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.
Conflagrations of Contemplation
Elemental exaltations for refined explanations
Permeatations of conflagrations that seek to define progressive nations
Illuminations of consecrations that have me seeking contemplation
Acclimatisation toward configurations that have been building a new space station
Fusions of finite resources to be plundering
Contusions of insight and sources to be pondering
Infusions of delight without remorse to be wondering
Confusions of contrite concourse to be sundering
I can see the echoes of loss and grief inside your eyes
I’d set you free if it weren’t so painful to watch you cry
But then who would relieve me from the tears accumulating in my eyes
As I watch you smile above it all and attune in your disguise
Postulations on productive thought and ethical considerations
Aberrations of reductive sport that leaves you in commiserations
Attestations that they can be bought in these times of sellout consternations
Distillations that leave me over wrought with latent contemplations
Fundamental Answers cannot be found through statements designed to obfuscate
Experimental philosophical dancers design the concepts to debate
Compartmental insinuations that are defined to constantly conflate
Transcendental notions that are refined to expansively illuminate
The End Copyright Elizabeth Moroz
Mystique mist shrouds the penultimate path
to the time future behind the film of obscurity.
In twilight hour the sunset swansong echoes
the tune of forlorn spent life, silhouetted still
against the backdrop of the sunk somber skyline.
The threads of turmoil weave morbid motif
of craving cloud riding the sensuous storm
to the blank horizon, once donning fervent hues.
The tinged charisma sets yearning canvas ablaze,
from its burnt relic the ashes of fervor fly away.
The shards of shattered hope on dejected drift,
flow in the stream of the unshed tears.
The remnant rays of resurgence survive still,
designing the last latent lattice of dream,
swathes the sanguinity sphere of listless life.
The heat remains, though sun has fled, and in the air I feel—
the sparks of latent destiny that make life much too real.
Softly, blows the wind, tonight, the dark breathes as I do,
and the moon, my fellow sentinel, keeps careful watch o’er you.
Forget the sun and civil ways, those things will have their chance.
But on your lips is fragile hope that we might come to dance.
Are you ready for the thunderstorm that tremors inside me?
Do you know the thirst of summer? Do you long to be free?
For truth oft finds the light too harsh; it plays within the shade.
When sun goes down, don’t start to frown: the price is yet unpaid.
Only so long can we contain ourselves from passion’s fire.
You know too well I need you, and your need is also dire.
So come, I implore, step out from your door, and we’ll walk forever as two.
Stay with me please, I’m down on my knees, burning up for want of you.
30 June 2016
I see the stars falling in shame,
The heart knows their helplessness,
But can't stop the immortal flow of the river of dreams.
My love, don't mourn the death,
But rejoice the birth,
As few bloom, friends of dreams that are.
Doesn't your heart cry out mourning?
Even the moon is ashamed of its wet face,
Will my absence even spark the candle of memory?
My love, in absence of the flower of life,
Where will the dreams bloom?
In absence of the spring's song,
The heart sings the song of winter.
But this love is so tender,
Don't banish the young bird from life,
Let it adorn the bright jewels of winter.
My love you are the virgin of the skies,
But the heart is the groom of the land,
How shall I leave such a sacred marriage?
Oh love, don't leave the marriage so sacred,
But deceit is the only saviour of thy live,
Like the blue water that still flows.
The flowers of identity may remain latent,
But they will surely bloom one day,
When the river's secret no longer stays so.
But my love, this love is the fruit of a colorful dream,
There is no hope of meet of the land and the sky,
They were born separate and shall die separate.
No my love, they aren't so different, are they?
Born of the same horizon,
They were born with an embrace,
And shall die with an embrace.
Separated by the wind of ego,
They meet in the chaos,
And separate in the stillness.
Don't soak those cheeks my love,
Let this night live on as a dream,
A testimony of a flame that burned high,
There's no fear now,
Everything will be all right,
Everything will be all right.
