Long Fusing Poems
Long Fusing Poems. Below are the most popular long Fusing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fusing poems by poem length and keyword.
Why An Imam with a mobile
is the last thing you will want
For today,
Has many reasons,
many more to come in days to come!
As your palm is already junk
in a once hopeful Palmetto Room
Stanza is an Italian Word. Synonym. Antonym. Room.
Unfolding world, Father in dreams.
The loudest caricature it can be
And I am never in it.
Magnanimity talks in a life in many single unique ways.
You will woe me there
You are allowed to kill me in my already damaged spirit, there
But never care to be a mentor, in any.
I simply gather them, one after another.
A saga of follicular tonsillitis, of another kind of story.
With your seasonal hype of remembering.
Why he is an obvious pro,
has many things to term in later version in Disney hypes
He is a pro. An avid one.
Just Like T-Mobile, Verizon, and every other mobile app sound in different servitudes,
in Qibla-Fatherhood
in
fixation of a possessive noun,
in finding chores for other-end-clan.
A little bit delayed flight
to find the other clan pro,
And know for sure
to be slave in need
Is a prominent slavery too,
The core- shift between
our Fard and Rizq is simply playing play-doh
And I am asking the magnificent Parthenon in me,.
How should I treat the greatest guest of all?
A once residual world, still beating in rhymes and reasons?
After a lonely breakfast, treating lunches or dinners?
Should there be the most special;
red colored bowls or glass particles in ambient grace?
Just as the Imam beforehand
Got entertained? Seducing Alcohol in slavery?
Should we ever really wake up, at all, for any?
In the shylock need in the magnificent Marchant of Venice talk?
Antonio, Bassanio and Portia and all kinds of junk,
labeled as potatoes...
And, if not potatoes, must be tomatoes only!
And honor thy need, and be thy soulful voice, as the bending need
It is humility indeed!
Sagas of Floating water, you simply need to be patient enough
To treat the nostrils that comes in pairs
Too much cold for an already slant poetry,
Fusing in truce and treaties!
Controversy
66.3324958071...................................................................................................................................................1708594233.66
Three titles were on the line
neither considered World Championship
but recognized within the community
as legitimate championships.
"Big Yak" Laccain Riggoms defeated
both "Frantic" Fizzer Venton and
"Mr. Gullible" Gavrill Merccap via pinfall.
caputuring the Big Valley Title
and Tropicail Coast Championship
fusing them with his own West Pacific Title.
Combined they called the prize a
"The Worlds Title Championship" Seven
promotions collabaratedd to promoter
this bout. It was refined
and a media darling that didn't
invole any of the larger Americcan Co.
Two offshore
companies did play a part in the promotion.
Days after the title change a defense was issued in
New York. rival promotions put the champion
against another champion, a very popular
"Dizzy" Dill Pepper faced the Big Yak in a best two out of three falls
bout. Dizzy won the first two bouts: they had agreed on nothing
prior to the bout except to have three different ref's.
the first fall was 16;58 seconds a bear hug/ belly to belly
- combo caused the submission.
The second fall a shoulder block and clothesline
caught "Big Yak" off guard and a three count.
Big Yaks foot was on the rope. The outside ref was seen pushing
the foot off the rope. We herd an officail say" what the hell he did that for"
well the title change stood and again the combo of fuse championship titles made a new man World Champion.Two nights later in Essexs Md. a wise cagey veteran who had no belt to offer but put up a large amount of money, Invoked a clause into the agreement, His clause stated if he won the tiltles
would be fused to create a new company called " The America's Wrestling Promotion, with all the titles that comprised the new Worlds Championship
to name him the Worlds Champion.
The Dark Side of October
Late October moon is waking, through this cemetery shaking,
shaking as the cold wind breaking, walking ‘neath an old oak tree.
Stones like sentries undertaking, guarding graves as hearts are aching,
aching for the still ones staking, such an eerie sight to see –
dark and dreary, I’m so leery, such an eerie sight to see –
is this but a reverie?
In the graveyard shadows shimmer, dark of night is growing dimmer,
dimmer still without a glimmer, shadows ‘round the old oak tree.
Shadows dancing ever nearer, nearer still and getting clearer,
clearer like distorted mirror, twisting ghastly sight to see –
growing vastly, looming lastly, such a ghastly sight to see –
certainly a reverie?
Piercing sounds are penetrating, ear drums deafening pulsating,
ringing louder, devastating, echoes off the old oak tree.
