Long Haziness Poems
Long Haziness Poems. Below are the most popular long Haziness by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Haziness poems by poem length and keyword.
This is for the lack, the journey on the way back.
Trying to find a place that once felt like home.
A poem to keep me around so I don't roam.
To see if anybody out there was keeping track.
I walked out into the fog thinking this was it.
No where left to turn without getting hit.
Each step was heavier than the last.
The haziness inside my heart was heavily cast.
Now you know so long ago that I was scared as hell.
To find myself here today answering the toll of the bell.
The fog has lifted and I think that I see clear.
But I'm still not too sure just where I should steer.
The path beyond the journey is only for the grave.
The frightened soul win's only if they are brave.
Fantasy is store bought praise, nary worth a dime.
Staring life right in the face, I think that it is time.
The Tenth month
What is there to say about
about a perfect day, the first of October
when the sun is infused with silver
A few cumuli look like a bride's belt
a sky that has pale blueness
bathed in the mystical haziness of dreams
The limitless seeking understanding
why oak leaves fall and grass takes
on the color auburn and lemon hue
In supple silence, I hear animals getting
ready for a white landscape, the long
rest before a new spring explodes
Do not sleep this day be aware, feel
the dust free air and nuanced harmony
of a moment that will not reappear
dodoitsu series (rhymed)
Winter is taking the reins
speeding past days of autumn -
Jack Frost smears the windowpanes
forefingers and thumb.
You who have no house to own,
too proud to seek charity,
you choose your path all alone
that’s a guarantee.
Your attic room, where risks run
rowdy as the eastern winds,
barren refuge while you shun
warmer help from friends.
Churches serve a daily meal
without impugning censure,
Would a shelter prove to shield
Christian adventure?
God casts no smears. You must know
you are short more than your needs.
God produces once you show
you will plant His seeds.
Twixt four fingers and your thumb
winnow pangs of laziness.
Earn warm lodging ere autumn’s
freeze spawns haziness.
for Elly Wouterse's contest 3 Proverbs and a Quote
For my series of didactic "germane" dodoitsu, I chose three German proverbs, being influenced much in my life by my German grandmother.
-A poor person isn't he who has little, but he who needs a lot.
--Charity sees the need not the cause.
---God gives, but man must open his hand.
My quote from an international celebrity is from German poet, Rainer Maria Rilke -
“Whoever has no house now, will never have one. Whoever is alone will stay alone,” is from his poem, “Autumn Day”, translated by Stephen Mitchell.
https://audiopoetry.wordpress.com/category/poet/rainer-maria-rilke/
For word play:
“the four fingers and your thumb”, and “winnow pangs” of verse 5(6) play off of
“Jack Frost’s forefingers and thumb” and "window panes" of verse 1.
Word with two meanings:
Verse 1 – smear – v. to wipe or daub
Verse 4 (5) – smear – n. a slur or insult
double meaning proverb
A poor person isn't he who has little, but he who needs a lot.
poor person can mean poverty-stricken or a
poor person can be incompetent, inept
I used the normal 7, 7, 7, 5 syllable pattern of a dodoitsu but rhymed it ABAB. I really needed 24 lines to complete my thoughts, but I dutifully cut it back to 20 lines, adding it back in italics after contest was judged. Expanding on Rilke’s “Autumn Day” title, I took a different turn from his prayerful, more positive piece.
No one knows his name…
He is a villain though his back looks pitiful
because he walks with a limp; nevertheless, to hide his complex—one leg is shorter than the other, he bathes with innocent blood and quenches his thirst with the breath a malignant spirit exhaled.
He dethroned his father to gain power.
He devoured his own offspring to satisfy his insatiable appetite.
He chopped ‘Present’ off with an axe sharpened with a stone
named ‘Past,’ and stamped on it with his limping leg, to make sure
that uncertain ‘Future’ would never be able to germinate.
You who survived today somehow,
should go to bed with the prayer for tomorrow as the sun goes down.
People step out from their homes with hope because the sun rises.
They get to their work place to earn a day’s living. They step into the manmade order, the gears, and after all the day’s skidding and crushing in the gears with missing teeth
they stop by a tavern, on the way home to relieve the day’s stresses,
where the glasses of booze are filled with drifting ripples.
