Long Gears Poems
Long Gears Poems. Below are the most popular long Gears by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gears poems by poem length and keyword.
"Bat Crazy 5"
Some say
she was batsh** crazy
life hits the windscreens
in the labyrinth of life
that way
the foot remains pinned
to the metal, fast to the floor
full speed, left brained left hand
holding hard-gripped the gear stick
an upwards inflection, “You know”,
in the Queen’s Land, "all under control"
the open palm under the shaft
moving all the way up to 5,
reflecting on the mirror rearview
she watches the eyes
of her child
dreaming of open highways
the foot remains pinned
to the metal, fast to the floor
full speed, left brained left hand
holding hard-gripped the gear stick
never once moving from 5
the left all the way up to targa 5
right hand up on the wheel
left hand down right up to 5
windows spitting emeralds
like a baphomet
the two finger salute
the other above so below
watches on
"here we go again",
the 1 above it all
watches on
as above so below
that 1's long-suffering
that way, aghast, but resolute,
that 1 has never-ending reserves
of eternal patience
and watches on
perplexed
her mind geared on
how to kill off
a spider
and his sister, next
changing lanes
easier said than done
when you're hell-bent on
Freedom
the highway sign
Happy New Year
flashes ever onwards by,
foot to the floor
left brain baffled
at forgiveness
at Christmas
long gone by
right hand on the wheel
left hand down
open palmed
shifting gears
accelerating increduality
towards the accuracy
in the justice of karma
drivers sitting on both shoulders
inside the vehicle
holding the wheel
the internal speaks
to the universe
listening
for kindness
and answers
on a lost highway
Blue Sky
nods, as if in agreement,
that 1's always amused -
but never confused, that way
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
“Is it possible to switch dimensions?
There is currently no conceivable way to get to these if they exist, and they may only be possible, not actual. To travel between realities, they need to be in proximity. To be in proximity and not interact, they need to be incompatible. If it is a compatible universe you could travel to, it is already here.”
"Won’t you let me know,
if you made it home that night
Oh won’t you let me know
If our bones made it home alright..."
The virile Knight gives evil eye to all
And champion to all who missed the call,
A long forgotten conflict ripped our soul
The virile Knight defends the final toll.
(In a hole
Where the bones
Of the bold
Smoulder cold)
A wisp of whimsy light ignites the breeze,
As fox-fire floats a grove of willow trees;
A devious diversion brief with peace
But conflicts of convergence will not cease.
(It has been said:
War is only over
For the dead and the dead
And the dead, dead, soldier)
Give glory to the glory of the dead,
In sacrificial life are heroes bred;
They find their strength above the maudlin din -
Aware of who they are by where they've been.
(Life can be confusing
For a Vet who lives it boozing
'Cause booze will lose its kick
And leave a troubled Vet quite sick)
Your faith in friends and God has disappeared
Still buried deep in jungle heat as feared;
And dreams of truth once dreamed in youth were vain -
Too vain a brain can make a brain insane.
(All young and strong
In Vietnam -
Till dead from the blood
that they bled
From worms deep inside
they were fed)
Your wife and children gone so long ago,
Her claim to fame became but shame's dull glow;
Her main cognitions slipped and stripped all gears -
Aladdin on a carpet-ride in tears.
(Full blown crazy
Was your Daisy
Quite the shady
Little lady)
Now sunshine splitter's split the light of dawn
To blind and euthanize the spermless pawn;
Our Knight complains about the awful strain,
The pawn is gone too long and dies inane.
(We pay each day
For check-mate fears
And turn away
From all the tears
That fall like rain
From children's pain)
The dead now share your bed inside your room
And you assume their AWOL from the tomb -
But truth confides they hide inside your bones
And soon you hear their rising manic tones.
(They died as we cried
And they think that we lied
That is why they now ride
On our bones deep inside:
"Alive! Alive! Alive!
Our souls in you do thrive")
The ghosts of comrades past do crowd my bed;
I retch from stench of fetid flesh long dead.
But dead now in my bed are heroes all:
Dead heroes in my bed who met the call.
(The casualties of war
When war be but a lie
Will wander evermore
For they will never die.)
