Long Glace Poems
Long Glace Poems. Below are the most popular long Glace by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Glace poems by poem length and keyword.
She sponges her face to brightness.
She has been depressed before
but this trench her mind trudges through
is full of a clinging dark mud
and she can't get out of.
At work she has to teach her hands
to do things she has done a thousand times before.
Then there is the mirror,
she cleans and wipes it constantly
but at each glace she sees her face blurring
as it leaves for nowhere.
She eats alone, the restaurant erupts
with an air-conditioned laughter
that makes her head spin.
Back home she drinks and drunks.
Her friend calls:
"That guy in Section D,
wants me. Last week still hurts.”
“This morning I almost didn’t.”
she replied.
There is a long pause,
duct tape holds together the center -
just.
I wandered round the lonely graveyard.
The few mourners did not bother to look at me.
I ought to know the paths so well
Ah there it was, unembellished as I had left it.
Silence reigned everywhere, except for some bugs
I began to wonder what I was doing there.
Then a small group of mourners appeared.
Four bored men carried a coffin, plain as can be.
The burial took very little time to carry out.
A priest mumbled a few prayers and all left.
Except for a woman all dressed in ebony black.
She shed no tears nor mumbled any prayer.
And then she left without one glace at me.
There on the slab someone left a picture frame.
Curiosity got the better of me and soon I saw
It was a picture of me. The slab opened
And I just entered my place inside and all was calm.
Fiction, just a ghost story
While walking I saw
something move in the corner of my eye.
When I gazed straight at it,
it was gone.
But, on second glance, askance,
there it was, again.
To and fro, direct and peripheral,
it appeared and disappeared on cue.
Head down, focused, tunnel-eyed:
I missed the cherry blossom burst.
I missed the fledgling bird's first flight.
I missed seeing clouds both sides now.
I missed the birth of mirth in common in crowds.
I missed the context of milieu's view wide-angled
With eyes binocular.
Head down, glued to the viewfinder, set to myopic focus,
I had no inkling of what I missed
as I walked.
Night fell.
I back-tracked the path in the dark,
under the gaze of the crescent moon.
But, the path was vague in darkness.
The harder I looked,
the more I focused straight-ahead,
the less I could see the path.
It disappeared from view.
I stumbled into side-walk bushes.
I tripped over a log.
Weirdly, the path loomed up clear,
outta the gloom, in every sideways glace I made,
Clearly spelled-out in peripheral.
Whenever I picked myself up from a fall.
or glanced back askew from the side-walk,
the path was clear as a bell,
in sideways view peripheral.
But, if I looked back directly dead-ahead,
to see the path clearly defined, in twenty-twenty,
it was gone.
The only way to track the path
was to flick the eyes
to and fro in glances,
into and out of the corners.
Like a boxer in three minute rounds.
I struggled ahead along the path dark and gloomy.
Weaving like a wayward drunkard
pledged to be sober as a judge.
Plying the wobbly peripheral path
with view finder
set to landscape,
lens set to fish-eye.
-----------------------------
21 July 2021
Central vision is weak in the dark. Peripheral vision can detect faint light sources at night hidden from central focused gaze. Peripheral vision is better for detecting motion, especially flickers. Perchance ponder the implications if you will.
----------------------------
A black dog has got hold of her again.
She sponges her face
to a more rigid mask of brightness.
She has been depressed before
but this trench she trudges through
is full of muddied water
and she cannot find a way out.
At work she has to teach her hands
to do things
she has done a thousand times before.
Then there is the mirror,
she cleans and wipes it constantly
but at each glace she sees
her face blurring
as it leaves for nowhere.
She eats alone,
The restaurant erupts
with an air-conditioned laughter
that makes her head spin.
She drinks alone,
then fills the empty wine glass
with salty tears.
She is not sorry for herself,
she is sorry for the black dog
that slinks in and out of her mind
looking to be fed,
but she will not feed it,
she must watch it starve
while she slowly climbs
up and over
her own daily bereavement.
O the taste of the first strawberry,
Wake up Marie Gaëlle, smile at me,
Your eye shines like a shooting star,
Pick the strawberry, crunch the strawberry,
Your tongue melts like ice,
Your tongue, suddenly is in love,
O Wake up, Marie Gaëlle,
Pick the rose, eat the strawberry,
Enjoy the first strawberry,
Makes the pleasure last,
Walk your tongue on the pink pulp,
O sun, you invent pleasure,
Wake up Jennifer, kiss me,
The first strawberry is the best,
It comes from Plougastel, from Brest so,
Pick the rose, eat the strawberry,
The juice flows on your exquisite lips,
Who are you young strawberry, a princess?
O the taste of the first strawberry,
Is like the taste of the first kiss,
Make it last, long minutes,
It invites the sun on exquisite lips,
What’s the point of lying? Once,
You’ll take a second,
O Wake up Marie Gaëlle,
Crunch the strawberry, the first strawberry,
This little moment of happiness.
