Long Gravid Poems
Long Gravid Poems. Below are the most popular long Gravid by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gravid poems by poem length and keyword.
we are escaping; the highway rolls on
navigating through the pines
curves through the climb
we ease into the disappearing white lines
as music completes the ambiance
holding her hand, occasionally glancing
many times we have shared this ride
a retreat far into the woods
a family inheritance of many memories
every cubic inch within gravid as such
familiar down to dinnerware, coffee cups
the porch and the nights
where the moon plays between trees
the call of the nightly owl
the rare cat howl piercing serenity
a fireplace, its glow through the stillness
the routine of unpacking, stowing away
comes the promise, refuge from a world
where we have long walks
intimate conversations, porch hand-holding
and long nights in each other's arms
existence is parsecs away
an arresting silence, prisoners in love
sentenced to be alone, free at last
in the solitary love we share
Oregon 10/9/26
A spaceship called Hope... made from the future's grand mist,
is perched upon a launch pad of manic chemicals and loss.
With stun-gun emotion, Mother Earth regurgitates.
5-4-3-2-1
Her metal finger meets the button...
She releases her ballast...
Blast off!
My brain engulfing G forces.
Soon to become a mustard seed
in a speed-of-light garden.
Filled with gravid redheaded planets,
giving birth to fat-headed moons.
The stars are cheering, like starving mad islanders.
Light years have passed.
Ground control has lost contact.
(by choice or by accident).
The rations are depleting,
but I'm serene in a starry tranquility...
I've blown by a million past lives.
Apologized half-heartedly to an alien God.
Who wished me well, pointed toward a giant black hole.
Then disappeared into the vapor trail
of lost potential and cachexic hope.
It's eerily over.
There's no more virgin oxygen.
Only the stale argon of saints and tyrants,
casting shadows of black hallucinations
chanting:
"Little seed...little seed...Didn't you know this was a one-way flight?"
I gaze out a stained-glass window for the last time.
Church bells are ringing from the parched throat of time.
Four golden letters peel from the side of the star-dusted ship.
Satiating the madness of stars...
"Little seed...little seed."
“Abracadabra, brass candelabra”
Bright, white light, to dark succumb
Ring the ears, trip tongues to slur
Annul sight, dim cornea
Cast your magic, mayhem, havoc
Advance enigma, elude stigma
Danger-gravid, power-avid
“Astral blast, come” cast penumbra
Blunt sweet senses, dense and numb
Rot and blot, aurora blur
Addle brain with morphia
----------
for The A's Have It Poetry Contest
sponsored by Joseph May
written on 09/07/2022
key:
Starting letters: abracadabra
Ending letters: abracadabra
“Alphabetic”
Alliteration
Rhyming
Rhyming and alliteration may overlap
Last word of 1st stanza rhymes/near-rhymes last word of 3rd stanza
it is that look in your eyes
that commences mine closing
the world disappears
the aroma in your hand
echoes the feel as your shoulder
guiding, powering the arm
the deliverance is in hand
all the senses wait for the touching
held at bay by a Percheron steadfast
angel wings whisper
as your hand arrives on my cheek
my heart in a pyroclastic bursting
as enchantment grasps
every atom within me
where time and space have no meaning
and in that instant when lips meet
the Percherons are in a full gallop
in a universe gravid with an elucidation
that consumes my life
a plethora of galaxies i so adore
all of this from a social event
i had no intention of attending
where just one perchance look
from afar across the room
became the smile on Klotho's face
OKC 4/23
i never wonder why i love you
why animals can migrate with no map
why do some moths as well as butterflies
able to choose wings up or down
yet they never vary in their species
the sun rises in the East
the full moon is gravid with romance
birds innately build nests without a blueprint
nary a lesson, born with their own song
all of these things point to a natural order
of what is and meant to be
that which is tried and true
what has worked thru the ages
what most of all endures
when i am holding you
my arms feel filled beyond measure
everything in this world is where it belongs
i love you because i belong with you
as does the evening's song to the nightingale
come morning the lark's duty to sing dawns' glory
the roosters claim upon the rising sun
a mockingbird's mating call fills the darkness
i see the natural order that surrounds my life
i never feel a reason to wonder why
you belong with me and i with you
the Earth and Moon, lip to lip
in a celestial dance, lost in each others' gaze
insouciant to a surrounding universe
it is said that if you never had a question
you will never need an answer
and when i look into your eyes
i never see a why i see every reason
of why i love you
9/18 Kismet
There's a love that's divine
and it's yours and it's mine like the sun
And at the end of the day
we should give thanks and pray
to the One, to the One
Have I told you lately that I love you
Have I told you there is no one else above you
written by Van Morrison
from the song
Have I Told You Lately That I Love You
I made a covenant with my eyes,
Never to look lustfully at the thighs,
Not to look suggestively at a lady,
Not to admire her pulchritudinous body,
What has happened now..,
I find myself sinning in a row,
Am selling my eyes ooh,come buy them naah!
