Long Gloaming Poems
Long Gloaming Poems. Below are the most popular long Gloaming by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gloaming poems by poem length and keyword.
I forgive the stars sleeping in nothingness,
too afraid to embrace eclipsed spheres…..
In the midst of sweltering gloaming,
I ascend, obscured and tarnished,
like a tainted trinket lost
in the tangerine haze.
For I’ve long been burning
from the coals of stigma~
stamping labels upon troubled torrents,
using malignant metals,
mirroring the fear within lichen eyes,
consumed by ancient
arrows of anguish~
from the era of Hercules and Midas.
But if only they knew, there is
no remedy for the jaded jewels that
refuse to sparkle,
for my purity remains unseen in
growing darkness,
oblivious to the liquid gold
that flickers compassion,
as they see not
beyond their fractured vision.
O distorted colors of the sun,
I’m not your perplexed perspective;
I breathe in hues of humanity,
infused with luminous lavender.
I’m not a Medusa siren luring you
to serpentine rocks;
I swim in chromatic, evanescent streams,
brimming with blissful bioluminescence,
illuminating my way under the midnight sky.
I’m not the suffocating wintry winds
freezing oxygen in your lungs.
While it seems your tongue is silenced
and tied to the twisted strings
of broken instruments,
I ink words of hope and
empathy upon your cynical skin.
I am more than the blind rage
seeping in fury.
I’m not a heartless harpy
screeching into the emptiness~
drenched in despair,
pushing boundaries to
the ends of the earth.
I am Atlas holding the world on
his shoulders,
I am the glistening stars aching
to touch the silver ring around
the jasmine moon.
But life is like a helix fixated
on unconscious bias,
constantly critical of diverse dialects,
watching me struggle to stand
under the weight of pressure,
knees buckling as your assumptions
lacerate me, breaking me down,
burying me in your ruthless riddles.
I feel rumbling dirt beneath
my bleeding feet.
My sarcophagus is rising,
built from your putrid ideals of me.
Losing footing, I refuse to fall into
the seething seas of sorrow.
So remember, I was never
the soulless monster hiding
beneath your ignorant bed.
But I am now the skeletons
etched within the cataclysmic
aftermath of your
shallow misconceptions.
The campaign …
was over -
he, the last left alive on the
field of battle, and barely, at that …
his men had fought valiantly -
the odds were never theirs,
yet he was content in
their efforts, and more than proud …
the sky,
Payne's Gray and brooding -
the drab-but-stark background for
giant flecks of snow that
swung fro-and-to as they drifted -
as if sewing the aching February sky to
the crumbling castle bulwarks that
rose angrily from
the white-dusted hills below ...
or perhaps, like himself, just indecisive -
weary of wind and waft and
the willowy billows that birthed them,
as weary as he was of war -
war and weariness, itself ... its
ire filled his marrow with a longing for
love and life ... and COLOR ...
these wretched, barren highlands
were ashen and lifeless now,
dull and splotchy like
his rusted armor -
his once treasured fortress,
all but ruins and rubble and regret -
the only blush that met his gaze
was the crimson trickle of his own blood
as it drizzled from his beard to
paint the snow - perfect, white snow ...
faultless ... pure ...
and yet ...
in less than three full faces of the
moon, these slopes would
be bursting with heather and the
hues of burgeoning blooms -
pregnant with hope and heavy
with springtide wonder ...
he would never see it now,
his mortality written red in the snow,
but he could FEEL its approach!
he closed his eyes tightly,
sucked the keen winter wind deep
into his being - frozen flakes tickling his
nostrils and throat and lungs ...
he breathed in again -
each cold crystal inhaled, a tiny blessing -
a brisk reminder of special things,
moments of joy and pain,
marvelous things he had done and seen and felt,
tastes and aromas and aches ...
and lovers ... oh, most especially those!
precious, warm, bitter passions and
the beautied beings that
had conveyed them - the souls he
had swum up and lost all his senses in,
and the one - the ONLY one -
who had captured his much-too-jaded heart ...
he took one last, rooted breath,
counting the cold flakes as they melted
inside him - remembering each as a
kiss SHE had given him on special occasions,
and as darkness fell about him AND on ...
he opened his dimming eyes -
watched his final exhalation turn to frozen
mist in the Scottish gloaming …
and smiled.
