Long Instant Poems
Long Instant Poems. Below are the most popular long Instant by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Instant poems by poem length and keyword.
City lights sparkle
Orchard Road highlights;
Secular Christmas
~~~~~~~~~
Shoppers smile
Branded goods in tow;
Happiness galore
~~~~~~~~~
Crowded corridors
Congested malls flooded;
Black Friday postures
~~~~~~~~~
Time to attend
Mending broken hearts;
Gift of yourself
~~~~~~~~~
Buying agendas
Long To-Do List;
Indulgence shouts
~~~~~~~~~
Out in the crowd
Heart feels alone;
Things cannot fill
~~~~~~~~~
Christmas adds extra
Stress and strain flaunt;
Discrete permutations
~~~~~~~~~
Street corner vendors
Assorted wares tempt;
Come take me home
~~~~~~~~~
Bags in tow
Train ride home;
Fruitful spree
~~~~~~~~~
A familiar face
In the crowded mall;
Instant smiles tell
~~~~~~~~
Child bargaining
Parental objection;
Enough is enough
~~~~~~~~~
Listen love calls
Can you hear music;
Hymns from faraway
~~~~~~~~~
Equatorial Christmas mood
Sun, rain and humidity;
Take air-con cover
~~~~~~~~~
Now face to face
Heart to heart;
Priceless giving
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
01 December 2014
Singapore
I was painting – a painting painting –
and when that right moment arrived
I went deep into the manic time, the flying zone.
For those readers who have never gone flying,
let me tell you it is the absolute best feeling you can have – ever.
How often do you get the opportunity
to be clear and fast and all-powerful,
so deep in love with what you are doing that you can’t breathe
and time and the world vanish and you don’t care?
My bedroom was my studio.
My mother was dying, my wife had divorced me,
and I had ordered a dozen or more pints
of every color of acrylic paint I thought I might like,
plus brushes in every size.
I couldn’t afford it, and I didn’t care.
When the order arrived I moved the bed
out of my/our former bedroom and ripped up the carpet,
stapled large sheets of heavy drawing paper to the wall,
turned Ani DiFranco to full volume,
and went to work.
Going in was the hard part, the getting there,
but I could feel when it was happening,
feel it in my chest and breath, the movement of my body,
and I was gone.
I painted until the piece itself told me to stop;
in that very instant I rejoined the world.
Once again I feel defeated,
Still alone, slowly depleted,
Sitting lonesome in quiet wait,
For something to initiate.
Just one message , on my phone,
To get me up and out of home.
I once thought that time was slow,
My father tried to let me know,
Now that time has gone and past,
I understand time is constant and very fast,
Remember all those times, you said "I know"
Parents would warn, but still you'd go,
Out into the night, not a care in the world,
Parents up late, worried sick, your not killed.
If I knew when I was young,
How much pain I would cause some,
I would have changed the error of ways,
Changed directions, had better days,
No going back, time travel non existent ,
Know what you have, gone in an instant.
On the grand stage of the world, under lights of dreams and flickering charm,
We dance our illusions, beneath arcs of sun and mysteries fashioned through dreams vast and warm.
Freedom, a chimera of thoughts and rustling leaves lost in the ether,
Carries us on golden wings, as our souls transform into vapor.
Under life's curtain, lights dance in frenetic arabesques so febrile,
Illusions woven in the distance, with threads of moon and dreams fragile, under subtle lights so real.
But when the price rises like silver spears illuminating the entire earth,
The curtain lifts, and truth becomes hungry, burning like the very word.
Then, under lacy shadows, the decor shatters into waves of broken illusion,
For the magic of profit falters on untamed and warm crystal shores, a mere delusion.
Chairs and tables are ghosts, vanishing in an instant, nebulous illusions falling apart,
And the brick wall gazes at us with a truth unclear, mysterious like shadowy art.
Under the veil of deception, the moon spreads stardust from celestial heights,
Dream puppets wearing heavy, sad masks, hiding their faces beneath silent rites.
But when the spell fades and the light becomes bitter, cold as the lost dream,
Truth grips us like a river rock, silent yet unwavering beneath the mute word's theme.
The curtain rises, and fictional whispers evaporate like clouds of dawn,
Under the sky's cross, illusions die, memories breaking at dawn, fraying in an hour gone.
In the abyss of the stage, the wall watches us with granite eyes in secret shadow,
We, the dreamers, become wanderers through a finite tableau, wax-free, hollow.
The stars ignite for the next act, the moon retreats into its spherical penumbra,
And behind us remains only true wisdom, fleeting eternity, a dying stanza.
Without sets and masks, only a deaf and smooth truth beneath the clear gaze,
Under the fallen veil, we become part of a preached tale, never to be phased.
Thus life carries us, in shows without ends, devoid of ephemeral beauties,
The illusion of freedom, enchanted and lost in foreign ruins, brings breezes.
But the walls speak, in their silent stone's forever changing tug,
And we, wanderers, forever seek the light in the night, like fog-bound ships in silence snug.
Order ...
Is the Universe ... and the YOU-niverse
Chaos is a ruse, a phantom
A word we apply to that which is yet unmeasured or unexplained
This knowledge, this perspective, is the nexus of mindfulness
Balance in ALL things ... equity, harmony, stasis
The symmetry of energy and effort
Awareness and intent, finely adjusted
Like a wolf running swift through its environs
A myriad of senses and impulses, absorbed and sifted
Auditory, olfactory, optical, and tactile
Acting upon the synapses, sending signals
Piquing the decision centers with instant adjustment, orientation
One with its surroundings, an affinity with nature
BE the wolf ...
