Long Frizzled Poems
Long Frizzled Poems. Below are the most popular long Frizzled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Frizzled poems by poem length and keyword.
Go into the greying dark night looking at the stars in the sky.
Stars glisten like a chandelier. Full of diamonds twinkling.
Almost like crisp dry snow sparkles on the ground .
As it thaws to blue and makes the grass a sweet green.
Birds land in the dawn gathering worms before a storm.
Wispy clouds like pure white skin. Start to have darkness muscle in.
How the sun gives joy to many worshipers of sin .
As a boy. I enjoyed the rain.
When there was a time when most had roofs of tin.
And like a drum the sound of the downpour echoed within.
Those are the times I miss the most.
That and an open fire with burnt toast.
The heat and flames from the coal.
Drying wet hair which frizzled at the ends.
Then rushing off to meet potential girlfriends.
I knew some who were down to earth and nice.
Some who had wealthy parents.
wouldn't look at you twice.
Its funny seeing them later in life.
They try now to be sugar not spice.
But there's nothing to forgive they lived at a time.
When their parents taught them not to be nice.
Living life made them mature and understanding.
Now they are surviving not just wanting.
And me well I am what I am nothing will change.
I will always expect the best out of people.
Just like what I always try to be but that's me
Not what's on the outside but what is within.
A good heart a real soul, how to treat someone right.
From morning to everlasting night.
To the day we awaken from this harsh reality.
That only loves money or material wealth.
I will always be the one who prefers health.
But those day are wearing thin.
Soon my resurrection will commence.
When I get closer to the chandelier glistening in the stars.
When others will attend my rest and say goodbyes.
But that will be my shell.
I will already be gone.
Away on adventures new.
Maybe we will never meet again.
But it was fun both good and bad.
I will never be sad.
Just hopefully glad to be happy anew.
And remember the words we place here.
Will keep us alive forever in the ether.
PROLOGUE
Umpteen billion years
Big Bang, supernova, gas
Brief eclipse of time
Gases swirling, fall
Sun and planets, water, goo
Brief eclipse of time
Another billion
life, amoeba, fishes swim
Brief eclipse of time
Movement, change and flux
slither, crawl, climb, walk and talk
Brief eclipse of time
Ra, Sol, Helios,
Mithra and the Mighty Eye
Brief eclipse of time
Life begins and ends
birth, joy, laugh, cry, death, and dust
Brief eclipse of time
Waves cleave seas, shores, skies
forever folding, pulsing
Brief eclipse of time
CHRONICLE
The Mighty Eye begins to slip and slowly sink,
(unfocused, stained, diffuse)
while frizzled waves imbibe her searing tears,
with salted languid lips.
The Mighty Eye, now weary, thin,
is gazing through the frozen cracks,
as sundry straying clouds,
bloated,
sidle feebly by
and wax their billowed tracks
upon the heated sky,
and cool the rush of rolling waves
beneath the blotted sky.
The waves
(impaled on time and space inside me),
gently tumbling aging pebbles
and lifeless shells across the shifting sands,
seem unaware
as they once again arise
to greet the Mighty Eye,
to close the Mighty Eye,
to snuff the Mighty Eye.
But then again,
perhaps the waves are well aware indeed,
yet simply unconcerned
and feel no need to care.
For, as the frazzled froth is rushing forward
madly towards the sandy shores beyond,
before retreating slowly,
then careening brashly forth ahead again,
eternally,
it matters little if the Mighty Eye will cast
her blazing glance from high above,
or else retire for the night,
kissed sweetly by the liquid lips
of distant faithless waves
in a brief eclipse of time.
Continued in Part 2
Form:
as a child,
I perceived
the wonderment
of Clouds.
and elders
likewise contemplated
the curious celebrity of them
the solemnity of shape-shifting skyships
their charity of rain:
encouraging fruit
greening hills
irrigating joys
keeping
watch
around the earth
in as enviable
a perch
as the risen sun
or mystic moon
that guides tides.
sun runs
apace
moon whisks
its baton away
but Clouds
stay high,
perpetual
imprints
covering Space and Time.
Could
Clouds
be God's eyes?
***
when I was
-abecedarian-
counting from one to three,
I licked my lips
at Clouds
reckoning
I'd catch them
like docile butterflies,
and discern the flavors of miracle floss:
must be rose-white sugar
some barley flour
lamb's fleece and goose feathers
the elders, lofty and wise,
disparaged my foolish games.
I tugged
on the edge of their mountainous faces:
wispy chins
transient strands
billowy beards
closest clouds
I'd seen
Proximal nimbi
and their dust trail
of ginger, onion, and clove
pulled pork, frizzled cod, light ashtray
lingered...
I caught
those crazy hairs
so hard
candy-coated
raindrops
fell!
On a cold, dark, dearth autumn night,
While I wrestle, nestle faithfully near my window pane
Over a long memory of callous and precarious heart break from a callus pain
While I stayed, stared at the glow worm's luminescence on a fig, at curved ends of their tails
Nearly torpid, turbid, toxic. Momentarily heard a herd of thud on my third roof
Conjure the golden, gladden owl, often of night companion, on trodden, burdened rave.
Proclaim, grinned, grunted in ominous more
Reciting my name Admore.
Dearie! My crematorium cranium insignificantly recast last day of February
And each last subsidiary day cast its memory on my burglary
Reminiscing that cluttered, clumsy stairs of irony
That gyred and gyred across the grievous sky
Across the pour, on pore of my poor friend Paul
Who had sojourn to hunt, haunt a lousy ant
Hope he returns soon before his son, Sean sees the sun.
Hope this or alack!
Or never more.
Then, I cast my torch, my stars train of fire, on the rusty roof.
