Long Intuitions Poems
Long Intuitions Poems. Below are the most popular long Intuitions by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Intuitions poems by poem length and keyword.
Courtesy For The Broken
Alchemy that lasts among the virtuous and wise
Botany that casts its oxygenated strength during its demise
Misery that is so vast and deep that is accompanied by resentful sighs
Lonely elements that last among loved ones without reprise
Tormented sorrow of the regretful souls who cannot change their fate
Undocumented tomorrows of the young and old lining up at heavens gate
Augmented burrows of technology that the youth idolise and rate
Discontented blows of the underprivileged who stand around and propagate
Ornamental figurines that form a strange collection
Sacramental fractured dreams that mystify invention
Consequential satire based memes that signify retention
Influential capatalist scenes that can’t dignify to mention
Symphonic compositions that profoundly illuminate the mind
Bubonic inquisitions that eradicate mankind
Subsonic intuitions that vibrate throughout what humans find
Catatonic ammunition that leave the poor man to suffer blind
Elucidate the problem properly and solve the puzzle for the masses
Repudiate the omen overly while the flies drown in molasses
Stagnate at the waters edge while the populations integrity crashes
Instigate the uprising from the hedge as they’re ruled by a greedy fascist
Condescending television hosts that smile like false prophets
Trending internet chat thief that through the lies they profit
Ascending through the war torn grief like photos in an ancient locket
Pretending through the disbelief that you’re interested in the rockets
Absurdist inclinations that refuse to compromise their form
Introverted artistic invocations that defy conventional norms
Perverted imitations that disguise the broken and forlorn
Extroverted provocations that bring demise before the storm
The End Copyright Elizabeth Moroz 2025
“Just because you are soft doesn't mean you are not a force. Honey and wildfire are both the colour gold.” ~Victoria Erickson
Tonight the moon sanctioned
her golden halo
to unfurl butterfly wings
rinsed with honey
and champagne ribbons,
as feathers of lunar crust rise,
to embellish the sky
with silver sequins,
drizzling second chances
upon fickle hearted dragonflies,
gifted as weapons of
deception to the sweltering breeze,
that wrapped my weakened knees.
I’ve always known trusting
is a losing game with no winners,
but why do I always feel
like an intruder sinking deep
into the depths of spiteful seas~
where planktons and stinging marine
nettles prick my untouched skin?
Yet I am still searching for
a singing star that wouldn’t
need written renderings of
how my black tinted glass
heart was left to drown.
Who would have thought,
there’d be more to the
onyx glittered
ripples that stream,
in teal blue waves?
If only they’d hear
every unspoken tale
of shipwrecked ruins
resting amongst graphite
motions of frozen intuitions,
forgotten through forsaken
lagoons amidst
fleeting monsoons,
left as memoirs along
soft coral mists swiftly
passing through patch
reefs in abandoned atolls.
So let me take my splintered
spheres to a realm of no return,
forgiving sinful anthems
that lured me to believe
that friends were more
than enemies in sweet disguise.
I am soft, not fragile,
neither am I a
shrunken blossom.
I am a tiger lily,
fragrant yet fierce,
ready to face whatever~
hypocritical fangs of fate
may serve in merlot wine chalices.
I go within my being and touch the core of my soul.
Like a monk in deep meditation, my mind is quiet.
Exploring the hidden, unknown truths has become my goal.
My conscience and consciousness are filled with blissful delight.
Insight, like the nectar within flowers, secretes in me.
Patience, as in cranes, amalgamates with self-control.
Concentration pervades me like that of a honey bee.
Intuitions, not impulses, play a paramount role.
I'm alert in my waking, sleeping, working, and dining.
Unlike flooding rivers, my movement is like a calm stream.
I could feel, wisdom and truth, like celestial light, shining.
This cosmic existence turns into a heavenly dream.
Each movement and moment is filled with sensitivity.
My thoughts, words, and deeds are born of psychic tranquility.