Listen, watch, perceive, feel, and adapt
Take heed and measure of your immediate surroundings
And the rest will take care of itself
Be the master of the domain, You
Expect only the control of your personal space
But do so with concern, accuracy, and exceeding sensitivity
Attuned to the element and circumstance of each moment
While always focused and at peace from deep within
That is surely what you will project to the world ...
And most of what will return to you.
~ 7th Place ~ in the "Mindfulness" Poetry Contest, Chantelle Anne Cooke, Judge & Sponsor.
A dull-looking scuffed up ebony toolbox full of pure happiness,
Sat in the back of Charley’s old green Chevy pick-up truck,
Waiting for him to drink his three cups of coffee.
“Another adventure!” the wrench said to the clamps.
The tools knew that Charley would be using them today for sure.
He had thrown a tarp, some paint cans, and his can of nails in last night.
They were eager to get started, happy to see what they would be building.
“Here he comes!” the hammer said. “Silence!” There was instant compliance.
The tools shook with exuberance, feeling today’s adventure.
Would they be building a window seat, porch, deck? Someone’s park bench?
“SHHHH!” the pliers cautioned them. “He is getting in!”
Charley had no idea they were aware he was lifting souls
One project at a time. A simple carpenter, with a good soul…
One Scary Night
A joke, a dare
Come on, dont be scared
I am not, I stammered
Alone, up old brown stairs I clamored.
Inside, I could swear I heard them laugh,
Where were the lights, around me spirits dance,
The stairs to the top floor, they are creaking
I look to the left, why do I feel like fleeing
In an instant I see the spirit of the old man
and in my mind, is that a knife what is in his hand?
I start to run down long eerie passages,
Here he comes, the headless knight and his headless horse carriage.
The ghosts are now calling, in the kitchen of all places.
I cannot resist, I must see the look on their faces.
On to the stony floor I slide, watching them cooking.
I hide in the pantry, so scared, are they looking!
I hear the breath of someone inside,
or is that breath I hear, mine?
I feel the brush on my neck
I faint as i look, as I see what's behind.
I wake up on the dirty basement floor
I dont want to be here anymore
The chains are tight around my wrists
In the distance, I see a coffin that is lit
Is that mine, oh I feel alone.
I scream, mommy please take me home
I pass out once more, hearing the dead walk the floor
Its me next, i am sure.
I wake to see a familiar face,
My mother is wiping a cloth on my brow
I thought I told you, never go to that place
So I smile, happy to be in my abode
and promising to leave forever, the haunted house alone.
as our eyes met
as our eyes met
a thunderous spark
detonated in my heart
a sudden tsunami
of years of ancient history
in some telepathic wave
taking my breath away
i understood in an instant
it had all been a charade
how things really happened
the day we met
IT WAS HE
who noticed me across the room
and elbowed his buddy
who haphazardly reacted to the nudge
by flashing his big bright smile my way
and it just so happened our eyes locked
changing history
yes IT WAS HE
who was going through a rough patch
encouraged his friend to pursue me
and offer me a ride home
that’s how i fell for the clown
but today years later
his eyes betrayed him revealing
IT WAS HE
who had been in love with me all along
and here i'd been duped
ironically a victim to my very own version
of the classic Cyrano de Bergerac love triangle
dazed i stood in staggering awe
of what could have been
Read on air by invitation ~ April 4, 2021 'LATE NIGHT POETS'
AP: Honorable Mention 2021
(reference to my favorite, the most wonderful and famous play CYRANO DE BERGERAC written by Edmond Rostand)
with so many years behind us
I expected the typical
oh what a lovely surprise
how nice to see you
but like a dart to my heart
in an instant
the tables turning
our eyes met
I was startled to see
your heart unguarded
skipping a beat
undeniably
blatantly
giving you away
there was no room
for misinterpretation
what I saw when your jaw dropped
was a be-still-my-heart moment
your eyes betraying you
that moment to catch your breath
I understood
you loved me
never told me
so many years
so long ago
Read on air by invitation ~ August 4, 2021 'WORDS & MUSIC"
AP: 1st place 2021, 1st place 2021
One More
Ingredients are a funny thing.
Timing is probably more important.
But it is hard to say really.
I cooked all day, but…
I wanted it to be perfect, but…
I thought I had it, but…
The turkey refused to get in the pot.
He looked at me like I was crazy.
I guess I did not blame him,
as I would not have thought it
the best idea.
I let him out of the cage early.
I wanted to get to know him a little.
I wanted this to be a mutually
acceptable event.
Yet, explaining that you have a plan,
in which one of you will not be
okay with the outcome,
never goes well.
I am here to tell you.
Clearly.
He looked at me,
now free from the box.
He could see the window(open),
the door (ajar)
and the floor, was just washed.
In an instant I realized,
The ingredient had found,
a reason…
not to want to be cooked.
Maybe many?
Turkeys fly, no lie.
Not fast or slow, but erratically.
First a smoldering present just for me,
on my shining surface.
Plop.
Then a squawk,
that I had not realized,
I could understand, as if in English…
I will not repeat…
for mixed readers present.
Off he went.
High and low, and in between.
He knocked off things I had not seen.
Trouble on the rise, trouble already risen,
feathers and flying not the same,
as any other caged bird,
as this one knew,
to be free,
he had a clue.
So he flew.