“Chasing Ghosts in Cars”
Like automata
we walk inside
winding up the stairs
it’s all mechanical
the romance
programmed
by steep degrees
in the
well-routined
we can walk
through walls
anywhere
to look out
our windows
towards the better view
each cell in the body
and mind renewed
we expurgate
the misplaced
misconceptions
of others, of ourselves
it’s fair-weather sailing
out there,
the transparent come and go
best to turn
a blind eye
a swift kiss on the cheek
make it brief
then close all
your doors
to their artful dodger hauntings
friendships and felicitations
their joyful gleaming commiserations
whole oceans
full of souls
walking and swimming
treading water
all the floating
poesies planted
mindfully fragrant
fresh bits thrown
parlayed introspection
deliciously blooded with the sharks
such hungry poets
with a well-adjusted
deep knowing
and a quiet
unthorough
understanding
of another
unknown equation
in the real world
never making
premature
judgements
outside is a risk
we all take
we write what we know
we know what we write
ghost written
in the Daily Phantom
in the gloaming fantasy
there still exist
real ghouls calling us in
hungry for kindness
burying pity for
the honesty it lacks
inside we are listing
the volume we turn up
to hear messages better
we are
listening
to cars
lyrics
we wish you
to know
to be understood
when you are
chasing ghosts
some say
they’ve gone too far
they’re too far gone away
forget-me-knots
hanging loose
chasing ghosts in cars
Machiavellians
gone astray
the naked minds
of
undressed nuns
and
sanctimonious preachers
oiling their guns
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“Here in my car
I feel safest of all
I can lock all my doors
It's the only way to live in cars
Here in my car
I can only receive
I can listen to you
It keeps me stable for days in cars”
listing/nautical.
“Listing” is a nautical term to describe when a vessel takes on water and tilts to one side. A ship can list either to port (left) or starboard (right). By contrast, a ship is said to be “trimming” when she tips forward or backward.
5/9/22
Let me change my toning
Skills mastered and others still honing
I am not droning
People to this day passed away from a stoning
Continually condoning
With no cease to cloning
It's become often and corroding
Occasionally exploding
All the while a struggle to break through the coding
Something worth noting
It's harmful not beneficial, yet constant doting
Still too much gloating
Evil agendas many have been secretly promoting
Originally got to the spot by boating
Then thrown overboard now saturated and soaking
The body would be floating
Due to bloating
But it was weighed down from others hoping
It'd never see the light of day, or an investigation probing
More or less
Cause and effect
Correct, I'm still pot smoking
Go ahead and ask me how my battle with alcohol is going
I start dozing
From overdosing
Little if any good that did like loafing
And postponing
As well as screens always loading
It's a joke, no I'm not joking
Still adding fuel to the fire with prodding and poking
Eventually leading to a struggle involved with choking
For one party the outcome was croaking
A process of life and death, living or decomposing
All this goading
And foreboding
Opportunity remains yet the door is closing
Either after it or just ogling
It's pathetic or engrossing
Having to do with an article of clothing
Or a sharp point dipped in a toxic coating
Meanwhile maniacal egos they're stroking
No I'm not joking
Like all the boasting
Is there such a thing as safety when danger is always approaching?
