Long Liquid Poems
Long Liquid Poems. Below are the most popular long Liquid by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Liquid poems by poem length and keyword.
Pitching a leg across the nether
Of a pretty appaloosa or possibly
A chestnut bay who needs to know
That she’s being ridden by someone
Who will take her through the paces,
Strides both gentle and regulated
By a walk, a canter, a gallop, a sprint
Where she feels all her steps
Light, loose and limber as liquid love
That rains down from a heart who
Gives this mare the greatest rides
Through meadows, across hills
Into the kindness of life filled with
Delights, pleasures, sweetest bliss
Brought to life on the back end
Of a horse who listens to the kindness
Whispered through laughter, light
Chortles felt by the spirit who believes
“cowgirl up” brings plenty of dreams
To life on the back of a mount who needs
Only to be ridden without restriction
By a rider who knows the key to any heart
Is found at the end of a set of reins
Where equine love trots into command
Poetry In Motion Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Matt Caliri
December 23, 2022
Words flow like liquid starlight,
Spilling from quill to parchment,
Each letter is a paper boat
Sailing on a river of ink.
Thoughts, fragile vessels,
Laden with whispers and dreams,
Navigate the currents of time,
Seeking a distant shore.
Pages rustle like autumn leaves,
Their edges kissed by candlelight,
As emotions, once formless mist,
Crystallise into tangible script.
The reader unfolds each missive,
A cartographer of the heart,
Mapping the contours of love
With every carefully crafted line.
Their correspondence, a tapestry,
Woven with threads of longing,
Each sentence is a brushstroke
Painting souls in vivid hues.
Years pass, a relentless tide,
Yet these paper boats endure,
For love letters, once sealed,
Become time capsules of the heart.
And in the silence between words,
Where meaning transcends language,
Love echoes eternally,
An unspoken poem written in stars.
Heavens reflection therein in each soul’s expansion,
interior senses from the celestial grace extension.
That child of hearts affection
contented stillness realm protection.
Tender steps pursuing with rapture wild,
embrace and enfold in that innocent child.
Splendid light keep rolling past,
souls draw bounding from that vast.
From spheres beyond strange land and more,
inherited Genius from that shore.
In that large recompense and sunny blue,
creating lovers gentle pasture new.
To give itself the gift as bound to be free,
the healing hands as giving be.
Compassionate bowls of fierce desire,
the holy grail filled with liquid fire.
That mighty power in command,
reaching beyond that gifted hand.
Eyes that speak that reverend face,
sparks of divinity to embrace.
Courteous fate in all of there,
when truth becomes the wholesome fare.
The seeming echo in refined senses,
gem of purest nature consequences.
Earths tomb and parting souls lingering to look behind,
pleasing spirits elegy resigned.
You ask me—
how does it feel?
This slow bleed of words…
This quiet magic
made of pain—
and ink.
Let me tell you.
It feels like this:
The pen… hesitates.
Just for a moment.
Then carves its hunger
into the silence
of a blank white page.
The ink bottle?
It trembles.
Not from fear—
But from the weight
of all it hasn’t spilled yet.
Some call it a prayer.
Others?
A wound that never heals.
Watch the letters.
See how they sprawl—
dark wanderers,
with no home
except this crossing point
of skin and syllables.
See how they blur at the edges—
like grief.
Like forgotten gods.
And the colors—
oh, the colors…
Blue—like midnight’s tantrum.
Pink—like a tongue-tip confession.
Red—like a raw hymn
sung at the edge of dawn.
Don't talk to me about purity.
Truth—
real truth—
stains deeper
than any sin ever could.
You want to know
Where do poems come from?
Place your ear—
right here.
On the space
between a breath
and its echo.
Between the wound—
and the word
that dresses it in gold.
This is where it begins.
Where the unsaid
turns liquid.
Where the pen
is just a bone
whispering to paper:
Take this.
Make it beautiful.
When ballads blow kisses but no boughs to receive them.....
An everlasting poem is escorted by the whisper of winds.
I’m a man with a passionate pen but no muse to write of,
Writing under the influence of olives and forbidden liquid,
And now I’m stumbling on prints of cattle on ground,
Walking the road less taken by men,
As words told to me by men wiser than I unveil themselves,
“It is the mistake of youth that spark the flame of wisdom in elders”
And now I satiate myself to the scent of myyrh and spices...
As I witness the alchemy taking place on my face,
Bristles and a carpet of hair raging shyly,
Searching for a method to brave into manhood,
Enjoying my youth and losing my innocence to the toils of this earth,
Sweet!
But today i have decided to simmer in joy and use the right tools to climb the fortress of adulthood,
I know not when i am to sit and dine with better men than I.
7/23/17
Here then gone, like poof!
