Long Fluxes Poems
Long Fluxes Poems. Below are the most popular long Fluxes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fluxes poems by poem length and keyword.
Morning thaws into feverous noon, dusk fluxes and night dimly fades away,
Into a lonesome diurnal, nocturnal rhythm all woozy and gray.
Softly and silently you begot my heart’s love hope when there was none,
Securely you glided into my laxly life when destiny had me indolently undone.
Into my life you filled love when my fate on a platter offered me bliss trifling,
Niftly you surreptitiously left my antedated heart airless and stifling,
Gusts of malevolence vent out with arcane sprite, oh! these esoteric rifling.
Your comely face now seems to me an abhorrative visage,
Our bonds of love bleed venom from the punctured heart, painful seepage.
Urns of sorrow, my eyes grieve tormented, wailing tears toil to turn a new page.
Moan for you ever, my throbbing heart and forlorn soul,
Youth of my life spent with blood shot eyes akin burning charcoal.
Lost in fond love without you beside me, now and hear,
Over and over again teeming with your thoughts I shed many a tear.
Volcanic emotions erupt, as evoke memories of making scalding love,
Ecstatic desires drive me insane, but I live on like a lonesome mourning dove.>
Hands awaken! Speak out! Answer to sacred shouts,
subterranean whispering, to stars above rooftops—
thread sunlit branches with the chattering of a thousand leaves.
If fluxes and urgencies of confusion or death
should drawn you into your self-box, I say,
remember when one constructed self-prison fell away.
However you helped this forward,
do more of the same.
Be rain-hands, weeping, steeped in earth fragrance.
Be fingers in blossom, faces turning upward,
loves innumerable, rough-cut bedazzled—
unafraid to be splayed open.
Be pocketed hands, released to the welcoming wind—
multiplying there in mid-air,
riding the four directions.
Be hands of smoke and fire, descending and ascending like ragged bird-song—
effulgent, double-charged with surprise
and now even with mock surprises.
Start at the beginning, where you are.
Don’t be satiate with loll-lolling
recede wave’s tide, retreat back and back
into yourselves, until grown utterly intellectual and lumpish!
Now, you Human Being—you come awake also!
Sweep the furnishings from table. Upend the table lawlessly.
Bring the muscular, fleshy, feminine against the masculine and muscular.
Bring the masculine to the feminine. Bring friend to enemy,
estranged neighbor to the confidant. In a dance of pressing hands,
let subtle conversation play.
Ring all the tiny bells.
Stir the King and Queen of Remembrance.
In over-arching restraint, holding back one iota, so pure notes sound—
bring sunburst, sphere and harmony.
Make your entire body a listening board
forming therein—tender shape around which love
seed unfolds infinite spaces and then…
Spring awake! All to better dreaming
where hope and faith are undashed, not this dying.
O, hear me now! Hands, every which one of you,
with every human—never again sleep,
never abandon!
Occasionally we should expose the wackier lobe of the brain
in order to better appreciate the more sensible side of the mind.
~THIS is one of those times...
I capriole between my arabesques
fugaciously spasmodic in fluxes and leaps
indifferent to their misanthropic mocking
and cheeky syncopated schisms
BUT LET THEM SCOFF!
I derogate their arrogance
in silent smirking repudiation
for they know not of the decoctions
spating rapidly through my veins,
nor of the massive assemblage
of my miscelany grey and white matter.
The mordant humor of this absurdity
is that I am irrationally rational...
psychotically speaking;
I am dripping with percipience
sagaciously intelligent beyond the measure
of those cretins who kvetch, pule, and postulate
that I am strabismic and nonsensical as a loon.
After reading this write of gelastic absurdity,
it's become mereticiously opaque to me
that my discourse is oxymoronic, OR
I am a dimwitted addlepate.
There is more than one kind of crazy!
*********************
A translated version of the above nonsense,
so now Jan doesn't think she's hopelessly lost.
I dance as if I were a ballerina,
a total klutz, but I don't care
if they laugh at me.