This persona, picks up the mask he placed beside the bed
And the actor, feels the lines he’s already read
They hang their syllables on his tongue
As they breath into his lungs
Answered by a soft restraining sigh
As he buries the reasons why
He no longer wants to be a part of this
It’s a footstep, taken through a place he no longer feels apart of
As he is cut by the angles of the brick
As they force their intrusion with their ugly, scraping intercepts
While his eyes hunger for the leaves
He hangs poised between their branches
Floating through the spaces between the grass blades
And sees the prison bars
Everything, including him constructed
This persona, so ready in its plastic skin of parody
Hopes that it appears to be an acceptable front for normality
But behind his hungry eyes
His separation dances in the skies
He’s not crazy in the spin, but some insanity beckons him
As the prison bars grow wider
If he could only just step through
And release himself from all the things
He thought he knew
As the day break, drips onto the essence of sublime
But his heart ache, tells him that he really doesn’t have the time
The repeat run between the gears
And his place amongst the cogs and wheels
Smoothly jerk upon the performance of their strings
Just like the puppet of himself, his day begins
While every piece of litter he calls his dreams
Are blown into the shadows in his soul
The eyes see, but they don’t see anything anymore
They are a horizon, on a beach of some distant forgotten shore
While he hungers for the trees
The open fields where nature breathes
He fights to break his own perception
Alone in a prison cell of his own making
Every thing about him is scratched into the unyielding brick
His persona, so ready in its organization of plastic skin
Prays that he executes a well played part in normalities theatre
But behind the sadness in his eyes
All he was has slowly turned to lies
When he touched upon the truth every person keeps inside
The desperate aching in everybody’s heart
To be free of all the deceit
Which stole their lives, from the very start
And as the prison bars grow ever wider still
He asks for the strength to just let go
He prays for the courage to step through
And pick up all the litter of his dreams
And release himself from all the things
He thought he knew
My appointment didn't show up today
So I decided to hang out and play
I circled around Ellanor's Park
wandering about in the dark
and thinking about the road ahead
The rain has just fell leaving mud
and water on the swampy ground
The pokemon go gang was playing around
disturbing nature with their silly sound
They walk up and down the wet grass
communicating with their partners
One by one two by two they showed up and join the crew
As soon as I arrived more of them anchored down
creating nuisance and spreading bad energy around
Luckily the Gods were lingering by to listen to my silent cry
They came down form the sky and spew them out of sight
so that nature could sing and dance about
On by one they jump into their cars
and drove out of Ellanor's park
I closed my car and walked over to an old bulldozer
stationed on the park's ground
the equipment was so old
I wonder if I was still in America
The owner was not around
so I climbed up and sat in the chair
and examined the levers and gears
I was captivated by a certain power
It felt good sitting in an elevated tower
It has been parked there for many days
Rust and dirt was musing on its face
No work was going on and the pile of sand
stood waiting on the ground for the fix it man
The same roads that were repaired
has been dug up and repaired year after year
The paved parts are lean and bumpy
And when I drive my truck rocked side to side
Where are the professional engineers
Cheap labor has sucked every penny out of the mill grinder
And America's roads are in danger
I watched them prowling up and down the street
Trying to figure out my heart beat
But I sat in the big old bulldozer scrutinizing them all over
I felt a sudden rush of power
I felt like a queen in her parlor
And I felt like a queen riding in a carriage
Waving to the magnificent crowd shouting out loud
If the owner was around I would ask for permission
To drive it up and down and through the town
Wolfish influence peddlers
Big belly contractors and poor skills workers
has feasted on the wallet of the county for years
But now I am in the bulldozer and I am getting
ready to run some one over
America needs a constitutional face-lift
Here I am in this big old bulldozer
feeling energetic and strong
I am ready to dig up and tear down the remaining barriers.