I assured myself not to utter,
Anything of romance as it would be bitter,
I promised to see all ladies as my sister,
Never to seduce,allure them, but sisterly utter,
Everything has changed,
Satan,his angels have my mind mingled,
Am selling my eyes ooh,come buy them naah!
Whenever I see a lady,I become hot,
My eyes see a beautiful lady,a sister not,
They conjoin the brain to admire,
I find myself salivating, and a phone number, I acquire,
I say I will text her bible verses,
But the conspiracy in me bring love advances,
Am selling my eyes ooh,come buy them naah!
At times,am sitted planless,
A lady passes,my eyes pop out in questness,
They make me call the damsel,
Witnessing as I prepare my journey to hell,
Instead of preventing me from sinning,
They always see every skirt stunning,
Am selling my eyes ooh,come buy them naah!
Enough is enough,am damn tired,
Females have nicknamed me a sex bud,
A womaniser is my new noun,
Leave alone seductor which is my pronoun,
Can't I not live in peace,
Or are they a necessity for being at ease,
Am selling my eyes ooh,come buy them naah!
Eyes have produced killer kings,
Made them sin with rings,
Are they not eyes that made king David,
see Bathsheba full with beauty gravid,
And conspirated to make her husband killed,
As he enjoys what his eyes reaped,
Am selling my eyes ooh,come buy them naah!
How I wish my eyes be lustfulless,
In every last they see,ugliness,
In every skirt around,tightless,
In every girl child creations, bootyless,
For every thighs seen,smoothless,
And for an engagement with my brain to sin,cordless,
Am selling my eyes ooh,come buy them naah!
Dear Lord, I know have sinned greatly,
Fallen short of your glory broadly,
I beg for another chance,
To revive and change for once,
Help me God,let me be prayerful,
As I train my eyes not be lustful,
Am selling my eyes ooh, come buy them naah!
PoetIgweee
Behold Beatrice, Pitcairn
the paradise sunsets lie in Tahiti
sunrise, the folly of Easter
islands, sanitoriums, deluded, denuded
limbos and purgatories, the never evermore
Polynesian metaphors transmigrate my mind
O to graze with the deer, dear
the tree never falls silently
lizards scatter, birds scurry to flight
i could never buy into falling silence
let alone fate of Galileo's descending weights
church theologians preferring an atheist Aristhrottle
forgive me for being sententious dear
no pity for Cyrano
the hidden Darcy
in another failed Benedick in port
without Dante's delusions
love with no embrace
Service, woman, a slightly tainted saint
Tennyson's wound that never heals
Petrarch, Augustine, it grows insane
ah the vicissitudes, where was i
yes, leaving metaphors and literate men
your laughter starts in those ignescent eyes
ignition, brush fires of rippling ballerinas
facial muscles lost in abandonment
to some elfish music i see, never hear
lips widening, bursting rubaiyat pandemonium
i adore your infectious risibility
it is your amatory smile i love most
demure, candles gamboling in the moonlight
i am a moth lost in the flames
of your demanding timidity
it is then i see in your eyes
the dove gracing your hands
the beast who serves your lust
this is why the Norsemen
fear nothing but women
swords once ready, berserkers, Odin
now lie silent volcanoes in my heart, Freya
the seas are without headstones
and i am wondering again terricolous
all of this are the clouds overhead
it is the heavens i see in your eyes
not the red dawn i fear
we see the jungle, its' song, inevitable war
the struggle to stand in the light
possibly besotted, erratum
the seas have long not cared
with you, i learn, heal
we are undeniably humanity
we are paradise lost
the hells of yesterday
need not rule the heavens of today
your arms gravid with red sunsets
fill my deepest hopes of all morrows
its' ultimate price is gladly paid
Miramar 94 The Patient Stones
Revised 5/22 OKC
see on Youtube
Shakespeare's Sonnet 116 Is Not What It Seems
there are certain words in here common in 19th Century literature that always remind me....besotted with Jane Austen
The apple fell to earth. It was bitten through
it rolled; mossy soil coated the tooth-cleaved part.