LET THEM MAKE FUN!
I don't care if they smirk at me because
they don't know what I feel or think.
The funny part of my silliness is that
I'm really rational, pretending not to be.
I'm really smarter than I look or act
so let those idiots say that I'm
as crazy as a loon.
Now that I've read these words,
it's clear to me that nothing I've
written is clear. Soooo....
I'm either clever at writing an oxymoron
OR I'm crazy.
once aboard the desert submarine
anchored by the golden sundial
outlandish and phosphorescent
we crossed the greatness
of many drowned landscapes
fluxes of algae and shrewish freesias
cloistering up
dans le château à la lune
where the ragman’s lantern announces
the arrival of the fearful butter knight
he’s tattered and salted
the endangered specimen
straight from the cabinet of Walter Potter
the missing piece of a lifeless diorama
the granite giant of bronze ages
walking at the speed of light
he’s an itinerant vendor
and with his grand dexterity
he’ll get us before we
summon the witnesses
his crime forgotten
his crime simply victimless
once aboard the desert submarine
we’re outlandish and phosphorescent
and we’ll have our moon Halloween
and honeymoon of adolescence
Morning thaws into feverous noon, dusk fluxes and night dimly fades away,
Into a lonesome diurnal, nocturnal rhythm all woozy and gray.
Softly and silently you begot my heart’s love hope when there was none,
Securely you glided into my laxly life when destiny had me indolently undone.
Into my life you filled love when my fate on a platter offered me bliss trifling,
Niftly you surreptitiously left my antedated heart airless and stifling,
Gusts of malevolence vent out with arcane sprite, oh! these esoteric rifling.
Your comely face now seems to me an abhorrative visage,
Our bonds of love bleed venom from the punctured heart, painful seepage.
Urns of sorrow, my eyes grieve tormented, wailing tears toil to turn a new page.
Moan for you ever, my throbbing heart and forlorn soul,
Youth of my life spent with blood shot eyes akin burning charcoal.
Lost in fond love without you beside me, now and hear,
Over and over again teeming with your thoughts I shed many a tear.
Volcanic emotions erupt, as evoke memories of making scalding love,
Ecstatic desires drive me insane, but I live on like a lonesome mourning dove,
Reminisce your fond caress….very much…..my love ………..I miss you………….
2/3/2012
Inner Tides and Outer Moons
Just like Earth and her moon
Our own body-mind fluxes
With and within the cycle of tides.
Up-down, strong-weak, high-low
We swell and contract in a rhythm
That effects if not controls us all.
Maybe it’s even what makes us care
About others and what others think of us
Since without the flux
We’d be more consistent
And so more confident, less needy
And thus more independent.
But at a certain point,
Maybe what we call mid-life
We should have learned that no matter
The flux is ours and not up to others
To verify, confirm or even acknowledge
Who we are, our successes and failures.
A body-mind in flux
After all is a mystery
In the process of becoming
But after at least fifty years of becoming
We should have become familiar enough
To know what is and what’s ahead.
At least to know
That there will always be
Change and more change,
And that the key to a mature
If not always happy body-mind
Is a measure of self reliance.
(3/23/25)
This poem is inspired by Jeff Ripple's painting titled 'Stormy Weather'. You can find the link to the painting at the bottom of the page, and there is also an image of the painting uploaded with the poem. It is recommended you view the artwork while reading the poem for a better experience.