Nestled is the slender twisting trail canyon between timeless steep
aspiring mountains and meditative sopheric sea waters
The frail road deepens into lofty thickness further from the harsh
volcanic valley where passion’s throes are ever in abeyance as days grind
on at a petty pace, as winding cathartic minds strive to be free and leave their
fears of mortal sin, intrusive family— religious dogma dismissive, oppressive
My yearning heart writhes in agonizing prose knowing senses magma
guilt etched into my very core, now behind
I’ll unwind, in a soft bed of sand that awaits
Spring’s strong winds of life call, visible the sea in the
distance, in instance, heads tilt, abut, falling upon my
wooer’s shoulder, he presses gears, downshifts reaching tireless
slate-gray force spreading over ocean floors flooding with no remorse
An uncommon gallantry he displayed, a warrior’s valiant looks
fired up my very essence
A dimming sun immerses into a hesitant horizon, sweeping breezes spin
warm spells embracing an enchanter’s realm,
with its charm he gazed into languid eyes
Silhouettes stark, foreheads bow, touch, sweetened sweat from
jasmine bushes alongside the road, perks of riding the stallion of steel
evoked smiles in sideview mirror, heated rims, spokes spun
Dismount a stroll, toes sank in sand, holding hands dodging driftwood
washed ashore, I chose a serpent shaped, a souvenir!
I’d glue turquoise stone eyes, a keepsake, or an omen?
Zena’s cove of guilty pleasures seal fates, certainly
not rhythmic lapping waves against the shore nor salmon sunset
or a waxing crescent moon, and not the wistful ocean’s teary spray
Its tears wetted my cheeks in afterglows
Lest moonlit sky amongst shy hidden stars
Pangs subside, panic betides, doctrine ridden not from our marrow
Womb’s flower in bloom, a secret kept, an advent arrival
The planets wept, forms beyond birth of celestial bodies,
one existence yet does sin exist in celestial angels?
He held tightly, softly whispered let’s run away,
his proposal on adulthood’s precarious cusp,
bestowed him a refusal, sweet youth ruins
Alas and alack life proceeds
steady as ebb and flow of the tides
After a precious gem she’s named, sweet lord
never more blissful, daughter
Caressed are tranquil ocean waves
These are the times you wish
you could pack it all up and be a kid again:
Take me away from the Now
and into the Then
(that's where I wish to descend)
Back when it was all so crystal clear-
just one emotion to steer the gears,
whether wafflewonder days
or weepywillow nights
(no nuance, no twilight)
Just perfect joys and poignant fears.
Happiness like butterflies-in-sunshine,
hopscotch-in-the-rain;
sadness a gray cloud to shut out the world
(the dust getting blown away, like autumn leaves,
from Monopoly)
The world was something to See.
Yourself someone to Be.
From the moment the eye closed
to the instant it opened...
... resurrection.
The monsters were beneath the bed, or in the closet--
(never once hiding in our reflection)
No possessions to speak of or concern us,
but we had Gold in our laugh,
a Sharpness to our gaze,
and a Sureness to our step,
from one emotion to the next
with no discernible causation.
"I am HERE!" shouted the feeling
without hesitation
(this, of course, the norm
before they gathered in committees
to make a sensible decision)
We were Fireflies--
sometimes on,
sometimes off ... but we always BURNED.
Didn't care a lick about the darkness
that grew weary of our light;
because we said what we meant
and meant what we said
(didn't hide from the Truth--
we were already free
to be Me,
to be You)
But the years soon passed as they so often do.
The adrenaline rush to adulthood finally came,
I can see it peak over the horizon
(...but I'm not Roller-coaster Ready...)
Yet here I descend into that maelstrom
where the colors twist and blur with every turn, jolting us here, jolting us
there
into that rickety reality,
reminding us our mortality
(Death just sitting there smiling that ancient fear)
We are all of us, strapped to the cart,
with nothing but our beating hearts.
And no one knows where it's going, but we're here.
Arms raised high until we die
(at least that's what my intuition is showing)
--
I now wave to the school bus
filled with adults-in-waiting
wishing I didn't know what I know
(someday soon,
perchance tomorrow, perchance the next,
that sunflower certainty
is sure to go)
"You're all too young
to not take in the sun.
Don't shed a tear,
enjoy it while it's here."
The clock
Tick, tock , tick, tock,
The clock bellowed resounding through my mind, like so many wood peckers drilling into a tree.
