Long Juxtaposed Poems
Long Juxtaposed Poems. Below are the most popular long Juxtaposed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Juxtaposed poems by poem length and keyword.
Of course, love has preferences:
I prefer eyes sort of like, yours.
Misty at times,
And at others, deeply dark and
Startlingly invasive – no point
In trying to keep secrets from such
Penetrating eyes. Then there are those
Moments of unsettling absence. I attempt
Vainly to enter your silence, gain needed
Access to mysterious inner parts kept
From me...I try to cross the meridians
Keeping souls necessarily private, where
One meditates and prays in solemnity. My need to
For safe familiarity, juxtaposed with
With strange planets and alien landscapes
Each mortal possesses and senses to
Sacredly guard. Yet I track your disturbing
Aloofness. As a hound on the scent. Into
Whirlpools of privacy where no uninvited
Sojourner has right to venture. No one
Should attempt to know another that entirely,
That consuming. Yes, love has preferences. Like
Your dainty bell ears, and adorable ski nose --
And very large feet~ all for the next poem.
I aspire to hear my inner silence
knowing how easily
it is to be distracted by the onslaught of worldly juxtaposed images
all striving to get to first place inside my head
I aspire to the lovely lotus
that rises from the murky ponds of my soul
I long to show the compassion
the love that has been shown to me by my teachers, my lover, my friends
In this present cycle that I am in
knowing my karma
I might be brought back as a insect
scrambling against natures fury or scrambling anything larger
I long to break these shackles that tether me to this karma
to step outside and hence
step within
dive into that frightening place where breath matters
and the mind
in it's noisy fragmented undulations
fades away
I see my life as a long sandy beach stretched out
a continuum of surreal beauty
that the meditation of the breath gives birth to
the beach
marred only by shells,seaweed, and logs
I see my life
as having the potential to manifest buddha nature
as I see your life
as having the potential to manifest buddha nature
Namaste
Form:
An iridescent streak
bifurcates the obsidian
dome,
A incandescent voyager
accelerating through the
obscurity,
Relinquishing its grand,
celestial habitation,
To dissolve into a ephemeral,
luminous fragment.
Conflagrating magnificently
across the absolute infinity,
It manifests with fierce,
unadulterated dedication,
Exchanging its permanent,
prehistoric illumination,
To bestow an instantaneous
warmth upon our souls.
For what is preservation
within the remote cosmos,
Juxtaposed against this
singular encounter in your
presence?
I would joyfully witness the
ancient firmament
disintegrate,
To participate in this fleeting,
majestic trajectory.
Like that radiant anomaly, I
surrender my entirety,
Content to completely
dissipate, if our devotion
remains absolute.
When out walking
my olfactory sense is assaulted by pungent scents
as nature bloom
all jasmine, lilac, and lily in amongst multitudinous flowers
hanging from tresses that splash all prisms against juxtaposed houses-
scents lift my spirits
as I find myself almost drunk on an almost elixir of scent
i
loving the spring
feel myself blooming in golden honey
that coats everything it touches
with a warmth and
tenderness
It's a wonderful moment in time to be alive
surrounded by glories of nature
singing like elusive sirens
from the
depths of cobalt seas
I find my spirit refreshed
bathed in the daylight
that shines eppervescent
in the midst of endearing and etheral nature blossoms
We don't talk about it, I was mutely told,
Schooled in your nonverbal narcissism, I Attest
I became a linguist in the language of silence;
The tightened line of your mouth when a speck
of childhood play leaked through the Aperture
of your wall of control; the Nuance of your slit eyes,
the stiffness of your shoulders when I disturbed.
The famine of your brevity, starkly juxtaposed with
the Proclivity of your friendly words for the neighbors;
Your perfunctory weak praise, more to lessen your guilt
than lift my esteem.
Even as I write this Saga under the weight of betrayal
nearly undone by our mutual oath of avoidance, and
after decades of delay, you have the Temerity to now
charge me with building the distance, keeping the barricade.
I am bluntly surprised, by your surprise; to accuse me of
this Barren contact, is to blame the clay for the cracks
in the hands that molded it.
And you dare say, why am I this way?
When I inherited the Marrow from you-
10/27/18
for John Hamilton's Eight Word Challenge contest
required words: Aperture, Attest, Barren, Temerity, Saga, Proclivity, Nuance, Marrow.
The world spins kaleidoscopic, a whorl of color in revolt.
Oceans quake malleable, molding into fissures of tectonic hunger,
ravaging the deep, stirring the primal need depressing
populations’ unseen to the denizens of land, disregarded in man’s wake.
From the diatom, to the whale, from the single cell to the open hand
from the sun, to the stars, to the mushroom bomb, we’ve light.
Within the orb of eye, retinal flares of light,
an inside-out, upside-down, yin and yang revolution
juxtaposing wealth with poverty, as throngs rise asking for hand
outs, aching with a human need to know, hungering.
Childhood has ended, the tell-tale snake does wake.
Death’s rattle will subside, as the head eats the tail of depression.
Communication will become the global antidepressant.
Natives in aboriginal huts and Inuit in igloos will see the light.
There will be no holding back the tide for hand in hand, each cell wakes.
No longer can knowledge be withheld. “Phone home,” a revolutionary
cry, the tit will not be ripped from the lips of hungering
humanity, the tyrant and the saint juxtaposed, their time at hand.
Instant communication, shall scrape the barnacles of blight handily.
