Long Metal Poems
Long Metal Poems. Below are the most popular long Metal by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Metal poems by poem length and keyword.
When I entered I wondered what I'd find
So much to look at sitting on the shelves
Perhaps if I'm lucky fate will be kind
There are some post cards with pictures of Elves
Stereos, jewelry, tools and guitars
So much to look at sitting on the shelves
I pick up a cap with a metal star
Hidden amongst all of these many things
Stereos, jewelry, tools and guitars
On each side of the star there are gold wings
I'm amazed at this treasure I have found
Hidden amongst all of these many things
I've searched for days I have looked all around
I'm amazed at this treasure I have found
When I entered I wondered what I'd find
It seems I've been lucky fate has been kind
At The Pawn shop Contest
Modified Terzanelle to stay in line limit for contest.
EarthCare Elders
repurposed our red brick industrial
BrownField
Including a rusted metal box
the size and shape of a giant's coffin
orange and dingy brown
metal flaking paradox
floating toward sacred ground
along river's sweeping fed up bed.
Here lived a racoon mother
as had her Elder EarthMother
before her,
members of an indigenous EarthTribe
with river wisdom
long before our anthro-privileged
patriarchal/matriarchal political
and capital economic divisive time,
perhaps more cooperatively sublime.
Because of Mother Racoon's prior claim,
our Elders could not remove this blatant blight
from commercial waterfront views
when they salvaged the metal roof
beneath it
to install solar panels
and repurposed metal blades
for wind turbines
Facing south
toward Long Island's soundless waves
and marshy breezes,
rapture to our downstream raptors.
So, instead of decapitating
this rusted tomb for racoon's rest
Her bedroom was brushed,
redressed high up
above our healing river
and painted fiery red
with a black raptor's feathered eye
guarding furious west
across autumn's sky
Relentlessly watching
our rivered valley
as trees burn orange
rich crimson
mellow yellow.
Our sacred river eye
of gratitude for River Gaia's flowing
watch back through transportive time.
She brought us rich soil,
luscious drinking water from the North,
seeds of grass,
raspberry and blackberry vines,
mountain laurel,
blueberry and cranberry bushes,
maple and oak and chestnut
and evergreens,
Edibles and ornamentals,
mushrooms and nuts,
berries and squash
and melons,
herbs and strawberries,
squirrels and frogs and bears,
cats and wolves,
bats and eagles
flowing and following upstream sometimes
collaboratively unaware
But, mostly down deep under,
sprouting magical thunder
awe and sacred wonder
All this
before our Raptor's Eye
for those who see
what others hear
of EarthTribe's mystery.
A gutted mirror invents a tangled human scheme
My back might be found crooked from the jabber,
A puddling curb tried throwing the twisted dream
None bound for the scope spawned by a blunder.
My back might be found crooked from the jabber
Singing in heaven embeds tune of moral goodwill,
None bound for the scope spawned by a blunder
After a few years, you'd be ditched with side-will.
Singing in heaven embeds tune of moral goodwill
Straying guilt whetting shock and clear dismay
After a few years, you'd be ditched with side-will
The ridiculous concept of a fantasy hiding way.
Straying guilt whetting shock and clear dismay
The abstraction of waning grace is a little hazy
The ridiculous concept of a fantasy hiding way,
Tons of metal swords shattered by bared facility.
The abstraction of waning grace is a little hazy
A puddling curb tried throwing the twisted dream
Tons of metal swords shattered by bared facility
A gutted mirror invents a tangled human scheme.
Written: May 07, 2022
Suburban Mindmelt
You and I know what it takes to make the sky turn around.
We still know when to stop in our tracks,
To look and smell and pause; we must, if we can,
For we are sad souls in a suburban mindmelt;
We know the numbers but not the rules of return.
We must daily continue on and go our wearisome ways,
Opening metal doors to various offices,
Housed with experts we pay to rid our lives of the various afflictions and maladies,
Acquired in divers ways, during esoteric transactions,
Privately and publicly exchanged, apportioned properly and lawfully,
before dinners in dark dives, with candle-lit apparitions traipsing on the walls,
and ketchup bottles jostling in the middle of large tables.
We have seen the stars, mad as dancers twirling sur les pointes in the dark.
We have seen them startle us with their consistent placements and positions.
