Long Inferno Poems
Long Inferno Poems. Below are the most popular long Inferno by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Inferno poems by poem length and keyword.
What happened?
I bolt awake, the heat of the fire
Still burning in my brain.
Oh, it was just a dream.
Or was it? I look at my skin,
Realize it’s black and bloody all at once
Cracked, peeling.
I sniff,
The whisper of smoke still in my nose,
My hair.
A tear rolls down my pitted cheek
As I remember, like I always do,
After I wake up.
Reliving that night.
The last thing I remember,
I was
Home, entwined in your arms
(your fingers were entwined, too, in the hair I’m stroking now).
The heat between our bodies
So strong, that I pushed you away;
I regret it now.
(I just wanted a little space.)
Because the heat then became suffocating, consuming,
As you rolled over and said
this wasn’t the same anymore.
I couldn’t breathe.
Soon, I was sweating,
100 degrees and climbing,
as you got up and packed your things
then left the room.
The slam of the front door
Was the catalyst.
My heart was the match,
And I the fuel....
I exploded from the inside out-
The flame ripped me open,
My skin started to blacken and smoulder.
Stop drop and roll?
They never taught us what to do
In a human inferno.
In desperation, I laid there on the bed
You and I shared
My tears nothing
but puffs of smoke
as they fell uselessly upon my skin.
The tears I’m crying now
In the hospital bed
Remembering
Are no more productive...
But my dear friend sitting next to me
Who pulled me out of the flames
Is there to dry them
And to console me
Telling me I still look beautiful
the wounds will heal
And that you aren’t worth them anyway.
I now know what I have to do
once I can leave this place.
Months later,
My burns have closed, now only scars remain.
I walk up the street to the house you and I once shared,
Now only a pile of rubble.
Picking my way through the charred remains of our bedroom,
A curtain scrap there, a chunk of headboard there,
A stray blackened sock,
I stop, and kneel down in the ashes.
I begin to sift through the ashes, the memories, with my finger,
Both erasing the past,
And bringing it to life all at once,
Until I have found it.
A blade of grass.
One.
Standing tall, strong,
And unapologetically green.
In the middle of the ashes,
With the ruins of our life together all around me,
I delicately clean the area around the blade of grass
with my finger, and
I smile.
7 Versos Livres
Crença
O meu e o Seu coração
pode assumir qualquer forma:
1. Um prado para gazelas,
2. Um claustro para monges,
3. Um bálsamo para doentes
4. solo sagrado para crentes.
O credo do coração
é amor;
presente onde quer
que seu caminho se desvie.
Isso é a crença do coração
a fé do coração.
************
Morrer para renascer
Sempre pergunte:
"Estou pronta para
mudar a minha vida,
estou pronta
para me mudar?”“.
Em qualquer idade
seja o que for que passamos,
é sempre possível renascer.
************
Dificuldades, Problemas e Erros Linguísticos
A maioria
das Dificuldades
e dos problemas do mundo
deriva de erros linguísticos
e simples mal-entendidos.
Evite os erros:
nunca tome palavras pelo valor de face.
Quando você entra na zona do amor,
a linguagem como a conhecemos
se torna obsoleta.
Aquilo que não pode ser colocado
em palavras
só pode ser compreendido
através do silêncio.
************
Ecos da montanha e o mundo
Este mundo é como uma montanha.
Seu eco depende de você.
Se você gritar coisas boas, o mundo vai devolver.
Se você gritar coisas ruins, o mundo vai devolver.
Fale sempre o bem.
Seja grata.
Mude seu coração para mudar o mundo.
************
Passado e Futuro
O passado é uma interpretação.
O futuro está na ilusão.
O mundo não se move no tempo
procedendo do passado
para o futuro.
O tempo passa através
e dentro de nós,
em espirais infinitas.
A eternidade é intemporalidade.
Se quer experimentar
a iluminação eterna,
coloque o passado
e o futuro
fora de sua mente
e permaneça no momento presente.
Assim,
Vai criar um grande futuro
Hoje.
************
Onde procurar
Onde procurar o céu
e o inferno no futuro.
Acredite:
ambos estão agora presentes.
sempre que conseguimos amar sem expectativas,
amar sem cálculos,
sem negociações,
estamos de fato no céu.
