Long Inarticulate Poems
Long Inarticulate Poems. Below are the most popular long Inarticulate by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Inarticulate poems by poem length and keyword.
I was a successful, fashionable florist, in mild green days of elegant gardens,
When an orange sun beamed its pleasure, like locales where lavender begins.
I formed arrangements for many occasions, drawing beauty lovers from afar,
As pretty planets arrange for a meeting, after wild rumors of the newest star.
And crowded hours were filled with summer, like pearly dews crowd morning,
Until ruby butterflies are playing tag, and gemmed damselflies are swarming.
Friends felt I might always be found, in some area of flush bloom fragrancies,
Like raven midnight's march to daybreak, with its warm, varicolored agencies.
Fond family held festive feasts, in fading hours of sparkly, fuchsia sun falling,
As whippoorwill songs clashed with red robin's, midst magenta stars gawking.
I lived in the house of tangy, saturated noon, when flowers were in full glory,
Like the most beautiful day of a woman's life, when a bride she's come to be.
Scarlet, saffron and other hues glittered, within the soulful sector of summer,
As starlings sang songs along my street, and sun rose and retired, a stunner!
Neighbors were nomadized at times, as honeydew moon nestles in new night,
When visiting me on eves of silk and satin, when fresh June was at its height.
Silver clouds were saddled with summer sun, in suddenly days of sweet rose,
Like grey encumbering smoke from autumn fires, when in plum mists it flows.
Raven noon was in green treetops, as the inarticulate ravens were squawking,
And fading time seemed to stand still, but ephemeral moments kept walking.
One day I woke to a gorgeous view from my window, daisies pink and yellow,
In the wide field right next to my house, glowing in the rich, sunshine mellow!
It put such a smile on my face, oh my! Like flocks of pretty blue jays going by,
And I kept seeing daisies everywhere I went, like a pearlescent moon on high!
I beheld African daisies and shasta, and pom pom-like chrysanthemum ones;
Along with fine lustrous gerberas, in all colors found, in wild green kingdoms.
I wondered at my strange, good fortune, in seeing beloved blooms anywhere;
Like the young, butterscotch days when Mother said, 'We're going to the fair!'
For awhile, I saw sweet daisies by day, and it seems I dreamt daisies at night;
Like a brief mystic spell of rapture, when hidden beauty's freed from its plight.
Being in the mind of a savage.
All I know is how to act ferociously.
Manipulating the minds of the weak, fearful, and the victims.
Beating them into submissive.
Emasculating the strongest, just to see him break.
Dismiss him of his role, and never to see his family again.
Being in the mind of a savage.
I destroy, divide, and conquer.
tearing families apart.
Over yonder, as they scream,
begging to be saved
but nobody hears them.
Breaking the spirits of the koons, mannu, aunty, sambo,
and the uncle toms, as they all have a common factor.
They're all nostalgia.
The animal within me is untamed, uncontrollable, and inhumane.
I'm superior by nature, at least what I see.
Being in the mind of a savage.
What you call crimes are white privileges to me,
justification, rationalisation, & beliefs
set me free each time.
All I know is to kill, steal, destroy, & reverse the cycle of genetics.
I changed their culture,
to fear, tough love, attitude, punishment, violence & a career.
Sabotage the mind, break em' down, then bob the builder em'.
When you stop em' for believing in themselves,
oppression appears.
Being in the mind of a savage.
Other savages, keep em' isolated, uneducated, impoverished and oppressed. There's a few who escapes but we own them too.
We love to be entertained, as we mock, advertise, and stereotype em'. Less sensation and lacking sensitiveness
in the terminal fibers, keeps me acting viciously.
Unintelligent, laziness, frightfulness, ignorance, backwardness, violent, inarticulate, sexual frustrated, hunger, inattentive, unable to control themselves, & in care of, are all the signs of a n****.
Created a cultural matrix of positive
and negative feelings for me,
and each time, I justify my actions by logical reasoning with em'.
Ohhh, forgiving are they. Just to do it once more, and that once more became many more.
Being in the mind of a savage.
If any shall become bold, intimidating or become a threat, we shall lynch you.
Propaganda, genocide, & economics are all profits for the savages.
Paternalism plays a major role as
terrorizing and restrain are easily justified.
Keep em' from achieving social equality
as they become more bumptious on the streets.
Being in the mind of a savage.
