Long Ionized Poems
Long Ionized Poems. Below are the most popular long Ionized by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ionized poems by poem length and keyword.
Cosmos magician, gorgeous nebula of rainbow colors.
My eyes are dazzled, by her unbelievable beauty.
Honored, I revere her magnificence, as I peek into the telescope.
Seeing this nebula move not at all, though I know she is.
Cosmos magician, gorgeous nebula of rainbow colors.
An interstellar beginning or a super nova end?
No way to tell. Like humans, stars begin and end the same way.
Delighting the high-powered telescope in the planetarium.
Cosmos magician, gorgeous nebula of rainbow colors.
I take another peek, holding my breath, amazed at her beauty.
Fantastic colors of this nebula delight and entice imagination
I hope she is at the beginning of her life cycle.
Cosmos magician, gorgeous nebula of rainbow colors.
Dust, hydrogen and helium, swirling interstellar galactically.
Twisting and turning in a fog with other ionized gases
No matter her journey, I marvel at her optimism, and her grace.
My last Thursday class is over - my class-week is over.
Looking back at the science building we’d just left,
the hallway looked dark, like the throat of an animal,
the people snaked out like a tongue, the archway
seemed like a mouth - I shivered and looked away.
Lisa laughed, and my senses returned to reality.
The clouds on high, hung like fresh linens on a line
being dried by the sun in its Egyptian-blue heaven.
The air smelled rich, clean and ionized and ever
the inventive stylist, it periodically rearranged my hair.
Leaves rustled, sounding like a buzz of conversation,
as they rushed from place to place, as if late to class.
The breeze was working hard, in jerky flourishes,
like the strokes of an indecisive artist.
The afternoon seemed as bright and brash as a shout
as if it wanted, no demanded, our emotional attention
and I gave it, smilingly, ready for the weekend.
When the Sky Leans Close
The air quivers,
a soft shiver slipping across my skin
as if the storm is exhaling
right beside me.
Thunder swells in the distance,
a slow, resonant hunger,
calling through the dark
with a voice that feels
too intimate for weather.
Lightning unfurls like a touch
that hasn’t quite touched—
a bright, trembling nearness
that makes my breath catch
before I know why.
Ionized air gathers around me,
metallic and clean,
a taste that feels like anticipation
held on the tongue.
The vibration climbs inward,
curling through bone and breath,
a rising warmth that feels
almost like being wanted
by something vast and unseen.
Nature presses closer,
not with force
but with a kind of deliberate curiosity,
as if the sky is studying
the shape of my pulse.
Uncertainty sharpens into thrill,
a beautiful tension
that hums beneath the ribs,
pulling me toward the storm
as though we share
a secret frequency.
Joy blooms hot and bright,
a euphoric ache,
a spiritual sweetness
that feels like being touched
by something made of light.
And when the thunder finally breaks,
the sound rolls through me
like a slow, consuming embrace—
not violent,
not gentle,
just inevitable,
as if the sky and I
have been moving toward this moment
for lifetimes.
Caroline Louise Foister 1/19/2026
Robert James Liguon
Tempest contest
Tranquil air trembles,
a soft shimmer rising through the chaos
as thunder blooms like a distant memory
I’m only now remembering.
Lightning unfurls in slow, impossible arcs,
buzzing with a language older than breath—
a whisper of light tasting the edges of my skin,
tingling like a secret waking up.
Ionized molecules drift toward me,
metallic, fresh, impossibly clean,
as if the world has been rinsed
in some celestial river.
The scent vibrates through my body,
a quiet acceleration,
energy gathering in spirals,
lifting me into a place
where nature feels sentient
and I feel seen.
The storm humbles me—
not with force,
but with its strange intimacy,
its dreamlike certainty
that everything is connected
in ways I can’t quite name.
Anticipation curls with uncertainty,
a beautiful madness,
a sensory tide rising higher
than thought can follow.
Passion sharpens,
focus deepens,
power moves through me
like a benevolent phantom.
Joy becomes a luminous pulse,
a euphoric high that feels
half-spiritual, half-imagined,
as if the sky itself
has leaned down to touch me
with affection made of thunder.
And when the crash finally comes,
it doesn’t break the dream—
it completes it,
a cosmic heartbeat
echoing through my own.
Caroline foister 1/19/2026
Robert James Liguon Tempest contest
Out on the edge of the shadow, the day begins
Charting out a course to an aimless star, but not to wander
The pioneer has a map, with key, keeping his eye bright
He is armed, the light sabre, for friend or foe, and shield
Like the fusion that moves him onward, running plasmaCurrents of power, drive propulsion, launch away this ship
Yet first he must meet up with the hulking edifice, the ship
Soon to be parting from this orbit, the beam-core begins
Filled with helium ore and maybe tritium , the ionized plasma
This purring star-drive is ready to launch, to fly, to wander
Directly; the beam is also a current, projected energy, a shield
Meant to direct away oncoming dust, meteorites, too bright
To be picked from quantum radar as space without beams bright
Radiating a plutonium glow within, the pocket between the ship
And dark space, being twisted and warped by this, the second shield
Which keeps captain and crew safe from collision, the flight begins
The deep stars of the galaxy, both bright and dark, appear to wander
From within the tower of the star-cruiser, while it is revving up its plasma
Listening to the beam-core purr, its sufficient to check on the plasma
The captain takes his turn on watch, keeping his senses sharp, his eyes bright
Lest he be invaded, alien ships from without, or a slip of his mind to wander
Long he has kept to himself, on nights such as this, alone with his ship
And longing for the end of this flight from night, for a new day that begins
Without arms or a call to arms. All foes and aliens who force him to shield
*Vaaz= vase
You offered roses delivered thorns, blood drips and your body adorns ~
Slumped, soaked in crimson your heart forever mine, retribution has come, my bloody valentine—by Poet
Once upon a time lived Angel, an androgynous white knight
Diamonds in rings and pearls on strings, he’d often gift
The reddest of roses, bluest of violets, specifics delight
Yet cataclysmic are the blackened roots adrift
Blessed was I with a sultry kiss, my affection’s launched
Hijacked my love from the marrow of my bones
I blessed him with carte blanche
Mistaken for a gewgaw of wonton love on loan
Thrusting winds levitate revealing regret
The myriads of flowers in the vaaz, what cause?