Sempre que brigamos,
Ou odiamos, estamos no inferno.
************
Pacienciar
O que significa
pacienciar?
Significa
olhar para o espinho
e ver a rosa,
olhar a noite
e ver o amanhecer.
Impaciência significa
ter visão curta
e não ver a fruta
na semente.
Pessoas bem resolvidas
Pacienciam e
sabem que o tempo
é necessário
para que a lua crescente
se torne plena
a semente crie frutas.
What's in writing?
What makes one to author something from the absolute scratch?
What is the science of this art?
Is it just the perceptible version of the human thought or something-deep lies within this solemn form of art?
The little magic of letters, the funny games between the lines…..
The kinship of paragraphs and hence the literal tribute to the risk that architects the inner thoughts that gloriously shapes the unyielding passion for a literary style and way of life.
Behind the veil of shadow charmed words, dwells the writer-man.
Who, armed with pen, tirelessly searches beneath the debris of feelings and desires,
And simply treasures the moments that designs this lissome piece of art.
Composing words
With skilled engineering of ideas that run down through the alleyways of mind…..
The writer-man illustrates the canvas where emotions are drawn,
Reflections are sketched,
And tales are told with human color and ardent strokes.
All those whispers of the little voice inside…
Wondering around the spaces between fiction and reality…
And all the conversation between the mind, heart and all the musings of the soul,
Where do they all go?
Locked up in the bubble of time?
Chained up by the codes of life?
Surely, beings in us desperately struggle to breathe in this secular sphere of ever expanding confusion.
In the quest for freedom, the spirit in us excavates our very soul,
And vibrantly surfs on the waves of emotions and loans ear to the assembly of million thoughts that continually circle around our misconstrued mind.
And often by the shape of words
These inner thoughts find their way out,
As they gently sail through our consciousness and make their way into the light.
The alchemy of alphabets allows us to have a glimpse of ourselves by streaming down soul's rearview mirror.
And the key to enter upon the realm of words lies on the urge of willingness to declare the innersole and the ultimate self.
Penning down the casual percepts and the untamed imagination could always open up the magical door to an unpredictable certainty.
Dodging the reality it creates a sense of belonging in a world,
That is designed to fit the shape of one’s true conscience,
Whether simple or mystical,
It surely travels right at the heart route.
(C) Obaidur Rahman. Published in the poet’s debut book of English poetry titled “The Mystic Inferno” in 2012.
Because the mind still stays
The memory of the holocaust,
And the face reflects the twinge that still lurks
In the hollow of our frail hearts;
My mournful pen shall bleed
In a forever flow of pensive mood.
We are survivors
Who suffered the flame of covid.
We are survivors
Who sampled the taste of death.
We who saw the gate of hell and live
To tell the tale that hell is cosy,
Compared to the wicked world;
We are now casualties of war.
Hell is a cooling place
The earth is not.
And no one devil inhabits a calming hell.
They all abide with us here in the flaming hell;
For the earth is hell,
The hell is earth.
The earth is hell where the devil-incarnates dwell.
The hell is place where the hostile hunger
Shoots fiery darts at poor souls.
The covid slaughtered its thousand,
We heard it.
Hunger slaughtered its ten thousands,
We saw it.
The devil is innocent,
Man is not.
Many visited the heaven but never return;
It is safe to die.
Many visited the street but never return;
They were shot in the head.
But thousands remained indoor,
There they welcomed their death and followed him.
The death loved them more than their rich neighbours.
Tell me, why my sorrowing pen won’t bleed
When death is kind and man is cruel?
Tell me, why my sorrowing pen won’t bleed,
When the devils hoarded palliatives;
And poor souls suffer?
Those invented pandemic did no harm;
Those feign pandemic to peculate did.
Those declared lockdown meant well;
To feed man with the wind,
And slaughter souls in hunger.
Lekki toll-gate episode is enough
To succor our grieving souls.
Now to those buried their dead
In the heart of their memories
For the lack of further space in the burial sites;
In the sundry lands and climes
Where pandemic havocked like hell;
To you whose mirth has been ceased
By the cacophony of the holocaust;
To you whose land the inferno lingers still;
May you be brave to fight to victory.
