Long Locked Poems
Long Locked Poems. Below are the most popular long Locked by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Locked poems by poem length and keyword.
I’m at the table locked in
Eyes sharp
No slack
Clocking every twitch you make as I’m running it back
You’re shuffling like you’re steady but your pulse says no
And I’m reading every crack in the confidence you show
I don’t bet on luck
I bet on the slip
On the breath you hold
On the shake in your grip
You smirk like you’re loaded with a hand worth gold
But your fingers freeze up and your story unfolds
I learned this game broke
Grinding hand after hand
Turned every bad beat into part of the plan
Now I’m stacking up the pot while you’re stuck guessing
I don’t chase cards
I chase who folds while stressing
So when I drag in the chips and the whole room knows
Just remember
I didn’t win on the cards
I won on the tells you chose
I waited to be his, long to see
Fated in hopes and desires
Dancing like a concubine,
showing thee thy grace my love where were you been?
Fleeting this moment
You’ll be in my arms cometh sings joy to brings
Locked in your eyes doth solidarity where prejudice lies
The best has not yet to come; tis’ endearment mourns over royalty insatiably
How could you not love me?
I am not the only one?
My sire, deepest soliloquy of my feelings,
and bid adieu dreams
Are express in thou’s loyalty
long gone, beseech hunger
Will you let me love you?
If I could give an heir of your deepest devotion
I could make you happy; I could make you King
My sire, you are the most high
Lips painted red, and bathe rose petals
Tonight I waited for seven long years ,
Afar watching you ; watching dreams
You cometh’ near me; I’d show you love
Tis’ aspiration of my soul, plays no fear
Our moments together, will glamour thy night
I wanna feel every breath of you, like a candlelight burning for each other,
I’m slipping into dangerous ways to make me love you,
Gasping feelings, skin to skin
effervescently needing; your eyes meets mine
My Sire, you made me whole again
back to where I was once your queen..
Azure sky was the witness of the
Ruby ring delivery from the charcoal hair
Dashing gentleman to the amber eyes damisel
A two dozen magnolia bouquet was received
As an affirmation of the bethrothal
The wind plays with the violet dress
While walking in the beach shore with her beloved
Emerald eyes sparkle with desire as lips locked sensuosly
Fucsia flowers and silver bows decorate the nuptials
In the tangerine sunset
For Colourfication Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Silent One
Third Place
3-15-2016
Walking up uneven sidewalks—
up cracked little hills of pavement,
past dingy apartments
gliding through trailer parks—
rough rails and low fences
skidding my fingertips—
reaching the dampened street.
Through an empty crosswalk
where children once would
wait to pass—
vigilant cross guards leading
laughing kids to safety.
Staring ahead at navy-blue walls
once where gathering peers chattered,
beholding the path ahead through the
towering gate—
my heart flutters in
fearful bittersweet.
I wander through those familiar
school gates now darkened—
glaring in the dead of night.
“Go home,” it warns,
as I pass—wiry wind behind me
rattling the black metal
openings.
“It’s dark out here.”
No voices…
No teachers…
No students…
No faculty…
No giggling…
No taunts…
No lunch lines…
No time-outs…
No tardy slips…
No restrictions tonight—
but there is trash from yesterday
splayed along the wet grounds—
midnight rain ceasing.
Do I feel exhilaration
or shame walking through
this graveyard of academia?
What am I learning in this
strange silence?
I try not to recall
the dead black cat wedged
in a crevice of split concrete,
located in a locked, gated corner
past the large, muddy PE field.
I used to play there.
I would gaze through that locked gate,
terrified of what I would see—
but it was empty
Then.
Now,
near the edge of school grounds,
I hear her hiss from where I stand,
as if she is warning me.
I would hate to be
locked up into your dark corner—
destined to gaze up lifeless
at an unforgiving night sky—
destined to exist lonely
amongst the screams,
coaches’ whistles and laughter
from oblivious children and teachers.
In my wildest dreams,
I hold endless keys to locked gates—
filled with ends and hard truths
most will fight to forget.
She taught me something
that makes my blood grow cold:
there is far more to learn now
than ever before—
beyond these school borders.
she was all like - there's something i have to tell you
but before she gets to say it
his ex wife shows up
he's all like - she's going to be staying with me
she says - for the weekend
he says - for the summer
as he walks away you see regret all over her face
you know if he knew
you know he'd give his eye teeth
that's the way they tell stories
life however is not a scripted story
it doesn't work like that
people in love
one's the fridge
the other's the magnet
you can't avoid that kind of attraction
your lips are locked before your mind even kicks in
love is like that
you don't walk around it
it is an a to b and it is direct
you don't walk through one door
just as she walks out another
you can be in a huge city
somehow you both walk in to the same restaurant
somehow you're both alone
less than a second later
you are glued to one another
super glued to one another
there is no where
no where else you want to be
you are stuck together
like a tongue on a frozen metal post
no matter how painful it is
you are exactly where you want to be
you don't ah and hum around it
you shout it from the rooftops
you use a bullhorn
you are anything but shy about it
you know what love is
love is EVERYTHING
no one
i mean no one
dances around love
love owns you
when they write stories
they feed their audience
the same crap they’re used to
me?
