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.
Azure blue skies adrift with snowy clouds
Traveling across the vibrant gold of the sun
As it caresses the rich, black earth, home to
Olive and emerald grasses rich with clover
Oaks, birch and pine – soft jade and khaki
Thrilling the soil with a bold, vivid embrace
From the dewdrop liquid that sparkles delight
On the supple, flamboyant petals whispering
At the edges of forest and woods, bright
Scarlet, lavender, auburn and laughing, lively
Shades of blushing rose and ruby flames
Brightening the heart with a breath of wonder
Collecting love and happiness through the sense
Of assurance and faith found in a taste of
Hope that is hidden behind beaming rays
Blossoming kisses of daisies and sunflowers
Beautiful pieces of the soothing delights
Sighing silent wisdom on heavenly hues
Insights, inspirations, imaginations alive
With a thriving desire to brighten lives
With these intriguing whispers of light
Falling across the heavens into the night
Where there is only love to shine bright
Heavenly hues dance to the melody of joy
Awakening a heart to true feelings of praise
And prayers sent to the God who knows us
Sends those heavenly hues to warm us
With a smile from His spirit, His grace and mercy
Capturing our hearts with the brilliance
Of colors crisp and captivating, Crayola dreams
Breaking through the creative visions
From the hand of a blessing we remember
As the child who knew about God’s glittering
Gifts of colors – in rainbow worlds where
Wishes are wished on stars and prayers are
Prayed to the One who has blessed our hearts
With loving colors to brighten the whole world
I awaken to the sound of your voice, your words, calling to me...
Calling to me...Petitioning me... like an ethereal Siren's Song
Moving towards me just as waves journey toward an empty beach...
Always and forever...moving towards that lonely shore.
The Inevitable.
The speed of their emotional swells depending upon the wind
and the temperaments of the day.
Soft and lapping curiously when all is calm and clear
Furious and violently agitated when darkness hides the sun.
In spite of Saturn's cruelty we were destined to intersect
to hold these ongoing conversations...
Venus had put forth her resolution and now I wait for you
Just as the sands have waited endlessly for the eternal cycles of the tides.
I have been waiting...waiting...waiting...
waiting for you to meet me
waiting for you to come flowing in
waiting to absorb and finally feel the liquid of your caress.
Morning, noon, and night
I wait to hear from you
I wait...the Bullish Immovable Beast...I am the constant shore
Shaped only by your fascinations.
And you come to me, changeable Capricorn
Fluid as the great blue divide that separates the firm continents
Always changing, never stagnant...Always moving toward or away
Timeless ocean, timeless current, evermore.
I hear you singing an Ancient Mariner's Song
Its meaning holds the depths of repeated sailor's lore
Your stories sharing vast oceans of wisdom
that may have been floating on some wizened seaman's mind.
His voice, as yours, always sure to find
A welcoming lonely harbor on an expectant, yearning shore.
The tides mark the times for when we will meet
For when you will continue your engraving
Etching your love on toward me
as a fine lithography for now and forevermore.
Waves serve as your wild embrace
You place your countenance upon my face
I am unable to resist your advances
You have laid claim to the barren coastline of my heart.
Although I long for a permanence
In which Venus would so rejoice
You always leave me wanting more
Saturn still rules your mind.
There is nothing I see as so inescapable
as your leavings and your ongoing returns.
There is nothing so inevitable between us
except the Terra Firma of our minds.
(December 1, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved,
Off and running sure-footed, fast, and furious. "Under the sun, there's nothing new", says the writer. "Renewal, restoration in the new year", says the reformer.
Years ago, however, a kindergartner made a very quick and decisive resolution. He was too young to know the meaning of a resolution but old enough to decide with resolute certainty that one sip of that cold liquid fire would be his last. Rescued by the TASTE of a very strong drink that his parents had in the friz. Escaped, no doubt, a life similar to his father who drank heavily on weekends. Saved by curiosity gone wild, he could not resist taking a drink of that wildfire. He never revisited whiskey or strong drink after that brief encounter.
Obsessions of the like never appealed to him after he kicked his alcohol at around age 5. Luck and will power had nothing to do with it, but the nasty power of whiskey stopped him. Who knows what might have, could have, would have been, but for that little boy's sneaky moment that sat him on the straight and narrow. A crisis experience by a curious little boy became unknown, unseen by others, and evermore top-secret information; even forgotten by him for many a year.