We have heard the stoned sounds of a multitude of vibrating cymbals,
Slicing the suburban mindmelt, with the notes of mayhem, madness and redemption.
You and I now know what it takes to lock a door and turn out a light, just before midnight,
When the earth demons go on the prowl for lost faces and young sadness.
We know what it takes to change a record, or the sound of our voices at noon.
Be quiet as you speak when it is midday, for the fishmonger and his boy have big ears.
Be still and do not breathe.
You and I know what it takes to make the sky turn around,
For we are sad souls in a suburban mindmelt;
We know the numbers, but not the rules of return.
As powerful as an earth tremor that can tear the clinged earth plates apart,
As strong as a lie that can break the glass of trust into pieces,
As significant as a plastic face that can easily wipe out deformities,
As realistic as a fake smile that can turn twinkling eyes into an endless ocean,
As terrible as the hunger cry of an abandoned child.
Dangerous to the extent of rising forest fire,
Decisive to the extent of a fake friend,
Dominant to the range of an unethical political voice,
Indecent to the core of an uneducated mind,
Unexpected as the danger of a shipwreck.
As menacing as -
a brick of betrayal that could break the brawny wall of honesty,
one toxic drop that could turn His adorable Adam into a lump of ash,
a single fire spark that could snatch the
food away from the innocent forest life
a luring pitcher tube that could melt the little life in its juices.
The root of vengeance
The seed of sorrow
The decimating desire
The minacious avarice
And that rules the kings,
Governs the supreme power,
Mortifies the stony broke mob,
Banishes even the brilliance and virtuosity
It's not just a piece of printed paper,
Not just a coin of stamped metal.
Salute to you dear specie
Kudos to you dear penny
You are Omnipresent, Omnipotent and Omnificent.
Form:
Life alone unloved is a life unlived.
Do we dare let the truth go unbelieved,
The truth that Love is the only real guide,
Leaves the choice; to keep running or to hide.
To run and shadow your own existence
Is to turn guard dogs on your sentience.
To pretend that this happiness will last,
We only need the wind behind the mast.
To deny the storm in its wild dance.
Or hide in the dark cave of avoidance.
To find respite from the burning daylight.
That will not be allowed, that is not right.
The right path will force you to be brave.
You will be dragged out of that lonely cave.
To be trampled by wild horses of grief.
The jealous men act on their own belief,
But come to mar your sensitivity.
And hang you for your inactivity.
You cannot shelter from this daily chore.
To embrace the pain is the only law.
Accept the world with a fragile embrace.
Its how the sullen moon sees this dark place.
From a distance through eternal darkness.
Swirling around unwilling to caress.
Those who entertain Love, choose a quarrel,
Two great hammers pounding on raw metal,
That forge and shape an invisible chain.
That will hold you in this dungeon of pain.
But those who deny love disallow bliss.
Left the doubt of an unrequited kiss.
Masquerading neath bitter angst,
nobody loves this neurotic
Sympathize—empathize with me
pleading, bleeding, but no one listens
Though, pleasing is the clown
with Infectious Grooves
with an unbridled force of his own inertia
with Suicidal Tendencies
Led headed, heavy metals
P-o-i-s-o-n-i-n-G
‘Round goes a captive carousel
along with a frightened knight
Riding in his demented, distorted cell
donning his showy suit of armor
Skewed—an unnatural high—mortified
when in a—sunken low
blending in, the psyche trips
Blood red smears quivering lips
Cobalt blue on the eyes
transparent tears cake-up
Pearly white covers sallow skin
Makeup camouflages a face
invisible, leaving no trace
of what’s real and what’s not
Can’t hide, hide, hide!
Though smiling wide
the tears of a clown,
jagged, razor sharp
Like daggers reaching out
digging deeply into his enemies heart,
through the voices that Kiss
distant noises, don’t you dread?
Audioslave ~ release what emerges,
cease the rollercoasting, ride the waves
Tension strapped around your neck,
an Iron Maiden's necklace bounds, drowns
Lost tormented soul
still, desperation painted black
reeks in perspiration
Perform! In Central Park
He who has no options,
in dismay
One will love
One will hate
One can play
with his, Madness
War…the stench of death
How long?
How long will it fill our nostrils?
How long will the mothers cry
And babies die?
How many times will our young men
Be snatched away?
