Long Latent Poems
Long Latent Poems. Below are the most popular long Latent by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Latent poems by poem length and keyword.
In the misty milepost
of the penultimate pathway,
at the faint fringe
of future obscure,
the twilight tune
reverberates the requiem
for the forlorn tree,
silhouetted tranquil
against sundown skyline
of transient radiance,
witnessing in
the cauldron of time
the last flash
of the decaying day,
d y i n g….
The twirling tapestry
of tempestuous torment,
interlaced seamlessly
with the cleaved clouds
of swarming storm,
ravages the unwary horizon,
halcyon once,
marks the chameleon shift
of concealed colors
on convoluted canvas,
lacerates the last corner
of the frail fresco,
c r u m b l i n g….
The deformed shards
of the splintered sky
spin in swirling storm,
roll on the dismal waves
of curled up bleak cloud,
the remnant rays
of sanguinity still sparkle
in the departing flashes
of the sinking sun,
drowning the montage
of memory,
compose the latent melody
of the unsung dreams
with the fossilized life’s
fading cadence,
sequistered in spectral lyric
of sunset swansong,
r e s o n a t i n g ….
Given to rejoicing of her talent,
but born neither for this time nor this world,
when doves cry: knowledge of her is latent,
in the raw state and unfettered hurled
at a pseudo adoring, fickle crowd.
But born neither for this time nor this world,
she rose above the petty disavowed
that was the hallmark of entertainment.
At a pseudo adoring, fickle crowd
she bowed as though in ecstasy contentment.
With the bright lights trained on her every move,
that was the hallmark of entertainment,
there was no escaping and had to proof
her right to existence in a quandary.
With the bright lights trained on her every move,
no one respected privacy boundary.
Given to rejoicing of her talent,
her right to existence in a quandary,
when doves cry knowledge of her is latent.
As the Doc removed the scarf
that was 'round the Sheriff's neck
He did it with great care
That shown a sign if deep respect
The Sheriff was well liked
and through the years made many friends
So it was understandable
they were shocked to see his end
The Doctor then remarked
"There a bite mark on his throat
and it seems a small amount blood
stained the collar of his coat
"What do you make of that"? said Doc
While looking up at me
"Perhaps a bite from a bat,
I think Doc you'd agree"
"Well, that's some bat, a monster
I haven't seen,with my own eyes,
has anybody here,
seen a creature of that size
The town folk looking puzzled
Now mumbling in vain
was giving way to panic
as their latent courage waned
That's when the crowd dispersed
To the safety of their homes
Emptying the streets
Leaving me and Doc alone
Yes, I'm sure Doc heard the stories
But he hadn't realized
that the Sheriff must be buried
and tonight would be most wise
To be continued Friday WhooooooooooRaaaaaaaaa
WATER DOWN LEAVES
Water down leaves with Autumn’s spirited cold,
Until hands shiver, and lips are glossed a balmy-blue ~
Where every oak and maple leaf turns conspicuously old.
Green leaves, lavished in the summer of love, unfold
A windfall, of resplendent uproarious hues!
Water down leaves with Autumn’s spirited cold.
Forget the wrinkle cream, boxes of botox sold.
Live for the weathered, rapturous arctic-cruise,
Where every oak and maple leaf turns, conspicuously old.
The waterfall season, in serried spread, crisp and bold.
The aged, with timely wisdom, impress the new.
Water down leaves with Autumn’s spirited cold.
Children will jump into the latent cauldron of gold,**
After the temperature’s whisked, into a heavenly brew,
Where every oak and maple leaf turns, conspicuously old.
Unseasonable warmth, will not withhold!
Skyward eyes plead an eventual breakthrough.
Water down leaves with Autumn’s spirited cold,
Where every oak and maple leaf, turns, conspicuously old.
10/19/2017
Brian Strand’s Contest No 350
1st Place
*Balmy - Crazy
**Cauldron - Intensity of emotions
The ancient nothingness in undefined infinite cosmos
nucleated into the elements of the universe so unique.
Matter made from the silence of the deep space
incorporated in the core the touch of the celestial essence.
The latent emptiness suffusing the spirit of all entities
embodies the slice of the creator’s ubiquitous space.
In all things that exists as tiny spaces in boundless space,
the fraction of the primordial cosmic emptiness persists
in the fathomless indeterminate depth of the eternal soul,
encompassing the seamless space of derived divinity,
where we need to plunge with devout inner perception,
realize how in the emptiness of the primal space
life can fly in the void vast firmament of primeval bliss.