May new dawn cure your night of mourning.
May you forget the season of cold;
By the warmful rays of sunshine.
May your heart be filled
With overwhelming songs of joy.
For until this war is over;
And the mind lets go
Of the memory of the holocaust,
And the face reflects the ebullient heart of the optimist;
My mournful pen shall continue to bleed,
In a forever flow of pensive mood.
She sprinted through a rugged woods
Away from free loading fathers and filthy no-goods,
Away from tear soaked teddy bears and lungs filled with smoke.
She found herself unmoving, crying in the arms of a weeping willow oak.
She is what remains of a fractured household,
A rotten tapestry of liquor stains, bruised bodies, and secrets untold.
She imagined what lied beyond the waterfall of misery that cascaded infinitely over her,
For she was stuck observing the world in a melancholy blur
Her blistered ankles fell weak and she crumpled towards the ground,
Peering up at a glistering light that left her wonderstruck, spellbound
She made out the shape of a body descending from above
They gazed at each other, her eyes as doleful as a mourning dove
He whispered in her ear as softly as the whistling wind,
Leaving her once perpetually dark world seeming only to be dimmed
He held out his hand to her and urged her to run away
To a place called Neverland, a world where all somber thoughts are kept at bay.
Though it seemed of her to be giving in to her broken mentality,
She longed for an escape from pain and poison personality.
As they floated above her home town,
She suddenly couldn't hear bottles shattering or doors breaking down.
She felt the pain lift from her small frame,
And the inferno of sadness that burned interminably was but a flickering flame.
They sailed across the second star to the right and flew straight on ‘till morning
She hadn't prepared for the wondrous sight before her that came with no warning
She broke through clouds that brushed her face with cotton candy kisses,
The world of true happiness and ephemeral sunshine was once real only in her wishes.
It was in the land of everlasting childhood that she was freed of all regrets,
And she held flowers between her fingers instead of cigarettes
Her face was flushed with shades of pink instead of black and blue,
And she decided it was time to write her story anew.
That night she traded her tattered nightgown for rags and a dirty fur coat,
She chose put her past in a bottle and set it afloat.
In that moment she could feel her true identity come unbound,
They called her Lost Girl, but in that moment she never felt more found.
Take The Dagger From My Heart, Please -2- Poetry Contest
N/A- 100 in a ROW contest--15 9/24/16
Like a tumbleweed aimlessly blowing in the wind
across infinitely open and wide prairie home companion land
(which wasteland famously epitomized by T.S. Elliot)
a barren vista ravages metaphorical landscape
of one measly mortal malcontent male
bumping and scraping along accursed habiliment
just barely avoiding and dodging diabolical demons
mercilessly and unrelentingly ready
to seduce this somewhat sanguine Simian
who finds himself amidst the pitfalls
of a tortured and twisted existence
racked with pinions describe bing
a demonic dragon filled dungeon
damp, dark, demented domains –
a veritable no man’s land
impossible to escape no matter how fast I -
as a foo fighter flee
from the fearful, fierce-some phantasmagoric forms
figments of my imagination seemingly real
tangible as bone and flesh
who haunt sacred crowded house of slumber
transmogrify me into a loathsome madman
ranting raving senseless gibberish and sic gobbledygook
perceived as metaphysically n philosophically insane
as soundgarden syllabification
from one womanly World Wide Web wayfarer
which virtual vagabond venerates vowels
and possesses means and tees to till verse
akin to a sorceress who waves a magic wand
to produce supreme sentences
weaves tantalizing terrific tweed topographic tundra’s
that this admirer of her artful and colorful poetic endeavors
prompts me to accompany my mindscape
as a thought-provoking troubadour
amidst the information super byways and highways
along winding labyrinths of critical thinking
or simply stepping o'er rolling stones
of silly rhymes without wing less reason
all the while giving subtle egress
into that chamber of secrets
long kept shut tight to maintain
that sure footed stance of solitude
whose only entities happened
to constitute trappings of literary lugubriousness
those tombs of largesse identified
as great works and masterpieces of literature
yet careful to avoid complete intimacy
lest that cherished solitude shattered
and a heart rent asunder
twin tower ring inferno imp perils of loss that provide
an understandable cautionary tale
to the author of this rambling missive
a most profoundly perceptive acute Ape man
touched to the quick with a bit of angel dust
aware that this agonized and angst riddled arboreal beast
contents himself with the confines of cyberspace!
