Long Indexed Poems
Long Indexed Poems. Below are the most popular long Indexed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Indexed poems by poem length and keyword.
Brighter than a fall bonfire but with the chill of ice,
the winter sun haloes a gray and barren woodland;
throbbing, almost hesitant, with a florescent pulse,
brazen in its unrelenting descent, it clings to the horizon.
How it hurt my eyes.
Thin skinned, the lids tinge orange, the white of sol’s merging.
Trunks, boughs, branches, twigs, welt the dusk,
rouging the line between, blooding the virgin night.
Pricked, the brain pulses in tune, unable to look away.
How it hurt my mind.
Splayed fingers do not block the sharpened spears of screaming light.
The winter sun, indexed, and palmed, scratches the face of I.
Within a dakened room beneath a pall, behind hides blue veins,
near comatose, I sigh, the light, the light, until shades and stars arrive.
How life and death both hurt.
First Published in Dual Coast Magazine Issue 1 2014
Brighter than a fall bonfire, but with the chill of ice,
the Winter sun haloes the gray and barren woodland,
throbbing, almost hesitant, with a fluorescent pulse,
brazen in its unrelenting descent, it clings--
to the horizon.
How it hurt my eyes.
Thin skinned, the lids tinge orange, the white of sol merging:
trunks, boughs, branches, twigs, welt the dusk--
rouging the line between, blooding the virgin night.
Pricked, the brain pulses in tune, unable to look away.
How it hurt my mind.
Splayed fingers block, the sharpened spears of screaming fright.
The Winter sun, indexed, palmed, scratches, the face of I.
Within a lightless room a pall hides blue veins, near comatose,
brazen: the light, the light-- I sigh, until shades and stars arrive.
How life and death both hurt.
art by JulieG350
First Published by Dual Coast Magazine Issue 1 - 2014
Why this is my tale
Of my family tree and roots
The what and where
My Gaelic Celtic
Surname origins came
Straight out of my Liverpool home
Retracing my heritage right back to
The emerald island of Eire
Galway Bay
And the Wild Atlantic Way
Which paved the way
Where the
Ferocious O'Flaherty
Clan initially began and surname came
To Aughnanure Castle
On the shores of the Drimneen river
Where I myself have never previously been
Which I aim to put right and address
Because as they say and it's said
In order to know where you are going
You need at 1st to know
There fom whence you came
If no other reason
Apart from maybe just incase
In death you may well be returned
Indexed alphabetically under ones surname
Mine begining with the letter
" F '"
Moto and Meaning
Fortune Favors the Brave
Bright Rulers
Ferocious in both
Spirit and namesake
_____________
Poet’s Note: Beauty used to benumb beholders. Today’s beauty is simply numbered and indexed. One thousand (mille-Helens) make one Helen, the unit fashioned after Helen of Troy believed to be the most beauteous ever to have walked on this globe. (Why not? Western standards only today matter). In the octave of this sonnet, a husband talks about what beauty is. In the sestet the lady wants to know what he thinks about her beauty, and then Volta happens to resolve in a political answer.
_________________
Superficial, shallow, only skin deep,
Beauty, as beauty buffs may bemoan, lies
In a beholder's discreet pair of eyes,
Doubt if from a shallow skin can it peep.
It has to glow and gleam from deep within
To emanate from holder's feeling heart,
And seldom a thing of the visual art,
Born of one’s heart, beauty's more felt than seen.
Fine, fine, but how many Helens you think
You give to me, hailing from head or heart?
Beholders of beauty when think, they blink,
And since it spills over from every quart,
I doubt if Helens is a fair measure
For you— my heart’s Helen, my sole pleasure.
___________________________________________
Sonnets | 04.02.2008, revised Sept 2022|
Ho-hum, another war lost
We should have won
Our new partner for peace ~ the Taliban
Ho-hum, a new school year
First semester's curriculum
Learn whom to FEAR
Ho-hum, we're going all-electric
While 'Mr. Green President'
Begs Russia ~ Pump more oil! Protet us!
Ho-hum, California burns
The no-win solution
Gavin Newsome returns
Ho-hum, Chicago's locked down
No, it's not Covid
It's a murderous town
Ho-hum, soaring inflation
I can still sleep ~ My paycheck's
Indexed to tax machinations
Ho-hum, another day closer
To beckoning the invading hoardes
Come over ~ Here are the keys ~ Take over
"We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are." - Anaïs Nin
a world of mine - the world of me
it's all the world i'll ever see
the only world that's spinning free
one world i'll ever have and be
but oh how grand could i but flee
this frame of dirge cacophony
to wend a song or two (or three)
a softer strain - another key
of life where sharp and flat agree
where they and i and you ...
are we ...
well i can dream, yes i can dream
if i but shut my eyes ...
~
Impulse, enter
Senses and sensation
Stirred with an indexed intent
All one dark, filtered aberration
A distorted lens of chaos and care
Carnal portions, meant holy
Divine, meant irreverent
I sit upon the marble, blue ... twirl
Views change, but perspective is a cold mute
Blinded by my vatic eyes alone
Cursed to but one sill ...
Shattered.
~ 9th Place ~ in the "She Inspires Series - AN" Poetry Contest, Maureen McGreavy, Judge & Sponsor.
The image of her face embedded in my mind
The sound of her voice indexed into my brain
The smell of her perfume
The feel of her embrace
The tenderness of her kisses
Those eyes inflamed with life
Memories of her
A few silly messages she sent me
Words of nonsense
Words that bring forth smiles
A small note where she wrote my name
Dotted with hearts
Evidence?
That she likes me too
I keep it hidden in a small box and look at it
When the darkness brings her presence to me
I turn on my lamp and reassure myself
That yes she thinks of me
Yes she likes me
Dreams are good because of her
Pictures of us
I picture us
I like us
She's my daydreams my dreams my endless thoughts streams
I think of her
When were together the earth stands still
The sun shines for us
The moon and stars glow for us
The world is good
When we are apart loneliness mocks my heart
And doubt seeps into my mind
I think of her all the time
Yet I wonder
I wonder
I wonder if she ever thinks of me?
My Dance of Poetry
When my soul and I dance in accord,
Then and only then
Will I be able to write my poetry.
I cannot get more than I give!
Yes, I comprehend the world is indexed
aselfish place,
Where to be number one muddles all
minds,
And we forget love is more than just
being kind.
To see we bless another soul, is indeed
a noble goal.
Gratitude for this gift of poetry comes
from God.
It's really not our own doing, I realize
that sounds so totally odd!
Staying true, writing my very best
That's all God asks~ it s a noble quest.
We write down our words, we think
They are terrific.
Others look at them as nothing more
Than a traffic ticket.
This is my personal mountain to climb.
To keep on going, even though, this eats
my whole day.
I'm not here for self-aggrandizement,
But to support others on our mutual-
soul trip.
Panagiota Romios
4/23/2019
1:40pm PST