Long Limbo Poems
Long Limbo Poems. Below are the most popular long Limbo by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Limbo poems by poem length and keyword.
In ancient time
The ninety seventies are up in patina, a yellowish colour
of the ancient when I was young; and for me, it is still
not far away and remembered as a good time, mainly
because I was busy finding my feet
In the interim 50 years, much has changed, now is not
a good time to be young, the world has aged badly.
1970, the last man guillotined in France, but thousands
have died in civil wars at the hands of war machines.
The attention span is lower now than before, atrocities
like the Iraq war is forgotten, even Libya reduced
to a failed state is in the limbo of being in the past, future
and the ever-present now.
We are blasted with news that rolls so fast we have no
chance to take it, is the leaders want, you must not think
to see through their lies, lest you should disagree.
I was a red-violet, sunny morning person, usually up at the crack of dawn,
When orange light poured from the east, upon revival, dewy green lawns.
With a cup of aromal coffee, I'd watch yellow sunrise creep in the window,
Enjoying the zestful song of red robin, while night and day were in limbo.
I would take walks at the golden hour, flooded in light, just after a sunrise,
In the serenity of wanton, floral summer, slowly unveiling a destiny prized.
Visits of friends were features of morning, for sunup fondness is infective,
As flowers soak up colors of white sunlight, telling of the new perspective.
Family and I fascinated flaming sunsets, fancy dancing like we had forever,
At evening fetes, long fated; like feathery, dark green ferns-wind treasure.
I lived in the house of taupe sunrise, always trending towards golden noon,
As fitful stars, flickering like fireflies, stay on course, in presence of moon.
Sunhats, sandals and pretty sunflowers, were summer sights on my street,
In tranquil days of wild seas, giving the selfsame roar, as it cooled hot feet.
Nearby stars gleamed like natural pearls, on nebulous nights of neighbors;
And the natural conversation flowed nonstop, like the whistling wind labors.
Bat orchids awaited watchful moon, yearning for caves among field flowers;
When ballerina orchids danced, entranced, by plum shadows' magic powers!
Crimson corpse flower was blooming, in a torrid wake, held in lazy summer,
And snapdragon seed pods imitated skulls, where future flowers slumbered.
One day dawned exceptionally beautiful, a sight bringing rapture to my eyes;
As plum and orange, merged with pink, gold and red-fleeing night disguised!
I went about my productive work, but I noticed the day did not seem to age,
Like a glorious history book caught open, when distraction didn't turn a page.
Although I was very puzzled, I relished a pause for precious, pretty mystery;
Like the lovely, floral pause of gemmed hummingbirds, in times of blissfully.
After several long and rapturous hours, testy time gradually began to move,
For a beginning ever looks towards the end, as if it had everything to prove!
Written: July 30th, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Seth Pina
*********
Your very skeleton
is not spun from cotton and polyester.
No, it is not carved from wood,
nor forged from metal or steel.
Its substance is—nerve endings,
tissue, and blood—
circulatory systems,
bound,
but not from woven fabric.
A lethal lotus languishes,
lamenting in its limbo,
crouched on bended knee.
A curved carcass, prostrate
beneath time’s passing wheel.
Its chalk-white bones
measure the slow decay,
where darkness lingers
in the hollow space within.
Cyborg of a cyber-skeleton.
Coiled with a steel-stitch
sprocket of subjugation.
Its spinal cord, bound in circuitry,
hums with sorrow.
A crestfallen cranium,
a heavy, hollowed
moon-orb weighed down
by the gravity of grief
in synthesized solitude.
Amidst this woeful wheel,
supplications of skinless steel
fuse forgotten fragility and fortitude
into a fatalistic future.
For you were neither tool nor tree,
but a tight-furled tapestry of flesh—
a weeping engine, bound in bone,
where the wild pulse fights the gear,
and slowly fades to rust.
Languishing in a limbo of roles
perpetually gleaning
reading ripe tombs and myths
a child, a child dreaming
parroting fancies in pretty pink
braiding wisps on a razor straps edge
the perfect daughter to become
when all that was wanted was a son…
life passed by for the adult child
caring for mother, sister, brother
never really finding a meaning of she
mothering mother
friend and companion to father
oh where was she?
excel… a touch tones sympathetic plight
graft the colors, the paint the light, the mold
the seemingly endless mission…life
languishing in a limbo of roles
captured waif, soldered wife
pie baker, clothes maker, gardener
twist the seam of an unknown dream
thirty years on hold
half a lifetime, square peg in a round hole
then she came, who was she you ask
why me, myself and I
bloom on a rose I saved me
stepped off the cross
and became.....me
Contest The Right Time
Poet: D. Guzzi
For 3 days I've moved very lazy and slow
Plenty to do but no motivation to go
Playing games reading the topics that around the world can be seen
Listening to the News wondering what it all could mean
Hearing about the rich that want to give more
They would be better off just handing some out to the poor
Then men prisoned for life or many years to come
Sent to war and told what needed to be done
To start the fight they didn't have a choice
No one ever asked to hear anyone's voice
Many people may not understand
To Follow order they swore and raised their hand
Some may not have that sort of luck
But once they return in limbo they could easily get stuck
I believe for all that each one of them do
They deserve something from me and you
That should come from the money that each week we donate
Because of them we all have a life supposedly top rate
Not really sure how we could all be heard
But some how the white House needs to get the word
These people left their family kids and maybe a wife
Into battle each one ready to give up their life
Maybe In Washington it just isn't clear
That with out those brave Soldier's our freedoms wouldn't be here!
An Uncle Charlie Original
© 2011 unclecharlie
__________________
Mwizi! Mwizi! Mwizi!
Shika uyooooo
2am habitual
I toss my sheets stand by the window
They all speak at once
''Achomweee....''