To see this dreadful creature hoofing on my dusty hoof
Be it the golden owl. Oh, I spare not!
With chalice mixed with nectar and gall.
Or be it the blind black Bertsimas bat?
Heavens knows won’t await the orange cypress to flower.
As the trodden, torchy light glimmered on this dreary creature.
That had been deafening and dabbling the drowsy night.
Admore! Admore! Wake up! Wake Up! Mother taps
Holy Heavens! All a dream, all a dream. Nothing more!
Seeps in like a sparkle of bright lightning,
Rudely rough; like diamond unpolished;
In forms of thought or belief, heightening,
Stays inside bare vacuum diminished;
Propels forces of impressions within,
Comprehensive concepts clearly creates,
Idea and concept, yet, aren't the same;
When it is gruesome, facial guise goes grin,
With head and heart smoothly associates,
Idea is an unquenchable flame...!
Newton got it from fresh falling apple,
Archimedes shouted loud: Eureka!
Ada Lovelace, sometimes, could not grapple,
Though she was as full as angelica;
Galileo Galilee, through his lens,
Got idea of whole constellation,
Idea keeps up its vital rhythm;
Einstein challenged each philosopher, thence,
With relativism! What an ablation!
He had his self-tuned witty logarithm...!!!
Though flares in mind of independent souls,
Its ignition sphere is Hades-like deep;
Wedded with other views, gets greater goals,
Like snakes-mating, ideas dance and creep;
What else, than idea, does change the world?
Globe, today, is frizzled to finger-chip,
No morality rules have any say;
When tiny charming buds turn curled and furled,
When nothing,is, in one's fingertip,
Only idea can make its sole sway...!!!
30 April 2022
Before the day unfolds from crumpled sorrow prior to dawning
yawning fake cumbersome fawning’s creases nocturnal tossing
turning ragged motion rigor ante mortis refuses to leave the sheets
and pleated feat of forlorn furrows of a haunted mind and soul
The tired hangman’s girth and girders glide crushingly from heaven while
moon shadows’ frizzled fragments show no mercy reflect the blinding
darkness’ solar soaring cannot quench the thirst that is no more as grimy
star dust descends in acrid shivers on the burning frosty condemnation
A pillow case draped round the neck perverts the petting pecking order
of a reckless needy comfort long past the passion of redemption’s kiss
burst bent spent and hollow the cotton duvet draped in remorseful sores
blends easily with heavy weights and suffocating nothingness of dawn
When shadows leave no reflection as mirrors of the past and present cast
no more glimpse of prism when compressed condensation remains the
only lonely companion left to soothe like grating acid wounding scabby scars
all light goes out and vanished freedom plies it’s murky clarity again
Let’s get rid of that old antique thing, my daughter said.
Was she talking about the clock? Was she loose in her head?
I pretended I had not heard her weird kind of blasphemy.
That clock was given to me by my oldest Grandma McGee.
Sure, it was ancient, it no longer played a pretty song
Some of it had splintered, its chimes were abrasive and long
But there was a connection between that timepiece and me.
Maybe because it had come from my favorite Grandma McGee.
That night I sat up in bed, wondering if a ghost was about the house.
That clock was playing like it was haunted by moose and mouse.
My hair frizzled with fright, for I had not had this experience before.
I broke off three teeth grinding them; I locked my bedroom door.
Could not get to sleep the rest of the night; this was a fright, it was a fright.
Next day, I tried to give the clock away at the first sign of daylight.
Who would want it? Asked my daughter, it's scary as a gargoyle on speed.
I can deliver it to your house, however, if you have a desire or need.
Dad has ordered a new shed,
he'll site it in the shade
replacing the one put out by
the local Fire Brigade.
The wheelie bin is full of food
almost a three course luncheon
with sausages as black as coal
and harder than a truncheon.
Home made sauce clings to the sides
like toffee, not that viscous,
and burgers that could be re-used
on sports days as a discus.
Mummy's apron, holed and scorched,
no whiskers on the cat,
bare lawn where flames extinguished with
the neighbour's cricket bat.
“Will there be another one next time?
we'll have to wait and see”
says Dad as he goes to fetch Mum
from outside A&E.
His frizzled locks like coiled springs,
he will not need his comb,
but never mind, the family sings-
“she's coming home
she's coming home
she's coming,
Mummy's coming home....”
(* A&E- Hospital accident and emergency department in the UK)
He rode a horse he got thrown off
Onto the ground his head hit first
In a pile of manure horses pie
On top of his head he lie
Looked like a derby hat yah!
Getty-ap
Laddie look like a hat he wore
But it was just a pile of manure
She was a fair black lady
At the hair dresser
The weather man say yesterday
It’s gonna be sunny and bright
Yet, when the young lady left out the hair dresser
It thundered and began to rain
Uncovered her hair got wet frizzled and fuff-up
She looked like a cotton ball, now all wet she wore a afro
Lasses look like she wearin a British hat
2/14/24
For Put Yer Funny Hats On Laddies (Lasses Too) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tom Woody
Awakened
realizing I was in shock
she rolled me over
and did it again are you glad?
Sad a puppies brown hair
green eyes
frizzled dazzlers
gelled hair.
Thorazine hidden in my orange
orange juice
without a just claim to fame
dipped in a language
you can read on your toast.
Simpson
please rest with
Spector there
grow old and smile.
Dreams
mental illness
rushed through your head
no voice of reason, I
Hide in my bed
my arms are like a cross
both of my hands in restraints.
Rooms
with no exits
to many padded cells
morally bankrupt that shrink was let go.
He unfurled his sail
Then claimed us as his cows and sheep
and thus we smelt of sleep.