Long Intersected Poems
Long Intersected Poems. Below are the most popular long Intersected by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Intersected poems by poem length and keyword.
Somedays, I wake up and my mind is a buzz with the low hum of drunk bees. Other days it's the homicidal scree of the Purge siren meets the absurdity of Happy Gilmore. Those days, the mood stabilizers taste like tic tacs dipped in acid and it spills out of my gaping mouth into my previously placid pen, turning it to poison. My notebook becomes a study in disease, pock marked and creased with roller coaster highs and lows and the frizzing mania inbetween unfolds like an old moth eaten static charged blanket covering the gouged pages with foul temper, brutal honesty, utter despair, and doomed flights of fancy.
It's a curse, like a lesbian lost to menstruation...shes paying rent in a house she doesn't live in, the lonely walls sing or scream it all depends on the dopamine. Sometimes, I want to draw these breath stealing fiends, but their shape eludes me, they slide over my fingers like the rainbow slick of an oil spill, tangible but unable to be captured, just enough residue sticks to my fingers, daring me to try and paint the face of it on the sidewalk.
Somedays, theres jet fuel in my veins and my hands are brushes and my skin in an untreated canvas; the cool pigment dries and hardens inti crackling waves of war paint. My yawp shakes the trees and the birds and the needs, yes THE bees startle skyward into patterns flung by the breeze, stippling the sky in polka dotted relief. These days burn like untreated leprosy. Because, as bits fall away, I know the meat underneath is really me. I come crashing down to earth face first, eating my teeth so that the gaps in my smile are the map of a picasso and so my veins spew blue and my face twists upon itself like it was trapped in one hell of a vacuum, but you can still taste the salt of my tears and hear the howling of the out of tune guitar weeping in my uneducated fingers.
The area between the twp poles is the buzzing radio wormhole radiating lazy circles impaled by tight frantic circles, intersected by crazy 8s and venn diagramed with healthy doses of rage, creating a vomit inducing masterpiece of optical illusion bubbles swelling and flowing in wiggling vertigo. Illness is art. Art transforms illness. It's not always beautiful. Sometimes beauty is in the intersection of fascination and revulsion.
We are living in the middle, you and I,
between butterfly beginnings - ethereal endings.
Despite Natural Law, I'm persuaded to pause;
if possible, dear, let chrysalis continue ...
Timothy Levi Hicks
Living in the Middle
Rules of life restrict us from infancy.
If instincts are true we thrive, each new lesson,
a cynosural guide to success, an urge to forget
those practices made to thwart happiness.
Spare spending habits, avoiding the seven deadly sins,
passages, and reaching for that metaphoric sky
Until, true love, that mystic carriage to what may be;
the chrysalis that cradles heightened mystery.
The inevitable enduring of drudge before we fly.
We are living in the middle, you and I.
There is much we live, reliant upon chance happenings.
What if we had never met? If our paths had never
intersected or, if they did, we failed to connect.
Missed the perfect moment when the sky was right
to usher in romance, the laws of allurement
that shaped 'Plaisir d'amor' in magical renderings.
The ardent awareness of simpler things;
Brilliant colors, ambrosial kisses and heavenly perfumes.
The harmony of mutual understandings
between butterfly beginnings-ethereal endings.
The eager phase of dreams, of promises made,
getting used to things- some expected, some not.
then the arduous art of forgiving.
Our consent to cherish common objectives.
Was it happenstance our love succeeded - or was it
Because we overlooked each other's flaws-
What we expected in the moment?
Two souls astounded to be of the same accord;
that a chance encounter could be the cause.
Despite Natural Law, I'm persuaded to pause;
Too quickly the paragraphs of time we rèad.
Hand in hand we strolled the pages of our years,
standing fast against misfortunes we emerged,
shaped by caring and forbearing hearts.
Refusing to imagine life devoid of one another,
fighting new adversity with every sinew.
Nothing earthly, or in heaven, can measure
this small eternity we have made ourselves.