Already grubs were working their way out
of the pith creating a teeming mulch.
Adam had fallen asleep yet again.
the overripe grapes fermenting in his guts
turning to drunken snores.
It was the flood of the moon.
Eve squatted behind a mulberry bush
wishing she were more fair and slim
like the angels in her dreams. Her body was changing,
tidal rains washed her blood
and that travail begot spawning buds,
the tillage of arousal.
The apple was changing, dissolution morphing
into beauty; the earth had gone into labor.
This had not happened in paradise before,
this was self-regeneration, death, and life,
the copulation of dirt with air.
Eve’s belly swelled, growing as round and burnished
as an autumn apple. Instinctively Adam built a nest
of straw, green shoots and saliva.
She grew large, gravid, and snappish,
stamping her feet impatiently;
this birth would be a paradigm of progeny to come,
a dewy innominate offering
quilted from angelic and demon seeds
and she knew not what to call it.
FLUNG
against the drab ashen phonon sky
WEIGHTED
with the ghostly iron clad jaws
of bitter winter's grip
BITING
the feather-flared Doves
gravid with
FATIGUE
in the ill-laden onerous air
The rough coated dog
with ice-tipped ears
COLLAPSED
in a ravine of surrender
to the corridor of street gutters
SEEKING
shelter from the toilsome icy cold, he
WALLOWS
as a fugitive of neglect
of his chosen demise
In this empire city
a sovereign shrine to humankind
VESPERS
of frozen conflict
RISE UP
from its bowels like sweat
LEECHING
from otherworldly gargoyles
stone watchmen
SEALED
with mortar
high atop the spires that define
FORTUNE
at its utmost cost
Beneath these voiceless
STEEPLES
of holy crosses
PLAGUED
with frozen muted light
DRIFTING
through histories
STRIFE
for equality
now a mere picture of its
FAILURE
Heavily cloaked faceless people
TRUDGED
like blind phantom transients
SLOWLY
moving forward
through half-stacked drifts of dirty snow
as they
VEERED
further away from discontent
steadfast in the apathy
The grimy conspicUous yellow taxi
BEDRAGGLED
on its mucky, viscous boulevard
STRAINED
and bellowed
as a labored oxen
TRANSPORTING
the few to a suitable destination while
DESPERATE
surreal sirens
from a distant byway were
BLARING
like a young animal caught in a trap
ECHOED
and purged from the
back alley resort of homeless, despondent souls
HIDING
from the winter
LAYING
like pale-blue corpses
NUMBING
their pain with cheap wine
INTERRED
in their obscure tombs
of battered garbage bins
SHELTERING
their helplessness in this
SQUALOR
of ignorance and sadness
As i stood in the moment
DISPLACED
in this cold and wounded reality
my icebound paralytic soul
SHUDDERED
with hurt
WAITING
for the sun
Rewrite from "A Cold Day"
6-14-20
Brian's select H, any form, any theme
sponsored by Brian Strand
5th grade
I remember Mr. Werner
with that soft, gentle voice -musky cologne
calling his boys to his desk
to slowly fondle away our innocence...
and what of that paper mâché cave
in the back of the classroom
I somehow avoided that Black hole of darkness
I hear others weren't as fortunate.
At the end of each day
after he was done with us playthings...
he would read aloud a chapter of
"A Wrinkle in Time"
He was nothing but a perfumed swine.
Arthur! You're 86 years old now; time to confess.
I hear the paper mache cave children are coming back.
To birth the truth from those gravid days...
They say you've turned off your phone.
Won't answer the door, transferred ownership of your home...
Trapped in a paper mâché cave of your own making.
I think I'll join the cave children in the fray.
To help smooth out that wrinkle in time.