Long Latching Poems
Long Latching Poems. Below are the most popular long Latching by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Latching poems by poem length and keyword.
The Possum of Possibilities was invited by Grandpa Troll to visit our brood,
The Possum heard Carol had a dry spell and a terrible writer’s block, so true.
With the troll’s adventures, penguin’s antics, and witches brew...
With Dragon’s mayhem in town, something had to be done, they knew.
Grandpa Troll brought Possum over, for Carol to peruse,
He looked her up, down, and sideways to everyone’s amuse,
Her mind’s wheels were not lined up right, he announced.
You have activity all about you, that's very pronounced.
It is all swirling around and not latching to the cogs.
Ideas and stories are coming in fast and plenty, but…
There are so many and they are acting like a stream of logs,
Her brain is overloaded and getting a little bit clogged.
Possum instructed Grandpa Troll on the best course of action,
But Dragon was nearby and overheard the conversation.
Our fiery friend was planning on how to clear the brain jam,
Then ski-daddle and go on the lam.
Like so many plans before, he knew Carol’s brain was crammed,
And his ideas always ended up like some explosive spam.
Grandpa Troll saw that look in Dragon’s eyes and knew there was a plot,
And said to Possum; “We'll need your help again, before we’re in a spot.”
Over to Dragon Possum went, then a once over, right, left, and top to bottom,
Grandpa Troll reached into a dusty drawer that hadn’t seen light since Suttom.
Out he pulled two pens, one larger than the other, filled with magic ink.
An incantation filled the air – “E pluribus divideous writeous inlink.”
(Basically saying; what stories were divided are now joined by two writers.)
Possum handed one to Carol and the larger one to Dragon.
“With the magic pens, you both will be able to see the stories about you.”
For Carol, he pointed out; now the cogs won't get dinked, as ideas get linked,
And Dragon, a source of the jams, once written down, became happy as a clam.
Both help each other, now, as Grandpa Troll had hoped with all the activities.
And with a little help from an old friend, called the Possum of Possibilities.
A writer’s block that was going on with his dear...
Is a tale that Hubby has now told, and made so clear.
And now another peaceful evening… was suddenly shot all to Heck...
Until Next time…. As Dragon and Carol are now racing all about!
Michael Eastman & Carol Written 7-21-2015
I must give them Love,
And Love only
Can you stop me?
Will you be ashamed of me,
Or exasperated, angered,
When my neutrality resembles bestilled water,
Undrinkable, observing and flowing…
As my choice becomes iced with silence,
And non-action?
Every atom screams,
Hate them
Speak your tumultuous mind
With passion and purpose,
Speak and forget your disillusioned place!
Be their instrument of scorn,
Break them down,
These builders of fabricated walls
These grabbers for attention
These leeches latching onto
Every power they can get—
Feet planted in the swarms of stings
Erected to last—to suffer vastly
The sacrament of melancholia, let it
Find you,
And fill you with hate,
Disgust—for their
Impenetrable impotence!
Break them down,
With what you deem right
A spirit sighs, says,
Be a companion,
Be a meek friend
Be a listener,
Let them speak,
Do not be so quick to condemn
Allow their hurt
For how can you stop it?
Just like you,
How can they stop you,
From feeling, silently feeling
What they cannot grasp…?
Just as you feel,
Let them also feel,
Let them be,
Wait, just wait…
Their hands clasp my throat in searing iron grip
My eyes tear from the force,
Blood collecting in my world-heavy head
Do not be silent, they say!
Speak, you proud, religious bigot!
You are no better than I—nor him—nor she!
Speak, for tomorrow you die…
But I cannot even reason when you say….
Choose your way! Choose your way!
They probe—they force—they complain,
It is okay…it is okay….
I will not steer your life in the embodiment of my lens
I can only give, I can only pray
That the answers of truth will sooth your days….
I give them Love, and will the rest,
That swear that the responsibility lies on me—
I will the rest,
To the shades of better trees
Longing….
For their trunks to reach greater altitudes,
And their voluptuous shade to spread upon
These soiled, troubled souls
The choice is not mine to make
With love—with pain,
I wait for His reign
See them crawling out of the mound walking in a straight line, one set is going to East, the other to the West, carrying little particles of food in their mouth and moving with rapid speed.
They stop and greet each other on the way and I am always curious about what they have to say; the message is brief and they continue their laborious journey up and down the street.
I stood by the tree root and observe the ants at work; they were carrying a dead lizard under the tree, hundreds of them hoist it in the air and drag it into the hole;
It is amazing to see those little things latching on to the tail of a giant lizard without a inch of fear, they hurry back and forth and seal their fate in the dirt.
The ant has a message for you of how to walk on a thin line when the place is crowded and your home is invaded. You can slide up and down the tree and walk around the wood peckers feet; he will make a howling sound that will disturbed the entire town and set the people in motion.
