Long In the raw Poems
Long In the raw Poems. Below are the most popular long In the raw by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long In the raw poems by poem length and keyword.
So many seek you by the light of the dawn only to lose you through the haze of dusk
You are mysterious at times a silent secret in the navel of mans thoughts, a deviance
a variate inside the doors of the conscience far remote when peppered with denial
you want to be sought after like love agape,
so many seek you by the light of the dawn, only to lose you to the heady scent of musk
you are like a fine cut diamond in the raw, if I press you to a mirror you break the image
you save, you redeem, you make deer sleep, you see a sinner and turn him into snow
Palpable like the studded stars of heaven every filament of your grace, is a hot burner
You show up at the most inconvenient times and sometimes the most timely ones too
So many seek you by the light of the dawn but you being truth, always come as you are,
clear faced and bold, you hold your own
So many seek you by the light of the dawn only to lose you through the haze of dusk
you are mysterious, at times a silent secret in the navel of a womans thoughts , deviant.
What have you two done,
I can see the age in your faces already,
oh you're so bold and smart
you silly and naive creatures,
sure, I sheltered you
kept you away from violence, jealousy, and pain,
do you have any idea what happens
in the raw evolution of life,
have you ever witnessed death
can you even conceive it, huh,
you're gonna feel the fire of rage
and the panic of embarrassment,
you're gonna wake in the frost of depression
and age into the shadows,
you're gonna fight for everything
that you need and love
and sometimes even that won't be enough
you and your children are going to hurt and be hurt
in ways that you can't believe,
my darlings, I love you,
but your natures have been changed
from roses to razors,
you will become grotesque gods unto yourselves,
however,
in the wilderness,
you will be able to create, to care, to love
but it will be so hard for you,
so hard to keep your hearts alive,
I'll be with you always,
your eyes are open to judgment now,
go on to the other side...
J.A.B.
He never questioned the weight behind his eyes until the day he finally woke up. For as long as he could remember, the mud had been a part of him. A thick, caked crust beneath his skin that hardened with each passing year. He believed everyone carried the same layer, worn like a second skin, unnoticed and unchallenged. It wasn’t until it cracked that he realized he’d been blind. The fissures began in his stone-cold gaze, tiny cracks etching across the dam he didn’t know he’d built. Leaking droplets of water quickly made way for a torrential cascade that swept through years of sorrow he’d never dared name. The boy wept, and in the raw violence of that moment, it felt as if his darkest thoughts were being pulled from him, siphoned through the saltwater droplets trickling down his face. His visage, once a mask of stone, began to soften. The weeping water traced the tired lines of his skin, wearing down the hardened edges of him, like a river reshaping the earth. His body began to ache as the muddy scaffolding that had once held his body together began to crumble before his freshly-awakened eyes. He collapsed onto the hardwood floor, his body folding in on itself as if the weight of years had finally become unbearable. In that instant, he shattered into a thousand fractured pieces. He lay there, resembling broken glass strewn across polished wood: sharp, glinting, and impossibly delicate. And in the stillness, he waited. But no voice called his name, no hand reached for the scattered pieces. He was whole in his breaking, and utterly alone in his becoming.
Sweep me away in my eternal estrangement,
A catharsis can’t save me anymore.
What’s the use of emotional arrangement,
When you have nobody to call for.
In the quiet hush of dawn’s first light, hussily strewn,
as oil painting life,
exactly whispers secrets of easy night,
spreading open dews, slappy cold earthy maw,
bubbling crude, trefoil in the raw.
Clovers of hope in emer_hold,
holding dreams in a tender fold, unspoiled cocoon.
Starlust, fermented, hits the floor,
ambrosia meets eco-saloon.
Wetted sheen of eye- in life’s fleeting dye,
chasteful chase meadow chased down
with purples and rye.
Crystal lover, in your gaze so clear, mirrored,
reflections of truth that draws us nearer,
to nigh, vulnerability, fragile as glass,
yet fierce with grace, graceful as undeniability.
Alas, lass
A chrysalis, evolution, symbol of luck, thine nature’s art, chosen- art thou set, app art plucked.
A gentle reminder, four leaf lover
touches over
the heart, of matters,
and in the shards of broken algor,
Maddest Hatter,
Petrichaste portis trigger.
Guarded by the fae, a watchful eye,
protection beneath the open marillion sky.
Yet within the crystal’s shimmering gleam de opulence, wined, dined.
Here lies a yearning to dream, to believe,
to redeem our vigil-stance tangled de vine.
So hold your trefoil, your crystal’s stencils and spoils, pixels, spaded in bubbling soil, toil and trouble.
In a world that’s often fast and low,
bones to be measured,
tones, symbols, thusly tethered- tethered thusly,
double meaning, ingested subtly.
O beyond the lies, lies the whispered — hope,
though green and out of the blue,
emerald of dopamines— treasures true,
three lock boxed,
laid in womb, purity— born anew.
