Long Meshing Poems
Long Meshing Poems. Below are the most popular long Meshing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Meshing poems by poem length and keyword.
Shadow Play Adult
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Just two shadows on the wall,
I watch as we rise and fall
each movement so divine
we have lost track of time.
Like puppets playing on a string,
we fool around, dance, and sing
two shadows playing past sunset
and still, we have no regret.
Two pair of lips embrace,
we must have a little taste
two bodies meshing into one
forever having playful fun.
We are in abstract poses,
twisting like wild roses
you fill my inner being
my breath has left me fleeting.
I gasp as the shadows fall,
slipping..sliding down the wall
layed adjacent to the floor
the sun rises, and shadows..we are no more.
8/16/14- Jessica Thompson
There is nobody like you in my universe.
My body, is your body,meshing in our sparkling celestial mortality.
Nothing satisfies me like the thought of you, or being with you
on black velvety twilights
Your Greek spirit makes my pen flow with endless ink.
So bound to you in love and art, I shall never shrink.
Let's stand before the mirror naked, with your arms about me.
The most dazzling reflection I am so blessed to see.
It removes the sad, meaningless storms of humanity.
As you encircle me, with Eros's passionate purity.
All the seaons too swiftly come and go.
How I wish there was some rainbowed,sparkling,erotic snow!
, 10-21-2020
Opus#2
"God give you the strength to finish this your way"?
I don't think you are first on his list, a special chair on judgment day?
better meditate, get it straight, rinse and repeat, people are people
so maybe when you're not "winning" people say, not sarcastically
that's okay, he's allright,
he's a good man with a magnetic personalitay livin right
or you can be an evil serving self proclaimed savior of gangland racket
too kool this mouth of the north and the south, with the devils ball sack in it
unpalatable to me if true colors were flavors,
id have to spew it from my mouth, like a bad flavr flav of JayZ or PeeDiddy or the other tools lyricals.
Think the world needs something refreshing,
no color on the brain, but still Golden, a golden giving heart molded upon brotherhoods fleece meshing. Not seeing scapegoats and color and retaliation.
You want to be a superstar, just dive right on in,
get on the ball, get in the game
But me more DeMarcus"ware" of your surroundings, Lest your words can block a fortress, a Minecraft of bombs. Are you on the front lines or sounbyte drive-by ing in your Catablack Escapade and control your own
climate, which is frigid to some.
Verily brothers I say to you, one might say
that all colors bleed into one,
colorless, souls, before God, judgment on, day
one
Tiptoeing inside an entrance that held
unknown mysteries of a slain clan,
draped photographs flickered with
low-lit candelabras of Halloween eve.
I ran up the steps as my heels
cracked on through a nightfall's twirl ...
the moon quivering like a ghoul's shadow
while rotten windows banged!
And the door reeled of odor around walls,
sipping the pungent air that hindered
my echoes from squeaking heavily
among a pile of crushed leaves.
Interior bleakness brought more dread
as tendrils of red mould hanged on cobwebs
dripping like spurts of blood...alone,
I turned to leave: my skirt rushing away
from the ancient house and its eerie view.
Glancing at the ruined structure
from a distance, fallen grasses
seemed to blink: my disheveled hair
meshing on a ripped treat- o- trick basket
as I quickly escaped, panting
into the thick fog without a candle in the mist.
Your Own Favorite Halloween Contest
Sponsor: Carol Eastman
I reach deep into my soul
words form like a spool of thread
I lace the needle of thought
and sew you a beautiful literary creation.
Sometimes there are rivets in the patterns
imperfect chained connections
but somehow, they come together
and meet at the same ends.
It does not have to be correct really,
just meshing like pieces of unmatched cloth
like your grandma’s favorite quilt
so many memories...
when I decide my creation is finished,
I tighten the ends, pulling it snuggly together
I gently roll my threads up to put away
and save those precious strings for another day.
A polished skeleton gleams in the porch light,
meshing gears rattle silver bones.
He slides tubes under his legs,
pivots on a straining fulcrum,
knee’s unlocking a juddering thrust.
He rides by night
pondering a nocturnal test flight.
Lights flicker as wheels turn.
Head bent, he powers downhill,
lamps sucking energy
through metallic stems.
Stringy tendons
knotted to angular levers,
then uphill,
dynamo stuttering, counter-assaults
of implacable darkness.
The dim road
saps,
but he will not stop.
He imagines he has a blueprint
for a flying bike.
He believes that a drawing
can be bolted together by thought.
He imagines an alloy so light
it can be lifted intact
from the page — be airborne.
The boy turns for home,
there is work to be done,
wings to be hammered together
on paper anvils.