If rain poured
in susurrating sounds
of unshed tears,
will ungrateful dialects
change their insincere
expressions of speech,
or will this unheard
voice forever be
lost as echoes within
glass walls,
where lilac-feathered
letters of farewell
written in red diamonds,
illustrate illusive
narratives of an onyx heart
haunted by
holographic
harmonies,
in glitters of retro line art~
to graphically craft
cacophonous chronicles of
unexpressed trauma,
engrossed in cursive candor,
while this quivering quill remains
dipped in purple
pansies and primrose poetry,
glorifying indigo intuitions
that bleed in
blue-black and burgundy
But, I still keep
surfing in sizzling silence
towards saffron-streaked
sunsets resembling
the wisteria warmth
of your embellished embrace,
awakening from lucid
dreams of sparkling
silhouettes of us,
when I was uncontrollably
lost in your
pillow-shaped eyes,
counting silver stars hanging
on long lashes with lilac dust,
forgetting the times
I was caught in the
riveting rhythm of
lemonade lies.
For in your
amorous arms,
every qualitative question
within incomplete
puzzles of life and loss,
unravels appealing answers
with carnation compassion,
upon corners of
crumpled pages,
where initials of
your flowery
name is a
timeless token,
of love that still exists~
in this woeful world
of hate from heinous hyenas.
But these starry stones
of turquoise trust
shall be the
clandestine clemency
that holds this
unwritten tale of survival.
For, I am unapologetically poetic~
rewriting fuschia future
on pastel colored
paper parachutes,
letting go of twisted
tones cloaked with
jealous January winds at dawn,
as cinnamon gold sequined
skies reflect magic within
misty mirrors,
to begin again
as April crawls back,
knocking on the
laser-lavender portal
adorned with teal-cerulean
wings of our whimsical fairyland…
Once upon an aging mosquito
of healing time,
There was an ancient heroic farmer
not unlike Hercules
if he had lived too long
redressed
and sometimes addressed
as green Goddess Gaia,
Feeling uncomfortable in matronly vampire farming drag
and yet, what to do,
sooner or later
some story will require a transgender vampire
growing up a mature mosquito
still hoping to become
a more cooperative Herculean Farmer
for Future HealthTribes of America.
Farmers of nurturing blood,
of course,
a Robin GaiaHood
of and for all wounded and wounding Mosquitoes
and their outdoor victim allies ten-toed
all following WinWin preferred instructions
from DNA's original fractal
Green RNA spirals
restoring eco-justice advocates--
green peace Herculean heroes
and vampire heroines.
Blood
like heroin for mosquito vampire Pirates
stealing from inhumanely rich organic ships,
walking and running toward our vampire hero's
shadowed nights.
Nightmare BigShips who got away
harvest stations
for WinWin mosquito farmers
praying and preying and praising and pining
passing in warm summer's romantic nights
with transgender heroic parental pretensions,
intentions
sacred ecological intuitions
to co-redeem blood justice
to revive PositivEnergy organic networks
of mosquito flying
vampire Future Angels
harvesting and replanting
Once Upon a VampireFarmer
rode Gaia's GreenGoddess
husbanding Ego-EcoTherapy.
Referring to something beneath of all else,
the subtle hidden divine unity dwells.
The effect of something without explicit in itself,
laws of nature in non entities by herself.
Grounded beneath quantum underlying reality,
making the multiverse individuality explanatory.
Mathematic formulation in that frame are non deterministic,
leaving always the universe in state of mystic.
Theories are just thoughts spinning per individuality,
for the observer is the observed reality.
Meaning that the outcome by any measure is uncertainty,
only giving probabilities with determinism observable quantities.
Hidden reality beneath quantum mechanics is fundamental,
implicating order in dualism of mind and matter very gentle.
Folding and unfolding times in variable spectrums,
involutions towards matter intentions.
Non physical mental phenomena in respect,
intuitions throughout the living force detect.
Life in time and its death division,
separation is the separate and not a decision.
Time and space are the mental refurbishes,
carbon under pressure to diamond accomplishes.
O heart of hiraeth, bathed in honey-blush kiss,
hear me heal, meet this sorceress soul,
you miss ...
when the handwritten rose stars weep, and
I b l o o m ;
with the ink of iris, weaving webs of doom
breathe... eclipse-glazed moon, my muse, as we bleed...
be the last balm for forlorn fates that heed...
as autumn burns on the bones of the sky,
the veins of lightning veil my lips with lie;
through the dusk-foliage where intuitions dwell deep
and scarlet fairies flicker with faith
~ to let leaves sleep...
O phoenix sun ~
you'll let the fire of luck flow;
as bronze heat of hate wanes
in your garnet glow...
because beauty is a bane b o r n to d i e ;
with warm ~I c a r u s~ wings, I seethe to sigh...
so sing with me... the sunset of fallen season,
promise me ~ you'll remember
this rhythm of reason
please... close your eyes, surrender to the caramel calmness,
till those maple lifelines rest... lovelorn...
with scarred rustiness;
let this poet's pulse rip my ribs, to feel your ruby embers ~
and I, will always spell
the sixth sense of
~ s o u l f u l s e p t e m b e r ~...
