Long Groundless Poems
Long Groundless Poems. Below are the most popular long Groundless by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Groundless poems by poem length and keyword.
the dialogue and the time have flowed,
then the night came and rolled over the pavement
with opening its huge and dark wings
embracing armful fallen leaves in her breast,
and goes leaving a romantic whistle behind
the two hearts, smaller and larger, those have swallowed dialogue
though come together, the four suspicious eyes were going
to different directions with their own hardened thoughts
for the truth from the untruth
the taste being bitterer and more unbearable,
and for distressing perjury, the moment was much too long
the groundless tales that lain yonder the thickened wall
were spreads before in vision broadly
and empty hearts, which hearts do not know, even that is
the real desire; yet, desiring to have the things that are worthless
and unable to get, were going far away without destination
oh, what a miserable moment it is? as time goes by
the day called tomorrow will certainly visit again
and for awkward to look bright sun the perjury
again to be repeated for it became an obstinate habit
after all; when in alone and not one eye stares at,
toss around the floor holding the deep scar in heart
and cry out loudly
and run after wretched untrue truth
for perjury leaves these agony and pain
in the disfigured heart
Taking Bare of Your Self
Reflecting on the silent moments when the Self absorbs itself
Tim is called preposterous a villain and contentious narcissist
He looks into the mirror ponders on ponds of accusations
Yet hurts no others rejects a portion of what he recovers
No aggression no hurting others no transgressions he simply
Choses to take a good honest look at the prism of his meaning
The surface surges with a splatter as he views beyond the
Grimace of distortion salvages and abandons faulty grins
In the nude he dives into the wrinkled waters of salty tears
Mediates in breathless meditation sheds weight and anger
Takes care of his truth at the bottom of uncertain sediments
Strips groundless fearsome fathom fragments and thus retrieves
Bystanders do not like that he appears to be marvelling when
He only begs to differ from others and himself before he rises
Dissents consents dissolves ambivalence does not retaliate
False censorship of crowds that cannot will not wish to see
When onlookers label in projection and throw a stone he catches
What matters to him and walks away with kindness towards himself
20th July 2018
Don't miss me for I'm never very far,
glimpsing your days from a secret star.
I'm among flowers that grow by your side,
resting on rainbows when hoping to hide.
As stars sparkle in the misty moonlight,
should a lone one capture a naive night,
or, if the summer breeze ruffles your hair,
it's because, for the moment, I was there.
Music you hear in a soft, summer's breeze,
is our song I'm singing to sleepy trees.
If not there, I fly in a peaceful place
where love can exist in a groundless grace.
I often meet you in whispers of air,
the song of a bird, sunlight on the stair.
I'll caress you when time gathers us nigh,
Together we'll explore the seamless sky.
March 16, 2023
for Brian Strand's Number 1199 poetry contest
POTD
in a world full of transparent mysteries and magic,
where hearts meet dancing in noisy silence,
you, with your heavy desire light as a feather to be near me,
must know: love is a serious game of hide-and-seek.
in every blind gaze I search for a dark spark,
a spark to extinguish my soul burning in eternal cold,
but not any empty look can fill that flame,
because my soul seeks the void magic, not the fullness of adventure.
you want to be alongside far from me, to live the death of life,
but without magical romanticism, my heart remains open-closed,
it's not abundantly enough to tell me silently that you desire me,
when your soul knows me as a stranger and feels me absent.
send me bittersweet messages, write me poems in the moon's darkness,
make me feel I'm the peasant of the king of your empty heart,
give me groundless reasons to believe it's worth closing myself open,
to offer you my soft stone heart, my body soul, my spoken kiss.