The ladybug knows about it and the grasshopper cannot control it, the buzzing bee understands it and the American eagle is in love with it. The cardinal in the tree is waiting but the frog and the sparrow are petrified about it.
I got caught up in the animal world and I kept looking for something outside you that will make my dream come through, something that will make me think, and make the magpie sing; they are all around you, jumping from tree to tree and swinging from limb to limb.
The parrot is a talkative fellow and it will make you bellow. It sits quietly in the cage watching your every move, and he knows how often you go to the toilet and how often you change your shoes.
It sneaks upon you in the dark with a filtering light overhead, the one that they use to bury the dead and when the nights are cold the talkative parrot makes my spirit bold.
Sometimes it gets awfully quite and dozes off and that is the only time you can slip away, when the parrot is at play.
.
You Are Not Invited
--Latching onto my soul without an invitation--
Elements around my shore expose more than air
--Playing with fire is not a game you will win--
----
Silently she swarms in like a leech,
Feeding and sucking from the wounds my pain left behind.
She came inside: "Uninvited!"
Here have a drink, and die!
Taste the water drips that sail across my lips
Plodding vigorously in the open air of her unwanted hostility
Forbidden as one, I noticed her aura a sickening light
Imprisonment that haunted smoke around her own imperfections
The hate and envy, she lives in resides airborne
The sound that she have summoned up hunger
Brought me near the edge of everything
Feel my pain, a touch of impurities
Tainted, infected, poisoned passion, her face disguised
Surrender toward serenity, the lighthearted woman I am inside
She will never take, my full eternal grace
It’s time to reveal that blazing fire I hide
Drown her from the false flown sorrows of gust
Hold her hideous head under water--- burn her false fire out
Never will I turn my back and watch her muster them broken lids
Lungful of lies poisons the wind that flows from her snake like voice
Maneuvering the skies, scheming that snatch in
Like a viper twisting its unmatched curves,
I strike, like a pyromaniac --A burning match
Allowing her to taste a part of the air I breathe
A waste in the breeze her insecurities
Trying to destroy what she can't be, what she can't see
At the end, blustery weather will remind her of the sea inside me,
YOU! The Angel, who crawls around like a shadow
Gorging its way into the heart with a charm of greed
Twisting reality hoping nobody sees its true sick identity
Slandering my name as the master of evil and manipulative
Marking my territory, warning others of a cold draft
Grasping the beauty that glows from my soul
There it stood on the ledge UNINVITED
The devil walked and took my shoes
:)
I'm going back to the beginning of the ending in everything. Like the past kaliedascoping inside a mind wired with colorful glimpses hiding behind reflective times. I must reconcile the spinning and twitching of memories flying by, by balancing out my time in this present life, latching on to the fact that I attract the most unrelatable circumstances to my table of unfed; crying icicle tears of lonliness...Asking, why do I even try to make sense of all this mess? Hmmm...What a situation I have looking back into....Its a maze-filled haze of unregrettable, tending to those psychopathic energy draining endeavors....from misguided tenderly trying to fix the situation into a happily ever after ending that never materializes because.......
In the beginning, there was the original sin; whereby evil seduced a new creation into the delusional thinking that there was more happiness in the taking of what didn't belong to her, than by being obedient before her maker....Beguiling her wiles was a slithering satanic smile with the plight of her newborn, slain inside murderous intentions rendering her immobilized with desperation riddled, there was no forgiveness, depression; the first instance of mourning through the imperfection in her choosing her type of seperation anxiety bereft of a Father leaving her cold naked and exposed because of how she chose to reject what was perfectly shameless and holy,.
If she had a chance, would she go back to the beginning making the ending amended, choosing wisely, instead of putting faith in a fork- tounged liar that promised.....her eyes would be opened and she would be just like God knowing evil and good, that she would never die....because of the evilness. in his lie.......spinning the kaleidoscope into mind bending times...my oh my,....
It's pretty late, isn't it?