In my wake, if i were to awaken,
O' wakeful wonder to wrench mine withered eyes
Aware'f the withering summer haze
Out in my bright eyed future, out in my cross toe'd path
Pompous poppies t'prop mine withering body
Lest f'saken soil shall chance this chance and enwrap thy very soul
Whole, wholly in unholy disrepair
Where thy feet ne'er make a pair
In my wake, where bottomless bile surely shalln't sate,
Grace be with grace whereth fate form'd nigh near'r thy hate
voracious, inherent, timbered'n barrels
Embedded beneath thy bedded tomb t'ferment
Fraught feminal petticoats bed thy bones'n skin, t'sit within
Barrelled quarrels quashed'n quaint fricatives,
T'lace these afaced wicked motives.
Foot befitting feet b'fore foolish faces reverberate foolish vows
F'petty petticoats liven' lieu'f laced love.
In my latent wake,
Tend t'the petty posies
T'prop mine body
Towards th'lascerating ladle'f love,
And into th'deepening dish'f self-hate.
24//8//25
Walking through the door of my childhood home
brought back tsunami of wisdom overture.
Tastes and colours in décor change with culture;
varied pallet of history in lands roam’.
My children had turned out to be a challenge
as they had early on displayed my talent
for examining and questioning latent
defects papered over; now seeking balance.
We’d a small, intimate wedding reception.
The wallpaper in the lounge is instantly
recognisable (like kin related distantly),
from the photos. No inkling of deception.
My parents had asked this sweet sixteen to voice
her preference for bedroom to replace staid
pattern reminiscent of a fabric plaid.
But they had vetoed black and white Op Art choice.
The celebrations of the many milestones,
spanning the blessed years of three generations
firmly recorded in the decorations;
layers of peeling wallpaper to bare bones.
Sister Benedictine, her blinded eyes stretched upward,
seeing neither blue nor green
nor his mercy.
born into a religious family, expected
at fourteen, to kindle providence…
she’d flounder at best.
her neophyte gown, dark and drab,
long nights without prospect.
her grin grew as she noticed Father Francis,
the poetic bombast of his tongue.
the bored hunch of his shoulders.
together they’d let go of their latent inhibition,
invisible to the church,
except for one peeping eye.
Faith saw it — the lecherous act. the smolder of
her right spectacle ignited the steeple.
the overwrought mother of
the excommunicated sister
coldly calls her
by her middle name, Dolorous —
for she was promised to God
during the painful pangs of birth.
locked into a wretched wheelchair,
the mother stares into her child’s eyes —
mean green and steel blue, unglued.
6/9/2019
Eight word free verse challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
*Merciful Heaven - an exclamation
Take notice of those exceptional and fearless minds that
spew out words when they are denied liberty,
they can awaken a latent truth suppressed by malevolent
forces that ruthlessly rule over their destiny!
Your words and mine will echo in every land darkened by a despicable evil,
then the powerful light of our insight will make the potent tremble and twist;
dream happily, write freely and speak loudly never being silenced for an ideal:
go and proclaim each truth and feel the joy of that glorious moment at last!
We fling strong words instead of drawing swords, the battle of controversial ideas
can be fought with grit and perseverance even when the odds are against us,
but many will be disheartened if there's no victory: who can foresee defeat?
So be confident and make your efforts worthwhile...soon we'll hear the drums' beat!
Your words and mine will echo in every land that is hushed by many fears,
let the river of justice flow and redeem all that was unfairly lost to a wild wind;
go forward with confidence and take back your worth by opening eyes and ears...
"Prosperity is the pride of a people that shouldn't allow vanity to exist in their land! "
Copyright ( c ) 2015 by Andrew Crisci
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
I faced this man, looking like a portrait,
I heard him whisper from heart straight.
You’re bold and flagrant frank,
voice vibrates with cadence of confident airs,
you’re logical, at times tangentially crank,
eyes encase dulcet dreams, at times tears
In the latent lattice of intricate design,
layer on layer, your mind is stratified,
the sanguine strata of all assorted hues align,
unique psychic patterns are unified.
Many aspects of singular distinction hide
within the network of your mind’s cipher layers,
can’t be decoded by the world outside,
the reticent sense of silent self never cares.
An insular captive of your mental making,
you’re you, an inimitable loner,
in your lane you see the aliens walk forsaking,
you’re defined by your essence sober.
These are the entity attributes of you people view,
different from the rest around you, for you’re you.
I looked at the portrait somewhat closer,
saw this man stare at me from the mirror.