Long Glyphs Poems
Long Glyphs Poems. Below are the most popular long Glyphs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Glyphs poems by poem length and keyword.
T i m e ~ you are the spark
that tips the scales
of lovestruck heartbeats,
ricocheting glyphs of fairness,
etched with gold and silver.
Yet seasons of smoke fail to
trace the unexpressed emotions
woven with ultraviolet beams.
Perhaps the ticking truth of intoxicated haze,
is a resonance of pained pulses:
a poem without a title,
a sonnet without a rhyme,
a melody without a rhythm,
a palette without a dream,
cosmically tied, yet torn by space,
pondering:
what if these implicit metaphors
heal the beautifully bruised,
paint the scars with flares of serenity,
turn bleeding wounds into sterling specks,
and draw hope with swirling sunflowers?
As I am a wordless wanderer,
facing the heat of sultry skin within starlight,
tasting the milky flickers of quartz
as they seep into the warm arms
of blushing twilight.
These fingers curate chronicles
from archaic archives,
scintillating souvenirs,
like a forest library with shimmering shelves
touched by sunlit rays
and mauve memories merging
with evening mists.
For I am the mistress
of your amethyst afterglow,
engrossed in the ambrosial luminescence
of soft-spoken verses,
as alluring auroras emanate
burning thistles of thirsting galaxies~
the delicate dews of dancing diamonds
caressing the silk of stars to drizzle
one last drop of your pining poetry,
while I await the return of
Romeo’s rhapsody,
like Juliet on the tantalizing tip of throes,
counting Cupid's jewels of nightfall,
wishing upon the dusk of craving.
For in your absence,
I am but a poet with no abstract speech,
but doleful desires,
longing to kiss the final phase of Luna’s sigh
catching crooning comets,
lost in the hypnotic moon-gaze
of immortal love...
Words forming stories on my mind-canvas…
The written words, letters drawn upon a page are, power;
a force to be celebrated and dreaded.
The images of the artist;
words paint profound stories within paintings.
Communication illustrated to teach;
from these seeds we all grow.
Words sketched with pen and brush can move mountains, change a life or heal;
the Cadillac of tools for those who see and
know how to utilize them in any situation.
They are universally, multilingual.
Words initiate communication,
interaction is vital to the survival of all species.
Symbols, images, a glance or gesture are
all forms of word-art; cosmic graffiti.
Words bond and obliterate,
evoke emotion and soothe the soul.
Words are invaluable allies and formidable enemies;
both the life-of-the-party and a safe place to hide.
Memoirs, adventures, challenges,
hopes and dreams are all shared by words.
Stories and tales experienced by
writer and reader alike.
The ultimate superheroes
enabling their creators with the power to
change the world or an entire universe.
These inter-dimensional characters
tumble from pen and brush to the page.
When read out loud or spoken they serve as
transformational powers.
This trans-formative cosmic dust,
a sacred gift used by rich and poor, alike.
Uniform cuneiform's, precious petro glyphs and
hybrid hieroglyphs
paint eons of growth and wisdom.
The human condition at-a-glance,
making a vibrantly painted record of life.
4-11-2021
ALL YOURS (APR11) Poetry Contest
Brian Strand
In Lochness, an undulating giant lives;
legendary Nessie; giant oarfish or
prehistoric remnant?
No one knows for certain,
but he bothers no one; leave him be.
In mountainous terrain, walks the Yeti.
Part man; part beast; perhaps the missing link?
Science said of its remains,
“It is a relative of ancient polar bears”; perhaps.
In Jersey woods, people say a, “Devil” hides;
a new species or an experiment in genetics, gone awry?
There are many Doctor Moreau’s and Frankenstein’s,
in this world and they do,
abandon their mistakes.
Regardless, life is life and
it must be respected,
for harmony to reign.
What if cryptids aren’t myth?
People say, “You can’t cross a rabbit with a cat”,
but it has been done.
Perhaps humankind has made,
the mistakes of ancient ancestors;
maybe centaurs and fauns were once…real?
