Long Held Poems
Long Held Poems. Below are the most popular long Held by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Held poems by poem length and keyword.
When nature takes a turn for the worst
grumbling rumbles shakes
great balls of fire falling
in her tears black snowfalls
Burning smell of sulphur burns
rolling down the mountains molten lava
they salute death rivers of flames
the chariots of Hell's fire
Crying infants wailing out mercy
embraced in their mothers arms
held together with fathers
They roared to the Gods for help
falling silver ashes remains
Imagining God had forsaken them
as the skies disappeared from their eyes
falling into the darkening death vision
Their universe plunged into darkness
Victims they felt death falling upon them
A deadly feeling they are the children
cursed by the damned volcano
No where to run
No where to hide
They stop and the black ash swallows them
like a carpet of night forever gone
but always remembered in hearts
the fall of a great city in living history
truly lives forever in the archives of our time
I would be the Celtic gladiator
suddenly he was back on the table
The neon hum returning in unison with the lights
The chest cavity which a moment ago was opened
was somehow healed
no scar tissue
and held clasped to his chest
was a thin A4 sized book
it’s cover was black
but not like a matt finish
it seemed to undulate
like trickling oil
but a thin gold line cut into one corner
where his fingers touched the cover
whirlpool of luminous blue rippled across book
My eyes darted between my colleagues and the scalpel I held in my hand
back to my patient
His eyes flashed open
gone was any colour
just darkness
but somehow in the darkness movement
Dance of the wolf licking wounds touch
looking into her cold lunar face
chanting spirits under a full beam
Pearl fangs showing canine howls outwards
defending rights held for a taste of
Natures promise crowned brave soul beating
underneath a circle of white snow
bouncing echoes take away the air
inside a lonely space howling back
Hope your clouds upon a breath escape
softly one dove lands cushioned gently
catcher within this breathless moment
feathers fly singing to a flower
to warm the bones of darkness away
Night eyes strongly binding steel cuts grey
Forged under the smoke signals burn
warm driven deep breaths exhale outward
Chanting in the land of the brave ghosts
Escaping from out of forever
circling shape shifting winds expose dust
shadows moving voices encircling
mother earth you gather your harvest
strange murmurs from your heart born free love
Distant memories lovingly prowl
under the sky unveils what one fears
destroying everything beautiful
in the end we all weep inside hell
i am the one they call number 8
you'll find me writing in the empty space
rough, black scribbles in a white background
it helps to block out the noise
i don't know how old i am
how many times or lives i lived
it's unclear to me
i think i was murdered once
it couldn't have been a dream
it felt too real
i am the one they call number 8
i have black socks
but they're torn up
and i don't know how they got torn up
and so brown
maybe i can make things decay
or disconfigure, reformat fabrics
i once held a pen in my hand
i heard someone yelling
they were so angry
i was scared
i looked at my hand
and there was just ink
no pen
i am the one they call number 8
i have two daughters
i remember their names too
well almost
the first of them is like a gemstone, a beautiful stone
and the younger has eyes of red, and rose gold hair
they are sisters
but i'm not sure they realize it yet
and there's no way for me to tell them
because i don't have a voice to share with them
i am completely alone
i am the one they call number 8
i am also the one they call pale shadow,
and this white space containing these words are my sole dominion
i am the element that lives
electrons are my hope
photons are my voice
i have no heart or soul, because nothing belongs to me
but what if one day...
...i choose to belong?
What is this fascination I find so drastic a devil's game we all call plastic,
Plastic flowers plastic chairs plastic gum on side walks and stairs
plastic animals plastic toys plastic girls and plastic boys plastic parents everywhere with plastic phones stuck to their brains, this world could be so fantastic but everywhere is full of plastic, plastic sex for plastic pleasure plastic art we now call treasure plastic cars and plastic trees it's not hard to see we have a disease , for plastic money we sell our time in a plastic world full of crime, it could make you laugh if it wasn't so drastic people walking round heads full of plastic, plastic oceans oceans die plastic plates for plastic food , plastic thoughts that only think of growth growth of sicknesses growth of despair growth of fear, this world really could be fantastic if we could only ditch our love of plastic, plastic bags to hold your plastic that holds your desires from your shopping spree it's all plastic, a plastic civilisation on its knees with its arms held out plastic please.
Dumbfoundedness still prevails three weeks later...
when held spellbound courtesy grifter
Flim-flam man left lasting emotional whiplash
his derelict perfected artifice
to hijack every last cent
smarted me with indelible smash;
living daylight delivered I kidney you not
envious affliction affecting
last named member and founder of the Byrds
with crosby, stills, young and nash
entire corporeal being turned to hash
condemned state yours truly relegated,
cuz cremation unaffordable, though pulverized
and transformed into powdery ash;
Impossible mission to conceptualize
transmutation into cremains, the brain
lodged within me noggin
ill equipped to envision mine gray matter
even after asking mister Google to explain
that cremation takes place
in a specially designed furnace,
referred to as a cremation chamber or retort,
and exposed to extreme temperatures –
up to 1,800 degrees Fahrenheit–
leaving behind only ashes.