Hubble bubble toil and trouble
I have water on the brain
The continuous flooding
It is driving us all insane
Rivers are overflowing
So are dams and creeks
Farmers are not sowing
And losing their cattle and sheep,
Streets have turned into rivers
Caused by torrential rain
The stress causes shivers
As it starts to pour again
Trees are uprooting
And crashing, causing harm
Dingy and boats are scooting
To stranded homes and farms
Vehicles and cars are left on the road,
Waiting for the rain to stop,
So they can be towed
To dry land, when they can find a spot,
Houses no longer liveable
It is unforgivable
Nature in the raw
What has this happened for?
Can somebody explain?
It has caused too much consternation,
Financial worries, ills and pain.
Heaven help
The unfortunate bloke
Who got caught
By a big Jim joke
I heard laughing voices and wondered why
Then surfaced from gonk under open sky
Didn’t take very long to understand it
In the cookhouse queue still in my pit
Now in those days I slept in the raw
(Not these days, not any more)
Grabbed a blanket grabbed a sheet
Scooted off on my bare feet
Mustering any the dignity I could find
And showing all my bare behind
The girls all laughed for weeks and weeks
With jokes about my dimpled cheeks
And nobody knew how I got there
And by and by I didn’t care
And when Big Jim shook my hand
I forgot any revenge that I had planned
For I could see the funny side
Of my embarrassing sleepy ride
And I drank his beer in its stead
And ever after wore keks in bed
Heaven help
The unfortunate bloke
Who got caught
By a Big Jim joke
POETIC ESSENCE
a creative
impulse
on the spur
of the moment
in drops
of poetic essence
spontaneous
& prolific
from the workings
of the heart
to distil
into
another’s mind
A painting
with words
uttered
one by one
to another
an experience
of the wind &rain
of ordinary life
An
intimate invitation
to stroll within
& behind the veil,
’neath inspiration’s
triumphal arch
there
to share & participate
in the raw reality
of the creative
drive of another
A vision enhanced
by mutual
experience
of each
One thing
leads to another
translating
awareness of new
& deeper meaning
germinates
the empathy
orchestrates
the chords
as together
explore
the world
of the poetic
It’s hotter than hot, crazy **** hot,
Breathing now burns though my tongue,
As I stand up here, alone in this shed,
Sucking hot air to my lung,
And my clothes, they scorch, they hold in the hot,
Cooking my legs, arms and feet,
So I strip them off as I pick up my brush,
And paint in this blistering heat,
Then my hands wash the brush over the canvas,
Painting an old farmer in dust,
Riding his horse, with his dog by his side,
And I paint all of them tougher than rust.
It’s hotter than hot in this old shearing shed,
Where I paint on this old wooden floor,
I paint a tough farmer, with his horse and his dog,
And I paint it up here in the raw.
The Sacred Combustion of the Moment
A storm of blood ignites our marrow in the silence of the heavy night,
It strikes our chest like a blind lightning bolt that asks no leave, no pardon,
We no longer turn our faces toward the scattered bones of rebel days,
We throw ourselves naked into the flames, as into some ancient, holy feast.
It's a love that tears down old temples and walls without a border,
That tramples underfoot deaf conventions, laws of ice, cold patterns,
When our whole body screams "stop" with its very last breath,
We build from our own chaos a citadel that defies both time and forgetting.
We pay no mind to the world's gossip, cold shadows, petty miseries,
To the judging eyes from houses without soul, without dreams,
We live at the white-hot temperature of a single moment, burned to the forehead,
That feels to us like an entire ocean in waves barely promised.
Stone statues collapse into dust, laws and ancient canons,
Beneath our scorched footsteps that leave embers on the earth,
We are only us, a flame flowing through our veins like a river of eons,
That learned long ago to carry in its palms the breath of the sacred wind.
All that remains is this pure current, electric, magic, and wild,
A windstorm in which the whole world slowly, silently unravels,
A mad dream, hallucinatory, and, in its depths, blessed,
That has no time for gentle tenderness, only for fire that burns, mute.
And maybe tomorrow, from these ashes, someone will speak of a fire,
That I burned brighter than a fallen star at the height of summer, unafraid,
But today we live in the raw pulse of one single, repeated siege,
Loving each other madly, until everything, everything turns to flame.
Off beam,along the circles rim then a creative impulse on the spur of the moment drops of poetic essence spontaneous and prolific from the workings of the heart to distil into another’s mind.A painting with words uttered one by one an experience of the wind &rain of ordinary life.This intimate invitation to stroll within & behind the veil, ’neath inspiration’s triumphal arch, there to share and participate in the raw reality of the creative drive of another. A vision enhanced by mutual experience of each. One thing leads to another,translating awareness of new & deeper meaning.Time germinates the empathy orchestrates the chords as together we explore new world’s of the poetic.