Treated like garbage it's gross to me
In the end it always benefits them mostly
Just the truth, not looking at it morosely
Homie
Pay attention closely
Instead of overlooking it all like it's bologna
Regardless of it being clear, rainy or snowing
The wind calm or harshly blowing
You're out of the loop or knowing
Impacting how waters are flowing
Endlessly on it's growing
Radioactive and glowing
Causing harm with no chance of slowing
This is what evidence has been showing
Whether or not it is the time of gloaming
To this day still roaming
It's worldwide not just in Wyoming
Like a rabid beast at the mouth foaming
Toward their desires always combing
With missiles that are homing
"Aurora Spills"
Aurora spills like a waterfall
light from the eyes
saltwater tears
crocodilian
scaled in the weight of worth
a drop in the ocean of fate
breaks the seaweed fields of stories
they wave her in
rippling time away
fingertips dance mesmerising
the stinging strangers
wrapped around her legs
treading water in deep
infested notions
the coolness of
irreverent nonchalance
romantic or not
pulls her under covers
like warm blankets
heavy comfort
calls the broken
floating towards
the shabby matrix
new gates of life open
mirrors crack like eggs
the vision reflects
both light and dark
demon and saint
their remnants
embers, still
in the coldness
of prickly gloaming
like glow worm glen
fireflies red and glowing
sparks ignite
a rapturous bushfire
from cinders
billy tea leaves overturned
empty cups read
the yolk of a heart
never lies
fried casually
by the over easy
in shallow pans
of poetry
under microscopes
of blithe mordant critique
minute shards of gold
are slowly sifted
from the flotsam dross
some wisdom found
in the muddy fertile mind
shooting up
from 6ft underground
like small green plants
growing under rocks
with centipedes and
the petulant poison of spiders
in pink reflection
insurgence blooms
war never waits
silently the Pandoras smile
understanding all and nothing
of a small life distended,
swelling love
for that which was stolen
where bursting broken blue weeds
undo frozen jewels
diamonds sharp for the cutting
shiny words spells of insanity
delicious moments
melting time swallowed
spoken without voice
listening to ghosts
scratching through walls
where life floods
from glass boxes
coffins of buried treasure
banished
kaleidoscope colours
overgrowing
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“The Lady in the Lake”/ Elysian Fields
https://youtu.be/IjX8xfZ7sg0
“Out of whose womb came the ice
And the hoary frost of heaven
Who hath gendered it
The waters are hid as with a stone
And the face of the deep is frozen”
LYRICS/ “The Lady in the Lake”, Elysian Fields
https://genius.com/Elysian-fields-lady-in-the-lake-lyrics
I kissed her
like I had a thousand thousand other times
it was ...
similar -
the same movement and press
the same taste
the same lips and mouth and tongue
the same warmth and wildness
and yet ...
it was like kissing a stranger
something intangible had changed it entirely
and my heart dropped like lead ...
instantly, my eyes shot open
and I backed away from her
holding her at
distance with outstretched arms
tears already staining my face
(now pale as the moon)
"oh dear god!" I cried
"you didn't ... you promised!"
and it ALL changed then
as if I was seeing someone I'd
never met before
though I'd spent more than half my
life with this person
"you don't understand", she replied
"you CAN'T understand,
because you're not like ... US"
and it was that last word that killed me
I knew then I'd lost her for good
that no matter what I did
she would forever be a million miles away
and part of an existence that
saw me as inferior, weaker ...
even pitiable ...
she had gone through “The Conversion", you see
two-and-a-half million dollars
(Daddy’s moolah, of course)
and a week in the facility
and now ... reborn!
a cloned body that would never age
never realize disease
never end, but for unnatural means
or accident
and even THEN
there was another version waiting
her mind, id, emotions, passions, psyche -
all that made her HER -
saved to a hard drive
and ready for download ...
I could already see the ‘poor mortal’ pity
in her eyes
and I already hated her for it
I let go of her and stood there a moment
taking a mental picture
while the foolish tears streamed
"you've killed us", I said
and I waited ...
for an apology
an argument
a slap, a tear, a sigh
SOMEthing ...
but she just stood there
pitying me
and I could take no more ...
"I will miss you", I whispered
"but I won't miss this ... THING"
and I poked her angrily as I bit that last
word off like poison …
it was a brutal comment
but it was the only ammunition I had ...