This infuriating clock my mother had given me
It began tick, tick, ticking away
The very day it entered my home
The very wrong dings and the dongs well,
It would surely drive my wife mad
She would rant and rave and I would say
It's a gift from my mother
Then it would once again be saved
Oh but that maddening ticking that, tick ,tock, tick, tock
This infuriating gift from my mother, this clock.
Tock , tock, tocking as it began stealing a face. Well I am not mad, I swear it to be, a copy was made but i swear it undeniably was my mother,
with mocking eyes as it continued the ticking and the tocking I had grown to despise
My mother's infuriating gift, this clock.
It gave me no peace that infernal machine even when outside her tick, tick, ticking was inside of me.
I decided then and there to stop the tock, my mother, with unbalanced levels of dopamine her pills could be switched the death quick and clean.
Still the ticking and tocking as she was taken away the clock displaying a fresh new face.
My mother the infuriating clock
It was my wife staring at me, amused over my torment, my mother was gone and yet she jested as she tick, tock, tick, tocked
I tore the clock from the wall and dumped it in the waste bin but the ticking remained tick, tock, tick, tock
It was in my study the following morn
Her face was neither tattered nor worn
My wife grinned at me her smile wide with trickery
She continued tick, tick, ticking, tick, tick, ticking
My wife the infuriating clock
We were upstairs one eve
A debate would ensue she began to tick, tick, tick
The stairs were so sharp, the floor so slick
I heard the gears shatter but there was no longer a clock, I wept as it resounded
Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock
I raced to the study but the face was replaced,
By a familiar tortured creature
Lost in time and space
The infuriating clock that I owned.
The ticking and tocking ebbed
Then a resounding click, then a tock, then a tick
The powder ignited as I lifted my gaze
My wife the infuriating clock, that my mother gave me, that held my true face
Tick tock tick tock tick tock
The blood runs down the clock
The clock strikes twelve
The ticking ends
Tick tock tick tock tick tock.
Walk these streets with me
Observe the cracked sidewalks
That poor people walk
And rich people balk
Look at the dilapidated strip malls
And broken down concert halls
Once resplendent and representative of the American Dream
Now a bitter reminder of an empire in decay
And it's not okay
But we're living in the ghost of glory
A former empire set on fire
We're in dire but led by liars
Serenaded by choirs of bugs and mice
It was the middle class who paid the price
Whose feelings might as well be chiseled with ice
Because we're melting in the pot
As our dreams begin to rot
With nary a thought from the billionaires
Who will be there but without a care
Walk these streets with me
Look at the hopeless eyes
Starving and fed up with lies
We sold the American Dream
For an American meme
The gears of capitalism keep turning
As the cities keep burning
We greased the gears with blood
And enough tears to cause a flood
Suffering so much we can't fight for our own life
As the media sows seeds of division and civil strife
And when you speak out
They'll break you down and make people doubt
But walk these streets with me
Look at the grafitti on the walls
It's heartfelt and more inspired than what the media calls
Cinema which is just there to distract
From the fact that we're on the wrong track
And even worse on the wrong train
Filled with those who COVID-19 has slain
But if I have your attention folks
Don't forget he who called it a liberal hoax
Look at the fires in California
Look at the water level rise
We're on a path to demise
Look at the hurricanes
Every summer bringing fresh pain
Look at the wealth increases of Bezos, Musk, and Gates
The grass is greener on the other side but this is our fate
Walk the streets with me
And look with me
The Panama Papers
The Pandora Papers
The convenient death of Epstein (he didn't kill himself, did he?)
All to protect the cowards in power
But like the energizer bunny we keep going
And going and going and going and going
Only the batteries are finally dying
And the leaders play games and are lying
Knowing we're running out of time
Just walk with me and look at the grime
Look at the America you don't see on TV
It's where you will see me
And millions just like me
And maybe you'll see this idea that we're free
Is just a fantasy
Creaky wood floors give me away as
I roam the hallways of this ramshackle fortress.
These old empty veins that used to carry life
Rusty nerves are dulled and mute
I walk a well worn path, softly.
