Long Interior Poems
Long Interior Poems. Below are the most popular long Interior by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Interior poems by poem length and keyword.
What wells up inside
Down the dark hole coins are tossed for luck
Barriers, born on fear are near at hand
Islanders surface from the past for gambling
Dice people from Taiwan markets dig deep
Mystic water lay five hundred feet below
From here that would make it closer to New York
Under pools dark path
Below, most deep and damp
Moisture lays behind well walls
There are no floors about the water barrier
So players must throw twice
No where near here or where they need to be
13 is the only number rolled 13 times
Which makes them times themselves
Solids form an interior circle of wet cement
From magic forces causing concrete blocks
Without the help of people gathering to stop
Who could stop a concrete block
To the evil power that remains in love with pain
Imposing on the child to fall down the open well
Water understands nothing, has no name, feels cold
Drinks in the love of God, remains inside the quiet
Flourishes with raw power deep in the nether world
When not being poisoned
Evil imposes on the child to draw near the shiny coin
That name is mystic water one and the same still on
I think I shall never see
a difference in an organic tree
and a Win/Win communication string
restructuring through annual developmental time,
or an ecopolitical climate healthcare network
observed from outside
sacred health/wealth space.
Perhaps all examples
of a whole metabolic health optimizing system.
And,
if there be equitable differences
in-between polyphonic and polyvagal sensory systems,
one environmental and the other interior,
Perhaps also integral resemblances
between linear verbally cognized causes
with non-verbal felt effects
predict future co-arising non-surprises
In sometimes ever widening
deep listening
win/win ego/eco-health care
co-arising green cooperative new deal systems
EcoFeminist life multiculturing
nonviolent communication networks
for restorative justice
through polycultural community mediation,
Perhaps calling for analogous skill sets
for analysis
through integral permaculture design
with non-zero zone Whole EarthSystemic
resonant co-empathic therapeutic experiences
on the Right
and resilient cooperative wealth
win/win investment
on our Left
Of one whole metabolic health optimizing
value system.
The last few agonizing moments aboard the ill-fated Titanic,
Were no doubt filled with horror and unabated panic.
She slipped 'neath the waves to settle on the floor of the sea,
To create a watery grave for 1500 souls who rest for all eternity.
I dreamed that I descended to her resting place 13000 feet below,
Where eternal darkness reigns and deadly currents ebb and flow.
As I neared her eerie hulk I felt that I trod on hallowed ground,
Taking care not to step on the many personal items lying around.
There were many poignant reminders of life on that cluttered floor;
Ladies shoes, leather caps, crystal wear, china and so much more.
I saw the two massive outboard propellers in the distant gloom,
And the towering mast lay upon the deck where it met its doom.
I entered her interior and viewed the once magnificent dining room.
Remains of fine china and silverware were scattered in the eerie tomb,
Reminders of exquisite dining by the beau monde on her maiden cruise,
And nearby the beautiful reception room where the elite met to schmooze.
I awoke from my dream with a start and later upon reflection,
Mused upon the 'unsinkable Titanic' and man's strive for perfection,
And concluded when man in his foolish pride doth egotistically exclaim
That his schemes and follies are indestructible, he is doomed to shame!
Entry for Rob Carmack's "Dreams Contest"
As if pushing against that one girl who bumped into me on the sidewalk.
And never said sorry, and never looked back…
It gives me strength.
To close me into the car.
Against the fall wind.
The wind that tries to tip my car over, but never succeeds!
I shake off the chill.
The cold never wins.
Against me and this machine!
The modern technology, that keeps me warm and safe.
The heat is on.
Tilting my seat back slightly and closing my eyes.
But now…
I sense a new discomfort.
With the sun still out.
The interior of this machine,
Is starting to make me warmer and warmer.
Until I give in and take off my scarf and coat.
Turning off the heat so it’s silent except for the wind outside.
There’s never comfort.
Even in my own car, that I love and paid for.
Hot and cold.
Angry and still angry.
The dichotomy.
Is not lost on me.
I’m passing through a bad part of Richmond,
a long trip almost over. Night rain drizzles
wipers creak monotonously,
the blacktop no longer flying
but crawling over my eyes.
On the edge of the city
there’s a liquor store, maybe the last
before the dark interior of Ohio.
I park under its low neon shadows.
Two belligerent drunks
are fighting, both missing each other
in slow motion.
Inside the store
more unsteady men argue,
there arms gesticulating
like broken windmills,
plus one sleazy feme yelling silently
but I can lipread most swear words.
The nightshift counter-clerk is a kid
and he looks like he’s ready to bolt.
Maybe I could slip in there unnoticed
past all the sweaty mayhem.
Maybe make do with a cold beer,
throw some dollars down
make off into the night unscathed
by lashing tongues or flailing fists
More imagined nocturnal scenarios
scatter in my head like dandelion seeds
dispersing on a dry wind.
I still need a drink.
The conception of computer science leads us to believe,
That the possible digital world inside we should leave;
When augmented with medicine and live, artificial arms,
The human-robot may raise many loud alarms.