I wear my walkies and switch my lights
I scrunch my nose
Freezing outside
Ni nani?
My anxiety grows
I join the mob
Fury is forehead engraved
Rusty smells of pangas and rakes and jembes
Ticklish breeze blows hard
Goosebumps on my skin
''Leo atakipata,,,ametusumbua sana,,,anaiba ata viatu za watoto,,,OCS asiitwe,,,tutahandle....its all too much
I watch as he lays there
Blood gushing from his pipes
Teeth plucked out
His eye turned purple
His clothes stick ripped
Shivers as he pleads
Oh such a fakist
He deserves death
A silent voice asks,,''why should he face peoples brutality?
Its still for a second the voice creeps up my veins
Dependency is its root
Not having the normal triggers it all
Illiteracy,,, backwardness,,poverty
I can't bear it
5 steps back am out of the crowd
From far i watch as he screams
The matchstick kisses his oil stained body
His body slithers in agony
His whole existence is wiped off
What satisfaction does it offer?
Does it embrace the bitter truth?
From the leaders to the street children
All accustomed to not living without this and that
Is it scary?
It's sickening to think of
Its nauseating to look at
But what can we do?
Those in authority, insensitive is their way
They devour the strength of the weakwisdom
They render souls desperate
A culture it is
How do we change it all?
How do we train those who think are bearers of wisdom?
Desperation is all that is
Tireless working
Seizeless prayers
Hopless souls creep up the church corridor's
Sanity is German
Trying hard,,,having to sweat,,,working till it hurts
Their motto is survival
How do you speak gibberish to African people?
All they do is stare
Walking away is a career
For the gram
Clowning
Empty minds
Hopless souls!
Shame on our motherland!
That is why they plan on wiping us all
All we are is liabilities
Till when?
The legs of the tigress were the first to go;
torn from her in a single vicious bite,
then left, helpless, to watch the rabbit;
bop and boogie around the once fierce cat.
The lion met a similar grizzly fate;
head torn from body upon gleefully which
the monkey did his dance macabre
in front of audience of tailless sheep.
The elephant, and ram, sans legs, of course,
performed a rather rhythmic limbo dance
under a cunning arch of bison, bear, and fox.
Followed by a mystery shape, we'll call a dog.
The turtle and the owl went in one quick snap,
and missed the seal's famous party trick;
balancing a kangaroo, half-eaten,
on his nose while standing on a cow.
The camel eventually broke in two;
beneath the weight of two donkeys and a horse,
causing hyena to start its manic laugh,
but not for long; it, too, was swallowed, whole.
The toucan crumbled under rhino's charge
and fell beneath the hippo's headless feet.
Then just as things were warming up, I found, alas,
no more Animal Crackers left in the box.
Curl of light
Dawn sparks;
Birdsong
~~~~~~~~~
Mall crowd
Feisty spree;
Window shopping
~~~~~~~~~
Food court
Hungry agendas;
Appetites dash
~~~~~~~~~
Morning papers
Bad news again;
Apocalyptic surge
~~~~~~~~~
Another typhoon
Wet dreams intrude;
Flooding moments
~~~~~~~~~
Broken hearts
Sadness glimpses;
Mail order tonics
~~~~~~~~~
If you must know
Time does not heal;
Grace inspires
~~~~~~~~~
Neighbour's kids
Noisy birdsong glee;
Sing-song savvy
~~~~~~~~~
Ancient evenings
Here at the gate;
Loneliness lingers
~~~~~~~~~
Dementia declares
Nondescript moves;
Forgetful forget-me-nots
~~~~~~~~~
Laughter echoes
Happy voices tint;
Foreign contradiction
~~~~~~~~~
Savvy somnolence
Easy escapades;
Sleepy limbo
~~~~~~~~~
She says
He sways;
Touch tentative
~~~~~~~~~
Words fail
Thoughts strangled;
Empty excursion
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
20 October 2016
Singapore
Part of me was determined to paint canvases all day. My plan was to leap out of bed and begin
A glorious day of painting using all of my favorite colors – especially oranges, yellows, pinks, and purples.
Let’s get out there yells the planning part of my brain.
The lazy part of me began arguing loudly.
Not out there!
It is too bright.
Stay inside.
Safe, behind black out drapes.
In mole-like limbo, I have been languishing without light unless you count the TV.
For eight hours I have sat in a recliner, clicking through show after show.
None uplifting, most violent or sad.
A letter comes from my doctor via my husband who has ventured to the mailbox.
There is a nasty tone to it.
Apparently I had missed an appointment.
Unless she hears back in four days, our relationship is over.
Okay by me. I was getting tired of listening to her talk about herself anyway.
I turn off the TV and open the front door.
The light overwhelms me.
Intimidated, the melancholy side of me urges me to take a nap.
Painting will have to wait until inspiration and enthusiasm return.
Both had been aptly murdered by me today.
Broke man all a-shiver
On another winter’s eve
He don’t have far to venture
Has nothing up his sleeves
I wonder, Where’s his Paradise tonight?
Child in a doorway
In a building, all ramshackle
Sees mother on the bedspread
This year there’ll be no travel
Tell me, where’s her Paradise tonight?
So sing another carol, play another tune
Maybe there’ll be snowflakes from above
Take your time reflecting
In your decorated room
Spending Christmas
With the ones you know and love
In the Limbo of the gutter,
Lost souls sleep with gin
No ties with the earthbound
And no pardons from their sin
But will they dwell in Paradise tonight?
Nations of corruption
Tied up to golden stakes
If they should push a button,
Would they clean the mess it makes?
Do they see themselves as Paradise tonight?
And sing another carol, and play another tune
And maybe there’ll be snowflakes from above
Take some time reflecting
In our decorated rooms
Spending Christmas
With the ones we know and love.