Long Limply Poems
Long Limply Poems. Below are the most popular long Limply by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Limply poems by poem length and keyword.
I can sense your impatience...
While yours truly (me)
doth strives to maintain
comfortably seated
closed eye meditative pose
mine skinny sea thru legs
(mere fo' shaw
by George spindleshanks) outstretched,
(cuz Lotus position impossible mission -
would warrant emergency circumstance
leaving stalwart fellow
as permanent paraplegic)
even crossed legs painstaking ordeal),
nevertheless arms draped limply
and/or tucked under
respective knobby knee
herewith barely audible sighs
Ahab boomerang reverberating sound
can be faintly yet clearly heard
courtesy thee self trained
ventriloquist missus
indicating slightly perturbed air
immediately disrupting mine ascent
into transcendent state,
which self induced
light quasi hypnotic trance
doomed to suffer blistering defeat
despite best guru vee college try
subjected to additional
pronounced relentless interruptions
unavoidably eventually experiences
heavy set bodily mass
loosing violent figurative waters
witnessing severe mattress flexion
testing material strength
jackknifing irksome husband
precariously rocking zen
rolling poor buoy to and fro,
hither and yon
him sternly clinging
against steep odds
tossing last raft of lifeline
before pitching the
dreadfully knotted sir into limbo
challenging laws of physics
re: offsetting his center of gravity
think skiff madly scrambling
barreling, keeling, tipping over
analogous to bobbing
rickety weatherbeaten hulk
landing headfirst upon wooden floor,
where ohm man hiss expletives
immediately supplanting
formerly invoked mantra.
excerpted from "For an album";
Adrienne Rich (1987)
...
Our story is of moments
when even slow motion moved too fast
for the shutter of the camera:
words that blew our lives apart, like so,
eyes that cut and caught each other...
...our story is
how still we stood,
how fast."
That still fresh old photograph of you
astride a spotted pony, bare feet
dangling as limply as your torn dress:
the background was a high veranda,
cool green trimmed with gingerbread.
A small boy sat the animal with you --
two solemn and handsome children
upon a well-fed pony, photographed
by an itinerant in the thirties --
the time frozen as long as the picture
or our fading memories of it may last.
Some say the boy, our brother,
did little in his forty-six years;
but now, we see his boy's eyes,
soft, liquid, serious, sad,
no hint of smile about them.
We weep his loss.
And you, sister:
alert, protective, girl's face
set to fend off the world --
cast so early in your role
as the family glue
holding us all together.
Inspired by Tears of The Dragon Poetry Contest of Robert James Liguori
A dragon defeated, I do not fly.
I hide away inside my cave all day.
Night’s blackness conceals me. That’s when I cry
nearby the shore – enough to turn sea gray.
My many tears have caused sea’s tide to rise.
Wings meant to soar lie limply on the ground.
Great are my own fears, which I despise.
I search for hope, but where can it be found?
Then I see you shining . . . beyond the shore.
A bright new hope you’ve made glimmer in me.
I’d always thought I’d sink to water’s floor
if I should try to fly above the sea.
But oh, sweet angel, be my strength and glow!
Wings raised, I’ll soar to you, my love to show.
On the threshold of the evening
Before me, mounds of dead leaves
Brown, limply sodden, resistant to angry winds
I stand and watch another day's bitter passage
Coiled with the same winter darkness
I croon my spring serenade of loneliness
My voice fills the void with sad lyric
Which dwells over mornings that couldn't be sung
When fog hooded the appearance of the sun
And the frost hid the garland of green
Yet, here, at last, peeking through the doleful gray
The stars are shining..
As if been sewn upon the fabric of a sequined sky
Beckoning my song to reach the crested moon
With the knowledge that tomorrow will come....tomorrow will come...
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Inspired by Brian's Strand's contest "Tomorrow is Another Day"
It would be a shame
to go on and on and then out
longing for grace
of some imagined historically significant life missed,
or simply more entertaining and health wealthy lives
laughingly not chosen,
to instead choose to belong in slow learner loyal grace
of this love life limply lived place
I could have chosen to hurt hurting people
by delightfully deliberately applauding the U.S.
as RedBlooded Earth's manifest supreme land
of patriarchal self-infested opportunity.
But we might instead agree
this is also a matriarchal land of love liberty,
one of a few scattered seed-invested places,
warm inviting wombs
of opportunity for health incubation
with concomitant risks of nationalistic pathology.