Below the floor and above the roof
On par, falling behind or ahead of the game
Going with or against the grain
Getting it wrong and right
During the light of day and in the dark of night
Still here or evaporated
Spoken truly or exaggerated
Continually being loved and hated
In one location or anywhere on the map
In a place so small or space where it's all so vast
On the move or still
Healthy or ill
In the form of a liquid or pill
Done incorrectly or with skill
Losses and victories
Proven or still a mystery
Forgotten or a part of history
Ending up in first or last place
Going at a slow, steady or fast pace
Barge Reef
Barge Reef lies isolated at worlds end by chance
Wedges of sharp rocks fill in what ocean can’t
Eighty foot waters roll at a distance out
Waves say hello on cresting white
Coral formed and bleached silent
Created from living life forms
On the wrong side of the island according to the charts
West of Barge is open seas
Liquid wonders that follow the world around
A tumbled dance
Storms pound constantly there creating havoc
Waves take naps much later beneath the deep
Descending back around
Rolling into a slumber as cool brushings over surface
Calm winds take a breath
Ships find their corner of the world in blue
Slip Into delinquency, there, slow to rise
Sun finds the horizon hot
Jellying through mist
Mystification sets in, as it morphs through morn
There, so easy to find a new day in abundance solar bound
Creaking ships never land but crash on Barge with jagged reefs
Sharp coral stand pure white on the vestibule of shards
Sojourning innocently forward
Ambling along with wood debris
To that end, begins in splinters sober float
And with it, seas fold over on the likes of Barge
Sometimes, I race the wind - And, erase the sun’s glistening –
Embracing your quaking trees, Nourishing you with liquid
Comfort… Even the streams appreciate my favors, As I pierce the air with delight, insight - Into the mysteries of your thinking, your feelings…
Lingering in the air, like a gentle breath - Hastening through the light, soft
Gentle, yet resilient to the touch – never doubting
Even flames, stubborn to be snuffed out, Listen to my voice as
I convince them to be doused - By my promises…
Even the doubts are left in the past, who remembers - You are wiser than I can share – your wisdom… Like the healing of the winds, reassure the spirit
That light, sun, can bring sustenance from your filth, The mud caked around your foundation, resting In the clay, the loam… your very substance, your love
Embracing me, with all my kindness as I melt away - Your silence…
Lifting the streams, the rivers, the oceans… Rising to meet you with a promise that I am strong, Stronger than you knew when we first met – just two
Elements, risking our hearts, risking our thoughts, As we discovered one another’s weakness’, One another’s strengths and one another’s promise – To become the best of friends!
Together, we can accomplish more than a heart can imagine - Let this love affair take us to the most wonderful places!
I enjoyed wrapping my mind around his words
Stretching my thinking
At times coming unglued
Reaching towards oblivion
While keeping my feet in multiple worlds
Standing on sinking ground
While leaning on granites precious solidity
The substance of imaginations inconsistencies
Tugging on the heart strings of a well played heart
Wondering along the pathway of dreams long held at arms length
Hoping to understand
Taking that backward look while moving forward and upward
Words are his gift
Dropped like psychedelic bombs
Ripping at the fabric of convention
Pain wrapped in sheepskin
Joy pushed through pencils point
Leaving me in awe
Dancing and stretching along
Bouncing against his liquid walls
Till I come out the other side
Understanding
Landing
Blessed
More than I was before
Yet part of myself
Stays behind
Trying to catch my breath
Dedicated to Drake
Submitted to Debbie's Guzzi's Referential Contest
"Closer" By Chris Aechtner reminded me of Drakes Work
and Drakes unusual word combinations thus inspiring
the above piece.
less than half a dozen hours
remain here in Lake Woebegone,
an idyllic enclave, where legal tender,
liquid assets, minted monies
by the metric ton
loot, et cetera replaced
with sharing home good humor spun
prevarication, or a pun
where this Norwegian bachelor farmer,
now sets timer counting down to the one
hundred and fifth International Women's Day,
hence dada's taxi service necessitated
(asper my own volition) none
forsaking a substantial block of time
to ferry (via 2009 Hyundai Sonata)
thine eldest (of deux
darling damsels doggedly, diligently,
and definitively) whose maternal hue
ma in instincts (staking out
vocational, interpersonal, Jew
dish hiss lee courting biological objectives
Since matriculating
At University Of Pennsylvania
she seriously eyed
the engineering curriculum,
and as an inherent
high achieving civilian, this rugged
cerebral terra firmae terrain
emitting a signal calling she knew
tubby meant foe her, thus this proud papa his new
wish availing self less father summoned,
pressed, and mustered joyriding
glommed within mental motor queue
thus despite experiencing a minor panic attack
(with nausea more pronounced than usual), aye
did not want Eden (her first name)
to feel disgruntled toward pop (hood rather die)
as opposed to slacking off where fatherhood
concerned strove to be a beneficial guy
especially before the stroke of midnight
will usher well nigh
till next year long overdue attention,
now bequeathed during these twenty four hours
when non gun shy
textile women (shunted subaltern
second class workers)
in New York (circa 1907),
but said event opened to dispute,
but less in doubt
historical records indicate
1914 International Women's Day held on March 8
since then continued along
a linkedin chain in case you wondered why.