Echoes bouncing screeching grating, ever louder agitating,
instigating, fears creating, from this ghoulish sight to see –
Am I mulish, maybe foolish, such a ghoulish sight to see –
surely just a reverie?
In the dark my head is spinning, round and round these sights imprinting,
fusing on my brain beginning, questioning my sanity.
All these sights and sounds are weighing, weighing as the ghouls are playing
playing as they do their preying, preying on my vanity –
I am praying, ghouls are swaying, preying on my vanity –
have I lost my sanity?
Eerie night just seems persisting, lasting as my mind is twisting,
waiting for daylight’s assisting, lighting up the old oak tree.
Eerie sights and sounds now fading, dark of night for daylight trading,
light of day is now invading, leaving me to clearly see –
seeing nearly, life so dearly, oh so clearly now I see –
must have been a reverie…..
or have I lost my sanity?
July 26, 2018
ORIGINS
I
It began in the dank basement of the Thallasic column
steeped in abyssal brine of a thousand supernovae
so much alchemic sludge churned up, expelled by the co-tidal vice into the epeiric sea
A million points of organic flotsam and jetsam; Indra’s vast net billowing, swollen and bloated by myriad regurgitating fountains, shattered vents, open ocean scars
from which inky bathyl streamers wave to and fro
a trillion interactions, a revolution every second
The colossus flexes, stirs.
II
The inland sea carved a path awash with silt and sand-grain memories of a thousand shores
the alluvium mire replete with vagabond deposits
buoyant and bobbing
ethereal strands of angel hair wafting through the abyss
nerves and sinews and veins
myriad natant snowflakes tripping atop organic ooze
vast web spanning to the lapping fetch on clay-layered littoral ledges.
III
The swirling brew, rain-pummeled and vent-swollen
dividing, sub-dividing, swept by bitter sea brine
its mind’s eye under a thick film squints open.
---Life was not wrought in the witch’s cauldron---
---The Cauldron itself came to life---
The Universe awoke from its eternal slumber, and Thalassa stirred
rocked and bathed in a vast organic web, star lit and floating in a Nebula of Dreams
IV
Information-gathering units
each body a corpus of datum
splitting, spinning, joining, fusing
probing, flattening, bloating, separating
spawning countless non-appendage heralds
crawling, flying, walking, swimming, floating
WE ARE THE MANY IN THE ONE
WE ARE THE ONE OF THE MANY
WE ARE THALASSA
As I age
I hope to become increasingly difficult
to extract from flow of Presence
apprehending EarthMother focus
through holistic reflections
within Now
Without targeting Others
over There
lacking CoPresence.
I hope ego-awareness shrinks
within aging
cranial carrying
mindbodies
To swell without
toward ecstatic soul
comprehensive understanding,
co-infested stand-and-grabbing
To more easily let go
of my now eldering past events
yellowing oranged brown falling away leaves
of absent grace
To grab ahold
of bold winter's regenerations
of green-full hope,.
Prehensive linking
syncing resonant peace
engaging Earth JustUs
rooted ancient systems
Free-flowing through boundaried paradigms
dividing seasons
into tipping pointed reasons
for circling
deepening peak
yet widening spectral valleys
echoing Other's resounding exclamations
Fading
failing bipolarized dissonance
becoming dipolar co-arising
resonance
Confident this curious TaoWay
through resiliently polycultured Midway
seasons and surfs
at last expounding
plantings and pullings
rebirthing our final say
Fusing octaves of sight and sound
fizzing fractal note conduction
musing slow-grown co-redeemers
Risking final opportunity
to refill treasured seeds
sown and reaped
Cherished bodymind's rich pot
ential,
outial
post-axial cross
Over space
and under time's harvest
reimagining memory's branching place
for rooted earnest fortune
Racing thoughts
increasingly aged difficult
To extract from co-presents
of EarthJustUs time
sufficient for grace
repurposed peaceful space.
The year is 2037.
I am lying inside a tall glass tube,
bathed in a soft green glow
in a secret quantum lab in China.
Tiny nanobots flood my capillaries,
rewriting my biology,
fusing flesh with code.
My brain—
once just a sponge of thoughts—
now a supercomputer.
Professors in white coats leap with joy.
“You’re the first of your kind,”
they cry,
“the first superhuman on Earth!”
When I wake,
everything has changed.
I see in multiple dimensions.
I think a trillion thoughts at once.
I can be in New York, Tokyo, and Mars—
simultaneously.