Mein kampf synonymous as a blooper
Writer of these words,
a former Lower Providence inhabitant,
who dwelled within darkest depths
of Dante Alighieri's inferno
for most of his outlandish, impish,
and devilish growing up years
witnessed microscopic scrimmage,
where spermatozoan with most forcefulness
muscled itself handedly,
magnificently, and splendidly
envision unicellular olympic competition,
yours truly swimmingly
begot during the heat
of parents being passionately fruitful
courtesy diploid erogenous frisson
between my then searingly
robust virile father and fecund mother
~ late March/early April 1958
ushered seminal moment
post ova fertilization realization
courtesy male gamete
penetrating zona pellucida
a glycoprotein layer surrounding the oocyte
triggering cell bait multiplication
subsequently yielding male
gendered offspring and sole son
hashtagged as uber twittering, snapchatting,
shutterflying super duper
cute little boy with short strawberry blond hair,
whose solitudinarian nature
became quite evident when he displayed
acute social withdrawal
upon off fish shill commencement
getting schooled as a grouper
by mister Hooper,
who made his debut
appearance on Sesame Street
November 10, 1969
as storied and staple long time resident
on above named television show
until March 18, 1983,
beloved by adults and children alike
within make believe community
(a conglomerate of real and imaginary locales)
peopled with proprietary named characters
for any of a number of humorously grotesque
glove or rod puppets and marionettes,
chiefly representing animals,
first popularized, idolized,
dramatized, capitalized, and actualized
by the children's television programme
Sesame Street (1969-) and more recently
in The Muppet Show (1976-80).
Also: a toy made to resemble one of these
ingenious brainchild of Jim Maury Henson
an American puppeteer, animator, actor,
and filmmaker who achieved worldwide
notability as the creator of the Muppets
which series originated as two pilot episodes
produced by Henson for ABC in 1974 and 1975.
Henson's shocking, sudden death occurred on May 16, 1990 of organ failure resulting from streptococcal toxic shock syndrome. An emotional memorial service was held five days later at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York City.
Love is an ocean never-ending
Drink from it
You will be delirious
When the fever of love engulfs
You will be frenzied
Coherently incoherent
At times
Love is an ocean , drink from it
It is not salty but
Luksweet
Half sweet like a peach
An apple an avocado
I think of you
When the sun peeps and yellow.ascends
I feel you your kindness and compassion
Your love your passion your tenderness
Your idiosyncrasies your temperament
Patterns your composite intricacies
I know
I think of you when the sun touches
The dews on the sleeping leaves
Photosynthesis for my soul
You
Drink from it
You will be ecstatic euphoric
Elated I promise
Love is an ocean
Love is a synonym for god
It is every where omnipresent
It is in the air
I feel it
I am in the inferno
Love is rain
Colorless odourless tasteless
It is a catalyst
Neither looses nor gain but enhances
It is given
Most complain some understands
A few enjoy
That is their
destiny.
I think of you when the sun it at its peak
When every pour in my skin secrete
The aroma of your innocence
I breathe
You swirl around like a funnel cloud
Sucking into its lure your exquisite
Touch I am at peace
Love blossoms in the winter too
Breaks the thread of your silent t beads
Love is not a mirage
Opens the locks of your camouflaged
longings
Love is cool love is blue
Yellow green pink violet purple
Love is red like blood
Excuse me but lady you needs glasses.
And so does mrs justice over there
Both you broads are blind as bats
Stumbling through the system
Justice bumped into bulbous and
Tripping on republic of plato
But stepped right over a
Killed little black ant
,I am moving to a new abode
Abode, ? what is that”
It is to dwell reside
In a particular condition attitude
Relationships frequencies
To endure to sustain in a different
Realm of infinite possibilities
“ I don’t understand
“ No comprendo,por favour
Habla des pacio,please
Speak slowly
Her eyes were brimming with
Blue tears about to fall
Down
Form:
SUN-BLOCK
Your sunset-sanctioned skin ignite melody to boredom world
Your gently pearling smile charm the attention of morning sun.