O le goût de la première fraise,
Réveille-toi Marie Gaëlle, souris-moi,
Ton œil brille comme une étoile filante,
Cueille la fraise, croque la fraise,
Ta langue fond comme une glace,
Ta langue, soudain est amoureuse,
O Réveille-toi, Marie Gaëlle,
Cueille la rose, croque la fraise,
Profite de la première fraise,
Fait durer le plaisir,
Promène ta langue sur la pulpe rose,
O soleil, tu inventes le plaisir,
Réveille-toi Jennifer, embrasse-moi,
La première fraise est la meilleure,
Elle vient de Plougastel, de Brest donc,
Cueille la rose, croque la fraise,
Le jus coule sur tes lèvres exquises,
Qui es-tu jeune fraise, une princesse ?
O le goût de la première fraise,
Est comme le goût du premier baiser,
Fais le durer, de longues minutes,
Il invite le soleil sur les lèvres exquises,
À quoi sert de mentir ? Une fois,
Tu en prendras bien une seconde,
O Réveille-toi Marie Gaëlle,
Croque la fraise, la première fraise,
Ce petit moment de bonheur.
In the quagmire ooze of daily trudge,
where the mire of monotony
clings cold, congealed in sorrow,
it takes only a spark of inspiration,
to transform an ordinary morsel
into a shimmering taste of sheer joy.
Echoes that entices, suffices.
I carry my sample bag handy,
stocked with my pet peeves in reverse.
Tiny things that you take time
to notice, and create space for,
that bring gemstones of joy shining:
The smell of rain, with storm's first drops.
The wispy waft of coffee, freshly brewed.
A rare bird sighted or heard, out of season.
A few chords of a beloved song.
Warm socks from the dryer.
A wink, glace, a tiny half-backed smile.
First touch of warm hands.
Fresh bread from the oven.
Noticing my things I placed in extraordinary ways.
A doodle scribbled on my notepad
Inspiring word or phrases recorded.
Doing things at half-speed, to spool like honey.
In all these little ways on long days
these echoes entice, suffice.
As a slip of tongue whip-lashed a pun,
The hurt begun, could not be undone.
The room hushed, smiles withdrew,
As sarcastic pathos turned its screw.
A simple phrase — at first glace plain,
Was en-wrapped in a double-meaning chain,
It landed soft, then bit deep to crush.
Its brush on cheeks, drew a crimson flush.
Though we laughed at the unintended.
The joke offended, the defiled lay un-mended.
With any apology and explanation upended,
By what was clearly needlessly intended.
Your smile and laughter were betrayed
By eyes that glanced away and strayed
To look down, downcast at the ground.
The joy, once flowing to astound, drowned.
Now and then I yen for you.
I search to find out
What I can about you
In secret.
Where you are now,
Where you have been
What are you doing
Who are you with
I yearn to know you are safe and happy.
The details do not matter an iota.
All I want is a snippet,
A furtive glace from your life now
Back to me, a time machine view, a glimpse of you
Even if you do not recognize me.
To make eye to eye contact with your eyes
This suffices, even if only figuratively.
I know that we can never be together again
To try would be so destructive of what we had once, together.
To rake the coals of memories burnt
Would be too painful,
A fiery walk on burning red coals in bare feet.
This would destroy all the memories we shared
Photos are frozen images that do not age.
To meet again would instantly destroy those freeze frames.
Like casting those photos into the flames.
No, it's best to leave the well of what we once had,
Well covered and cherished abandoned.
That is why I think of you:
Just, now and then.
But then again,
Not, now and again, and again and again.
I reckon a vast symmetry
between sunset and darkness...
when shadows obscure the starriest scenery,
and clothe trees in tenebrous mystery:
I turn my glace to the full moon in distress!
Never disappear from my sight, moonlight;
ask the north wind to make shadows vanish:
letting the cool breeze return to delight,
letting stars reappear and dismiss fright,
but is my assumption of fear too brash?
Aren't shadows and phantoms alike?
They come forward without making a sound;
I can crawl slower than a snake,
but fog rises too quickly, how can I escape?
If I run, leaves will crackle...I'll be found!
Written on 11/9/ 2015
Let’s not make this so little mistake,
We don’t have to agree with Marie or Catherine,
To love a girl, she has other assets,
Her tantalizing lipstick, I think so much of her,
We don’t have to agree with him,
To keep a friend, Martin, or Gilda’s
Just watch ice hockey, or football
Just send your car to the next garage
Let’s agree, we don’t need to agree,
With everyone, or the lonely poet
Just look at the stars at five o'clock,
Just fish for large trouts in Idaho,
To becoming friendlier. Or listen to the warm wind.
Ne faisons pas cette petite erreur,
On n’a pas besoin d’être d’accord avec Marie ou Catherine,
Pour aimer une fille, Elle a d’autres atouts,
Son brillant rouge à lèvres, je pense tant à elle,
On n’a pas besoin d’être d’accord avec lui,
Pour garder un ami, Martin, ou Gildas,
Il suffit de regarder du hockey sur glace,
Il suffit d’envoyer sa voiture au garage
Soyons d’accord, on n’a pas besoin d’être d’accord,
Avec tout le monde,
Il suffit de regarder les étoiles à cinq heures,
Il suffit de pêcher la truite dans l’Idaho,
Pour devenir plus sympathique. Ou d’écouter le vent.