No matter how circumstance may try to spin you,
if possible, dear, let chrysalis continue ...
Suzanne Delaney
A Glosa
Hindsight 20 20
I fell in love with Robert Frost,
With his poem,”The Road Not Taken”.
Such a beautiful expression of human life.
For there are many such intersections in our lives…
choices that take us to a new world, a new destination and fate.
Many times it is tragedy that precipitates these life changing choices.
While my mother battled brain cancer,
I was in a battle of my own…for my very soul.
He was supposed to be my Spiritual leader,
good, faithful, true.
Too young and weighed down by grief for a suffering mother, I did not protect my heart.
He was able to use me as he willed,
cutting pieces out of my soul to burn upon his altar of lust and control.
One decision changed it all.
Mother died.
Father, wreaked by it all, for she was the love of his life, wanted to return to the home they knew as young lovers, Eight hundred miles away.
I was in the car with my suitcase the day Dad drove away. Running, running from pain.
This choice changed the course of my life. He, being a selfish and diseased soul, abandoned me once I could no longer fulfill his lusts for power, control, and that more common lust of the body…Moved on to waste another vulnerable child.
I allowed the spirit of hopelessness to take up residence in my mind, leading me to commit the sin of self murder. Once again, God saved me from myself, allowing me to live.
Eventually, God also healed my heart and led me to an unshakable faith in Him.
God put my husband, Harvey, on a path that intersected with mine.
The love I've found with this man is true, honest, innocent, trustworthy, gentle, kind, and blessed. If I hadn't gotten into that car with my father, If I had allowed that man to hold my soul for another minute, I wouldn't have met this beautiful person who loves me
and gave me the best thing in my life, the truth of my faith, and my family. The road not taken would've led me to death and destruction. Would I have ever left the home I knew and loved if I hadn't needed so desperately to run from that predator, and eventually into the arms of this good man 800 miles away? Hindsight is 20 20!
It was a rainy Wednesday, a lonely night. I was sitting on a wooden chair inside a coffee shop, savoring the aroma and the taste of the newly brewed beans of my Affogato. As I looked outside, the sky was caliginous, no hint of sunlight was found. The clouds were as heavy as my emotions. And slowly, tears began running. Both from the clouds and my eyes.
Before I lived in
A dark and awful planet
'til the day we met
The bell rang. You opened the door. The squeaky sounds your wet shoes created got the attention of everyone. And when you tried to escape embarrassment, you stumbled and I knew you were panicstricken. Our eyes intersected, and for once, I found myself laughing at you.
You ordered a Macchiato. And because there was no available seats anymore, you asked me if you could sit with me. Without saying, without approval, you sat opposite to me.
From there, our novel began. You were the paper, I was the pen. And the ink, the ink was love.
Every Wednesday was our date. In the coffee shop, in the third table on the first row. I would order Affogato and you Macchiato. Everything was always like the first time we met, except the skies were filled with colors of the rainbow. And from there, it made me believe, that every after rain there's always a rainbow.
We are like colors
Glistening when touched by light
Shimmering in sight
And thus, our relationship continued. From months into years, we almost hit a decade. Almost.
If only you didn't lie to me that you're already married. If only you didn't lie to me that you already have two daughters and a son. If only you didn't make me feel like a mistress chasing you. You made me feel what we had was like a rainbow. That even though we had fights, at the end, colors would still shine upon us.
Like rainbow in sky
Every after rain we see
Fades simply, slowly
And so I was the pen and you were the paper. You're already lacking, and the ink that kept us together was already blotting.
11/21/2015
With razor sharp deception,
you seduced my trust and intersected my protection.
Ripping open my ribcage,
you mastered the art of unfaithfulness
and slaughtered my love with your unyielding rage.
With your surgeon gloves on;
you took the beat away from my cardiovascular,
and left me with joint and muscular pains
around the circumference of blood vessel that felt awfully peculiar.