January 16, 2021
Contest : Musings On Space
Sponsor : Unseeking Seeker
Somewhere between the molecules
and neurons in my brain,
lies latent creativity,
between miracles and mundane.
Although of late, still sleeping,
wandering, adrift,
as if in need like watering seeds
to bloom its innate gift.
Itself to heights out of the night
and into light again,
somewhere behind the prefrontal lobe
a thought begins to spin.
Like a waterspout, a funnel cloud,
or a black hole in deep space,
yet smaller than a pinhead
with angels dancing on its face.
While it craves to know its master
and begs to be reborn,
as if it knows it's time and place,
and laughs with mirth and scorn.
Much like a clown, a trickster now,
hiding in the weeds, lying,
between my amygdala and medulla,
creativity teases me.
I know not where it's leading,
if any place at all,
but only know to listen,
to its faint, quiescent call.
That may lead to greener pastures
where wisdom's waiting there,
some little treasures I've been after
or perhaps, disaster and despair.
The only way of knowing
is to take the winding road,
inside my mind where love is kind
and thoughts that matter grow.
While listening to the wind and rain
or gazing on the Milky Way,
creativity unfolds like silver and gold,
and children lost in play.
As it rises, falls, expands, and stalls,
leaving all perplexed,
waiting for the moment when
another young bird leaves its nest.
And spreads its wings and learns to fly
and let itself be known,
to feathery flocks, sea, sky, and rocks
and wherever it may roam.
In this never-ending, mind-bending journey
of mountain peaks to climb,
for the creative urge to feel the surge
of Creativity in our minds.
Ravenous dream, cluttered and unclean.
Aberrant darkness, hideous and unseen.
Raging killer, seething; hardly breathing.
Raving butcher, leaving death and bleeding.
What demons lurk for a murderer in a gay enclave?
Name the repressed desires by which the slayer is enslaved.
How many kills kill off latent amorous specters in his heart?
Craven homophobe assassinates his shadow from the start.
What torrent of torment molds a gay executioner?
What self-loathing this child of incendiary invectives?
What self-shaming open wounds forever fester?
What ambiguous mask to hide the emotive?
What type of culture is so threatened by how we love?
What perversion of fear breeds within so many thereof?
What sinister civilization spreads this hate potion?
What dogma of night terrors releases this poison?
Ravenous phantoms, virulent apparitions,
The shooter never lacking in ammunition.
Delicate petals hold ethereal love and kindness.
The rifleman can never kill them in his blindness.
A trilogy of love: bared, shared, pared
Lust's shallow wave crests, cascades, crashes
Deeper, emotive swells rise, rumble, release
Conflicting currents form rip tide tugging, tossing, tearing
Amor's undulating rhythms pulsate
Low tide, latent fantasies surface ego to ingratiate
High tide, a endless churning of desires our longing cannot satiate
Libidinous breakers scour lecherous bottom; a brackish foam doth emanate
In the deeper recesses of our minds, a rational connection percolates
From the depths, a heart-felt thrust rises; a growing bond initiates
Two, constant minds mutually sharing space; each hope, dream resonates
Surface tension increases; two hearts mount each obstacle, common course navigates
Nearing balmy shore, strong winds of indifference blow
Into eroding channels untested lovers unwittingly row
Selfish goals drag the unstable pair into the undertow
Corrosive fears, unmitigated doubts sever trust placing love in escrow
See Saw, Margery Daw,
Marguerite - a pearl of a name…
stateswoman, socialite, singer?
No, a servant, soldier, and spy.
Could she be a latent
Margaret Thatcher?
No she's clearly a servant,
a nurse to prisoners of war.
Margarita, clearly a picture,
which brings to mind a debutante?
No, she's clearly a "soldier"
a POW herself soon enough.
Marguerite/a Musical,
does she dream of singing?
No, she's clearly a spy; In 1946
she received the Medal of Freedom.
She was the subject of the movie,
The Great Raid in 2005;
and she shared her story
in an autobiography - Miss U.
See Saw, Margery Daw,
Meet Margaret Utinsky
a pearl in Manila, World War 2
a Pearl of the Orient.
latent muted newfound observations, quests raging
bemuse our heart and confound the mind
maverick ego is at play again
inducing cravings we must leave behind
beguiled, confused, depraved ego feels guilty
such pangs of conscience usher dawn
entering silence the ripples cease
betwixt bliss beat’s rise we are reborn
prayerfully quiet radiant soul tames umbrage
deeming thought forms as but illusion
thus by doing nothing at all
flame of our innocence exits delusion
delightful empowering favours God Himself infuses
bliss magnetism cascading in feeble form
on choosing to shed our resistance
heart’s swept away in love’s benign storm