Long Hazes Poems
Long Hazes Poems. Below are the most popular long Hazes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hazes poems by poem length and keyword.
French troubadours sing their praises
melodic tune gently raises
mystical awareness of the throng
the king’s concubine finds voice in song
many a love match in throne room hazes
sensuality in these phrases
smoldering looks among youthful gazes,
lustful lunges do not seem wrong
French troubadours song
soulful feelings burn heart in blazes
twisted emotions lost in mazes
many young women shipped to Hong Kong
Not understanding quite what went wrong
barely a rumor banishment raises
French troubadours song
Written 502-2022
Your Favorite Theme Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
Morning aloneness.
Dawn imparts prized magic.
Next, the star blinks and vanishes.
The Moon and Sun share the same sky.
Autumn trees reveal their souls.
was interred under a leafy canopy.
Hazy memories of the past persist.
Striking was impossible, yet I bore it.
within a person’s heart.
The mind reflects a rocky promontory.
where spaces collided within the body,
Pulling their last breath, they expired
They acquire permission to fly.
The body, mind, and soul are all bound.
a while ago I grasped this.
The world has got its last odds of fading.
Pedestals are left above the hazes.
A cold bite encounters snow and frost.
Yet, I am jumping out of this plane.
for I, who soared to towering heights
Will I deliver you back to Earth?
Kisses melt snow and frost.
Lever your heart for love and empathy.
Written: November 19, 2022
Dammit all, I need my laptop
before Beta hazes the flow
Goddam glasses, where are they
During the Second Layer
A guy is fixing the bed
But It still squeaks for some reason
In adult dreams I needn’t
Explain why the bed squeaks
When I built the thing I installed
Hook-eyes to keep you spread
and use zip ties because
the Asian way is to resist
We two like it this way
I don’t know why all this
Is related. It all made
sense a minute ago
During the First Layer
That woman from your work
was here with those Siamese eyes
Headlights as hard as this bed
She works her hips and heels
And looks at me when you can’t see
But now I’m awake enough
To watch the handyman
Trying to fix the squeak
I met a Hippie walking down the street.
She had long hair, big eyes.
Wide-bottomed trousers, orange-red,
Covered in an intricate pattern
Of strange designs, flapped round her feet
And from her shoulders over a flowered blouse
Hung a black satin something
With bright green frills on the edges.
From her neck dangled to her breast an emblem
In a circle – a unity of Love and Peace.
I passed by her and she glanced up.
I smiled...she smiled...and we moved on.
A smile can work wonders.
The couch and chairs were empty
And we sat comfortably on the carpet.
The candle threw an eerie light
Which came to nought in the depths
Of the room’s shadowy corners.
An odour of incense drifted around us
And a distorted candle flame
Was reflected in my cup of coffee.
We spoke of art, painting and poetry
Treading on the romantic,
Passing through hazes of religion:
A mixture of love, knowledge and mystery,
Probing into the eluding outlets of LSD,
The restful release of meditation,
The yearning of youth, disillusions of life,
The roots of joy and depression,
The understanding of oneself.
Smoke rose in bluish transparency.
The ring on her finger was big and it glimmered;
She opened a poetry book at random
And began reading from Tagore.
I was silent. Her voice was soft.
And when she stopped we said not a word.
There was no need – we both understood.
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Contest: Any Poem#22
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Placing: 4th
Talk about me
Like I am not in the same room
Push me from your priorities,
But your mind will not obey
You must engrossingly aknowledge
The edges that mishapen me
Slide your grubby fingers against the surface
Like you do,
Like you tell your friends
Unlock my insecurities,
With one horizontal swipe
Erasing history
Sustaining shame
All you have gained,
Is what you tethered on the surface
The very surface you despise
That you misunderstand,
The ones that you feed the lies to
Will you never realize,
The reality that hazes into black numbness
With your lingering actions?
You will never see through me now
Because I am shattered, paralyzed
Not victimized, just barely survived
I am rough to the touch...
But what did you expect,
After dropping me so much?
5/13/2016
Sitting
inside
calming
emotions.
A
bath
preparing
relaxing
devotions.
Lavender
salts
sprinkled
and
bubbling.
Rippling
waves
pardon
the
grumbling.
A
steamy
rise
around
raging
places.
Pieces
floating
in
full
dissipation.
That
fly
away
on
breezy
torn
hazes.
Released
from
prolapsed
angers
cages.
Leaving
the
way
for
cleansing
by
sages.
“Go west young man”, the neighbors said; but they wisely stayed at home.
From pianoforte to pianoforte, saloon to saloon, town to town I roam.