i'll play some games
you know 'suspension of disbelief'
but love
you have to serve me a five star meal
you don't settle for less
when love
when your EVERYTHING
is the topic
Fallen Crocus leaking udder
could not turn within
puddles murky wade bacteria still
filled with slugs, bugs ludicrously crawling
who tried to warn her with slimy
S c o r n
relaying daily that to turn faucet
was very thing to open
Sky, Heart, chlorophyll vibrating in swing
loosening apron Strings —
not endless baking of tarts to gobble sweet
sad —- Oedipal she preferred
starting day with farts, dough rising
….dandelion ticks
popping
meadows, mountains mutinous
remain stuck in Dante’s purgatory rut
frozen d r e a m-ponds
creepers like waiting ropes
twirl laundry slave, Slippery hope
S l o P e
lumpity bumps remained to beam—-
yard hosting corrugated elastic plastic
gathering guano gooing
noisily scowling
‘must I dish your food ?!!’
wrinkled petals howl
‘Yes, please…’ from potato
couch —- creamy curry it would
seem…
with raisins
Saturdays morn to noon to night
swoon or drift at tv they would ghostly
G l o a t
at teams losing soccer
floats
imbibing dramatised S o A p s
stressful messy knives and forks
Gawking Oaks —
starlings sighed singing high notes
going by, unheard choruses
unnoticed
unkempt grass
g r. O. w i. N. g ___\\\\\
to reach beyond ^^^
stead’s broken fence
head ~LOcKED !!
vine with ivy do not applaud
matters NOT ! neurotic inside-out
hatters biotic >>
more comfy to waddle in
g r a v y —- S a v v y
than Soul to take
a soar A S C E N D I N G
earthy navies
sea cows sleep ——-
forever, wading
SlowLy
Sun shines down on
aching bones Cold
— I circle my own
life force with purple
to gold___>>
You,
I would never ever want to be a house to billet your Soul.
I would never ever want to be a cage that imprisons your Spirit.
I,
Only want to be an invited / welcomed guest in the house of your Soul.
Only want to be the key that might open the locked gates to your Spirit.
With You,
I would love to walk, hand in hand, with the pure essence of your Soul.
I would,
Love to be the wind, the light, the force upon which your Spirit, may freely fly.
B. J. “A” 2
June 28th 2007
Seconds to go.
I am locked away, set aside.
Throat opens, body twists.
Face distorts, voice roughens.
The tangle man wakes up.
He is twelve, seventy, eighty.
Sick and lame.
Trembling and tight.
Blank eyes peruse him.
There will be tears, mania and lacerations.
There will be trauma, suffering and death.
Shall we begin?
Spit and panic catapult malignant declarations over open hearts and minds.
The targets are welcoming, knowing, bored.
Stinging verbal percussion slaps bloody daydreams into existence, leaving mental brandings smoking like cigarette burns.
Temples of his stories assemble and collapse from tongue to word as Gods and puppets arise through pages, letters and memory.
With a heaving gag he births a scene onto the stage and watches as it bites through its umbilicus and begins to suckle at the congregation’s teat.
The milk is thick and spoiled but the narrative reflection is a ragged lesion that will weep for days, maybe even weeks.
Their number is too small for hushed, safe exits so they remain trapped and immobilized as putrid projectiles shower them in the malady of his tale.
They are beginning to see what isn’t there and to hear what wasn’t said while he screams, giggles and grunts through his stained euphoria.
I don’t want it, I don’t like it, I can’t take it, it’s too much, it’s not enough, it makes me sick, it’s too dark, It’s too wordy, it’s not funny.
Are you all right?
Are you all right?
What’s wrong with you?
At last he is tightly swathed in the translucent skin of their propriety.
He can now anchor his tale and draw nutrients from their discomfort.
His parasitic imaginings have found a host and his triumph is now germinating in his own humiliation.
It’s not fair; all we wanted was a nice night out.
What’s so wrong with that?
Ted’s big toe is covered in fungus
It’s massive, in fact it’s humongus
He can’t fit in his shoes
and he sure gets the blues
as he cannot hang out among us
Ted began to feel very depressed
as barefoot he’s not suitably dressed
So I made him fur boots
From road kill bandicoots
his infection medics have assessed
The medic looked at Ted’s toenail
he pressed it, Ted let out a wail
but the doc didn’t scoff
when the toe nail dropped off
Ted fainted, his face was so pale
Two nurses scooped Ted off the floor
Then they escorted him out of the door
The swollen toe soon went down
And Ted went out on the town
(His manky nail's kept in a locked drawer)
Written in response to a comment was made on my recent POTD. May I suggest if folks don't like my poetry they don't bother to read it or make a comment.
8/4/18
MY CUP RUNNETH OVER
My cup runneth over now in my eighties
Will it ever slow this love for the ladies
Thought ahead when I was a younger man
Love in my eighties was not in the plan
However in my mind I'm as active as ever
Always can be found searching for pleasure
Pleasures we dream from a very young age
Like a male of the species locked in a cage
Wanting so badly to explore the landscape
All too soon our manly prowess escapes
We resign to the fact our bodies can't perform
As when our youthful stamina was norm
Minds are still active as they were back then
But the body's changed, takes longer to ascend
It's all part of life, this unparalleled journey
But we manage to survive all the topsy-turvy