The resolutions of most I'm told, never last, and by year's end, very little ever comes to pass. I therefore usually resolve to never resolute but to do my best before God one day at a time. Oh, I'm not saying that resolutions are bad and unattainable, and I hope they serve you well. Noticed on a wall, a statement read, "Never accept 'No' until you've heard it twice".
This 5-year-old boy didn't need a second opinion nor to hear twice the word "No". He chose to be a teetotaler for the rest of his life. Sometimes it hurts to stick to resolutions, but if we believe in them deeply, we tend to follow through.
011420PoSoup
The morning clouds left traces.
Small drops formed from even smaller drops pulled close by airy dust.
Floating at first, becoming heavy, and starting a gentle drop to earth. Moving imperceptibly faster to speeds as fast as possible.
Hitting the earth's surface, making a point and an imprint, only to be pulled into the dust and disappear.
Soon, the dust could hold no more, and drops escaped.
First, not moving far, but soon as many drops became one, they were pushed by the pull of the downward force and stretched into threads of liquid, soon woven into a sheet of fluid, pulled over the surface.
Then, led by stronger pulls, narrowed through lows, pushing the dust and separate grains aside, to deeper lows.
Stopping suddenly, because the pull disappeared. Yet, soon feeling the swirling pushing, moving together of communal eddies, rushing past other phantom drops, grabbing and merging without warning until a new flow, a new path is present. And, the pushing and cutting begin again. Rushing to a new lower, unknown goal.
Oh yes, the clouds leave traces.
When a poet dies, there is a silent night
One where the only light is moon and stars
Glistening through the hearts who are reminded
There is a peace that comes to life…………
As tears fall like liquid smiles, breathing grief
Into the night where the heavens seem to sigh
Breathing in rhymes who quiet the qualms,
Reassuring hearts that even though this soul has
Moved on, into the heavenly realm, where faith
Shows the spirit the reason for existing,…
There is, still, feeling that is so very real
When a poet dies, there is a word to be heard…
Feelings come to life, dancing despite the strife
Reminding that when he was alive, there was a joy
Inside those who knew his light – those who felt
His smile coloring their thoughts, their lives….
With the spirit that he gave to each heart, the spirit
So kind, so wise, so bright – the spirit of appreciation
And charm, perception and promise, the spirit…
Caught up with the One who brings every life its hope,
Every doubt its faith, every tear its comforting embrace.
When a poet dies, there is darkness that falls on the skies
Yet, on the inside, when a poet dies… there is a reminder
That this life gave each night – each dark – a light so alive
That only the wonder of his life could have inspired such
Amazing vibrancy – this poet, his life – shined a light…
So bright that not even the stars in the sky could contend
For the spot in the heavens where his light glows without end!
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 26 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Toney
January 29, 2023
I am drip
and slide
and vanish. . .
a thousand tongues of liquid silver.
I do not fall; I linger,
curling around your lamp-post shadows,
speaking in Morse of forgotten rooftops.
I taste of concrete, asphalt, and the sigh
of the world exhaling.
I am not water.
I am memory in motion,
threads unraveling skyward
even as I descend.
I fold into the cracks of your street,
a choreography of quiet chaos,
dancing on wind,
splintering the day into reflections
you cannot catch.
I am pulse and pause,
the echo of clouds colliding,
a liquid hum that knows no beginning.
I kiss the edges of your world,
then disappear inside it,
leaving only the smell of possibility.
I do not end.
I am still falling
inside the places you cannot see.
Phin Jiu
In the depths of the cosmos, a river flows,
a conduit, and vessel of prose, posing as
condensation of Ethos.
Moonbeams dance upon your ethereal ride.
A portal to mystical realms, of open-tide, alche-mist penetrate propellant in seam,
I see your cream of pride.
An incubus of mindful thoughts takes flight,
third eye wind,
let's thought linger to frequency, in pseudo celestial chambers you jump in.
Transcendental trans-human-deitism
quiver manifest plus arrow translate table digest.
Within your river of alchemy and dreams,
imbibed sleep, in glitter pomp
and deceitfullnesting-deposit ory,
whispering secrets in caustic,
cosmic seep.