It may be a blessed moment.
For ‘Present’ is granted in a light-headed haziness
from a few shots of whiskey; they see distorted yesterdays
and twisted tomorrows, and as the happy mood deepens
the comets with long tails crossing the skies fall into the little universe;
the glasses they hold in their hand.
As stars fall,
the limping Cronus hurriedly enters the tavern
and brandishes the axe to chop the happy drunkards’ heads off,
because he was left out in cold by the drunkards, who were in a happy mood.
Note: 1. Titan Cronus and personified chronos-time, are used as synonym 2. Cf: Goya. Saturn [Cronus] devouring one of his children
On the exquisite wings of fated infinity.
We move with subtle elegance and fluidity.
To sail into odd space on a vessel of silence.
It is clearly the domain of the swanky credence.
I desired you to be hither on a grisly day.
Hardship had exhausted my psychic spray.
I hailed you while gazing at your charm.
On the verge of a crux in winsome smarm.
Here you'll find the hustle and bustle.
We will rest and unwind as the term shuffle.
After you've aged through the up and down.
Our stature in a senders mod panel is known.
I'd been deprived of any expectation, developed.
The pre-winter light was precisely what I scorned.
What's beyond, yelled out, "Let the haziness in!"
The portly flare ought to be turned until the spleen.
We are enjoying areas that are beyond our side.
When we beget to maturity, all effort has died.
You can willingly view we've arrived at the wallow.
Waivers serve as the lessons we should follow.
Written: November 09, 2021
This or That, Vol 8 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Carried away by time, alibi
Decided and designed,
August’s excuse was never kind.
Reflecting summer’s shadow,
As dew drizzled petals confide
Praising the One who twisted each leaf,
Leaving them feeling such grief,
It’s the gentle kiss who amazes,
Poetic praises…
Rejected by September, her light
Falling soft against the skies
Blessing joy beyond her knowing,
Gentle the flow beneath the heart,
Trembling with quiet stories,
Erasing the melancholic pouring
Like rain showers,
Burning with a rage,
Far brighter than the day,
Moonlight desires, a fire
Quickest blaze, hesitating.
Stars in the November nights,
Wishing for peace, surviving
The unfriendly chill,
Medicine found in hesitant prayers,
Prayed for the moments,
Still and breathless,
Soothing away the fears, attesting
To the wonders, the tears…
Summer’s joy, Autumn’s knowing
Winter’s haziness…
Silent streams of amazing
Tortured by the faded crazy,
Deciding to abide in the lives
Who know the meaning, the significance
Of a year, passing through…
Season of grief, season of beauty,
Season on fire – season delighting,
It is only a tear, only a tear…
Saved from despair, saved so I hear
The song of His grace,
The saving in this faith,
Poetry on display, the truth prayed
On the empty tomb,
The empty that fills up the heart
With the hope of a love that won,
A love that is more beautiful than the sun,
Wonderous love that comes
from God’s only SON!
I always slipped your mind
By Michelle Morris
17/11/2023
I would walk 10,000 miles
I would swim the ocean depths
I would climb the highest mountain
I would crawl and plead and beg
But, what would any of these things do?
Would any of it ever mean anything to you?
'Cos I was there every single time
And somehow I always slipped your mind
Whenever I get convinced to take you back
I have to remember every single track
All your BS and all your promises
Mean nothing but empty words in the wind
And I may be foolish, and I may be delusional
But I have learned the hard way, through every transition
Wisdom only comes from breaking down those walls
Lessons from blood and tears and marrow given to your stories
I would walk 10,000 miles
I would swim the ocean depths
I would climb the highest mountain
I would crawl and plead and beg
But, what would any of these things do?
Would any of it ever mean anything to you?
