Long Lowers Poems
Long Lowers Poems. Below are the most popular long Lowers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lowers poems by poem length and keyword.
(Lights dim, a single spotlight illuminates the speaker. A beat drops, subtle and rhythmic.)
Cad Jax. Yeah, that name hummed with the city's pulse, a neon flicker in the back alley of your mind/
(A slight snap of the fingers)
He was Mr. Flow, man, pure, uncut man on the go/
Had a ride that whispered promises of asphalt freedom, a chrome-plated whisper stretched long and low, hungry for the open road/
(The beat intensifies slightly)
The ladies dug him/ dug the swagger, the glint in his eye that held secrets and late-night passion with no promises/
His pockets? fuhgeddaboudit overflowing with Franklin’s fat with the green whisper of possibility/
Dough, man, he swam in it/
(A pause for emphasis)
Superfine cloths, silk that dripped like honey, tailoring sharp enough to cut glass/
Diamond rings, catching the light like stolen stars, flashing a message/ I made it/
Alligator shoes, gleaming menacingly, pacing the concrete jungle. And that cane… that skull walkin' cane, bone-white ivory grin, a silent companion, a reminder of where he came from/ or to beat you down dead/
(Voice deepens, a hint of grit)
Man, this cat was a knockout/ women said he took your breath away and left you dizzy/
Grown men were envious and had a strange kind of respect for Cad Jax/
He always had the game/ knew the angles like a pool shark, saw the weaknesses, and played the hand he was dealt with a surgeon's precision and a hustler's heart/
(Beat shifts, a darker undertone)
Cad Jax grew up hustlin' down in the gut of the hood. flippin’ cards, shootin’ dice, sellin' a high/
Runnin' numbers... for downtown Mick/ a web of loyalty and betrayal, a delicate dance with the devil/
He was never far from the clatter of a movie soundtrack to broken dreams and desperate hopes/
Low-down funky dope bars, reeking of cheap whiskey and regret, the soul-jazz organ crying in the corner/ that was his young life but never behind bars/
(Voice lowers, almost a whisper)
Cad Jax… he was in the flow, alright. but even the strongest current can drag you under/ like quicksand all around you/
and the city? The city will always remember the legend, Mr. Dynomite Cad Jax…
The violence is my addiction
The pain keeps me lingering
It's like my self-diagnosed prescription
Every shade of red now I find it triggering.
I want to stop it for once and for all
But my body doesn't sync with my mind
It's now deep and intense what once started off small,
The weapons somehow my hands still find.
I promise myself I won't let it get worse
Alas promises are meant to be broken
I don't even try to undo this curse
I collect the scars like they're precious tokens
I hide as if my life would end if they see,
Different swords I use to commit the same crime
I myself tie the ropes so I can't break free,
Sigh and say I won't go this deep the next time.
I make not a single thought and I'm already bleeding,
the blood and tears combine giving me mere seconds of peace.
My shivering body for an end is pleading
in the dripping blood that ricochets I find ease.
I reassure myself despite knowing I'm lying
I'm the one fueling this loop of misery
I make cuts to hang on instead of dying
I continue to do it even though it kills me, the injury.
The skin that keeps me contained has slits all over
Every day I wash away the blood behind closed doors
I'm an addict always failing to get sober
Out of shame, my head lowers seeing as the blood everywhere pours.
My Canon SLR, is set, night light on, but it’s only still dusk
Positioned waiting hoping for the promised elephant with tusk
Crouching low a rustling in the hot scrub grass close by
I turn slowly hoping, but look straight into a tigers golden eye…
An overpowering smell my nostrils do detect
A deathly smell of blood, on my life I do reflect
The eye of the tiger with its golden hue
He seems so neat, almost manicured too…
The white stripes round his wide open eyes
The crackle of dry grass, the buzz of the flies
The sweat does drip, down my nose
My heart beats fast, the shutter won’t close.
His small ears on such a large head do mesmerise me
The long, long whiskers twitch, so I believe it is a he.
Do I move? Do I breathe? What am I to do?
A tiger with black pupils, why didn't I bring a crew.
Looking through my lens, I see his nose twitch a little bit
I am on his menu it was then the shutter did click
I’m drenched in sweat; he lowers to pounce, this will be goodbye
My prayers are said, my life relived, I know it’s time to die…
Straight through the lens, but what I really did not see
He’s looking to my side, my prayers are answered it isn't me
A sigh escapes, I dare to breathe, I turn as slowly as I dare…
That’s when I spot a flock of gazelle; one of them will be his fare
© 26/11/2012 ~GG~
Contest Entry for: Viewing Life Through A Lens
aspect allowing imbibes divine bliss
filling our form by gentle osmosis
felt within as a teasing love caress
rapture renewal with nothing amiss
ecstasy unbound within thus present
oft lets out a roar peaking joy current
to which by reflex ego resistant
self blocking bliss our native element
to connect with the divine a deep thirst
yet our fearful desires blockages of dirt
ego doubting that feeble form will burst
lowers magnetic heat fearing the worst
see saw battle within thus continues
even as rapture of bliss throb renews
viewing resolutely bliss waves anew
thus strengthening spiritual sinews
unhurriedly happening this blossoming
lower mind vaporised we cease sizing
moment to moment in joy thus flowing
essence of presence keeps meditating
in timeless time we cease oscillating
29-November-2020
(syllabic rhyme)
THE SMOKE CLOCK
I bought, as always, for two, two nights' worth of smoke,
it's eight thirty, and your chair breathes empty beside me,
you, who used to come early, never late, like rain
that knows by heart the window it's summoned to;
now it's turned two, and nothing of you remains
but ash of a name on the thin lip of evening.