"Dream Bug"
Hour glass
rainbows sparkling
crystal grainy rapids
sliding intrepidly through life’s fingers
their coloured sands speak in tones
they are obtuse and vapid
like snowflakes they fall
confetti on my hands
Writing you
between there
and here again
a feckless court jester
fearless sometimes
walking handstands
painting portraits
in pedantic rhyme
then a page stained,
you're thumb-licked and turning
metaphors gliding ghosting
a snail trail planchette
words miss spelled
they are moulting
like white feathers from cooing doves
we are back in grades of one
singled out on school parade
while the band plays on
we are all caught
like grounded gefilte fish in class
when the saints
go marching in
we’re stopped
for covert mingling
In the office a Nosferatu principal
ignores the grief
behind his two spectacles
two sets of hands are requested straight
knuckles down and held out
the bamboo cane
coaxed no passing
secrets out,
automata face
scream time put on delay
the clock to midnight
on his crypt's wall, hidden
strikes still a braille mind
doesn't once drop the ball
it smiles ruthfully
dialling up the forbidden
chemistry of tears,
a juxtoposition
from the internal well
My opal sky suspended
heaving dreams falling slow mo
through foggy clouds
are breathed in like lavender rain
antiseptic are all
our polished stories
rehearsed repetitively
then delayed and side courted
tennis left hand
lucid inarticulate
backhanded
Love all
candy hearted
is a fresh game
pulled swiftly
from a side pocket
refuting singing flutes
whistling and caressed
by a tongue flirtatiously wetting lips
a regular, pulsating change of pitch
a romantic vibrato
recalled
he calls me
a witch
Scent of a woman
once je t'adore
now her true essence leaking
their personalities mirror switched
bloodied and cut
pieces of peace
stolen by a foolish matador
she’s holding open the exit door
Dream Bug
walks across a
marked and sullied page
lines bleeding right
Melting
dissolved
to the far corner
lid sealed
in a glass jar
left-brained
Dream Bug
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
In the shadows of a fractured consciousness, where words fall like shattered glass,
The man, unable to articulate, to express with clarity, retreats into action.
His thoughts, like wild horses, gallop through the vast and tumultuous plains of his mind,
Yet his tongue, bound by the chains of a limited lexicon, stumbles, falters, and falls into silence.
In the theater of existence, where every gesture becomes a desperate cry,
The vocabulary of action is tethered to the body,
Each movement a scream, each breath a prayer,
Yet the silence of true understanding hovers, vast and unmoving.
When words fail to bridge the chasms of human connection,
Violence erupts like a wild, primal, and relentless storm,
A language of fists and fury, born of frustration,
The man's body becomes his voice, his weapon is his extended lexicon.
In the bleak landscape of limited expression,
Weapons become the dictionaries of the inarticulate,
Cold metal and sharp edges writing sentences of blood and pain,
For in the heat of conflict, the unspoken finds its violent release.
Men tread shadowy paths, their souls burdened by the weight of miscommunication,
The frustration of unspoken words etching scars upon the fabric of their beings,
Seeking solace in the harsh clarity of confrontation,
An incomprehensible lexicon that speaks in echoes of fear and aggression.
In the swirling depths of consciousness, the storm's fury continues,
A symphony of silent screams and unspoken desires,
Bound by the fragile chains of an inadequate vocabulary,
Eyes that ask what can't be answered, hands that seek what can't be grasped.
Yet in this maelstrom of silent agony, a glimmer of understanding remains,
A hope that beyond violence, beyond primal cries,
There lies a place where words can heal, where silence gives way to connection,
Where the fragmented pieces of the soul can unite in the harmonious dance of true expression.
For in the heart of the storm, in the eye of the silent tempest,
Lies the possibility of finding one's voice, of breaking the chains,
Transforming weapons back into words,
Reclaiming the language of humanity, the melody of understanding,
In the perfect blend of hearts, where silence no longer reigns.
In between the prayers of a million words and emotions
To the God in the sky, statues and pictures stuck on walls,
Looking out for some signs of their existence,
Constantly asking for the solutions to the difficulties absorbing me,
I pity my parents, the God that brought me to Earth.
Perpetually asking for my take in life, my plans, my aim,
Encouraging me when I am lost, hiding their own loss ,
They doubt my ideals, my proposition,
Doubting themselves in their acts of bringing me up.
They see me failing, depressed and succumbing to the consequences of failure,
And they come, encourage me with a filtered smile and confidence,
They narrate the chronicles of success, struggles and experiences of hard work,
And convince me that defeats are just part of life.
"Each fall make you rise higher, till you reach where your destiny resides,
Therefore do not worry, have faith and be diligent", they tell.