I don't want just the deeds of words, I want the words of deeds,
I want to feel that for you I am less than everything,
I want to find myself lost in your eyes and lose the universe,
where love and magic stand still in continuous dance.
so, if you want us to live the death of our magical story,
learn the art of forgetting romanticism and magic without spells,
and maybe, surely not, my heart will belong to you as a stranger,
because what I seek is the presence of your divine absence.
few Hearts can fancy dress their
nakedness in icicle Presence
fewer minds will slip into
cemetery’s dusk
soul appears, no hectic heady harkening
glancing what is needed
or already seeded
burning ice
Insight measures wisdom, not cerebral chancing
few Hearts can fancy dress their nakedness
silence answers chaos, no questions
faith penetratingly poetic peeps
silver edged sheath transmuting bleeps
action cannot dreamscape when
carriaged Courage is
coloured cloak comely
mission determines doubtless devic discipline
burning ice
few Hearts can fancy dress their nakedness
evolution her equanimous earthy core
smoothly dictates exalted
memory raw
as fear appears, a whispering whimpering head
she chooses Laurel-Hardy
jovial jokes instead
body-mind will momentarily magically move
illusive graped grace to forth face
zero haste
burning ice
few Hearts can fancy dress their nakedness
she grooves all goals with
hidden grace
defining own pinky pace,
trusting Trinity true
gives mental lucidity a hue
E equals Endurance, persevering stormy hardships severe ever near,
trials for miles
trancing transforms
grovelling groundless guile
burning ice
few Hearts can fancy dress their nakedness
otherworldly veneer
belies frothy fortitude
rhombus robust rectitude _________
steady steely solitude
Sun, opposite pole Lover
adoringly advises
she embraces its Fire over
chastising eyes
melting hade Himalayan
I C E to glide embalmed,
charmed warmed waters calmed
few Hearts can fancy dress their nakedness
I’m burning
ICE
Our long time catered chef...
prepared a meal fit for (psst... me) a king
Actually professional cook
(trained since infancy)
long a staple of our family
since... oh way before
my bubba's zayda's time
naturally became (according
to rules of primogeniture)
the feudal rule by
which whole real estate
of intestate passed
to eldest son, i.e. yours truly
automatically included:
aide de camp, chambermaid,
essential frisson gourmet hotelier,
lion tamer, jack of all trades.
Thus surprise meal of
mid/late afternoon May 17th, 2080
constituted: gluten free pasta
(celiac raged rampant
one generation to the next),
vegan cheese, V8 juice,
diced onions and garlic,
and steeped with special
ingredient – namely tlc,
not available anywhere
but, just enough
tender loving care to buzzfeed
the whole mishpacha,
which gathered from far and wide
every Sunday afternoon
since Moses parted the Red Sea.
How glorious to feast upon:
delicious smelling than tasting,
humongous apportioned
splendiferous concoction
conglomeration ofttimes referred
to as popslop,
which general household name
lacks culinary delicacy,
and honorary specificity.
The meal made manifold more appreciative
after a hard day's night sleeping
within an ornate bedchamber
comprising our lofty abode
upon groggily awakening each morning,
I betook sweeping view
out uppermost bay window
pleasant view of Schwenksville proper,
(which I accomplished
with flying colors
eight days a week)
experiencing vibrant dreams constituting
living social the life of Riley.
After adequately supping on repast
which if any leftovers got repurposed
for next sumptuous meal,
either one prepared later that same day,
or come the morrow promised taste buds
to experience out of this (Martian) world
another savory experience fit for none other
than king of schnorrers!
Contrary to popular belief
hen pecking mother goose,
nor her ilk of coterie of four
and twenty blackbirds
purportedly baked in a pie
completely groundless supposition
crust a stale rumor
circulating courtesy deluxe
twenty first century technological
and ecological (of course)
invidious rumor mill.
I stand in the raging river in flood,
brown water flushes the sand grains
that seem like the cells of dry blood.
I feel the pangs of your hidden pains
when your broken heart bleeds pale,
hear the moan of the wounded bird
the nest ravaged by the summer gale.
Vaporized sorrow makes eyes blurred,
I see in the distant niche of your face
the frozen eyes melt uncontrolled
like snow crystals under the sun’s rays.
The eyes strained red and anguished
liquefy in tear as a river in flood brown
for me to swim away or to drown.
I stand in the raging river in flood,
the water compresses my chest a lot,
doesn’t touch my heart of cold blood.
The gloomy water throttles my throat,
I don’t stretch my hands to reach you
for I live my own life, I needed to float.
Have I let my inflated mind to brew
an ego nesting hollow negligence in rot
or weave motive of conscious rejection?
Have you sunk your mind in the thought
of groundless and fragile expectation?