Their future riddled with shrapnel
Jagged metal pieces that ricochet
Into the hearts of those around
Tearing into dreams, and hopes
Gouging out promises of a better life
A future
How long….how long will the sound of war
Fill our ears with horror?
How long must we cower
As the powers that be
Play chess with our lives
A game in which
THERE ARE NO WINNERS!
WE DEMAND THE RIGHT TO LIVE!
OUR LIVES ARE JUST AS PRECIOUS
There is no First World
Second World
Third World price tags on human life
“I thought we all were children of GOD.”
ONE GOD
ONE!!!
The ravages of war live on
We are never the same
Walking wounded
With ugly scars that you see
And those that you can’t see
Are even more horrific
As they mark our marred minds
Showing we are insane
In constant pain
There is no gain
From WAR
Give us peace!
Give us a chance to live!
Like you….
We were made to be free, happy, fulfilled
We want to dream
We want to worship
We want to see tomorrow
Help us....
“I thought we all were, children of God.”
Eileen Manassian Ghali
The situation in the Middle East is volatile at the moment. Perhaps that is why the words of this song from Disney’s Hunch Back of Notre Dame, God Help the Outcasts, has been running around in my head all day. It depicts SO well my feelings towards the situation now. The sentences in quotation marks and the title are direct quotes from the song. Here is the link…LISTEN TO IT…and remember your BROTHERS AND SISTERS in the MIDDLE EAST who are not sure if tomorrow will dawn for them!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MEEpavnk7Uw
Les Bijoux (The Jewels)
by Charles Baudelaire
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
My lover nude and knowing my heart's whims
Wore nothing more than a few bright-flashing gems;
Her art was saving men despite their sins;
She ruled like harem girls crowned with diadems!
She danced for me with a gay but mocking air,
My world of stone and metal sparking bright;
I discovered in her the rapture of everything fair;
Nay, an excess of joy where the spirit and flesh unite!
Naked she lay and offered herself to me,
Parting her legs and smiling receptively,
As gentle and yet profound as the rising sea,
Till her surging tide encountered my cliff, abruptly.
A tigress tamed, her eyes met mine, intent ...
Intent on lust, content to purr and please!
Her breath, both languid and lascivious, lent
An odd charm to her metamorphoses.
Her limbs, her loins, her abdomen, her thighs,
Oiled alabaster, sinuous as a swan,
Writhed pale before my calm clairvoyant eyes;
Like clustered grapes her breasts and belly shone.
Skilled in more spells than evil imps can muster,
To break the peace which had possessed my heart,
She flashed her crystal rocks’ hypnotic luster
Till my quietude was shattered, blown apart.
Her waist awrithe, her breasts enormously
Out-thrust, and yet ... and yet, somehow, still coy ...
As if stout haunches of Antiope
Had been grafted to a boy ...
The room grew dark, the lamp had flickered out.
Mute firelight, alone, lit each glowing stud;
Each time the fire sighed, as if in doubt,
It steeped her pale, rouged flesh in pools of blood.
This translation has been adopted by **** and escort websites!
The Perfect Courtesan
by Michael R. Burch
after Baudelaire, for the courtesans
She received me into her cavities,
indulging my darkest depravities
with such trembling longing, I felt her need ...
Such was the dalliance to which we agreed—
she, my high rider;
I, her wild steed.
She surrendered her all and revealed to me—
the willing handmaiden, delighted to please,
the Perfect Courtesan of Ecstasy.
Growing the fruits of your labor in Socorro county
Around here they call it New Mexico true
Down in Lemitar you can get the best of the best
The warm days' and cool nights, the fields of green chile grew
This crop has become known worldwide in places afar
Dedicated day and night to it being a successful harvest
Long hours and true love of this way of life they embrace
The chile, beautiful and mature, it's the hot days' of August
Sacks of burlap full to the top begin the journey across the state
Crack of the burners, metal cylinders turn, roasted green chile fills the air
This smell, it is nothing short of heaven on earth
Our call to fame with a little New Mexico flare
The season is short, late Autumn wind blows the dust off a cowboys boots
The chile turns deep red now, the last of the season
The ground is bare as I take one last look across the land
The Zia on our flag gives me pride, that's my reason
Why things happen, well who's to say
Perhaps the fields will be green again someday
A hurt in my heart, I lower my Stetson and walk away
The fields belong to spirit now, looking in the distance I see the rain