Fine, I'll light them myself, one by one, like days,
it was never a problem to burn alone, except
this smoke has the shape of your shoulders when you cried
and won't rise, it settles on the rug like a dog
waiting for a master long gone through another gate,
and the ceiling lowers into my chest, heavy, like a lid.
I was the place you ran to when your own house caught fire,
my heart, a steady stove, never too cold, never too greedy,
my ears, two wells where you poured out all your rains,
and you entered me the way you board a train with no destination,
just to no longer be where the walls stood in judgment of you,
just to get far, far away, into a country with no eyes on you.
Our only fear was the descent, the return to bodies,
that ugly moment when the world put its weight back on,
so we took another turn, spun the carousel once more,
put off morning with one more blue breath ~
we believed ourselves healed because the pain had learned to stay quiet,
but silence isn't healing, it's only a wound grown well.
So are you better now? Have your scars bloomed without me?
Did you find a better road than the one we used to take,
one you don't have to pave with your own bones?
I hope so. I hope so hard that this hope hurts me
like a blessing spoken through clenched teeth,
I hope someone taught you to rise without crutches of smoke.
I'm not waiting for you anymore ~ I've gathered my hours off the table like cards,
I've blown out the candle that held your place at the window
and now I'm winding something else: a morning, a silence, a name,
I leave the key under the mat for the man I'll be tomorrow at dawn,
and if, after all, the knock at the door is yours, late, so late,
know that the place you used to run to has moved into me, for good.
Why do you need gas?
For my car
Why do you need a car?
Because I live far from work
Why do you live far from work?
Because I need a house
Why do you need a house far from work?
Because they're affordable
Why are they affordable far from work?
Because the government lowers the taxes there
Why does the government lower the taxes there?
Because they do less for you
Why would you want them to do less for you?
Because it's forced on you
Why would they do that
Because they want to do less
Why would you want less?
I asked for less
Why did you ask for less?
To survive
Will you?
No
Why are you doing it then?
I am waiting for them to change
Are they?
No
Then why are you doing it?
I'm hopeful
What is that?
A bird with wings.
Is that true?
No
Then why are you lying to me?
I hope you will make a difference
What is that?
A change
From what?
Myself
How will I know what that is if you are lying to me?
You won't
Then we will die?
Yes
Is that okay?
Don't ask me
She turns up the blue flames,
lowers the chops.
Dripping crackles, iron is fat licked -
grease on her fingers.
The meat finds its voice,
splutters of buttery smaze.
The pork is in bloom.
The animal inside the flesh
disappearing.
The meat opening
florets of aroma.
My stomach is cramping,
not with anticipation,
but with an acidic hopelessness.
Mother turns from the gas burner;
splattered apron - flushed cheeks.
She smiles, not looking at me,
but seeing a man
who will be home soon.
“He will love these.”
I pretend not to hear, but wonder
if there will be milk with
my cornflakes.
humidified life
nourishes a thirsty mind
like poetry it settles
on a leaf of emotion
transpires ideas
while insects feed
on nectar
and manna
from somewhere appears
on reason and feelings
inlets and outlets
cascades of poetry
set free and
captured in the moment
another droplet
lowers the guards
hangs on to a twiglet
for weaver birds
to build a nest
to rest and nurse
the young ones
a web of inspiration
such ambrosia
I would not trade it
for a pot of gold
a quiver for arrows
ink for the pen
a fountain of inspiration
a well in motion
nature’s tear of joy
just a drop of water
The road can be dry
Dust lifting in the path of your footsteps
The road can be wet
With sinking footprints in the ground
It winds with the turns to take
It rises with the hills
It lowers with the valleys
Scenes passing by the day
Each day we walk
Each day we try
To do all we can in our travel
To be seen, to be known
We may look behind
At the shadow of lessons learned
In the sun shining on this path of life
Whether we wander or run
We leave our footprints with all we do
Choices are made, scenery changes
We take steps of courage with challenges
We grow wiser with each mile
Live not with regret
For you have walked a road still to be traveled
The miles ahead have just begun
Heidi Sands
The chances, remote
that a dog and a goat
should strike up a friendship this way.
It’s important that you know
that Broccoli and Juno
spend hours at play every day.
Now Juno’s a force
as big as a horse;
her long white hair flows like a mane.
The size of her paws
would sure give one cause
to give that dog plenty of rein.
Sir Broccoli’s a nubian
who loves to be butting in;
he’s never far out of the mix.
When he lowers his head,
he fills them with dread,
but Juno, she gets in her licks.
They both get to snorting
with gleeful cavorting,
and you wonder if one will get hurt.
Two birds of a feather
In all kinds of weather,
lying side by side there in the dirt!