8th place brian contest winner
______________________________________________
zephyr fluxes goose bumps jittering across my flesh
Tempestuous weather looms on the wide horizon
avaricious storm intends to embezzle this nautical day
jeopardizing ritual of sun worship, prompting a solemn orison
gloomy shades interweave, enclosing glittering white clouds
vibrant azure iridescence fades into opaque hue spawning dour sky
peerless panoramic plug, thunder rumbling from nirvana
impregnable dimness hurriedly eclipses the brightness
Persistent tremors induce serene waters to wiggle
unceasing wails of celestial hosts cascade from bleak air
Natural forces unleash tremendous terrifying turmoil
wielding imperium forces to ensure their obedient yielding
Imposing coniferous Emerald reigns over dimmed scenery
quaint dwellings foster an alluring air, drawing their audience
tumultuous weather indelibly etched in oil glaze on linen
'Stormy Weather' by Jeff Ripple; his unique insight memorialized
winterparkpaintout.org/paint-out-archives-2015/
The Rubiks cube is round, observed at atomic size
To see reality you must enter, take a peep inside
I’m not saying pull it apart, searching out a pivot
But rather a microscopic journey, for our tiny visit
Photons on its surface, weaving around in circles
Can pass through with ease, external to internal
You see rotating squares, cuboid annoying design
Yet molecules in blank space, spiral together blind
Mosaic patchwork colors, atop firmaments of skin
Projections of light appear, as matrixes flow within
Pictels turning relentlessly, of indiscernible pattern
Interior fluxes created, hexagonal poles on Saturn
Poppycock you say, it’s merely a frustrating puzzle
Millions of us have tried, and most of us struggled
In truth that’s kind of right, solutions are in dearth
Lessons from history, of our once flat planet earth.
If the Rubik's cube was round Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
04/01/2021
I objestigate between arabesques and sleep,
fugaciously spasmodic in fluxes and leaps.
I'm indifferent to the misanthropic mocking,
that welltering inflection that I call plockingism.
It's their cheeky syncopated schisms that I rebut,
and yet they slantathunt for the right to boff.
Well, blanderluse I refuse, so let them scoff!
I derogate their impultritude and arrogance.
Drapple their smirking repudiation of my dance
for they know nothing of the dark decoctions
spating rapidly through my vendacious veins,
nor of the mastacular alter assemblage
of the miscelany grey and white matter in my brain.
The mordant humor of this absurdity
is that I am irrationally rational...
psychotically speaking, perhaps,
I am dripping with percipience
sagaciously intelligent beyond the measure
of those cretins who kvetch, pule, and postulate
their hate. I am strabismic and nonsensical as a loon.
Mayhap writing in this style is as tedious a method
of torture as it would be to dispropart a heart!
After reading this ranting of gelastic absurdity,
it's become mereticiously opaque to me
that my discourse is oxymoronic, OR
I present my ischemic side as a dimwitted addlepate.
I'm a conflagration of animation or maybe I'm just lazy.
I'm not of the artificial intelligence variety,
but there's more than just one kind of crazy.
Vogonese is a language that few will applaud.
I see it as a form of whimsical words, without a reward.
If this is the third worst type of poetry in the world...
keep the first two ridiculous rooskits in sails unfurled!
Insanity is bred in flompous fields of clantigendice clover.
Moreover, before I drop my plasmergent pen on the floor
I find myself crossing the threshold of depravities' door.
*Don't ask for an interpretation. I have no clue.
emotions................my feelings..........
They float aimlessly inside me and outside me on the languid wings of air,
To the home of the maiden that is far yonder and there........
How can my feelings, they reach,
without the valleys and mountains of emotions they crudely breach..
Alas! now I have awoken from my dream,
my feelings will flow likenever ending time and the gushing stream...............
Morning thaws into feverous noon, dusk fluxes and night dimly fades away,
Into a lonesome diurnal, nocturnal rhythm all woozy and gray.
You are unique and a dream’s reality,
Beauty and passion collides for your sensuality.
So sensuous you’re seeking stare,
Blinds me like the suns glare..
Oh friend of mine...
how many moons will have to pass for me to meet you and by the candle light dine......... ?
So sweet your face such comely grace
a maiden so dazzling and serene i have never seen..............
hope that stays that way.........
mystic glow will radiate it and i pray to god for it to on your face always stay....
Moan for you ever, my throbbing heart and forlorn soul,
Youth of my life spent with blood shot eyes akin burning charcoal.
Lost in fond love without you beside me, now and hear,
Over and over again teeming with your thoughts I shed many a tear.
emotions................my feelings..........