Long Melting Poems
Long Melting Poems. Below are the most popular long Melting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Melting poems by poem length and keyword.
My distant spirit is dying,
disheartened, disintegrating and self deprecating.
Defenceless, as hope disappears,
emotionally shipwrecked in deep waters,
yet to be discovered.
In the sadness of sentimental sighs,
silence is the sinister sister of separation.
Abandoned in an abode of unfairness,
my heart shimmers creating a crepuscular crescent,
emanating into an emotional eclipse -
in splitting darkness I've become invisible.
I've lost hope in being found
among faded stars and moonless nights.
I'm as transparent as an icicle,
melting in frozen fields of forgotten forever's.
In the deception of dreams,
gradually, the roots of grass begin to decay.
In misty meadows of manifestation,
sanctuary of my subdued supernova soul,
slumbers among rotting massacred moths,
motionless in a crumbling charcoal cocoon.
A slaughtered spirit spawns a suicide of sunshine,
as ebony eyes create Cimmerian shadows of smoke.
I've been taken hostage in a vault of torment,
hoping celestial spheres return soon -
but all I can hear is angels screaming.
I search for those susurration sounds
of homecoming birds of spring,
bringing the clarity of velvet sheen skies,
floating free like dandelions blowing in the wind,
unlocking shackles of sorrow,
easing stubborn tones of reasoning -
but no serenades can be heard.
The season of death is upon us,
so I remain disjointed in discomfort,
displaying dismay at being disowned -
leaving me feeling dizzy in dismal disorientation.
I was sitting beside the driver’s seat, quite a stress!
We were traveling back, from the mosque to address.
We barely talk on topics. So, continuous silence.
And I could see those long and winding tracks
Those turning, shifting, puzzling, vigilant trails!
Did we ever love each other? I think often
I often thought quite seriously, trying deeper,
To make a connection of those scattered dots.
And, I struggle to find the rhythm, with words
Thus, I feel, I lost it altogether, once and for all.
I asked for peace only to dispose of it in denial
I urged for a dream, and nothing felt right, at all.
I longed for a walk, remained a dream yet to convey.
I held my little ones closer, only to lose them, slow...
Finally, I wanted death, this, I may proceed, I know.
I was frozen, in a fix. And I was informed then
A tiny little soul was growing inside my womb.
A good, wise doctor was educating me about abortion
A cautious choice, but, a wound with a legitimate core...
A few days ago, he turned eight; looks just like his father.
I came back, and I lost it all. Nothing left intact now.
Each phase of bitter cold snatched a piece of warmth
Inside me. Then my agony was melting my courageous
High down. Enigmatic views on the window glass, elusive.
I saw my hidden stories of teardrops in the moonlight, there.
Written: July 17, 2025, for contest sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
Quote: "Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words," By Poet
*********
It glides—not gently,
but akin to a scrupulous scalpel,
a syllabic salve for rusted throats
and trapped desires.
It drips down the well of grief,
melting into metaphor,
softening jagged memories
into pains that are easier to bear.
This poetry is not serene.
It is slick with secrets
and greasy with grammar's
serpentine filth,
and sentences thrum
through the engine of anguish.
You utter the words,
and the universe starts to shift.
A bearing in the brain,
a balm under the bruises,
and syntax strung, such as silk
between broken cogs of memory.
Each line is dense.
Each verse unwinds—
caught in the hinge of desire and pain.
Essence of the oracle,
gleam of refinement.
Let it spread:
a rhythm that caresses,
a mouthful of taut truths
seeping through the snags of silence.
ice formed in craggy spirals
upside down and billowed
on the outstretched arms
of the sleeping winter Willow
awaiting Spring’s warm charm
misted sunlight peered through in sheer
shafts of glistening frozen crystals
as the melting ice dripped nature’s tears
falling upon the cold gripped ground next to a wistful
headstone where his name aroused memories from past years
loved one’s gathered in close circles
walking together with careful footsteps on chilled lawns
frozen feet stood still with inquisitive squirrels
listening to mournful voices singing along
in sullen murmuration of whimpering hymns and song
in a dirge of grief, we braved this day
amid rooted sorrow and lingering loss
notes fondly resonated in prayer that conveys
the passing of a loved one’s life who in death has crossed
while embracing the remembrance of his life with praise
quietly two white doves feathered in pure white
lifted while lamenting a somber cooing yawl
soaring above the tree line towards ethereal heights
stirring the clouds above the weeping and grief struck pall
as we gathered in procession leaving the dead man’s rite
death reaches with a cold hand
It freezes within us and grasps then grips love’s feelings
we sleep with the winter Willow and on frozen feet we stand
then melt like ice with tears of grief for our healing
while the flowers we offer kindle the grace our hopes demand
A pale white sun, yellow, thin and grained
played peek a boo games all day
slipping in and out skies black and gray
that only hinted a scent of rain.
The day somehow escaped my efforts exerted
staggered between phone calls and mail finds
with only brief respite from winter's cold averted
that stole the minutes and hours of my time.
Bowing at the crust of dusty breezes
the pale cream sun rays flow
clinging to the last vestiges of winter tease
cooled and blanketed by ashen melting snow.
Behind its glare
climbs the rising moon
with little left of light to spare
and evening stars begin to swoon.
How quick the day
as January slides in the new year groove
leaving us only Christmas memory ballet
of time ever on the move.
The sky is orange,
& people are running.
It’s turning deep red
& people are running.
The air is still
& people are running.
It smells of sweet
& people are running.
Plants are dying
& people are running.
Trees are shriveled
& people are running.