Curtains always drawn
They shouldnt see
But, It’s Spring again
I bet that weeping cherry is blooming
Seems so empty now
And it’s aged so much
The many coats of peeling paint
Just like tree rings,
The feel like eons
Hallway walls are mostly mirrors now
It makes them seem more vast,
Nicotine stained outlines
of lovely things that once hung there.
Call to me
Poking from behind the mirrors
They Haunt me,
Tease me,
shoot daggers into my eyes
I don’t look in mirrors anymore.
Too likely to see my reflection
And there’s always a new one to avoid.
I cant remember what I look like.
I just remember scared red eyes
So, I look straight ahead,
And focus
focus
focus
I’ll follow a familiar path
Straight from their hallway
To the boiler room
That old heart
pumps it’s dust and mud
That loyal heart,
Keeps this place alive
That broken heart
feels like home
The gears start to rattle,
But I know how to soothe them
There’s threads to pull
And gauges must remain below tolerance.
I don’t dare leave them for long: focus.
At least there’s no windows or mirrors down there.
Straight back to my favorite hallway soon as it’s safe
I don’t look in their rooms anymore.
But I press my ear to the doors so I can hear them
The the worn echos of laughter where they used to play.
Like an old polaroid, that’s fading to white noise, or a record that’s been played too many times.
I convince myself I see their shadows moving under the doorway
But I feel them fading.
So I must not disturb what’s left
Tight grip: focus
Footsteps litter the hallways
I only step where I’ve stepped before,
so I don’t disturb what’s left of theirs
But they’re filling with dust like morning snow on yesterdays sled trail
They’re all mapped in my mind now.
Every detail
For a moment,
I clear my mind
I think of waves,
fresh paint,
Dirty feet
Sunrises
And special tear drops
But with a twist of the gears
I’m reminded there’s no time for nostalgia.
Maybe tomorrow
It’s time to go sit with that poor boiler
And watch the gauges
after one more quick listen for the lovely echos.
Dawn Forever Rising
It starts
Street lights fade
their tiny soft-winged tenants flee
checkerboard facades change
last night's illumined squares now dark
become but yesterday's portals
some polished
some weather streaked
all reaching to reflect first breath
Steam ascends from the city's vacuum
gratings rattle with subterranean yawning
people-movers wind their way
through mazes of starts
stops
Topside tracks
like fixed contrails
glisten with frost
not yet enjoined by speeding transit
their skeletal tributaries
readying the trickle of humanity
into a mass ocean of glass and steel survival
Uptown
Downtown
A street sweeper's tire rubber and swirling brushes
beneath the overalled believer in Lottos
holding firm the wheel and gears of faith
of trust
gathering gutter-lodged disposal
glass and plastic
paper and cardboard
spinning into the vortex
lifting yesterday's careless cast-offs
inviting today's Starbuck anew
reflections of another kind
Leashes strain from anxious sniffing
bladders hold
ready to burst
seeking just the right tree
the right hydrant
the "ah, yes" that only a canine can know
Rays of sun begin spilling down alleyways
the long-tail rodents scamper for cover
their bellies full
seeking safety after a long night of ancient ritual
food of anything
digestion of history
all in a night's work
Suddenly
Full light cascades down avenues and streets
itinerant pigeons and seagulls spread habitual wings
ready to adore the steadies
the loners
park walkers
window ledge dependables
homeless with dance cards of crumbs
envying the moneyed insomniacs throwing chunks
baguettes gone stale
fit for few
a feast for many
senses loving the coos and warbles
the bobbing thank you
the reciprocal bonding
few but the lonely can appreciate
Finally
The steel and glass imitation of nature
comes fully alive
a sun's illumination without reserve
energy's provision for another day
Rich mix with the poor
money exchanges hands
the hotdog vendor
the hedge fund taker
the cookie jar provider
Most become tomorrow's yesterday
knowing little of the other light
requiring no rising or setting
illumination that never grows dim
something as nothing
forever light
never of darkness
Such for some
awakens from a New York sunrise
this dichotomy like no other
forever reminding
our eyes of dawn
one's inner light
is forever rising