In the heat of the Mohave desert
Drumming echoes build
In unison to my heart
Pumping and pounding
Faraway chants introduced
In some unknown native tongue
Rhythmic and nostalgic
They draw ever closer
As I close my eyes
Inviting my soul to manifest
Freeing it into tall billowing swirls
In the largest of overhead circles
So ethereal and surreal
That bold drumming resonates
Picking up the beat
Heavier and intense
Pumping and pounding
Pounding and pumping
Pumping and pounding
Pulsating fiercely through me
Transporting me to the other realm
Meshing with the paranormal
Mesmerized and entranced
Awakening old secrets trapped
In parallel dimensions
One second
The sudden silence
Plonks me like a lifeless puppet
Free falling to fathomless depths
The next
My body goes into convulsions
Quivering and shaking
An obscure dam bursting with torrential tears
From I know not where
A baffling source of unspeakable grief
Inconsolable anguish
Throwing me into utter bewilderment
Imagining how I may have been transported
By some mystical sorcery induced by
That powerful drumming and warrior chant
Awakening the deep painful haunting despair
Of a throbbing wound
Unhealed through multiple lifetimes
What could I have possibly endured
If not the broken heart
Of a grieving wife and mother
Suffering the unbearable loss
Simultaneous of both
Warrior husband and warrior son
Read on air by invitation ~ February 19, 2021 'LATE NIGHT POETS'
AP: 2nd place 2021
Submitted for contest EMOTIONAL ANGER, HURT, RAGE sponsored by LEWIS RAYNES - November 26, 2017 - RANKED 3RD
We Are The Watchers
by Stark Hunter
Into the breach the multitudes surge,
Into the crushing breakers and
Beyond the sucking mindless tides,
Down down into the whirring, rushing confluence,
Precipitously we fall and slide,
Tenuously and tragically we slip.
We are the watchers of the wasted!
We are the watchers of the dancing dead!
We have seen them bring in the living.
We have silently closed our eyes to their madness.
We are the watchers of the delirious and of the distressed.
Falling, falling trying to seize a toehold,
Trying to stop desperately this inevitable plunge,
This meshing melting plummet,
This fatal succumbing to hate and ignorance,
This downward drowning into the watery abyss of anarchy,
This insane enveloping
This resounding de-evolution into one massive heartbreak.
We are the human machine!
That lurches and stalls in the swell,
Spewing bloody angst
And the sooty smoke of smothering fear.
We are the star climbers!
The mountain gazers!
We are the watchers of the wasted.
We are the watchers of the diseased.
We have seen them bring in the living
We have seen the fires of Armageddon!
Burning burning furiously in the firmament,
And we have heard the crescendoing cries of the forgotten.
We are the watchers of the wasted!
We are the watchers of the dancing dead!
Four things come not back:
the spoken word; the sped arrow;
time past; the neglected opportunity.
Omar Ibn Al-Halif, Aphorism
___________________
On a beautiful Fall day- I went for a café,
pushing open the shop door, I bumped into a man,
pardon me, I said shyly (for he was quite handsome).
On my table I placed my café, my journal and pen,
ready to write a poem or two or perhaps an observation.
Then the "handsome" man is asking, may I join you?
Until that moment, I had not considered him relevant.
Inside, I was quivering with possibilities!
This turn of events could be a worthwhile opportunity,
if I let things progress in a timely manner.
Each word he said spoke to my ravished heart-
Star bright eyes, rosy cheeks, ruby lips, stepping stone words.
Such a smooth talker that I was soon quite smitten.
Everything about him was desirable and pleasant to me, so
reaching into that adventurous side of my personality, I
engaged in this mating dance-
Nothing can be thrown away, especially when it comes to love.
Do you believe in windows of opportunity? I do. And,
in time we were talking head to head quietly, two
people like-minded meshing into one entity, touching hands.
In life sometimes love can burn for just a moment, and be
taken by the wind in the next-
You must never, ever neglect a serendipity opportunity.
_____________________________
October 22, 2016
Quote with Acrostic
For the contest, Opportunities
sponsor, Nayda Ivette Negron
First Place
I. Partial Eclipse
The carousel broke loudly.
We made them laugh.
We made them love.
II. Total Eclipse
If you want passion:
The un-filtered wild joy of heaven and the sacred warming gold,
Seek no more:
Our afterlife is in the herelife,
An unsanctifying rim of coexistence,
A love unvarnished,
Uncleansed,
Sloppy like a junk-filled pick-up,
A warm, hard smile,
The soft, woven kiss,
The thoughtful eye-brow,
The tickle of a snowflake,
The fading pause of the ever un-thoughted pulse
And the fluid motion
We gave no name
In our readiness of love.
We sink to be.
We think to be.
So grow and glow and grow and glow again
In the round and round and round of the carousel we go
For a new moon has arrived
To be shone upon and ever spinning globe.
III. No Moon
The globe
The strobe
The harrowing roads
The blighted, borrowed souls
And I'm tired of poetry, moons, and everything bright.
I wish for a damp cold firmament
In hushing grace with whispering goats and snoring lambs
Where nothing sneezes and nothing aches.
Just the dream-time manger and tired eyes.
The glaze of these images is all I dream for now
As I trek and breathe through wire and meshing
Fighting self against selflessness,
Finding all is greed, the chemical survival,
And love is a feeling we invented to save ourselves.
We will point to the light
But few walk towards it.
We just show others
Where this silent plume pours outward
Into an endless beaming flood
alit pain and confusion,
A solid rigid ray
As in the absolute fixity of text on stone,
The stone plain and sad, like a tumor on the ground.
Kick it and be sore.
Love it and stay forever.
The carousel broke loudly.
It breaks everyday.
Whether or not we leave or stay.
Love or stray.