Long Foreheads Poems
Long Foreheads Poems. Below are the most popular long Foreheads by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Foreheads poems by poem length and keyword.
The Swallows
Like dotted foreheads of women, our land was dotted with swallows;
They had rap dances on the farmers’ ploughs and bulls’ yokes in the field
With feathery steps to the toilers’ footsteps till the land was filled with yield.
The harvest saw them fluttering about in mirth, mating and birthing new fellows.
When fields became housing colonies and farmers became paupers, the swallows
Too became refugees like humans without legs; their nakedness had no shield;
Their songs had no listeners; past pulled their todays as the future feared to yield
And stood still; droves and droves migrated towards pastures new with few fellows.
Gone were our dreams when mobile tower antennas began lynching us so much;
Much horror followed when fatal ‘hellos’ just snapped our lives like winged sparks;
Magnets and rays radiated fatwas to our stagnant gen; we flew away and away
Searching for abodes to perch safely and to have a rap once again, but a touch
On the tout corporate wires across fields make us cuddle our legs like fail marks
And fold our wings like feather blazers; fear of life drives us, to die, away, and away.
8th grade algebra class
Hyper chit chat from black-caped Louis
And his stringy long-haired buddy Richard
In the hallways before class they slap
The bare back necks of unsuspecting classmates
Stamping foreheads
Making the nuck nuck and whoop whoop of Larry Moe and Curly
That’s what they were re-enacting
With knees slipped under their tiny desks
As Mr. B has his back turned
Scratching formulas from his nails on the blackboard
When he pivots like a pitcher to boos
Lifts his toes to first base and baseball throws
The felt eraser full of all his mis-calculations
A lifetime of rage
Poof powder
Waffle imprint on Richard’s cheek
A cloud of chalk blonds his hair
Beards his performance grin
Richard has a look like when he’s seen his dad
Come home again and again and again
After happy hour
Leaps to his bedroom door
Holding the side of his face
“You can’t do that! You can’t do that!”
Out he disappears
Mr. B clasps his hands and fixes his face to his family
“Now for quiet.”
And we don’t dare say anything.
Everyone I see,
with no exceptions.
They vibrate off the planet,
and leave me as I wait for
my resurrection.
I look around my room
Notice they're still here,
only I can see their eyes
have far more passion.
Now they smile at me.
Their foreheads more serene.
The angel ghosts within me, without me,
that live below my dreams
for my redemption.
For them I only cry
until my tear ducts are bone dry,
my aching head is clearer, calmer,
and I am finally ready
to look them in the eye
with warm intention.
"We come from you,"
the angels speak my name.
"Follow us through pain and darkness
and you will feel the same.
Because it was ordained for you
And all your brethren
That your world be void of all its sins
And gentle love replace your blame."
For Contemplation.
While all the ribald pranks bubble,
made-up faces grin across conference halls--
botox-filled, pimply holes smoothly done
where bag of word- tricks fumble: and allies
looking like nitwits roar in noisy guffaws
bantering with other co- stooges
whose exchanges tangle in crazed quips.
A showtime of indulgent egos now outwit
each other… these officials unmindful
that polka-dot on noses, foreheads, jaws
concealed by make-overs are now melting:
Just then, a well-groomed speaker bangs
the gavel to end day’s hysterical circus...
tell me, how can inane clowns be worthy
of prime news when all they say are fake!
Contest of Edward Ibeh: Polka Dots
1/21/2019
Bowing to the East,
a sacred obligation,
comforting
and curious forehead down
to kiss this humble ground
of ego's straight supremacy
Including fat white men
buttocks up
and yintegrity open to receive
To imagine Allah's horniest Tao
amid straightest men
together worshiping Earth's political ground
of cultural becoming
Imaging an invisible economic hand
to massage
message
market
sell and buy and rent,
pimp out and plug in
inspire and respire and expire
speak and listen healthy/pathology signs
and root sensory communication systems
dissociated from ****/oral pleasures
and distended
recessive YangProjectile envy
never prayed
For PatriTheist's great dualdark
win/win transeminal figuration
swelling,
then withdrawing paradise,
like breath
and surf
and in/ex-codependent biformation
Climaxing humane/divine's Allahmin Integrity
without straight male overprivileged impatience
and left brain dominant expression,
extending poly-symphonic power and pleasure
beauty light
multiculturing fertility
reflectively withheld from aggressive foreheads
Gone
To receive sacred manly grace
beyond mere mortal
health-wealthing sensory freedom
for capital-raising
praising
saving authentic co-empathic face
Of Divine cooperation
ecopolitically
polytheistically praying
for bountiful
beautiful protruding co-predation
Whole Open SexSystemic fetal
on man's reclining
enveloped in worshiping knees
made for yintegral male/femate
feral
fertile imagination
Five times per homo-sapient day,
whether he needs it
or wants Allah not
non-dualistic pole through hole
through depolarizing whole
neuro-systemic NonZero binomial
nonviolent SafeZones
For root-systemic health
tipping pointed prime chakra
root communication
in SacRed Hearted resilience
Polyculturing wealth
of metaphoric language choice
through humble worshiping grace face
effaced
Front and back proud male bodies
out and in erased
dominantly disgraced
Misplaced sacred temple
resurrection.