A world of vast computer space with such dangerous functions,
Ackermann would quake at such duplication gumption;
To be able to copy yourself, to many times self-indulge,
Makes others avoid your egotistical, delusional bulge.
One tablet: Red or Blue? New life or your mundane existence?
But the journey only validates relationships normal with persistence;
Technology is carved by your own mind which has a kind superior,
Who knows your limits, understandings and warm interior.
Spatial transportation must be used for good and love,
The digital space does not give integrity the shove;
It’s our invention and must be bound by righteous laws,
To forbid its abuses and imprison peodophile flaws.
Muscles flex for good, healthy, and liberating computing,
Your friendships, interests and creativity are for routing;
Popularity, commendation and consolations are in store,
For your happenings, occasions and scares which mean more.
Santa Claus, make this the best Christmas yet.
Could you bring me a Chevrolet Corvette?
I need a six-speed with a powerful V-8.
A leather interior and BOSE CD stereo will be great.
It does not matter if it has red, white, or blue paint.
I have not been anything less than a saint.
I have treated everyone I know with kindness.
This year, I did not even cheat the IRS!
I know you will not get it down my chimney.
There is no need to put it under the tree.
You do not have to wrap it for Christmas Day.
Just leave it parked in my garage driveway.
That morning, I want to zoom it down the highway.
With such a machine, I will really be cooking.
I just hope the patrol cars will not be looking.
Santa, I have just one more modest plea:
Could you pay the first year’s insurance for me?
The premiums are outrageous here in New Jersey.
I stood from the foot sole of your eyes
And gleamed in secretly.
Your maned hair moves in the painted breeze:
Quietly, quietly, I hear you scream through your smile.
My eyes shadows your tumult.
The river behind you collects your tears
And down they stamp in your cloudiness.
In your eyes I forage your soothing distress.
Gracefully, as the first cry of child,
I enter the clear colors of your element.
Perpetually, I flicker and gasp at your stillness
And find myself separated in the interior of your mind.
Your cold heart bleeds densely,
The trees behind you bend its branches
To level the inferiority of their voices.
Oh Mona, with your loud mute smile
I plummet at your dark red feet beneath the
Drenched frame that weakly held your darkness
And watch your giant sham brightens.
Clear as a picture, you're chained dupe
Welcomes me and easily I went,
Planting myself in the holes of your skin
And transform in a lovingly pinkness
Adding the papery entice of your wile.
A man reach in and touches your smile.
(May 7, 2016)
Mona Lisa (by Leonardo da Vinci)
In the opaque night of agony across the extant landscape
I take the ordained journey forsaken,
the track out of travail through the illusive time I lose
in the tortuous dismal tangle of torment.
Introspection unshackles me out of the abyss of despair
for the inward travel through the layers of consciousness,
where the soul perceives the radiance of divine glow,
illumining the contrived corridor leading to the abode of bliss.
Distressed mind released from the clutch of sense-response,
stilled in the pervasive quietude of silent mindfulness,
finds the rays of luring light at the end of the mortal tunnel,
where the beleaguered life gets the insight of unveiled wisdom.
In the horizon of hope raised by the fleeting forlorn moments,
flaring with the furtive flashes of heavenly spectrum,
illumining the infinite span of the inner insular sky,
I see the new sun rise with the sanguinity of salvation.
The soul shines with astral aura in inner deep space
with the blazing brilliance of thousand suns,
in my self-searching odyssey at the edge of eternity
I discern the internal galaxy turning me into a living light.
My faith kindles the beacon of God’s benevolence,
in its halo I perceive the supreme essence of the absolute.
I am blessed with this precious gift of God
for my total surrender with fervent devotion,
Absorbing the corroding cascade of my misery
I comprehend a new meaning of me,
find the divine path getting paved by spiritual interior mechanism
to take me on the holy way to the sanctum of nirvana.
Don't take any of it too seriously.
That's all I got, kid.
Fling paint on the bedroom walls
if you want to,
and call it interior design with a modern touch.
If it happens to look good,
it's still nothing.
Just like all the nothing we call art.
So what?
If it feels good, do it.
If it feels really good, do it a lot,
if it's really worth going against the grind.
(Moderation's a nice touch, but I prefer doing things
however much I want to. Until I get bored and move on,
no self-regulation required)
I recently started drinking more.
That's my new thing.
They say drinking a lot too often,
ultimately causes cirrhosis of the liver.
(For years, I bought it)
Well that's just fine.
Hell, why have a healthy liver just so you can live long enough
to watch yourself decline,
until there's no more good time games
to be had in secrecy?
Long enough to watch yourself stop walking fast,
stop screwing hard,
stop wiping your own ass even?
I'd rather live fast,
and die even faster.
But that's my thing.
Yours may well be something else,
like painting daisies, or growing tomatoes,
for the hell if I know why.
(They'll give you plenty more
to choose from through the years)
A bit vulgar for your tastes, I know.
But vulgarity is life.
You may as well embrace it,
enjoy it.
I probably shouldn't be saying this to a five-year-old,
but it's all you got kid.