This bleeding heart gushes the blood of violet blue scarlet
Prickly are the iron thorns between splayed fingers
Bittersweets, the Londor truffles
Cheating are the charred stars above, darkness lingers
Ionized is the taste of tears in wine, how it ruffles
like nails scratch it burns inside, nothing can suture
The arrow churns a void through the breast
Unbeknownst to me my future
To avoid loneliness and unrest
Kingdom of crushes what judgement have I begotten?
I curse the love blind night we met
As a forbidden love and now forgotten
My black knight you are Keats Bright Star
A sacrifice of Anayalation
Another scab, another scar
A token of my affection
Cosmos magician, gorgeous nebula of rainbow colors.
My eyes are dazzled, by her unbelievable beauty.
Honored, I revere her magnificence, as I peek into the telescope.
Seeing this nebula move not at all, though I know she is.
Cosmos magician, gorgeous nebula of rainbow colors.
An interstellar beginning or a super nova end?
No way to tell. Like humans, stars begin and end the same way.
Delighting the high-powered telescope in the planetarium.
Cosmos magician, gorgeous nebula of rainbow colors.
I take another peek, holding my breath, amazed at her beauty.
Fantastic colors of this nebula delight and entice imagination
I hope she is at the beginning of her life cycle.
Cosmos magician, gorgeous nebula of rainbow colors.
Dust, hydrogen and helium, swirling interstellar galactically.
Twisting and turning in a fog with other ionized gases
No matter her journey, I marvel at her optimism, and her grace.
Night View
I sit by the fire with a lone lamp,
dimmed, so my eyes can watch the
astronomical wonder above me.
A small mesquite fire to warm my bones
in the chill night air.
A new moon to not block my vision
of such magnificence.
Jewels decorate the sky,
pinpoints of light billions of miles away.
Perhaps I can see mighty Leo or Ursa Major with her cub,
or Canis Major at Orion’s heel.
Perhaps a meteor will suddenly streak
overhead in a blaze of glory.
Maybe gentle Aquarius will empty his jar
and wet the dry desert with his water.
Supermassive black holes are out there somewhere,
spewing ionized plasma jets into the depths of space,
bending time and space to suit their purposes.
The great fabric of space and time lie above me
calling me to come.
Someday I will.
But for now, I enjoy.
Malignant gangrenous political cancer
corrupts, festers, and poisons United States,
thus opposition cannot wait,
especially since Gospel in accordance
with feeble minded Donald Trump
implemented wrought ugly trait,
particularly obliteration, sans progressive
human rights legislation
more or less pronounced positive
in every L ionized Nittany or cotton bowl state
and ratiocination inherent within
mine Democrat oriented mind doth rate
this forty fifth president (defect)
with sawdust packing
his noodle oven egotistical pate
trophy wife (spouse number three),
a Slovenia mate
donning "I don't care anymore"
t-shirt rousing media firestorm of late
essentially silently corroborating,
fostering, and illuminating hate
mutely bolstering the Trump anthem,
viz make America great
again, which pathless,
pithless, and pointless aim
roars like an earsplitting runaway freight
train oblivious of wailing soul asylum,
that no era meets said criteria
backtracking time machine before
rightful indigenous occupants of this land
got decimated as one after another
exploiter did inundate
(comprising a multitude
of indigenous variety of village people
indignantly subjected to Genocide,
when first "discoverer"
of new land didst promulgate
activation wrought deliberate sealed fate
vis a vis capitulation, demolition,
and extirpation, cuz
a scathing rebuke aye attest,
those murderers didst equate
worthlessness of
so called "Indians" on 1492 date,
and still remnants of storied tribes,
now attempt to create
historical documentation operate
ting with limited resources to adjudicate.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Food methinks doth buzzfeed drumbeat agog
at pyrotechnics July 4th, 2018 shared as blog
posts, a falsehood prevails which dog
gone “FAKE” brewed watered down grog
posits that the majority of Colonialists stay hog
tied to strict task masters, and mainly the scant
upperclass experienced autonomy,
no matter the under class didst futilely rant
and rave with the occasional
uprisings over time did grant
minimal appeasement to stifle violent kant!
Come on! Is that the best blast you've got?
Your thunder tantrums don't scare me - Your flash and flare they're half hot!
I love this dunder, blunder, thunder, and underhand rumble-in-the-jungle!
Touché! Olé! We're duellin' again with fork-pronged lightn' sparkling lances.
Clang! Bang! Ker-pow! Ker-plunk! Ker-thump! - Your thunder's late by years!
I flash, bash, smash, crash, gnash — while your Ker-boom goes boom blah, blah, Ahah!
Your quick flashback, claptrap wisecracks come back five seconds late.
Bolt after bolt, your jolts, revolts, cheap-shots and pot-shots hit my ear flaps.
All roar, no score, no gore, no nosebleeds — just air stabs in ionized air.
By then your temper, torage, outrage, out in the garage is binned — You lost!
You ain't learned nothin' from last night's plate-a-smashin' dry run.
Oh No! Don't let the rain come down!
We're both having far far too much fun!
You can't resist, can you — spoiling the perfect row —
By making up, way, way, way ..... too soon!