Hope doesn’t float on a flooded river
sympathy doesn’t know how to swim,
you don’t grasp the idea called life ever.
I step out of the river, your melted dream,
I wait in patience for the right time to start
to make the river flow back to your eyes.
Let it gather shards of your broken heart,
let pieces of sunk dream from depth rise,
let the river lay fertile silt on the wasteland
spread the seeds of green hope all over.
Saplings would sprout in the desert sand
your mind would turn into a valley of flower.
Love would again blossom in your heart
I would leave my dream with you and depart.
November 12, 2017.
Contest : Choose a Topic.
Topic : Hope.
Hmm...What Discursive Poetic Theme Shall I Write About...
Today (a rather brisk, chilly,
and otherwise sat
tiss factory twirly delightful
December 18th, 2018) matte
her of fact quite
refreshing noontime, while this fat
tend plot of Earthen surveyed terrain
situated over scat
herd modest suburban tract,
(actually yours truly some watt
urbanely sprawled out) at
Latitude: 40.2538 Longitude: 75.4590,
where I sit pat
and think to write
about some reading material flat
touring my "FAKE" status
as king of agitprop for chat
hurrying class gussied up with
artistically crafted rat
tilly done up snazzy razz mutt tazz
(approved by Willard), this expat
lapsed Peterson harried tailored script,
asper previous peculiar
swiftly styled idée fixe
literary unnecessary, rat
tickly tawdry superfluity)
interspersed with dollops of splat
hard logophile, nonetheless gentle
on the eyes, yet feeling totally flat
and devoid of meaning, and quite
convincingly desperate idea this pratt
tilling far amore in the dell doth
expatiate, expound expressively, gnat
cheerily witty, (i.e. hint- please
pretend these humph fat
tickle lee meandering, rambling,
and warbling words) taxing
on mental faculty as bat
tan gruelling death march
physically, when circa
April 1942 Japanese forced
76,000 captured Filipinos,
and Americans Allied
soldiers to march about 80 miles across
Bataan Peninsula (province
in Philippines), where they died
enroute to...during World War II
on island of Luzon, espied
as a spiritual sanctuary hosted
by a knowledgeable tour guide
named Matthew Scott hood dons
genuine (musty smelling)
Tory wig to hide
as an alien alias (from the outer limits
of the twilight zone) incognito
even to himself, and especially the bride
of Frankenstein, who evinces a strong crush
toward said nondescript gentrified
vested gentry groundless thinker with pride
though, dirt poor (at least on the surface),
but deep down rich with
Schwenksville well watered
history harkening back to 1684,
when hoodwinked, jilted and lied
Lenni-Lenape Indians got fleeced
then taken for a ride
this land ceded to (stolen from) William Penn
nestled along the Perkiomen Creek.
We live among the serpents of this world groundless
Inherit the world with many obstacles as expressions emerge soundless
Life is drenched with acid rain
Soon only the trees would be caught in the cycle of endless pain
Lost in the thought that no one needs vision
To see what's being displayed of prolonging conditions
They throw us the torch and the flame is gone
Seasons carry on but the damages live on
What is the world without an end?
Humanity's impact revolving changes that impend
Nourish our future and nourish our brains
Those words transform into found strength to a structured branched chain
I saw all parts of myself within everyone
The destruction of curiosity intending to outrun
Sitting before teachers hearing voices within my head
Put forth into action rather than leaving things unsaid
Hope springs the world's hardest game
But pursuing life in color will be the painted frame
Change the story
These words kept ringing in my ears
Change the story
That's not what people want to hear
Every morning you saturate the airwaves
with insentient and agonizing words
disdaining my intelligence
and rekindling a treacherous fire
You have gone down that road before
stirring up fear and doubt
Impeding upon history
And trespassing on my dignity.
You have eroded all civility
spilling vengeance , derision and anger
Catering to their weaknesses
And making unrealistic promises.
Change your groundless theory and
work towards unity
stand up for what you believe in
and stop this useless masquerading
You have been hammering a tale
that is so hard to bear
The chronicle keeps duplicating itself
resonating deeply in despair
The music is playing loudly
Echoing mystics in the air
Change the precarious story
and face the fight with decency.