Surrounded by Phillistines, “soiled doves”, cowpokes, and dullards,
Gamblers, dealers, dance hall girls, and other assorted drunkards.
If a fellow’s feeling generous, he might leave something in my jar,
Or even offer me a drink of the “good stuff” behind the bar.
I guess my fortune can be made where folks are hot, dry, and thirsty,
Playing sad songs on old pianofortes that are musty, dusty, and rusty.
I grew up playing Beethoven, Chopin, Bach and Wagner.
The only songs these cretins know are all by Stephen Foster.
A gambler in a pink silk shirt once asked for a Franz Lizt tune.
I was so surprised, I fell off my chair, to the amusement of the room.
The “faded rose” smells like a horse, and looks the worse for wear.
But if a few more drovers buy me beers, I probably will not care.
If I should wake up next to her, I won’t know what to say.
But she’ll just pretend to be asleep as I quietly slip away.
Through hazes I might recognize a face; or maybe they all look the same.
But in town’s like Rotgut, last night’s best friend won’t remember your name.
I hope someday, somewhere I’ll find a good pianoforte in tune--
But that’s something I’ll probably never find in a one-street town saloon.
If they don’t happen to catch my name, “Eighty-Eight Fingers” will usually do;
That’s all any of them remembers anyway, after they’ve had a few.
Personification of the Elements – 9-1-23
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Elementals
Frigid currents gather stirring
Mists to rain hail in fists of fire and ice
From fractured magma stone eruptions
Crust and fire collide
In melted tornados
In hollows where minerals hitchhike
Into purple ruby hazes
Igneous bursts into fevered conundrums
Where four elementals convene
In cryptic crystals, intoxicated by emerald,
Fused laughing enigmas,
Shedding molten aqua teardrops,
Where fire and fury reside
Imprisoned in liquid stone,
Sparkling matrix thunders,
Compressed grit in animations
Of clear-cut brilliance
The Elementals speak
In captured eternal flames,
Water, stone and breath.
If only your heart could hop, as a frog
to aim away from the tedium of the daily slog.
Allow love to be the genuine treasure.
Your selected spot atop the magic tether
Trying to outlive your expected lifespan
power with full belief, as an amphibian.
It linked choice and chance in dancing.
Alongside, a dreamy lake of romancing.
An ocean of words is now utterly dry.
Each phrase exists under the sky.
I have viewed them dying in my mind.
No path out or hope, I'm fearful of what to find.
Flow and feelings were obsolete.
You'll be dying laughing as you start retreat.
This is the writer's "block-mayday" warning,
when ideas become too thick for moaning.
The firm-moving hazes took a scenic route.
Amid the chaos, cinders crumble into the soot.
The spirit is gone round on by a whirl of time.
In quest of the North Star in the beauty prime.
never-ending race-attempting dashing.
to draw a fictional approach to finishing.
wiping your eyes and setting boldface on it.
Whatever transpires, foster hope and wit.
Written: November 27, 2022
Brains in this group were graded according to a binary system.
1 winner 0 as in loser.
A hypnotic mantra often -
“Winner, loser, hopeless chooser.”
There were even signs such as a straight finger for 1 or orb like finger sign for loser.
One might wonder aloud if this clique with their uncanny gestures would fit in anywhere else except this setting of their choice.
Hazy plume, rainbow eucalyptus, sylvan zephyr, amber leaf cascade,
lambent shroud, halcyon xanadu, wonder world cocoon, among the zany names they had thought of.
The staff each had nicknames linked to the above enterprises.
The brainstorming sessions they had had no drama or plot could “match.”
“Often have the feeling we are pawns to our ideas.”
Amber leaf sighed.
Lambent :
“This place is “dead on” for the wrong reason.
Smart is always in season.”
Lambent nodding to his “imaginary” sidekick “Shadow”
that seemed glued to his desk.
After all, they were used to that sort of thing as innovative university students.
This unusual alliance though city based had links to different areas.
But nothing would daunt this oddball eccentric clique and their very imaginative and oft bizarre aims.
They were nothing if not colorful.
They had this impressive office garnished with wallpaper having pictures of their various businesses and the names associated with them.
This franchise had been in existence now for over 5 years.
It was coping to an extent but there was an underlying desire to go beyond that.
A glorified high tek office routine secretly horrified everyone.
Lambent shroud, ICloud expert in the group was perhaps the zaniest of them all.
He had a fetish about hazes and how the term could be used.
Haze was his buzzword and
of course his very own in the ether mate.
He had a virtual sidekick called “Shadow.”
They used to speak to each other in rhymes.
“Hi there, going nowhere shadow.
I’m really stuck. Yuck!”