They are more skilled with life, they have seen asperity
They have seen problems and have found leads to solve them
They see the inarticulate words and concerns of mine,
They know the sensitivity, the fears that brings me down.
But they do not know, I too comprehend them all
Their anxieties, worries and dubiety of their methods,
Their frustration, their urge to see my mind
Their patience to wait for me to speak out my conception,
Their filtered emotions, their plastic smiles,
Their perpetual ways to procure my intend so they can aid,
Their endeavours to keep me going, keep me bucked up.
I see them all, but I am helpless,
As I am a question without an answer,
I am still vexed to rise after the falls,
Still scared to choose a path,
Dread trailing me like my shadow,
Mind dense with gratuitous beliefs,
Heart brimming with suppressed opinions,
My escalating wrath, annoyance and the agitating soul,
But I am their kid, I have their blood in my veins,
I inherit their ways of forcing a grin,
I too show them, there is nothing to fret,
I am all sorted, and on my way to the goal that I still need to find.
K.S.Lakshmi
I feel as if I am the only one. I stand, my feet planted in the sand, and look ahead of me; a vast ocean appears. It’s beautiful, yet that is not what my fixated being chooses to look on. I see death; I see the countless lives lost by drowning, I see how unexplored and unfriendly the panoramic nature of the ocean is. I fail to see beauty.
Others stand alongside me, looking as if they enjoy warm grainy sand. All I can think about is how the sand was once a rock, how it once had a rough exterior, but was broken, shredded, and eroded into the soft grains we overlook today. Everyone I know seems to appreciate all aspects of life, thinking not of how things are created, but what they do for others. I seem to overthink, but more, much more than normal.
The waves; they consume my every molecule. They wash down on me, drenching me, not only in cold water but my own thoughts. How can people love me if I don’t love myself? How do I seem to do everything for others for them to never give me anything in return? How can I discover the purpose of my life when I can’t even recognize why I’m here? How can I save myself when I don’t understand why I’m worthy enough to be saved? I sink, sink deeper in the water as my mask dissolves; my attempt of feigning ease is now shattered. I’m afraid; afraid that when the wave passes, people will see me for not who I truly am, but how I view myself as. Because I’m scared.
When I talk, even to a friend or a family member, messing up one word or stuttering will result in me overthinking for days; what if they don’t like me anymore? What if they think I’m inarticulate? The feeling of messing up, whether in speaking, sports, school, overtakes the feeling of living-- like my anxiety is driving me towards perfection rather than letting me enjoy what life has to offer. I focus only on others and their needs, worrying how I will appear to them, completely ignoring how I feel and how I want; so, as the wave washes by, I wonder--
Am I the only one?
Life, like a practiced comedian on the stage
Keeps smiling and frowning in turn.
Under the embers of joy that spark from our hearts,
Lies the pulverized heap of charcoaled dreams!
Sometimes I find life, a tight rope walk
When a false step can prove so very fatal
And fear it might land me in some bottomless abyss
Demanding me to proceed with utmost caution
At such times, I raise my heart in prayer
For divine assistance and godly intervention
Sure, this abidance in God keeps me on
When life turns a trek through labyrinthine paths
While staying at the Himalayan heights of joy
Sometimes I feel hurled down into the nadir of despair
Soon after proudly flaunting my trophy
I see myself smashed into utter defeat….
When trials and sorrows, thus dominate my life
And joy, I find is only a passing phase,
I turn to inspirational books and biographies of men
Who have dared and won against all odds
And thus fuel my mind with fresh hope
Sometimes when I feel moody for no reason
And am weighed down by an inarticulate ache
I make a stroll into nature, to the silent shade of trees
To hear the nightingales sing, to see the bees collecting pollen
To feast on the beauty that surrounds,
And inhale the salubrious air that comes wafting
Then I am filled with a new vigor and renewed zest
Brightening every corner of my darkened mind
In all ups and downs, when life becomes full of care
I withdraw into a lonely corner with my pen and paper
And tap at the fountain springs of my imagination
When a cascade of feelings plunge down from my heart,
Spurting out in broken jets with or without rhyme
Unveiling inmost secrets and thoughts of joy or gloom
Then it quickly hands me down with a therapeutic effect
And the storm inside ceases and a divine calm settles
April.3. 2022
What Keeps Me Going Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Cecelia Hopkins Drewer
An inarticulate artist,
I wanted to paint
the lone life’s landscape,
effervescent,
the construed course
of a river called desire
unrestrained,
meandering its way
in self-possessed pattern,
I yearned.
