Long Lidded Poems
Long Lidded Poems. Below are the most popular long Lidded by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lidded poems by poem length and keyword.
I remember a boy child
who thrilled to hear dark
ghost stories
Told around a crackling fire
circle of faces
looking
imaging down
heavy lidded
in toward suggestive
face drawn shadows
warming late night
glowing light.
Outdoor cold wildness
exciting safely distant terrors
experienced vicariously
around this goosebumping circle
of starlit trembling bliss
Safety,
sustained light of humane
encircling comfort,
shadowing resilient powers
of divinely demented health care
despair
Devoid, for this evening's moment
of ghosting cathartic fears
behind mythic morbid stories
avoiding bad guy
or sad girl
creepy nighttime visions.
I wonder,
now reflecting later peak experiences,
if a sequel love story
of young romance
between a boy and girl,
A passionate embrace
erasing space
in-between a boy
and boy,
A forgiving grace
for unconditioned regard
between two girls
who would not think to touch
without a grateful kiss,
Might these have been
a warmer loving way
to send us off
into cold sleeping bags
at end of camping day
anticipating dreams
of tender touching terror.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A penny face-up in the gutter—
Abraham’s copper gaze half-lidded with rain.
I pocket him like a secret,
like the first digit in an equation
no one taught me to how to solve.
The laundromat coughs up dimes~
silver cataracts rolled under dryers,
buried beneath lint and lost socks.
I tally them in my palm,
each one a tiny moon
pulled from the tide of neglect.
My grandmother saved buttons in a jar,
swore they were pirate treasure.
I collect coins instead~
nickels in parking lots,
quarters wedged between bus seats,
their edges bitten with teeth marks.
When the year ends,
I spill them all onto the kitchen table~
a metal harvest, a jingling autopsy.
Enough for a coffee,
a lottery ticket,
or the weight of knowing
that fortune isn’t a mountain
but the slow accumulation
of what everyone else
steps over.
Sometimes I contemplate about my own self-destruction.
I wonder if I am at fault for the way this state has simply become a dreadful inevitability.
I wonder if I am at fault for the way my mind hums with a silence that scratches my soul.
I wonder if I am at fault for the visceral, undeniable pull that tugs at my sternum.
Fatigue.
It’s a conflictive concept.
It’s practical. It’s biological. It’s physical.
But for me, it’s the definition of my existence.
It’s the medical complications that pile up through my fingernails like tangled vines on a hanging tree.
It’s the pocket-sized triggers that push me back into a room with claw marks on the door.
It’s the way that no matter who I am, what I am, or where I am, I will always be a victim of exhaustion.
Not the sleepy, heavy-lidded homesick type.
But the invisible type.
The blood-itching need for evaporation.
The throat-clamping desire for combustion.
The tear-scarred plea for deterioration.
And I wonder if all I am meant to be is a hanging tree;
vexed by the vines of her own making and hung by the carvings of her own captivity.
He dwelled in depths I dared not enter
Satan the landlord; he the renter
He packed his things but left behind
a lidded box he hoped I'd find.
It was not of the Pandora kind.
Curious as to what he'd put inside...
Yes, I was inquisitive enough
to know if its contents had the power
to devour me whole or leave me sour
over the promises he didn't keep...
the vows he broke that made we weep.
He'd stolen my heart and I wanted it back
I the prey, he the hunter.
Sunset descended behind willow trees
before it felt right to open the lid,
for in darkness, he'd left me in sorrow,
grimly haunted by the memories of him.
In stygian shadows is where he often hid.
How fitting the hour of midnight appealed
to me to unseal the box, its cover to lift.
Therein I found his silver wedding band
and felt I should thank him for this final gift.
In the box of dreaded darkness, I found light.
A gift I understood as I held it in my hand.
He the giver, I the receiver.
The moon and stars used to be
both things that brought joy to me.
Now I see them one and all,
forms that find a need to fall.
Drop and leave a vacant spot
where two lovers claimed their lot.
Spreading dust of dreams once made,
fireflies glitter in the glade.
I used to see moon's face aglow,
shooting moonbeams down below.
In youth I gathered them up,
kept them in a lidded cup.
I dreamed I would grab a star,
place it in a covered jar.
When I'd have to make a wish,
I'd just have to view that dish.
These memories bound up tight.
My star captured from the night.
And yet still I cannot seem
to find that sparkle in my dream.
Youth has gone and old age stayed.
Only blackness where stars once played.
I dream now of midnight bliss,
when stars and moon bow and kiss.
I stand ant hill small,
beneath the shattered American dream,
while schemes of mad men fill their pockets,
(with my soul.)
Endless coffee shops and sidewalk satire,
I stand guarded against lidded, lying eyes,
obvious intentions, sugar coated smiles.
(You could at least pretend.)
A portrait in prose, single tear obliterating happiness.
Mind left behind in shackled sadness, sleep is never.
Bending backward, breaking, mind snap.
(Or was that yesterday?)
Fear swims shark circles, stalking tomorrows promise of
happiness. Wishing for childlike splendor spent frivolous.