The day's done, Midnight draws near
You mischievously glance at me
I carry you away to our room
Along the way, I think
Of all the last four years have given me
Scar tissue that I wish you saw
Warheads all rusting in peace
Four years ago, I was still so innocent
Fresh eyes, clear mind
Chasing some distant dream
Through a lush, lovely forest
And in a massive clearing, I found the dream
And took her in my arms
She ripped herself away before I could blink
And dragged me down into her suicidal spiral
It took months to escape
To pull us both out
My eyes became jaded
And her innocence was given to another
Latching onto a beam of light
I clung to another
Treating her emotions like a toy
And feeling that I was making her stronger
I became addicted to her quickly
I lived to repent my sins
And repent I did
As I became the toy to her
And in that time, I headed west
Trying to ease the pain of loss
Dragging yet another soul down
And running when it became too much
I've yet to apologize for that
Maybe it goes without saying
But if it doesn't
I send my prayers and sorrow to her skies
And as I walked upon the plateau
Where nothing but weeds grew
I found a single flower
Weakly blooming under the dust
That flower would change my life
And alone I sat on that plateau
Blooming alongside it
Blooming alongside you
And as time passed
The plateau began teeming with flowers
As my life and yours
Became increasingly intertwined
My sorrows melted away
Every loose end that caused me strife
I went back to tie up
And close another chapter of my life
My thoughts come to a halt as I look upon you
Your body under mine, our heartbeats in sync
I take you in my arms and press my lips to yours
Here atop this flower plateau
You enter a long gallery. A gallery, despite your wishfulness, bears no resemblance to the morbidly cozy corridors of painted grotesque figures hung across the walls all over other rooms. A gallery - this gallery - is well-deprived of any aesthetics in your eyes, dwelling onto its crude existence. Striking in a cold garishness, shape-waning images beyond the reach of your psyche crawl into your memory to gnaw your grasp of reality and twist the very pillars of your consciousness latching to the rapidly fading memories of prior meaningfulness of existence. A seeming fraction of a second spent gazing into and onto ever and all-encompassing imagery is followed by the awareness that you are yet to comprehend the amount of time ever passed at that point - what feels like instances suddenly brings you to feel centuries and millennia pass inadvertently, slipping through and away from your sense of time of what one is destined to remain locked onto the physical world. Feeling overwhelmed not to lose touch with your humanity, you fear to bring this to the front of your mind, as your sense of reality would to crumble in agonising hysteria. The last squeaks of your psyche are to be bestowed on with the most beautiful experience no creature were ever to witness: dazzling stream of outworld consciousness seems to subvert the very matter of you soul, as you find your way navigating deeper into the chamber of this existential essence, where all passed, all that is and all to ever be are granted meaning through merging every instance of everything in the wraith of lights and sounds.
In the middle of it lies a cat cleaning himself, as if he owns the damn place.
And when i climbed the mound of grass
The sun set at a stop
Birds came swirling round
Outcrops in the light
Waves crashed under, instability;
Glass houses and rocks.
I think i got there.
I think i managed, because i could see so far out
And when i set up my gear
To yell out to the climbers
I cupped my helping hands around my mouth.
Many couldn't hear me
The glare of red would blind them,
And they could never figure which way to clamber.
Oh, i didn't get it
Where should the left hand grasp?
Where does the right foot get off?
So i'd lean further out to them,
I'd talk them up and on.
My right hand to balance,
My left foot latching on.
And to think i actually made it,
To think i was content...
I guess you wouldn't have guessed.
And in my memory,
It's too much red. I can't recall the day that i fell again.
Falling into a sky of light,
Baby blue and red.
Birds of prey to peck, to steal away my pleasures,
They tell me i'm in debt.
Did i not feed them before?
Did they not eat my grass.
And now many talk
But many cannot listen.
The glare, it always blinds me.
Me, I couldn't listen.
Where should my left hand grasp?
Where will these birds of prey peck.
On which foot did I set off?
Will someone keep me in check?
But oh, I'll never get it
Fearing when dampened grass gives way--
I won't be ready to jump off.
The genuine of simplicity is the wishing will,
arouses the splendor in content of still.
The scattering stories are matter of a baggage,
becomes the chant proclaiming the stage in savage.
Those torn loose ends to know by the breathe,
finding pleasure in the cruelest advice beneath.
The act of harsh or sweet in shallow warm,
tormented insecurities latching to reform.
That trying again, and once again, to rise,
smoking, drinking, manipulation in disguise.
When moody blinded self-absorption is out on bail,
becoming the shadows trapped in a flapping sail.
By the antiquity to proof with intellectual sight,
every heartbeat trebled to change heavens might.
That most rare conception of all nothing,
and its consequences with its swinging sting.
The cry for righteous freedom in darkening eclipse,
the haunted space by nemesis in grips.
Bearing witness to the poor admitted heart,
in social convention is the holy phony art.
The delicate web of human trust,
emphatic rapture in airy fabrication and its dust.
The lying gambles played every day,
holding and keeping what is not have anyway.
The embodiment of all that despise,
the puppeteer and its disguise.
Pegasus flight thru the storm looses some feather,
mythology is the living breath altogether.
"Powerful addictions sink their long, hooked talons into the afflicted, latching on" - quote by poet
Life is hard for Rod, an addict
Living with chronic pain
For years, he's been wrestling with
Two unrelentingly tempting afflictions;
Drugs and alcohol.
Both threaten to suck him
Into the vortex of self-destruction.
If he manages to pull himself
Out of the abyss of one addiction,
He sinks neck-deep into another.
Rod's drug of choice is Percocet
He has tried to untether himself
From it to no avail.
He has successfully quit alcohol
Only to be reeled back again.
But he's putting up a fight
Day in, day out, determined
To get clean and sober,
To defeat demons without mercy.
Godspeed, Rod!
F Form - Free Verse - New- Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
Theme chosen: Life
Date written: 02/24/2022