Animals are decaying
& people are running.
Birds are falling
& people are running.
Buildings are melting
& people are running.
Roads are liquid
& people are running.
The oceans are lakes
& people are running.
The lakes are arid
& people are running.
The ground is soft
& people are running.
The sun’s coming closer
& people are running.
The end is near
& people are running.
The finish has come
& people are running.
The earth is jejune,
But someone is running.
Hmm, yum— I come,
as a fan and chum of cheese,
I love almost all the types,
but if you're of those who don't choose cheese,
you might find this poem quite cheesy.
As for me, cheeseburger or yummy cheesecake
I can never be cheesed off by any cheese.
This poem, therefore, is for cheese sake.
Serve me the cheesiest pizza, if you please.
Ah, I'm so very fond of cheesy macaroni.
Even greens become appetizing with pecorino.
I couldn't resist a cheesy pizza with pepperoni.
I'd love to taste a Spanish zamorano.
Cook that spaghetti, or that bolognese.
Top it with red cheddar or mozzarella.
All that's far tastier with layers of cheese.
Cheese ain't merely for the mice of Cinderella.
And in my sandwich, stuff that provolone or ricotta,
for I've already tasted jibneh arabieh.
Under the crescent moon, on the menu be crescenza,
or even a candle-lit dinner for two— and a dish of brie!
Lasagne with colby or Asiago—
Melting Greensward or gooey Gruyere.
A cheesy casserole with manchego,
And Roquefort's tasty, I will swear.
Be it cottage cheese or friesian,
Greek feta cheese or french fromagefrais,
You can bet I'd enjoy a Parmesan—
anytime, anywhere, anyday!
A dollop of dunlop may not be so bad for a diet,
but cheese is a major culprit behind chubby cheeks.
The wish to forever stay slim and light,
has to compete against the desire for camembert with leeks.
Next on my menu, the popular cream cheese,
and I did not forget Indian paneer cheese curry.
Oh, try some Swiss chard, with Swiss cheese,
And you won't forget that taste in a hurry.
Say cheese, smile, and say cheese for the cam even, saying, "wow, now."
Taste a slab of halloumi or gouda, and thank God for the cow.
River flowing down round rocks,
boulders and fallen trees.
Born at the mountain top,
after the winter freeze
Snow and ice melting feeding,
the little river’s thirst.
Clear pure crystal waters flowing
downward after being nursed.
Many obstacles in its path as if
attempting to slow its progress.
But the little river now is stronger,
and full of hope and faithfulness.
Downward, downward
its mother waiting patiently.
Struggling and fighting to be
free, as the water rises sagaciously.
Overcoming obstacles the
little river grows in size.
As long as there is hope, there’s
no need to compromise.
Breaking down the barriers
for it will not surrender.
Downward, downward flowing for
it is now a fierce contender.
Other obstacles up ahead,
tell it to stop and rest.
But the river rushes forward for
no one can impede its quest.
It did not heed the words and
pounding dirt and mud away,
the river fought and wrestle,
with all the filth and decay.
Downward, downward it went,
for now it felt its mother near.
It now sees a glimpse of her,
and knows it had persevere.
At last the river saw its mother’s
face and open smile.
The sea’s arms opened and the waves rejoiced,
to see and feel its juvenile
~
I sip on the nectar a’ bloom in your smile,
sweetest surrender now tickles my lips
Warm in its drizzle of marmalade style,
sticky in ecstasy’s sensual drips
Tasting forever on soft satin skin,
moistened my grin in aromas so pure
Flavors of love now inviting me in,
lost in the folds I have longed to adore
Dampness collects on the edges bliss,
wet to the touch as our fingers entwine
Parting excites in the probes of a kiss,
drowning in passion’s delicious design
Held in your grasp as directions proceed,
sensing the arch of this romantic night
Melting as one in a blossoming seed,
pulling you close, holding ever so tight
Wishes proceed every movement I make
drenched in a dream far too good to be true
Fragrance intoxicates as I partake,
perfectly heated this rose petal dew
Deepest desires now form as I trace,
satisfied wonders of sensual sighs
Pleasure begun with the smile on your face
finding its end with the look in your eyes
~
Anti-Poem — “Snaking It To Venice”
(Poet’s Instruction: Play “The End” by the Doors loudly, while reading this anti-poem)
it’s you and me baby inside this gliding duster
this ’74 green plymouth cruising machine blasting
spit fire and gasoline grenades into the LA sun
snaking it to venice on the santa monica freeway
passing pillsbury billboards and green verdigris
doors music playing loudly on the duster radio dial
taking us past the santa monica civic auditorium
our rock pleasure palace under the ocean stars
fronted by the six high dudes straight as spears—
pylons of steel drum solos and marijuana memories
standing upward like skinny giants waiting to eat
hippie dudes and the bongo kings stand out front
polka-dotted chicks smile and pass running joints
we’re riding the snake babe riding on main street
looking for the rock gods behind beaming glass walls
looking to hear boogie music with the mind jive girls
the van chicks craving a bong hit of columbian gold
looking to groove on organ sonics that weaken you
kidnap you with handcuffs for a ransom of lost time
now jim morrison shimmies into view with a beer
the boys play the end again in 1967 with amps blaring
the vox organ humming out electric mind lacerations
as Ray Manzarek sits upright again on the melting stage
dig it baby, dig it there are no tomorrows no endings
it’s just you and me baby snaking it to venice beach
passing the dream palaces lit up with phosphorescence
the sun pole-dancing there doing the cosmic bend-over
the ’74 duster blasting spitfire and gasoline grenades