It would be my unpatriotic shame
to exit Matriarchal EarthSoul
without fully belonging in graced opportunities
wealth-lived risks
of predestined integrity.
Beyond the Breakers
Life’s crashing surf rebuked me
tossed my tortured being
back into the roaring loneliness.
Repeatedly I dove into the fury
defying the strength of demon gods
cursing the frailty of men
railing against the invisibility
of a sightless future – straining
to escape its shore.
Wearily I fell victim to the tides
drawn limply into foaming eddies
that bid me – succumb
to the solace of the silence
beyond the breakers
sink slowly into her arms
feel the warming sun
fade into the numbing depths
of cold abandon.
2/7/2017
submitted to – Beyond the Breakers – Poetry Contest
Sweltering and dripping sweat,
tillers of land prayed as they gazed
with frenzied hope and furrowed brows
up at a sun that glared relentlessly down
from a stubbornly cloudless sky.
Through August, the days limply crawled
into September.
The heat kept beating
and beating them down
until a few weeks later when
wind began to wail; trees trembled.
No lovelier shrouds were ever seen
than those gray shrouds of clouds
that delivered splattering droplets
which turned quickly
into sheets and sheets of rain.
It pounded ground
and soaked the thirsting fields,
and with the heavens,
the joyous farmers wept.
Still Life for Words in C Sharp Minor
They strolled the shady avenues
under a noon sun in the summer,
smelling the emergent gardenia bulbs
spinning maniacally in their mastery;
so they gathered up the white flowers
with practiced deliberate fingers,
bringing them to their stuffy noses,
to breathe in their exhalations of perfume spice.
They ventured askew with unstated intent,
roused by infinite atoms within,
to an open screen door,
wherein they saw intense sunlit explosions,
filtering through as determined light creatures,
and pulled through moaning space
for a secret rendezvous,
a shady sojourn of weird curiosities,
enacted behind a single closed door,
and other astonishments never before seen,
much less imagined.
These invisible wisps have entered in now,
with their practiced rituals and protocols,
known only to the obscure and the crazy.
They seek to find a still darkness;
Instead, they receive a green carpet,
stretching from room to room,
with old worn furniture gawking,
leads them to the regal dining room where
a crystal chandelier made of dull glass
hangs limply from the pale ceiling.
And flashing cloudless before them,
a curtained-spreading window,
exposing for the both to see,
a wide angular swath,
of shimmering gardenia blossoms.
It whispered
From afar its sutble tones lay
On a bed of acceptance
Pillows tossed away the heat
Competing against the harsh winter
Where grey found its way
And south was the compass point
A mane that once tested wind
Now lay among a barbers tread
Coin handed for less chore
As nods of reflection
Bows with the brow
And body limply rises from the chair
For age slips unnoticed
From behind an invisible cloak
Once a vibrant image
Where fear held no quarter
And dare danced free
Tears now weep in silence
Minds race through catalogues
Titled, where did you go?
Recalling a thousand memories
Of the good and the bad
As fingers navigate
A well worn face
Come back to me!
A desperate cry departs
But no-one listens
Another day goes by!
Lyrics based on “The Poet And I” by Frank Mills
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4-f0YcZ-ECc
(Lyrics start after a 15 secs intro.)
Please, it's important to follow the music; thank you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
‘I love you’ she softly whispered.
Her hand lay limply in mine.
Then, she left in silence as the evening turned into night.
She left me alone with heartbreak.
There was no point of return.
Then, she crossed the water as the evening turned into night.
Since then I have lived with my sadness...the ache of longing won’t cease.
I belong to the darkness; the wind has lost its voice.
Memories....
Tears welled up...
Her hand lay limply in mine.
Then, she left in silence as the evening turned into night.
She left me alone with heartbreak.
There was no point of return.
Then, she crossed the water as the evening turned into night.
Since then I have lived with my sadness...the ache of longing won’t cease.
I belong to the darkness; the wind has lost its voice.
Memories....
Tears welled up...
There was no point of return.
Slowly she departed, mist enshrouded, slipped out of sight.
Then, she crossed the water as the evening turned into night.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Contest Form G or NA
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Placed 3rd
Contest: The Poet and I
Sponsor: Mystic Rose
© 24th January 2017