Long Hard lines Poems
Long Hard lines Poems. Below are the most popular long Hard lines by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hard lines poems by poem length and keyword.
A boy lines up plastic soldiers
In straight rows across his floor.
He knocks them down with callow ease
In a naive game of war.
Far across the deepest ocean,
In between rich, well-known places,
Little boys become those soldiers -
Grow hard lines upon their faces.
Guns weigh down their frail frames,
As they march in groups like drones;
Passing by jumbles of bodies -
Messy piles of flesh and bones.
One cries softly in the corner,
Another cannot bear the sound.
He takes the blunt side of his gun
And beats the other to the ground.
In the streets they pass right over
Mothers murdered, sisters raped,
Countless men whose limbs are broken,
But whose empty eyes still gape.
Narrow roads become red rivers,
Neighbourhoods go up in flames,
Backyards turn into cold graveyards -
Still they play this twisted game.
Far across the deepest ocean,
In the richest, well-known places,
Boys line up their plastic soldiers
With blind smiles upon their faces.
A long hot ribbon of black asphalt
as the hot sun beats down upon it
it goes straight as a ruler across the land
with shimmering mirages upon it seen
a glittering form of clean lines
appears coming from far away
without a sound that can be heard
quickly it moves towards me here
a quiet murmur deep dark sound
growing quickly rumbling now
as silver car grows in my sight
hurtling quickly towards me now
sharp square lines of headlights and grill
flowing back raking into rising windshield
smooth hard lines flow unto its tail
planes and lines in glaring light
through the glass I can see
auburn curls and waves flowing long
smooth white skin forming curbs
rising from low-cut white
with thundering roar it flies by
passing wind flutters my clothes
scent of jasmine and roses fill the air
as it flashes going on pass me
going on down ribbon straight
shrinking dwindling fading from sight
roar does dwindle and fades away
as the car disappears from view
The catalyst of two faces, his and hers,
bookends with pleasure dais in between.
Faithfully compacted on canvas, concurs,
never turning ones back, remains clean.
Sharp brush of Chagall, floats lovers.
Their passion, a cloud in lala land, hovers.
Circus performer on ochre horse forbids
openness and honesty of their lofty eyelids.
Marc’s pallet red and black succinctly
paints an inseparable couple, for better;
worse, flower-veins glory and pain distinctly
shady, married-hair worn romantic with fetters.
Poet decides his circus lacks an idyllic affinity .
With pain, questions whether to smoke or abstain.
A satisfied artist, elongates his masculinity —
triad of instruments, hard lines against grain.
11/25/2020
I notice a face with myriad bent distress.
With eyes that include a trace of sadness,
A dreary routine without a success story,
A vivid photo of the topic dyed with clarity.
His elements are unemotional and calm,
Seeing elapses on the aegis of life qualm.
Love has been his mate and accomplice.
He deemed it right by the slow compass.
A wiped-out execrable ruffled face is rough.
Neediness mutiny yet glad for his estate bluff,
The abysmal face conceals a delicate heart.
His soul is more aware than it seems at first.
Written: June 19, 2022
The Pastel Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Craig cornish
Vagaries, slick word snakes off the tongue.
Hard lines are drawn when we desire fluid.
Smears won’t fix a disrespect this horrid.
It must be washed clean, now be strong.
There is great power in being a disruptor,
that charisma is perceived as so dynamic.
Transitional is what you feel with the shtick,
the source ultimately becomes a generator.
Calculated a metaphoric mutation spreads,
immediately eliminating anything invasive.
Don’t work against it, for it is aggressive.
The kill shot lurks under silken threads.
Oscillation sharpens with a slight crackle,
seismic waves split open and then devour.
Minute by minute or maybe it’s hour to hour,
nothing captures quite like shadow-tackle.