adore each atom
Celebrate each centimeter of your beloved’s body
And, in small quiet moments
Think of me
And my blessings
Afresh on you.
Victoria Anderson-Throop
Dec 10, 2012
The Ghost Train
North Wind, it was a howling, the sky was black as guilt
Malevolent the sheen, where upon her moonbeams spilt
Through the murky distance, her belly glowing bright
Roaring down the line, she was roaring down the line
Charging down the line, the Ghost Train rolls tonight
She glides along the platform, where haunted faces wait
With dreams of grand ambition, that only she can slate
The driver in his blood red suit, turns a skeletal grin
Toward the hungry hopefuls, then ushers each one in
From store to fire, his actions deft
The fireman twisting on his plate
Stokes the engine right to left
He fuels the fire of fate
He mutters and stutters, “We can’t be late”
For time is money and money won’t wait
With shovels full of human desire
He fuels the fire of hate
The whistle cord is pulled, the flag flutters all clear
The engine she is plied, starts the journey into fear
On it goes a rumbling,
On it’s round iron feet
Inside the folk are tumbling
From every leathered seat
Amid the laughter and the chants
What life, what love, what times
Everyone is held entranced
By ghostly railway lines
Tittle tattle chatter, ash from the chimney pours
Natter rattle clatter, onward the Ghost Train roars
Strange games are played
Some win some lose
Sincere thank you’s become mislaid
As each the other use
Beneath the load the earth she quakes
As all aboard debauch
Done deals and shady handshakes
On every carriage porch
Kerching-kerching-kerching, the till bell rings
More-more-more, the engine softly sings
From store to fire, his actions deft
The fireman twisting on his plate
Stokes the engine, right to left
He fuels the fire of fate
He mutters and stutters, “we can’t be late”
For power is waiting and power is great
With shovels full of human remains
He fuels the fire of hate
In never ending search, she roams across the land
Controlled by the evil, of the blood red suited hand
Through the murky distance, her belly glowing bright
Charging down the line, the Ghost train rolls tonight
If it pulls into your station
Will you jump upon its frame?
Will you lose all inhibition?
On your way to wealth and fame
For when the ride is done
There’s no-one else to blame
If you find you become
Another furnace flame.
For every first there is a last and this sadly I know, for every memory that I have with you has now turned cold
I remember the first time I heard your voice and the first thing that you said, I remember the last time I heard your voice, those words still echo in my head
I remember the first time I heard your laugh and seen your beautiful smile, I remember the last time you smiled at me, and I hold on to it like a child
I remember the first time you told me you loved me, I remember the feelings within, I remember the last time I heard those words knowing I never would again
I remember the first time I saw you; I remember the look in your eyes, I remember the last look you gave to me when you said goodbye
I remember the way that my heart sped up when you were around, I remember the way it stopped it’s beat when you let me down
I remember the butterflies and the way that you made me feel, I remember the last time I felt that way, the flutters how they felt so real
I remember the first time you wrapped your arms around my waist, I remember the last time I felt them as you tore away from our embrace
I remember the warmth of your touch, the feel of your skin on mine, and then I remember the last night that I spent with you as I will for the rest of my life
I remember the first time you kissed me and how I felt so complete, I remember the last time your lips touched mine and how you still made me weak
I remember the first time I heard you cry, I remember the pain in your grief, it was also the last time as well and it brought me to my knees
I remember the first note you wrote me and sadly I remember the last, now they’re just beautiful reminders from someone who was my past
I remember the first time you loved me and as so it was also the last, but the time that we shared then I would take nothing back
I remember the first time I knew that you were the true love of my life, and I remember the last time that I admitted this to myself, sadly it was just last night
So, for every first there must always come a last, and my love this is the first time that I am saying this out loud I am not over our past
And until the day comes where I am back inside of your arms or I leave this earth, there will never be a last with you because I am still reliving the firsts.
Love of Literature
Upon the nightstand rests my favorite book,
I beckon her to bed to have a look.