'Cos I was there every single time
And somehow I always slipped your mind
So, I've moved away for good this time
I'm out of your orbit, just like your mind
I will fly through the Universe to new places
And I will find love and light and sweet graces
And I may be wishful, and I may be crazy
But I understand life through the dark and the haziness
Experience and heartbreak can take us away from ourselves
When we're put back together, we have to do our best to stay well
Oh, you can stand there and look upon the moon now
Oh, you can cry there and regret your hurtful hours
But, I am free now, free to be my own star studded sky
And I will live and love again, I won't lay down and die
Oh, oh, oh... I...
I would walk 10,000 miles
I would swim the ocean depths
I would climb the highest mountain
I would crawl and plead and beg
But, what would any of these things do?
Would any of it ever mean anything to you?
'Cos I was there every single time
And somehow I always slipped your mind
© Michelle Morris, 2023
RAINBOW BELLS
Belittlement of sea and sky with blue
and green entitlement - unfocused lens
of stormy clime — the darkening of hue
in whites of shellacked eyes, aplomb of friends
does drown in haziness. They drink his tears —
the absinthe of their cloudy souls deplete.
Inside the whitewashed tomb, awake to fears.
Those hoppy beers lack taste with sins to greet.
Unexpected — her sunshine fingers lift
his icy lids — the melt like Everest.
Believe in miracles unceasing gift.
The chromatic breath of an angel blessed.
The blinding paste has dealt with former sins.
Arise to rainbow bells as life begins.
8/16/2018
Because of life tormenting me beyond tolerable limits,
I called for a duel in the front of the surging crowd in the square.
Then, he looked at me directly in the eyes
and said mockingly “what made a cowardly person
like you, dare to throw down the gauntlet at me?” and turned back.
I called for his attention, and when he looked back,
I affronted him by lightly slapping his cheek and said
“I ask you to accept my formal request for a duel.”
He told me to set the date and the place, and select the weapon;
I told him without hesitation “a gun and the foot of the mountain
on the night of a full moon.”
Accepting my proposal
he said “who will be the witness?”
“How about the light cloud passing by, though
fog may be too dense, and therefore obstruct vision,
haziness would appeal to the sentiment of one of us who may fall,”
“and it’s better, if there’s a brook nearby, because
we can hear the murmuring water that may soothe
the flaming hatred; the shackle of our predestined evil-bond.”
Near the brook, by the mountain foot, we stood,
holding guns in hand, face to face. Listening to
the rippling water to reaffirm our unfortunate affinity,
under the moonbeam calm and indifferent.
When the light cloud shaded the moonbeam
we turned our back and proceeded five steps each
stepping on the heap of fallen leaves,
and as the cloud cleared
my shadow and his shadow turned again to face to face.
Our outstretched arms at gunpoint
were aiming at each others' heart.
Life told me “fire first,”
I pulled the trigger but missed target;
the empty echo came back to me after it
turned around the hillside stepping on the drifting leaves.
Then, life pulled the trigger;
the bullet pierced my heart and hit the moon,
the fragments of the shuttered moon fell by my feet,
and drifted on the flowing water dyed red with the stream of blood
gushed out from my heart.
When I look at a recent photo of myself…I admit to sometimes feeling dread…because the photo that I’m seeing doesn’t match the picture in my head.
In my head I am much younger…on this my heart and mind agree…
while the man in the photograph…is much older…I’m not sure he’s even me!
In my head I can easily tell myself I am still that once young guy…
but that doesn’t work with a photo…because a photo doesn’t lie.
A photograph is proof that I’m no longer that budding baby boomer…
It’s also proof that our Creator…has a sense of humor.
Why else would she let my ears continue growing…I’m surprised people don’t stare…mine are as big as a garage…you can park a small car in there.
And to add insult to injury…the photo proves this to be true…She’s decided my nose for some unknown reason…should keep on growing too.
And looking at a photograph…this fact I must concede…my nose and ears look even bigger the more my hair recedes.
No matter how young I feel…I could use a cardiogram…every time a photo reminds me just how old I am.
But the Creator has left me a loop hole…which I havre found engaging…
My eyes have gotten worse and worse…the more and more I’m aging…
So here’s my solution to this problem…(try it before you scoff)….
Every time I see a photo of my old self…I take my glasses off.
And through the haziness of my vision…
when I see myself in a photo someone took…
I am always pleasantly surprised…
at how much younger I now look.