On such an old planet…whom can be certain?
Ancient texts and glyphs, speak of many things,
mythical and legendary and history does…repeat.
Someone had to tamper with genetics,
to discover that pig arteries,
can work in the human body;
that cow plasma, could too.
The human explores its world;
exploiting even ravaging other species,
without concern for the end result.
Perhaps, humans should leave, well enough alone.
“Nessie”, “Yeti”, “Jersey Devil”; cryptids,
like all life, should be free to live.
The human species,
is the most deadly and destructive,
of all predators.
Clearly, not the smartest, at times;
Not even with regard to, its other siblings.
Humans seem to obliterate everything, they touch;
never caring for the harm that they do…until it’s too late.
Even then, some never lend anymore thought, to their deeds.
This as you all are aware
is the first flight of Xeon
His hair unkempt bounced as he smiled
And I your captain
His smile widened
His hand hovered
over neon glyphs
To somewhere else
Around the ship space undulated and it was gone
Moments passed.
Then we were here so far from the event
Like a candle left behind
The sun sets light to the universe
Onboard no sign of casualties
Time seems to have changed
Onboard time variant to those outwith the vessel
according to system
Deck 14 has declared massive abundance of produce
We seem to have lost deck 17
but are in realtime communication with them
We again must remember
Turning to his screen
That Xeon is product of the D.o.x. Initiative
and terms and condition do apply
Back to report
We have restored gravity but natural born roons be aware of the difference.
Any medical questions should be relay to the professor
…of course be reminded has two more days of Rhmmmide
but will be available for emergencies
All archives seemed to have changed and the number 0
seems to no longer exist and been replaced with
Well we don’t have a word…..so the first shipmate to come up with a suitable name will be added to the archive
And congrats to Shaa and shaa have produced the fist bio intelligence
your own installed shaa will be automatically be notified
For all of us
One must imagine Sisyphus’s
boulder, marble-sized these days
And Ozymandias’ plaque,
spinning despair into praise
Look on, ye hypocrites,
and sneer at my undoing
Your universe is a giant sandpit,
entropy accruing
Their legacies long crumbled,
eroded by rust
Gods built the wrong way,
on scaffolds of dust
Virtue or vice register
equally the same
Except between stars,
there’s space for one more grain
Down here, we clock in daily,
stack hours like prayer
Worship strong Wi-Fi,
evangelize on thin air
Imagine heavenly echoes,
because the silence isn’t fair
Some develop connection,
others a thousand-yard stare
Our Earth splits naturally,
along seismic lines
Greenwich claims centre stage,
only for the meantime
Sisyphus, still aching,
gets an epidural at last
But only in hindsight,
for his hump blocks the past
Redrawn are our own lines,
watchtowers in the sand
Sketching new borders,
carving up the promised land
Exhume ancient treasure,
and black, viscous stuff
Addicted to all things buried,
as if our dead weren’t enough
Still we write blindly,
tracing glyphs already faded
Helps lift the mood
when depressed and jaded
Gods stand on shaky ground,
myth holds them together
In schisms that bind billions,
then sever forever
Oh, look on—ye poet
Sisyphus now rolls his eyes
He’s seen the apps, wars,
hoodies, and cable ties
His hamster wheel’s a meme
for gods who merely try
Small wonder he mutters,
at least Ozymandias gets to die
And sometimes I pray to gods,
or maybe their ghosts
About versions of me
I’ve been missing the most
They don’t directly answer,
but do leave this guess
In the end, to keep on rolling
may be my passing success
By David Kavanagh
Day-glo dewy
chuck berry faded daffodils
woodlark fluid warble
emerald chorus
& abash earth
drowsy petrichor
on
parched earth
fall mist lyrics
of
glyphs thrum
in sepia tones
of
whimpers
& heart hums
of
lengthy
boyhood
&
haunting echoes
shattered bell's
agonizing chimes
In shadowy
kaleidoscope
dystopian swoon
climax is symphonic
&
thunderous melancholy
of
tearful farewell
remove dust mote
of
gramophone groove
daily spirit sweep
clean mental dust
&
embrace gratitude
& love
life's melody won't die
eclectic idiosyncrasy
happiness bid
Written: November 03, 2022
Gun is fired
Friction-slick bullets heat the barrel shocking the shoulder finding a new place in its socket
Metal pellets rain like rain or hail
As opposed to paper pellets or those made of grain derivatives
How many glyphs exist?