Anxious anticipation flutters in my chest,
As the day's worries and woes, are laid to rest.
Tenderly, I take her in my hands,
Caressing her cover, she knows my plans.
Lightly yielding as we take our place,
Willing and submissive, with gentle grace.
She's a beauty, in her soft subtle veil,
Gently, my fingers trace her textures, an ardent braille.
I know her body—every peak, every valley, a touch sublime,
Tracing her contours, along the edge, then down her spine.
Pulse quickening, eager mind,
Awaiting the adventure that lies inside.
With delicate fingers, I find my bookmark,
With heightened anticipation,
I spread her pages apart.
An intoxicating aroma fills the night air,
A sweet, savory bouquet, found in classic books so rare.
From the outer page, my finger glides,
All the way across, till I'm just inside.
With a soft, tender touch, I navigate the crease,
Gently pushing outward, tensions released.
With attentive focus, all the way down to the end,
Traversing to the other side, to start again.
Her soft, thin pages, a silky, delicate skin,
A gripping story, further drawing me in.
With the flick of my tongue, I wet my fingertip,
And turn the page with a single finger flip.
Chapter 3, it's just her and me.
Enchanted by her sultry love story,
Hopelessly entangled in her romantic glory.
Page after page, we're intimately engaged,
With kinks and cramps, our positions changed.
Playful paragraphs in passionate positions—
Quite the literary expedition.
Steamy, sensual sentences scintillate the senses,
Trembled? Or trembling? Lost all track of tenses.
Her sensual story, passionate and deep,
Inviting me in further, tonight we do not sleep.
Captivated by every line, savoring every word, I take my time.
Two souls entwined, one rhythm and one rhyme.
Dawn's rays through the window gently creep,
With a sigh, I slowly close the book, softly she weeps.
"Rest assured, my darling, you'll be alright,
For I'll see you again, another rendezvous tonight."
Of all my cherished tomes, she'll always be first,
My love of literature, an unquenchable thirst.
"We can't ever fathom,
when the ceasing flicker of hope
flutters away,
and
escapes to an
endless forest;
the only charm in this
spellbound life is,
to chase that
scarred saffron second
and hue it with our own
enchanting light..."
As the fiddling
crescent basks
in this reborn moonrise,
I slowly blanket
my soul with
shivering sighs
of frozen stars,
as they trickle
down my lungs
and echo a
scentless spring,
where oceans
yearn to feel
the kiss of
floral zephyrs,
tickling their
turquoise sirens.
Perhaps,
I was once a
lifeless snowdrop,
a stygian silhouette
of midnight which
wrapped those
neon skies,
as black ice
melted in cores,
when pain became
my melancholic
soulmate and no
philosopher's stone
could turn this
solemn melody,
into sapphire ruins
of remedy.
Since my spirit
has hibernated
in this crystal castle -
I've been waltzing
in a wondering,
did my eyes
loose their dazzle
and become mere
colourless dots
of an oil pastel
portrait, as
this quill turned
vengeful for
its own spirit?
Did I break
my own heart,
by watering the
macabre of miracles?
Fading in
marigold mangroves
that whisper to
my delicate muse,
I feel the breaths
of mirthful wingbeats,
ricocheting and
making me swoon
over a pedestal of
pure sunrays.
Have I always
been this alive,
where these pulses,
reverberating
in my chestnut skin,
could wake me up
from the crestfallen
slumber?
Now, as these
topaz horizons
unfold their
golden carpet,
embroidered with
velvet peonies
and silk carnations,
I slowly bloom,
with a princess-cloak
of fluffy feathered
petals, resting
upon the crown of
emerald leaves,
bathed in chic
chocolaty lakes, as,
~ an empyrean lotus.
So, reminisce me
evermore, as an
imperfect lyric
of a dusky
peach pixie,
leaving footprints
of faith in a
muddy reverie,
for, on the
bluebell crest
of lush earth,
reigns this
rosy Cleopatra,
rhyming with
jeweled perfumes
of tomorrow.