Gladness oozes from Yolantha's fingers
Radiating warmth, gently caressing
Aftershock of angelic touch lingers
Tickles 'touchy subjects'; stress-repressing
Internal spark, external expressing
Filling Heavenly crown with jewels accrued
Invoking rain-dance-showers-o-blessing
Calming storms of amplified magnitude
Alluding, "All God's children are valued!"
Touching foreheads with fear-fever fervant
International Queen of Gratitude
Offbeat and earthy, heart of a servant
No worthy words from my pen: shooting blanks
Simply stated, "nothing better than THANKS"
**** **** **** ****
(for Yolantha Pace)
The Twilight Hydra
Between sleep and waking the ice burns in translucent flames
when our morning hydra sews its wings of glass
our block of solidified liquid breathes perpendicular
the descendants breaking the elastic of eternity in infinite seconds
The fingers think alone in the absence of our empty foreheads
the things meditate with our eyes borrowed from no one
the dirty railings clean their anonymous names by themselves
and we finger with our feet in the solid air of the liquid evening
One wears the trident in his eye and the ocean in his numb foot
another emigrates on a hermit island in his own navel
Tiga metamorphoses into a butterfly-crab floating on the wing of water
when our garages retreat into the twilight buses
We weigh with approximate precision the signifier empty of meaning
we sow birds in the flown soil of the subterranean sky
we couple with the vegetal hydra in its mineral-liquid dance
the secret masters reconstitute the planets from their own void
The seventh time the animal-tree will be born from its living death
no one will ask everything in the noisy silence of the answer
the nest under tile under bark under nest swallows its own interior
the agreeable bewilderment washes its hands in the dust of the clear threshold
The intimate guide satisfies us with its complete dissatisfaction
our dry fingers swim wet on the absent faces
the spherical square earth entices the repulsive surfaces
birthing us mother-gestures from the child-gestures never made
Our raspberry memory sour-sweet ferments in forgetting
hidden in its sincere trap that lies with pure truth
those who know it don't recognize it in its unknown identity
and we decipher the stunned clarity of the transparent obscurity
My forehead’s warm
But in my mind I’ll be okay
And I don’t know what else to say
Just thankful for another autumn day
Rose this morning
Sweating from head to toe
My bill’s been fed
It’s time to get the door
The phone rings twice
Looks like I’m gonna be tardy once again
Eyes blood shot
Just got over an appetite for gin
Matter in my eyes
I’m a casualty of laughs and cries
If the morning dew doesn’t melt the frost
Then anti freeze won’t pay the cost
Day by day
In a petal of dreams
I seem to lay
And even if the sun shined bright
I wouldn’t know what to say
Guess I’m thankful for another autumn day
It’s six past nine
And I don’t know
If my mind’s gonna outlast this wine
Push the door
Squint my eyes
There’s nothing more I adore
My face is not washed
And I can’t clear the picture in the fog
Early morning bug got squashed
I’m cold and shaky so I can’t make it off this log
My hairs not combed
And I can’t seem to think
Out of misery
And into life I can’t help but sink
Now my foreheads warm,
But in my mind I’ll be okay
Yet I don’t know what else to say
Just thankful for another autumn day
bunny heads
and spilled wine on the sofa
Minotaur on fire
and a raspberry doll
a sailboat in a swimming pool
and high foreheads in a park
a mime in a sand mirror
and armed homeless people
blue lips in hands
and Max Ray or Man Ernst?
graffiti in a coffin
and a skyscraper in a bottle
vegetable war
and a black hole in a pear
violin chef
and obese angels in McDonald’s
a paving on a water surface
and an auction sale in a wrong hour
colourless grass
and laughter in times of plague
fashion diarrhea
and a cow in a dance dress
black winter sky
and Cabaret Voltaire forever
dark red absinthe
and a hundred-year-old fisherman on top
murder on a chessboard
and dinosaurs in New York
cosmic mixer
and a smell of lemon fields
amarylis inside out
and a toddler in a sea shell
snow under the bed
and an orchestra at Mount Everest
space shuttle on the beach
and a night under her skirt
a steel ropewalker
and a flea in a golden cage
nice gesture under the reading glass
and a zip on the back door
calm west
and a key to deceased stars
labyrinth of cards
and a 2-D dinner with God (knows who)
all this and more
another time.
Our brothers were born upside down
They were conceived by mistake.....and
our fathers choose to call them prodigal
Who would have thought as much?
With their faces beaming with smiles as
their foreheads shone bright with promising future,
There names we never wished to forget because
they made us live reciting it again and again
But they ended up stamped on grave stones just because
they were too obedient to pick up the gun and had gone
Now we wished they weren’t born at all
We wished they hadn’t picked up the gun but run
We wished we were wishes
We wouldn’t have wished war.