No words could explain
the moment I fell to the ground; clutching my chest,
realising my princess was more of a pest who had left
behind our whole relationship in a mess.
While laying on the ground;
misguided feelings were all I could think about,
as the sympathetic voices rang out
to overload my mathematical ability to count.
Still, it was paramount
I gathered all my broken pieces to dissect the events,
that lead up to my intense state of suspense
over comments that had left my love truly incensed.
You said you cared for me like no man before,
but instead of investigating her statement to make sure;
I was foolishly assured, my security was secure.
Processing looks that could kill, you grabbed your utensils and cut me deep
in the space you called your operating room,
with broken promises and neglect in hand; my sadness loomed
while you unravelled your bitter cocoon as the clock struck half past noon.
Rushed to hospital in an act that was not an accident but more an emergency,
all I could see was the colour burgundy
as my soul tried valiantly to see past the bruise of dishonesty.
As the nurses tried to disperse the curse of bitterness
and coerce me into feeling a sense of relief,
I was resigned to suffer disbelief at the thought of my utter grief,
recalling the brief time it took you
to come into my life and steal away my kindness like a thief.
To be continued...
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In the silences of twilight, I merge with the colors of a tempestuous dream,
Spirits whistling through galaxies of shattered darkness,
I speak with the passion of falling stars, a symphony of souls,
In a cascade of golden whispers, in the heart of the crimson night.
I have been the guide of shadows, the medium for lost hearts,
Trying to gather the essence of stars fallen on the shores of time,
Between duets of moon rays and peach blossoms at full sunset,
I gathered forgotten dreams, ravaged by blue waves.
Every evening, leaving the jade roses to keep watch,
I embraced the artists of the night, those who paint scarlet skies,
In a secret tale, where Mars dances every two years,
Under the plum sky, torn by transparent passion, like an endless longing.
In the quiet of enchanted houses, I felt secret vibrations,
People called by purple sunsets, transformed into nights of silence,
In a corner of golden-rust, the family reunited in secret carols,
Our destinies intersected, like playful rays of the sun.
Through the orchard of golden flowers, I colored my canvases with dreams,
Each brushstroke, a frenzy of sweet shades,
Until I fell asleep in the arms of shadows, captured by a black-and-white slumber,
And from that sleep, the colors returned, like an unwavering promise.
Slowly, houses with tumultuous lives emerged, and cars with butterfly wings,
Airplanes like fragrant moments, arriving at their destination,
Just as my prediction, like a true psychic, had announced,
For nature washes its cheeks in humble green, sparkling with unbounded joy.
Like a sleepy summer dreamer, I dreamed of endless beauties,
So grateful for this world full of colors,
Which time has sifted with golden majesty,
I transformed into quicksilver, in love with the glittering spectrum of life.
It’s a lesson I learned in grade school that still echoes in my mind…
A lesson on the sadness and cruelty of prejudice…
and the joys of being compassionate and kind…
A large new student entered our close-knit world
and as was our cruel and childish rule of thumb…
immediately we had a name for him…we called him Big and Dumb.
I imagine we were a little intimidated and afraid of this big new kid in school…
Why is it fear of someone different sometimes causes us to be cruel?
But once I got to know him…once I took the time to see
except for his enormous size…he was a lot like me!
Just like me he had his fears…his anxieties…his insecurities…
and just like me he liked his burgers with lots of ketchup and Swiss cheese.
He was smart and funny…we could always make each other laugh…
I helped him with English and he helped me with Math.
I was hesitant at first to to approach someone so different and unplanned…
but found acceptance and friendship easy once I took the time to understand.
It’s a lesson, if we’re lucky, we learn as children:
How our world is such a beautiful place to be…
and how what makes it beautiful…is it’s diversity.
If we’re blessed we learn from our childhood mistakes
and leave behind us once and for all…
those times we acted out of fear and ignorance…
back when our minds were much to small.
For it is these lessons learned in childhood
that contribute to the adults we will become…
helping us grow up big and smart…
instead of big and dumb.