O pilot of my whole being! O Soul! Spirit! Atma!
O, you that leads me to the absolute Paramatma!
O, I yearn to connect with you! Communicate! Converse!
O, I long to touch you; feel you; in you to get immerse!
I'm as weak as a jellyfish; unable to hold me,
I try all the ways, to go within, like novice rishi;
I explore my self - like a saintly sage - my past, present,
I try my focal point; to this my energy I spend...!
Do I, like greedy rich, lean on my material wealth?
Or, like hypochondriac, overanxious about health?
Or, as orthodox mice, raffle-rousing, terrorizing?
Or energy wasted thinking of adversely acting?
Now, like an alchemist, I tread into my magic lands,
Like a researcher - study, synthesis, weigh wetland sands;
Like a naturist, explore beauty; ponder! Contemplate!
Like farmer, plow; manure; cultivate; irrigate; harvest!
I examine my frequent existence; stop, look, and walk!
I wait for signs from within; only inner voice I talk!
I place my hands, on my heart, and question my intentions,
I make my yatra within; walk moved by intuitions...!
02 January 2022
Loki:
Sigyn and Angrboda know their wyrd well
Even the far seeing eye of odin
Does even the all seeing eye have its faults?
The curse of knowledge or forgetfulness perhaps
Angrboda is born of the blood of the volva
She knows well the fates and
wyrd of men and immortals alike
The mother of wolves, my lovely consort
Sigyn my love,ever loyal and in morning
Has resigned herself to the fate of her wyrd
She too burns for revenge against the aesir
For you have transformed one son into a wolf
Only to have him kill his brother Nari
Then to transform poor vali back
Then to despair over his brother's entrails
And to commit an agonizing death
For what crime did my sons do,
Lord Odin as you proclaim yourself judge
Jury and executioner
And for what wrongs did my children
Jorgamundr, Hel, and Fenrir do
They were but kids when you had them
Imprisoned for Half Fashioned prophecies that
were made by three old wise women,
Have they not had their intuitions
misinterpreted before…..
So my children pay for my mistakes
You aesir who claim to be fair
Is this the famed fairness of the aesir
The destruction of my family
Driving us apart
I think that hardly righteous or fair
When the raspberry horizon
is curled up,
shaping caramel-lilac lips
of the cashmere kismet,
singing in a choir of cherry chivalry
and honey-glazed fireflies ~
those snowy stars
simmering in summer silence,
f l i c k e r
a w a y
leaving burgundy blurs of beliefs,
wrinkled in those blinking blemishes
of clementine memories,
which once trailed hysterical footprints
across my fairy-threaded horizons...
And I lay, breathing l o v e
on a pillow of pristine pearls ~
succulent with the silver songs
of perfumed yesteryears ~
chiming through chocolate valleys
and rippling in the ruffles
of origami reveries,
weaved in scarlet sonnets...
where you and I, chakras of the divine ~
w a l t z
like the sunset
and its shadow
through a halo of rose-rings ~
our spiritual silks
rinsed in rubies,
as every aromatic alphabet
caresses those syllables of storms,
stained with the murkiness of maroons
and the velvet rain of remnants
leaves a champagne spark ~
igniting indigo illusions
that whisper
whirling intuitions
in my saffron-kissed kundalini...
" O' thistle-light
distancing me
from my dandelion i n k ~
I'm no longer a paranoid petal
swirling in a havoc of hate and rust,
rather, I'm blossoming ~
aesthetic in strawberry arcs,
dreaming of a reality
above imposters of nightmares,
where my honeysuckle sepals
hold hope as a golden anchor ~
fluttering in pink opal warmth,
and I feel like the heat of life,
for those decaying flowers,
betrayed by
the
torrents
of
t i m e... "
dear lord of the scintillating swan light,
in the fulcrum of fragrances ~
this sailor soulfully sails,
as a telepathic trespasser
tangentially
steering
to an orchard
without
rose-tinted
reveries...
to be the last scent
of forget-me-nots ~
manifesting a meraki of miracles
in those mulberry mosaics,
where the esoteric zephyrs of elysium
still remember me ~
as a sandalwood-scented soulmate
of the forgiving sun...