I took the gold ring off my finger
kissed it tenderly
dropped it at her feet
wiped my face dry
and walked away into the gloaming
more alone than I’d ever been …
before.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, December 29, 2022
“feeling not thinking, soul with love linking ~
we attained God consciousness unblinking" ~ Unseeking Seeker
L e t t e r s
I weave with
tears of twilight,
wishing written words would
reach selenite stars of lyrical longing,
singing sparks long veiled~
linking verses from the
cosmic consciousness
to your soul in sublime silence,
near the mind of your heart,
scribbling poetic quotes~
while the demise of ego
illuminates internal thoughts
like the hyacinth halo of moon-glows
crowning the third eye~
waltzing through astral realms,
amplifying awareness,
from the heat of the throat chakra,
transcending beyond
the bluest of horizons
to etch the emerald empyrean
with strokes of galactic gold,
forsaking forests flourishing
with fickleness and greens of greed.
When warm is the dawn
and bright is the dusk,
when sleep is no longer
a perplexing paradox
with no ultimate antidote~
but a remedy of divine trust,
when love is more
than a perfumed prose,
painted with illusive imagery.
When distance is a mere myth,
as flames of forgiveness twirl
beneath the same sky,
reminiscing acrylic sunsets
bathed in aesthetic wisdom~
a mystical essence
enhanced with inner zen…
To feel the pulse of peace beyond
what the eyes could see,
for it is through the psyche
we learn to draw
constellation of solace…
Remember, love is an eagle
with white rose feathers,
fragranced in everlasting devotion,
d e s i g n e d and dressed
in diamond-glazed contour…
Tonight, I refuse to breathe
lies that linger,
I’ve long been a faithful slave
to the sacred lanterns,
flickering blissful blurs
upon landscapes of loneliness~
to be the rainbow radiance,
steering suspended odysseys
onto a pristine shore of
porcelain peacefulness.
There you’ll find
footprints of believers,
secured and sketched
with herbs of h a p p i n e s s
on the face of handcrafted mirrors~
and scattered sea-shells
like rainless reflections
of glimmering gloaming,
an unblinking flame of clarity and truth
in timeless credence,
connected to the soothing rhythm
of the celestial rivers
rippling with runes embraced by
the Almighty’s heartbeat.
I rise from the white-wine siesta,
letting go of the serpentine songs,
like a crimson-winged dragonfly
lost in the poppy prairies of Persephone,
untangling my prisoned heart
chained by the churning
deceit of Hades’s immortal chains,
savoring pomegranate promises,
pirouetting through petrichor nirvana,
as the sky smells like a saffron rose
above the castle of emperors
dressed in fallen flowers.
Yet the diamonds sometimes are
engraved with ominous omens
and remorseless remnants,
while I return to cinnamon seclusion,
dancing to the mood of my moon.
O divine dandelion,
in your eyes I see suppressed sighs
of a splintered sunrise,
flickering balmy zephyrs of paradise,
as my soul is tied to the softness
of your delicate dusk~
like a faithful disciple,
forever following your footprints~
while velvety roots of florals
face the glows of alchemy,
amidst the array of arrows,
left as ashes of gold gone cold,
and the gracious gusts of gloaming
devouring the unscrupulous wounds
of a fragranced dawn.
I am the aching pigment
in your palette of purples,
longing for butterfly blurs
to bring me back to a
kingdom of kindness,
where I’ll forever breathe tender lilies
rinsed with wind-swept wishes.
But amidst the clusters of jewels
and raining sakura,
tonight I choose to walk with
specters of scorching stars,
allowing curves of my scarred skin
to burn from the blazing breeze
that bleeds nefarious narratives
upon the bleached borders.
So watch me waltz into the
infernal waters of the deep, bruised bay.
There I’ll write an elegy,
for the sorrow that swallowed your spirit.
I will find an anchor to pull
you back to the land of paper lanterns
as I surrender to the
haunting hues of the horizon;
the sweet sacrifice of a beloved blackbird
singing farewell in silence
to save you from the devilish underworld.