It was a lesson I’m glad I learned early…much earlier than expected…
and I’ll always be grateful for the time when our two lives intersected.
Smooth, mapped roads
intersected with red-eyed
nights, quivering
nerves, fists pounding air.
A nightmare
descended as a phantom
snaking black shadows into
ebullient corridors
of light.
A hulking foe crowded his way in
uninvited.
Sun rose with belly chuckles,
banners, and presents,
touched the earth dipping
below the horizon like a
balloon leaking helium.
Chortles rang like bells.
Hero’s cape waved on
the back of a boy
like a flag snapping in the wind.
Legs pumped air, feet
thumped linoleum.
Birthday wishes tied up in
dime-store bows.
Red, yellow, and blue paper with
comic book heroes
piled in a corner.
Balloons, streamers, confetti
flew.
Family, friends,
and bouncing children
flashed white
teeth and upturned
lips gushing
unbridled
mirth.
The birthday song belted as
clashing keys rippled
flames on five
wax-woven cords.
A cake—
vanilla with strawberry
slathered with buttercream.
Superman soared above
candied skyscrapers and
whipped clouds.
A brackish, biting drink
drenched lips and tongue,
gorged up from the inner dark throb—
of marrow and bone.
A river of vomit like scarlet ribbons
out of a swollen, six-year-old gut,
He gagged— spewed.
Wide-eyed gasps and screams
of guests filled the room.
A foamy stream christened
the cake dousing burning candles.
Plunged into a crepuscular abyss,
a blank page filled
with scans, chemo, needle
pricks, caps topping
a hairless head.
A devouring tumor
inside a child— hiding,
savagely growing, slowly killing.
Remember throwing a stone into a lake when you were a child…watching that stone soar…seeing the splash and discovering how the ripples returned back to the shore.
Remember if you tossed more than one stone at the same time…(as you might have expected)…the pattern became jumbled as the ripples intersected.
Every bomb that’s dropped…every bullet fired…every person killed in time of war…is a stone tossed upon the water…sending ripples back to shore.
In war, however, with a multitude of bombs, bullets and people killed at the same time…(as you might expect)…tragedies become jumbled as their ripples intersect.
When the ripples of one death wash over us they immediately flood our heart…filling us with sorrow at a world tearing itself apart.
But when we hear of another death…and another…and another…when the numbers become so great….the intersecting ripples become hard to discriminate.
So many people die every day in war…so many with each blink…so many ripples washing over us…we don’t have to me to think…
To think about each individual death…how life itself is rare…
to think about how personal each death is to somebody…somewhere.
To think how a war has no true winners…no lasting benefits…
To think how each person’s death has its own love story attached to it.
I imagine this is just one of the many inevitable tragedies of war…
whether or not it’s ripples ever reach our shore…
How families and friends are left in sorrow…angry…disenchanted…
How with every death created in war…another seed of hate is planted.
"Eric's Second Fundamental Theorem of Love"
by: Eric L. Boddie
Love is....two minds plus two hearts
It's you plus me to the first power, there's no division in this part
It's the sum of two Souls, this equation is the best
It's the quantity of you and I, minus all the rest
It's respect and compassion over spells and potions
It's when you divide all the negatives, and integrate the quotient
It's the only thing that's given in any ship's relation
And only a well-calculated attempt will balance It's equation
It's emotion and devotion intersected by stress and pain
And It's only calculated naturally so it always yields a gain
It's a bi-product of lust or sisters and brothers
And It is always squared in the eyes of a mother
It's Faith Times Forgiveness, The Product Of The Word
And in It's simplest form, the bees and the birds
It's my blood, sweat and tears raised to the power of you
And since we both give it to all, it is inversely received by just us two
It's the rate of instinct, the highest power of dedication
It's The Derivative Of God, our Angle Of Elevation
To me, It's only known as you, the constant known as my better half
It's not hard to figure out, are you ready to do the math