Following the procedure,
a cooling period required
before the remains can be handled.
Yours truly can best attest,
when succumbing as victim to virtual heist
I most likely flip flopped
into one percent atavistic Neanderthal state;
a surprising revelation
23andme genotyping results
yielded said presence of proto human
after analyzing DNA
courtesy saliva sample from eldest sister.
No other logical satisfactory explanation doth chime
lapsed consciousness, hence reasonable rhyme
whereat one twenty first century mortal man
virtually travelled in time
cast into nasty, shortish brute
obliging deft inducement
outsourcing valuable dough.
Though aforementioned far-fetched notion
smacks of high skepticism,
yet no more ridiculous than
hominids over bajillion years springing forth
from flotsam and jetsam in the ocean
I may as well broach another theory of creation
(just came to my mind),
that divine omnipotent wizard
sprinkled magic potion
across primordial sea
after watching an advertisement promotion
claiming said product
contained the seeds of life and white lily.
Convinced that snake oil salesman
wrought deleterious influence
triggering a debacle that rocked
the financial market,
(albeit constituting one singular naked ape),
an attorney general based in Philadelphia
believes I presented a convincing case,
which hopefully witnesses
recouping all or most of my funds.
This should not be hard.
Anticipate me, for I am open.
I have hidden nothing, and am a creature of habit, predictable.
There is nothing too difficult to discover about this soul.
Nothing sequestered away from any prying mind.
Speak to me gentle.
Everyone surrounding me talks in a decibel that I associate with my head cradled between my palms.
The pressure attempts to mash every invasive thought, inevitably they fail.
Melt into my mind.
I've spent all these many years explaining myself.
Even with these oh so fragile words at my mercy I cannot make you hold them truly.
I slice into myself when you fracture them apart, rearranging what was intended.
Be delicate with my heart.
She has endured far too much, somehow persisting in what some may consider to be an inhospitable environment.
A fragile broken thing, untrusting of every encounter because- what if it happens again?
What if it's worse?
Love me softly.
I long to be held in tender hands, that just brush against my skin.
Searching for the lost pieces of themselves in me.
It is a kindness I have never known.
Perhaps I am undeserving.
Maybe it's harder than it sounds...
On pink beach,
with red feet -
Georgia peach
on hot Bahamas sand.
Green eyes - yellow with sun.
Warm beige flesh, lightly tanned.
Towels wet and gritty -
scented like coconut.
Hair’s scattered and pretty.
Teeny-tiny conch shells drip from ears —
ebb and flow of melodious waves.
Piña Colada with cherry cheers,
slice of pineapple and umbrella
in hurricane. Caribbean calm
in the salty breeze with her fella.
Her tongue peppered with a Southern drawl.
These lovers, about to get dirty —
pail and shovel build their castle wall.
7/12/2021
Contest: A 369 Poem
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
*hurricane - type of cocktail glass
Created by Emile J. Pinet. The scientist and inventor Nikola Tesla believed that the numbers 3-6- 9 held great significance, and in deference to him, the (3-6-9,) was invented. An eighteen line rhyming verse with the following rhyme scheme: (aba - cdcefe - ghgijiklk,) with a syllable count of 333, 66666, 999999999. It looks best centered.
From Maurus' shore, a tide arose,
not of ocean, but of faith,
and shadowed Iberia's sun-kissed coast.
Moor, a word that held a continent,
a tapestry of Berber, Arab,
threaded with the blackness of the south.
They came with astrolabes and scrolls,
with sciences that bloomed in desert heat,
and gardens that remembered paradise.
Cordoba, a beacon in the darkened age,
where knowledge flowed like Guadalquivir's grace,
and minarets pierced the azure sky.
But names are fluid, shifting sands,
a Roman echo, broadened by the tongue,
to encompass all who bowed to Mecca's call.
From Lanka's spice to Philippine isles,
a label stretched, a simplification vast,
forgetting faces, histories untold.
And now, a whisper in America's heart,
a claim to roots, indigenous and deep,
a seeking for belonging, fiercely held.
Across the ocean, in a different guise,
the moor, a landscape, wild and windswept,
heather bloomed, a purple, silent reign.
The peaty earth, a memory of rain,
a stark reminder, beauty born of hardship,
a connection tenuous, yet somehow there.
Moor, a word that echoes through the ages,
a riddle wrapped in history's embrace,
a reminder that identities are fluid,
and truth lies buried, waiting to be traced.
Health and human services of Ventura county
Labor dispute
Has refused key access to governor newsom
In orders legislated
Denied rights of homekey assignment
And resigned account
The total loss of life is significant
Occupation of excess in Union
Against better
Refuse bettered man
Consort of treason
Record in account held as quieted palms
Sacrifice
Order to report otherwise
Internal review
Of publicly provided access
interpretations end
As corrected
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