Your charmed souls burn in nuclear passion
To absorb the bombardment of your ink
You are the unsolved mystery of existence
By pd
The sunrises 10 feet off the ground
This place carried the eternal light I need for my soul to soar.
Like the clouds every poet brush away my blues with one simple smile
Writing ignited my heartbeat to flicker like a candlewick non-stop.
I hold that piece of puzzle that makes my existence complete
Elegantly you walk, Venus-like
Printing glory-of-gods on excited earth
Holding hostage your admirers' eyes
With your Gabriel-censored attire
You are truly the mystery of existence
By pd
My eyes I keep holding on tight.
Gathering dangerous looks, from every poets eyes.
Striking like a speed of thunder bolt,
I fell weak like an addict to my admires streak of rays'
I'm the piece of puzzle that makes my own existence complete
Oh beautiful empress of poetry soup.
Wake thy muse and shake off the dust of block
Your fans are in inferno hunger of your welded words
Feed us again, your poetic meal that somersault the arrows of critic
For you are the unsolved mystery of existence
By pd
A great source to gather the best light here on the soup.
I found my heart beating like a rush~ spontaneous
Imaging every poem that helps me get lost in the moment
I wrote against and among the best to be like the rest
For I'm that unsolved piece of puzzle that makes my existence complete
You are kinder than nature, more hospitable than mother earth
Man and woman scramble for shelter in your cheerful hearts
For your contest, all thoughts erect pines of words
With rush of the sea storm
P.D. (( Linda )) is the unsolved mystery of existence
By pd
Losing myself to reality, this is not like me to fall into deep.
Times maybe hard, not even a simple song to poet my mind.
The truth is, the sun has blinded me with love, and I have no SUN-BLOCK
Until my instincts tells me otherwise, I will find my way back to all my fans * true or not
I (IRMA~LINDA) am responsible for the happiness of my mysterious existence.
BY : JOSEPH & LINDA
For Pd's collab with me contest
There is a music that weeps comfort,
Through the distance, in quiet moments,
Healing and blessing, reminding that His gentle grace
Will flow from the heavens, embracing,
Surrounding hearts with a lasting light – the source
Of love, His love…
There is a single tear, that whispers softly,
Through the spirit who listens
To the silence, the heartfelt lonely,
Blowing beyond the oaks and pines, in the forests
Of kindness, where He stirs the mind –
With feelings, beautiful…
There is the ghostlike echo, flinging wildly,
Endless prayers, who need to blaze,
Through the darkness,
Erasing shadows who aspire to reach the maze,
Trails of lessons, imaginations, amazed,
Singing to the soul with wounds, hearts broken
By the griefs, the regrets….
There is harmony in prayers, praises, blessings,
Shedding dewlike promises,
Lyrics wild like the roaring waves on seas,
Meant to bring the spirit incredulity,
Based on sunset tangerine, in buttery dreams,
While the azure skies secret stars,
Glistening in the inferno of a blazing serenity…
There is marvelous in the dance between,
Yesterday and circumstance,
Waltzing in faded feelings, mysteries,
Erasing the darkness, the night’s wistful
Melancholy, deaf to all the poetry
Found inside a leafy grace, a stem of faith,
Where life begins and hides each glimpse
Past memories, tell-tell signs,
Breathless signs of what is to come…
There is life in the yesterdays, the hues of light,
Falling past the memories,
Hesitating to believe the truth, trembling,
On the edges of sanity, silhouettes
Glowing, embers of lasting lessons, growing,
Messages from moments, history
Coaching the lingering yearnings to believe….
There is a song in each sleeping chapter,
Within this book of hopes and dreams,
Solitude beckoning from its destiny of charms,
Rewriting the moments, soft photos,
Fragile details in the shadows, selling joy,
Breathless thanks, heartfelt longings,
Breaking through the night,
Darkest moments just before the dawn…
When I tell you that I love you, my heart beats,
Like it is breaking, …
It never hesitates to assure,
There is a poem hiding in the lines,
Between you and me,
Between hopes and dreams,
Between the shadow and the light,
Between what is wrong and right…
When I tell you that I love you, my heart is breaking for you.