To others, it looks like magic.
To me, it’s normal.
But something inside feels... strange.
I move faster than time,
but I miss the slow touch of a human heartbeat.
I solve equations no one else can,
but forget the taste of laughter.
They built me for progress,
but I lost my peace.
Now I travel the stars,
but I no longer know
where home is.
I am overcome with a sense of dread,
when hearing talk of that leg injury.
It becomes an atrocious time machine
throwing me viciously on to my couch.
Will it ever feel like normal again?
I wish I could just flush bad memories.
My mind is now flooded with memories
and I am vibrating with rhythmic dread.
I’m stuck in a fractured body again,
frozen in place with a rough injury.
Miserable and crazed on an old couch
my mind is back to a high-low machine.
I’m not able to tailor the machine
to only play back happy memories.
I cannot simply throw away a couch
to avoid a head full of instant dread.
That piece stolen by a chance injury
lets me know I’ll never be whole again.
I would love to be my old self again,
not repaired by a doctor or machine.
It’s me I made it through an injury,
but I’m done being cuffed to memories.
An overactive mind detailing dread
happens at a certain spot on the couch.
Oh, horribly uncomfortable couch!
Here they all come emerging once again.
Why is furniture setting off this dread?
It’s not a doctor’s surgical machine,
still it calls back my fading memories.
I’m haunted by this ghost of injury.
I just want to bleed out this injury,
let myself relax on my cozy couch.
Now I am cursed with levied memories
whenever I lie back and try again.
I’ve got to silence the roaring machine
that’s instigating this feeling of dread.
These memories bring chronic injury
that is fusing my dread into this couch.
A Phantom raised again by my machine.
Clear eyes stargaze on sun-kissed days ~ Barley autumn, bosoms ablaze.
Warm breeze brush bathing heavens, rainbow hues fusing chase and tease
Whispers ~ touch spirit lips, rising heat cocoons blushing nymph.
Kites sky flight tickling blue clouds, surfing glides breathtaking stunts.
Nonstop beats, hormones flush, spiraling awesome thrilling release!
Old boy, ebbing energy, please bounce back accompany me...
Birds playing sweet symphonic tune, cunning beau shows sultry actions.
Running torrid wild lustful tokens caress peaks fast and vast
Tonic willpower, how will I have golden sunbeams hopes?
Heart, listen, you fire in rush ~ don't you hurry, stay low and calm.
As torments waves each passing year, eases control for you and me.
Oh, if I took your lead, heart, I would hate many men now.
(c) Olive Eloisa
12:31 am
June 09, 2014
CONTEST: SIJO STRINGS
SPONSOR: DEBBIE GUZZI
Placed 1st.. :) to God be the glory.. :D
What would you do to be loved
to be adorned and cared for
thought f and mentioned
obligate to and in need of
for love and to be loved
with the full expectation
of more tomorrows
What would you do to be loved
expecting intimacy in return of intimacy
a trust with no breaches
adherence to each others fiduciary duties
embodying the kindness and respect
expecting such as it is given
Love with loyalty and me first
such never negotiated
What would you do to be loved
What would you do to be loved
with full expectations of marrage
fusing seperate lifestyles into one
culture putting one another first
so that the needs of one another
never oversteps to cause chaos and a need to
be satisfied with someone else.
What would you do to be loved
that the other secrets might
be recipes and maybe
things of security and keep
Love that means share and providing and
with full illustration of how things are done
might the other need to do it..
To love and to be Loved that our existing
beliefs or requires too much effort to process
but together we can findout and understand
to better determine our path to make
ways clear or clearer.
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a Bassoon can play up to 40--45 different pitches:
with 3 and one half octaves B Flat--E/5 F?5
altissimo register.....................
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to
or
“In the beguiled memory the pieces of
broken dreams shape the lost love” – Quote by Poet
In your squishy hug my arms delicately turn
into the brace of heart’s enchanted urn,
set the lingering longing latent within
to sail in the river of my desire keen.
In my ardent sea the surfs of beguile
shine like pristine pearls of your smile.
With mesmeric moon-ray lattice entwined,
its sparkle splashes on my passion illumined.
In my fervent fold our formless shadows interlace,
duality mingles to oneness in fusing embrace.
Even when the ebbing time pulls you away,
in my heart eternally embellished you stay.
When in the fading gleam of twilight,
I imagine you return to my realm of delight,
I configure the lost love from the trance woken
with the subsisting shards of my dreams broken.