HANDMAIDEN OF MOON DANCING
fly me to stars in the thrill of one swan night
over a crescent arc to feel a flame of sighs,
teasing dreams so silent yet ever wild
and like a neon light, speak through your feet ,
your ribs twirling in drips of summer’s rage : throw
away the restraint of confined movements
dictated by a body unmoved; of a flower
keeping her flutters from crawling freely on grass
give me a sway through leaps unto ocean’s swell
without need for thought or reason, rather,
lift the flesh made from love or hate, to burst
with primitive heat; fingers liquid in motion unbidden
by a sacred place that doesn’t exist on earth, when
all but the fragrance of a naked skin expresses
the very force that writhes in the faint of depth,
licking the cells inside out.. weightless, bold, soft
dance the crazy dance with me just because
such passion needs to flow along rhythms
burning within… till a weave of spin breaks
into a trance blending a wanton glide with
pirouetting flights raw in some meadow clearing,
pious pose under the tangerine of touch…
handmaiden of moonlight dancing on flames
pluck those eyes ,rise above mortal remains.
©
*i tweaked this free verse with a sonnet’s volta
in the last two lines (10 syl rhyme count instead
of the usual 8 syl pattern)
----------
*Martha Graham is the pioneer of modern dance. As a ballet dancer
and choreographer, she introduced inner movement emphasizing
emotion, spontaneity, and an exploration of psycho-social themes
( feminism, political protest, and labor unrest)through free -flow
of innovative steps, thwarting cultural control over conventional,
metered dance. Her last performance on-stage was in 1970,
at the age of 76; she was working on the choreography for the Olympics
when she died in 1991 at the age of 97.
Graham was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1976
by President Gerald Ford and cited by Time Magazine as
"Dancer of the Century" in 1988, aside from her other accolades.
*Source: Wikipedia.com and www.voanews.com
*Please watch
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OUoMc5Am_c0&feature=related
‘ ‘’’’’ ‘’’’
For Cyndi Mac Millan’s Maverick by nette onclaud
Story of the Broken Hopefuls:
Part 1: The Doomed Beginning.
All is well with him
The sky's the limit
Your heart flutters
And you think it's just the beginning
The door is open but you're afraid to walk in it
He stands next to you
With not a scar or an ounce of shame in him
He smiles
Trust me, he says. Just walk within.
Leap of FAITH! he yells as he holds your hand and jumps through it.
You scream, no! I'm not ready!
As you grip the frame that keeps you from landing.
You dangle there oh so afraid.
He hangs, still holding your hand.
He looks down at the meadows and the streams.
The joy so beautiful and clean
Just waiting for both of you with glee
He looks up and shouts...
Please, trust me! Let go! Jump in!
It'll be scary at first but we'll both make it!
I'll hold you tight and it will all be ok!
Just look down at all that's waiting to be taken!
You grip the frame so tight
The only life line in your sight
I can't! You don't understand, I'm broken!
I'll never make it to land!
Please, he begs, let go... I'm here and I'm also afraid, but we can do it!
Jump and we will never land!
We'll glide, maybe even fly!
You look down into his eyes
The joy that once filled them, gone
Replaced by tears
He's begging but you can see
He's afraid of the dream
The gears are moving within them
The doubt, the fear, the shame
You yell.. ok! As a whirlwind of pain chills
the air.
I'll try! I'll take the leap!
An insincere smile fills his face
His eyes...
Still so sad...
You let go with your eyes closed and fall
But as you do you feel a sudden pull
You look around in a daze
Still there, hanging in the cliff just beyond the door
I don't get it, you say.
I finally let go. Where are the meadows?
Where are the streams?
Where is the joy that was promised to me?
You look up and there he is.. the one.
The one that begged you to jump
There he is holding that same frame for dear life.
Tears fill your eyes and only one word manages to squeeze so painfully through your windpipe...
...why?
He looks back in shame and with a cold glare says...
I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, I can't.
It's just too late...
He lets go and the room darkens as you fall.
(To be continued)
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