When paper hearts were art, and your home was your castle.
(Once upon a time.)
Heavy lidded
Quiet and still, blurring
Visions with inklings
Of slumber, laboring
To breathe dreams
Through the embrace
Of comforting sheets
In colors of soft light
Lavender and pink
Blushing like roses, gentle
Graceful as the morning
Whispering fanciful
Fantasies, wishes, reveries
Blended on the moments
Dozing like the memories
White lace nightgowns
Intimate as poetry
Brought to life on hearts
Who listen to the glow
Of swift, still light
Reviving the feelings
Laughing silently
Through promises
Of dense truths, honesty
Growing wise inside
The heart who believes
This sweet serenity
Only comes with the closing
Of the eyes, the night
When everything rests
Soundless as the snowflake
Caressing the naked branches
Light as the wind
Sleep frees the spirit
To know the night’s abandon
5/11/22
An hour past midnight,
She rushed out of the head-storming library,
With a numb body, she drove hard, pretending he no longer mattered.
Still he ignored her, as always.
Till, the silent, deserted road heard a heart-wrenching crash...
He saw,
A body lying,
Close to death,
Wrapped in red blood.
With those half-lidded eyes,
She saw, she saw -
'Him'.
Running toward her,
Panicking,
Holding her and patting her face.
His white shirt coloured red,
Asking her to wake,
Screaming for help,
Calling an ambulance...
With those dizzy ears,
She heard, she heard -
'Him' say;
"I am with you.
I am with you.
I won't let anything happen.
Don't worry"
With those paralyzed lips,
She whispered, she whispered -
"I Love You"
Wee-oo-wee-oo
The siren wailed.
Holding his hand,
She rested on the stretcher.
His heart seemed to stop beating,
Waiting those hours alone in visitor's lounge;
He went restless again & again,
The moment she had confessed,
Seemed to replay, replay!
Stifling, he realised,
He had also fallen for her.
Operation finished, lights went off,
Doctors came out;
Stammering, he queried,
"No more", he caught.
Her still remains,
They gave.
Tears held back,
He clutched the deceased,
Kissing the forehead,
He let her be free at end.
"Blue Avians and the Poetic State of Mind
post apocalypse
the mother
sought the assistance
of Blue Avians.
when it came to
eggs stolen from a nest
who better than to
seek the assistance
of those ancient
wise creatures.
they had a keen sense
of the poetic.
without speaking,
they intuitively
understand
the misunderstood.
The Blues
shot right through
to the heart
of the matter.
Triangulation.
seated in
lapis lazuli
Merkaba
thrones
they fly
in fierce squadrons
sharp eyes, and minds
surveying the In-Between Place.
extra sensory perception
they lock into targets
reading signals hidden
under the radar
the cloaked
co-ordinates
of the Draconian
the great pretenders,
finding weakness
in the criminals’
fading camouflage.
slippery scales, light weights,
the Draconian
are bird bait;
too shiny,
inherent and inherited
reptilian, lizard minds
unsettling reprobates
in false light armour;
their dangerous enabling
supporting the
underbelly of it all,
their brother,
the venomous
Arachnid army.
The Blue Avians
saw deep inside
the Necromancer’s
deep indigo heart,
the blue heart of true mother.
they were for her
with faith
every time;
for like them, after all,
she also could fly
with the full strength,
the force of will in her mind.
they would fly
by her side. anytime.
they held no fear
of her motives,
her just moment,
her calling mission
for return of her child,
in the fullness of time.
they see
and they feel
the fierce call
of the Necromancer’s
true mind.
post apocalypse
the mother
sought the assistance
of Blue Avians.
when it came to
eggs stolen from a nest
who better than to
seek the assistance
of those ancient
wise creatures,
they possessed a keen sense
of swift justice.
they read
without speaking
truth in
the poetic,
a unifying
undying
poetically alienated
state of mind
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
"I am the blue-lidded daughter of Sunset;
I am the naked brilliance of the voluptuous night-sky."
"In the sphere I am everywhere the centre,
as She, the circumference, is nowhere found."
Eye of Horus.
Horus.
Thoth.
Nuit.
In depths of darkness my eyes had been blind
opened through the wondrous gift of spiritual light.
Now, I see clearly, the truth of Biblical Words
the relevance of life, and what it means to me.
I freed myself from distractions and despair
with the force of waves crashing upon the shore.
I feel as though I've harnessed their strength
to swim from shadows that once bound my mind.
I am enwrapped in God's grace.
My heart gently awakened,
Lidded eyes, once blind, unveiled,
Divine light resides in my soul.
Jesus said, “I am the light of the world. Whoever
follows me will by no means walk in darkness,
but will possess the light of life.” *
My faith in Father and Son shines as a lamp upon
my roadway. Step by step, I follow the righteous
path to a happier existence, for the light of truth will
prevent me from stumbling into an abyss of darkness.
Humbly grateful, I walk in spiritual enlightenment,
encouraged with hope granted to me through Their
merciful love for mankind.
*John 8:12
December 14, 2020
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