As dandelion dreams
are designed in lucid lies,
carving my essence into wintry wires
of woes and verdicts
from the
growing vines of a
villainous valley.
I feel the blackbird weep, it’s everything
I see the blackbird quiver, it’s what you bring
dreary
d a n d e l i o n
Before I tramp the course of my cause,
A family indeed we were, I and Kole
But I short of years from the other.
Only by words we keep memory of
A deceased mother like morning dew
Sought for by the gloaming. We knew
Only a father whose right hand does
The masculine labour and his left hand
Undertook the feminine chore
And grew us up from tendril to maturity.
Nothing moves the heart as do feelings,
The impression creates of a moving mountain.
But with one mind accept I all that be
And live a life devoid of melodrama.
Behind laughter abide the trail of tears
And in my tears was laughter’s bare face.
Work, leisure, sickness, health, joy, sadness
Nothing so transporting or so flummoxing
As to heave my heart off the balance of life.
As an ass, it does not sigh over its burdens
And the camel do not complain of thirst
Through the drought of the desert.
By Fate’s design we lost Kole who had
Found natural escapism from life in death
Whereof the dead cannot forgo to return.
I, left with a father I pampered and cared for
Always after his heels and by his lounge
And all lips hailed the good son of a father.
Time takes precedence to test all values
And fate takes no cognizance of kinship.
Every cord has been broken by birth.
Day by day is the wake of another day
And again it would go back to slumber.
Harmattan made the land to be bard,
It would smile while the sun is out but
Only to become moody with drops.
Playing, gaming, travelling, interacting,
Have excused the drabness of existence.
Below the earth is the hue of brown
And above the sky is the hue of grey.
I have left my father and home into
The city to make a fortune and a name
For they all have queried a son cannot
Always be a honeybunch to a father
But must seek to be a sovereign man.
Now I traverse through the fleeting land
All my goods and affiliates lay aside.
Being an heir, I am no heir to fleeting goods.
Why throw away the bad grains
And then store up the chaff?
I will walk through the sands of time until
I halt in my course to become sand.
A father I commit to the hands of nature
And goodwill of kinsmen and friends.
In blackness,
I hear forked tongues
whisper wicked witchery,
hope within arthritic
ink slowly f a d e s
as darkness descends
upon snow-speckled heart,
and a murder of
crows can be heard~
cawing amidst flamingo fogs
carrying thoughtless art,
over the rolling hills
enveloped with
murky memories…
there I stretch these
breathless fingers~
gingerly reaching
for cashmere curtains,
reflecting
on jaded surfaces
adorned with lost
dreary dreams drenched
in scentless deceit.
But as liquified light of the
milky quartz moon stream,
I ponder, could I be
the one you think of
when stars shimmer
above lunar-kissed lakes~
while cauliflower clouds
drift amidst musical mists?
For I hear my name
in your plum poetry,
serenading love
in magnetic marigold metaphors…
Perhaps, there is no
right rhyme to reminisce~
when every forsaken rhythm,
and broken ballad
is spoken
through unbending
sangria silence.
Yet, tonight I gaze
beyond trembling skies,
hoping that maybe one day,
waning constellations
can see the
crystalline colors
of my tainted truth,
how the glow within
me has been f r o z e n~
left hanging in
swollen syllables of sorrow,
while I await
glorious gifts
of glistening rain to pour…
whimsical wind and
pulverizing waves can feel,
how my soul
thinks in ironic idioms
mourning misplaced musings~
with fickle verses
that phased
this eclipsed canvas
with restless phrases,
fragranced with
forgiving refrains.
I wonder is this
another
dreadful beginning,
or might this be
a blissful ending,
of a thunderstruck
tale that strikes,
from the honey-glazed abyss
of unknown gloaming…
Tomorrow, when twilight twinkles~
orchestrating
ethereal anthems,
in charismatic cadence,
find the silken silhouette of
tear-stained tulips
from my garden of grief~
there they sprout in
cerulean seclusion,
between fleeting feathered lines
of daisy dusk and
daffodil dawn.