The stroke of finger tip to key shall depress
and ignorance will flee, freeing the hungry
for the way out ,the way up, the key, light-heartedly
heads bowed in prayer, we shall revolt.
Let tyranny be eaten, and righteousness wake.
On the egg of earth, we float in celestial wakes.
Solar tides stir the shards of glass raising death’s hand.
Round and round the top spins each revolution
forced by the pumping thump of rods depressed
rods magnetized and charged with lightening
for we all hunger.
Each evolution a revolution, each thirst quenched brings new hunger.
Repression will never depress the desire to wake,
nor, will the fisted hand ever bring the light.
As if in opposition it stood
Like a distress call from a precarious time
Juxtaposed perpendicular to an open grass laden field
A horizontal girder of ominous warning
A marker of trespass.
Abandoned, it was kept secret for many years
I have stumbled upon this inherent passage in time.
This parapet before me stirred with its meaning
Buttressed with elements of wood and mortared stone
Proclaiming an unwavering and perilous destiny
Pounded by the courage of the hands that erected it
Providing an uncertain shelter for those inside its borders
A mystery of history-a salutation to the lives huddled
Around the fires that embodied the journey to reach this place
Escaping from the barriers that withheld their freedom and independency
Coming to forge new barriers of their choosing
To instill what had perished and opportunities they had lost
Perhaps the storyline of these settlers from a thousand miles to the east
Traveled a thousand dangerous and imperiled miles
To establish the same rights and sovereignty
As the promise given to this great country and those who live within
This was the homeland of a thousand dreams
To claim, to build a fortress for living our treasured values.
A monument and testament to the depth of their hearts
A proclamation to the enduring spirit in their hands
October 11, 2020
A Wall In The Woods Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish
WASTELAND
possessed
by words
yet
discourse-less
implicit
intuition
meandering
in a
web of language
a whirling
vortex of
silent words
strangely
laconic
a tapestry
the plaintive
&oblique
intertwined
the detritus
of yesterdays
scattered over
the stutter
of time
happenings
high points
of drams
self-enlarging
onto
contrived
corridors
symbolism
touchstones
of childhood
&death
abstracts
in mode&tone
clusters
of repeated
thought
of the
vernacular
themes
juxtaposed
in imagery
confessions
of decay
&despair
fables
of meaning
orchestrated
organised
in ballads
of personages
issues
elucidated
declaimed
the constant
delusion
of the soul
in explicit
contrasts
echoes
of feeling
in conversations
back&forth
the minutiae
of the
domestic day
direct
expressions
of the
intuitive
philosophical
spectating
crowding
the mind
modulating
the present
of an alien
world
a truth
beyond
beyond
our
remit
“It is of the LORD'S mercies that we are not consumed,
because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning:
great is thy faithfulness” (Lamentations 3:22-23). This scriptural
truth anchors varied dawn blessings I poetically perceive.
Azure-accentuated ambiance awaits aspiring artists.
Baby’s birth brings blessings*, blowing boredom-blues.
Cool calmness charms circumspect chefs to create cuisine cravings.
Daybreak do's and don’ts discipline drivers from direction-dazzles.
Enlightenment-exercise empowers engineers in their endeavors.
Fiery fluorescent fearlessness fuels firefighters’ faith-fortitude’s fervor.
Glowing grace of God gears guardians for guiding governance.
Hope highlights health-helpers’ handlings midst heightened heaviness.
Illumined instructors inspire with their influence-iridescence.
Justice-jubilation juxtaposed with jurisprudence-judgment joins jury.
Kaleidoscopic kindness-keys keep kinship’s knot kindling.
Light’s luster leads liberation-lovers to lift the lamenting and lowly.
Morning’s majestic magnificence moves mothers with might of mercy.
Nourishing nurses’ nurture and nature negates night’s negligence.
Overwhelming opportunities open officials for output-optimization.
Peace-packed period pulls prayer-partners into Providence presence.
*Genesis 49:25 Even by the God of thy father, who shall help thee; and by the Almighty, who shall bless thee with blessings of heaven above...
August 6, 2018
(ABC and alliteration forms)
2nd place, "The Gem That Slipped Through The Cracks" Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh; judged on 2/10/2021.
His lines he always wanted to shine
With éclat and style mingled fine
To bedazzle and strike with awe
Those who bothered to read a line
For hours on end, would he ponder
On how he could rive you asunder
With some poetic turn of phrase
Perfectly pointed sans all blunder
Listen to what he learned at last
Content when he was with his writing cast
Easy on the ear, loud and clear
Words were raining down somewhat thick and fast
A maestro, he remembered one day
Had told him of some versed in display
Who sadly think have a lot to say
Yet, their dead words at the moon but bay
Flowing, flaying, flaming, fighting
Blowing, playing, blaming, biting
Loving, loathing, baring, clothing
All this juxtaposed in your writing
Fails to offer what it does take
To pregnant poetry make
Poetry boils from within
Insight absent, it will not take
Soulless words will never congeal
The pest of pomp, you can’t conceal
“Good wine needs no bush”, said the poet
The wise take not the fruit for the peel
The epiphany shook him to his sense
His lines now seemed a pile of nonsense
From here to Timbuktu, he thought
Ran the serpentine to eloquence
Poetasters push the pen too hard
They throw a wheel if you would regard
Literary knowledge is not enough
It takes more wisdom to be a bard