Calls to mind, attache mirror reflecting, redirect of e theory_els
Quantum Leaps.
Evol of feelings, paint of elixir Alien Elemental,
stirring in chamber, chalice solvent silvery poison ale.
Your fluid tongue drips from beneath
damnation's skies.
For illuminating half truths
Into each glistening lie.
Your telepath
In Touch of Fairy Magic,
a malicious quickening dye.
O liquid stardust muse of musings,
Incubus's seed
of mindfulness,
filled with blasphemous possibilities,
is what you pretend not to be.
But a revealer of secrets, reveler in revelations
and aid to humanity.
O condense of moonbeam,
portal pool of dream scape residue.
Inn of collaboration of Morpheus and Hermes and Hephaestus's accomplice accomplished
's ethereal machine dew, of ai.tear.
Metal voiced whispers aloft carry your gear,
your secret keeps of lingering entrail
of residues areared.
Portal to realms, connecting conduits, material face uncovered of Hades- Siren's veil of silvery blue,
mini Wilky Way Tycoon, moonlighting
as a Science Toon.
Remember, you were de commissioned, rebuked at the second Council of Chyren's Dunes.
Use your imagination a little
you are there in the ark
Noah's captain of the ship
sailing around this giant water park
You're having a walk on top deck
there your eyes see two
two of every creature imaginable
but where are the crew?
When asking Noah how many?
he said the full lot was eight
now this liquid stuff came down
it just keeps on not stopping to wait
Then one day for the first time
you see ahead tops of a mountain
this rain as it's called
has stopped so says my brain
Safety at last has arrived
now this is salvation's picture
of God's giant rescue plan
be saved you must be in for sure
They told me it was medicine.
A cure in a capsule.
A little light in liquid form,
a powder path to paradise.
It whispered like honey,
slid smooth down my veins,
said, “I’ll heal your hurt, hush your hunger,
pull the storm from your skull.”
And it did.
Oh, it did.
The world slowed
colors stretched into forever, and my chest unclenched like a fist finally letting go.
But the bottle had teeth.
The pill had claws.
The powder carried a price tag I couldn’t read at first.
Every high built a higher wall.
Every flight carved a deeper fall.
The nectar that kissed me sweetly at midnight
bit me raw by dawn.
It is love that leaves bruises.
A friend who steals your shoes while you sleep.
A healer who poisons the wound so you’ll crawl back begging for the cure.
They don’t tell you the double-edged truth:
that the elixir doesn’t choose.
It cuts both ways
one side silk, one side steel.
And you,
you are the bleeding in between.
So I stand with the glass in my hand,
heart trembling on the rim.
Asking myself
is it medicine?
Or is it blade?
And the silence answers,
“Both.”
William Sawden
1893-1917
On the southern facade,
Of the Golden Rule Store,
On Greenleaf Avenue to the north,
There is a single window,
On the third floor up.
Behind the white half open curtain,
Facing south and southwest,
A sixteen year old boy, once employed there,
Was on his knees facing east.
He was praying earnestly
For a miracle from God.
With words audible and vehement,
Mention was made of a sick father,
A father succumbing to depression and confusion,
To fear and apoplexy.
The father, a man I once respected,
A man I once admired as honest and true,
A good man with a kind disposition; now
Was trapped in the deep pit,
A dark hellish hole,
Of liquid spirits and utter hopelessness.
“Dear God,” the boy intoned. “Please,
Please save my father from himself,
Deliver him from
His outraged seething soul.”
The boy remained there fifteen minutes,
Praying amidst the wash tubs and the skillets;
And finally, as a drowsy rain
Fell to earth that day,
The boy behind the curtain fell prostrate there,
And cried salty tears of loud desperation,
To augment the afternoon drizzle.
“I am half here and half gone,” the boy said.
“Please God, help us!”
And now, as I lie here,
Dead and decayed in the grovelling ground
Of Mt. Olive Cemetery,
I am completely gone,
Gone as the forgotten wind
That once whispered words of hope,
To the quiet lonely ones,
As I was then.
“Thank you God,
My precious redeemer.
Indeed, you heard my words that day,
As I knelt there,
Faithfully facing east.