Those recognized by some higher authority
And how many more are there that go unaccounted for?
I have a set of my own
It is smart to keep part of yourself unaccounted for
Keep it on pages buried in second-hand drawer chests
When does a spider's web become a cobweb?
How much dust has to fall?
How many days?
Can we quantify it?
Dusts rain like rain, not like hail
Or like bird feathers telling you something must've happened above
Something of note
I refuse to dust
To wipe away my calendar
Non-numerical calendar grids
Compress to fit into layers
Layers only distinguished by time of fall
Of rain
Of feather
Not by barrier, nor boundary, nor anything which can be marked
Only known
It is only known that upon waking from sleep or else what
That more dust is there
Or maybe that
The surface of my skin has changed
The fibers of my clothes are more worn
And gravity still complies with its law
Take Courage, Friend, and know thy Love is near!
Death, mortal, can’t erase the prints of Love!
And though he try, with wetted thumb and fear,
To scrub Love out… Its signature is of
Diamonds, indelible as glyphs in rock,
Where only long forgetting wears away.
Love wears lace now, before, ‘twas muslin frock
And She will, veiled, visit – no shrouds, nay!
Bride unto Christ enthroned within your heart.
Ye two will scribe within the Book of Life,
The Record of your Love, perfumed by God,
And He will overlook all starts and strife,
And bless your scribing with his Holy Rod…
Thus so, in Heav’n, together Sweet Loves sing,
And bless us, here below, whene’er bell rings!
(written on the occasion, of thinking of a distant friend)
3/16/2019
Amulet graced by gems
clad for stratum prow
tawny glyphs
margin of witticism
& quagmire
extravagant dictum
trivialize shores trails
summer ousted
& waves of wrangles
sundered the ocean
& swapped my spirit
in crimson burst
swirl to scatter
In demolishing ruins
& twilight crumble
slump of man
glittering Phoenix fire trail
scribble a cyan-xantos rhyme.
bore a shallow rostrum
defective soothsayer
haunts dreams?
hilltops & both
oceans & skies
cyclone of emotions
&
lethargic sadness
soul storm mulling.
5TH Place Contest winner
Written: July 19, 2022
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
At the hour before dawn,
the sky loosened its seams
and symbols drifted through,
soft as ash, bright as prophecy.
They fell onto rooftops,
onto river stones,
onto the quiet foreheads
of those still dreaming~
each mark a memory
the world had misplaced
and was now trying to reclaim.
The first symbol I touched
burned cold, like moonlit iron.
It unfurled into a vision
of forests that once spoke
in the grammar of wind,
their branches spelling truths
we forgot to read.
Another symbol landed
in the palm of a child~
a spiral of gold dust
that dissolved into laughter
older than her bones.
Her shadow lengthened,
briefly taking the shape
of someone she had not yet become.
Across the valley,
the river mirrored the sky,
its surface etched with drifting sigils~
unfinished sentences
the Earth had begun
long before humans learned
to carve meaning into stone.
People gathered on the banks,
their faces lit
by the slow-moving script.
Some reached out,
hoping to claim a symbol
that felt like theirs.
Others stepped back,
afraid of what might awaken
if they understood too much.
One final glyph descended~
a shape like an open door
drawn in trembling silver.
It hovered before me,
waiting.
When I touched it,
the world inhaled~
a long, deliberate breath,
and the sky whispered
through every leaf and riverbend:
Remember what you were
before forgetting became easier
than becoming.
And the symbols rose again,
lifting into the brightening air,
as if the Earth had finished
writing its reminder and was ready
to begin the next line