In prime youth
I thought I owned
solely
the whole canvas,
in self-satisfied strokes
I smeared
blithe,
the subterranean serenity
of psychic vales,
disappearing undepicted
in the fold of canvas,
blank.
Free will amalgamated
prodigal paints
with shades of ego,
copious,
contrived colors spilled
with spontaneity slide
from porous palette
of permeable mind,
expansive.
The banal painting
didn’t turn out
to be a masterpiece,
the hidden designer
created a mundane motif
of listless life,
destined.
Toward the hued horizon
of draping dawn,
drawn at canvas periphery,
my mental brush swept
spellbound,
striving with sensuous drive
to capture the beauty
of unique chromatic lattice
at the edge
of the nascent sky,
pristine.
In supercilious strides
I trampled
the malachite meadow,
turned wasteland,
where I walked
d i s t r a u g h t
on my shadow,
s h a t t e r e d.
On the bleak backdrop,
sinking forlorn
ordained,
within twilight zone,
rinsed by sedate rays
of the setting sun,
my consumed essence
gives perforce
now
the final strokes
of bare brush
at the edge
of convoluted canvas,
where my senescent mindscape
devout,
is illumined
by the eternal glow
of divine light.
Through the lens
of introspection
I see me
metamorphosed
into a lengthening shadow,
magnified
bigger than myself,
d i s i n t e g r a t e d.
In the Twilight of Her Tears
by Michael R. Burch, age 19
In the twilight of her tears
I saw the shadows of the years
that had taken with them all our joys and cares ...
There in an ebbing tide’s spent green
I saw the flotsam of lost dreams
wash out into a sea of wild despair ...
In the scars that marred her eyes
I saw the cataracts of lies
that had shattered all the visions we had shared ...
As from a ravaged iris, tears
seemed to flood the spindrift years
with sorrows that the sea itself despaired ...
Prodigal
This poem is dedicated to Kevin Longinotti, who died four days short of graduation from Vanderbilt University, the victim of a tornado that struck Nashville on April 16, 1998.
You have graduated now,
to a higher plane
and your heart’s tenacity
teaches us not to go gently
though death intrudes.
For eighteen days
—jarring interludes
of respite and pain—
with life only faintly clinging,
like a cashmere snow,
testing the capacity
of the blood banks
with the unstaunched flow
of your severed veins,
in the collapsing declivity,
in the sanguine haze
where Death broods,
you struggled defiantly.
A city mourns its adopted son,
flown to the highest ranks
while each heart complains
at the harsh validity
of God’s ways.
On ponderous wings
the white clouds move
with your captured breath,
though just days before
they spawned the maelstrom’s
hellish rift.
Throw off this mortal coil,
this envelope of flesh,
this brief sheath
of inarticulate grief
and transient joy.
Forget the winds
which test belief,
which bear the parchment leaf
down life’s last sun-lit path.
We applaud your spirit, O Prodigal,
O Valiant One,
in its percussive flight into the sun,
winging on the heart’s last madrigal.
Keywords/Tags: twilight, tears, years, joys, cares, dreams, sea, despair, lies, vision,
How Shall I Say I Love You
My Darling Love, how shall I say I love you?
You know I do, but how can portray this to you in words?
Let me try My Dear One—
With a Smile when I think often of the sheer radiance of your beauty.
With Thoughts which I have of you daily and the sweet things you do.
With Emotions ripe and afire when I think of the pure passion we have.
With my Inner Psyche when I get in touch deeply with my ethereal self.
With my Eyes as I gaze into your eyes with noble tears of joy and love.
With my Touch as I hold and caress you in my arms and share my love.
With my Heart which is the driving force of my love and emotion for you.
With my Laughter that helps to lighten even the most trying situations.
With my Prayers which reflect my connection to God and belief in you.
With my Spoken Words which reflect my true heartfelt emotions for you.
When Holding your Hand at anytime on any day for no particular reason.
When Walking with you day or night at anytime, anyplace, or anywhere.
When Writing Poetry since you are always my special inspiration and muse.
With my unbridled love and respect for you as a warm and loving person.
With my warm inner feeling for all of the special things we do together.
My Final Thought: As imperfect and inarticulate as I surely am, at times—
My Darling Love these are some special inner-felt notions and emotions
reflecting always my view of you and feelings for you as the most important
person in this world to me. My true love always and forever.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved – June 5, 2015
(Free Verse)
*A very special tribute to my wife and eternal soul mate.
"Words are all I have, but they are the very tools I use to paint my thoughts
and feelings on my inner canvas of emotions."