Long Milky Poems
Long Milky Poems. Below are the most popular long Milky by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Milky poems by poem length and keyword.
Awakened
"Silence fills all the spaces between
the soft flutter of fragile butterfly wings.
There one second and then gone, the faint breeze in a syncopated song.
As twilight gatherers the dark corners close, I hear the haunted lament of tormented ghosts.
Living in this wilderness on my own, the land and sky, mine alone.
For who else could enter, get inside my head?
Unless I allow entry through eyes now dead.
No light shines forth, only milky white dark.
The lament I hear is mine, in part…
So, Cry for your losses! Weep for times past!
Tear your clothes! Cover your head with ash!
Moan and scream to the gathering night.
Don't take this pain without a fight.
Much good it does, no, none at all.
At the edge of my mind, I take the leap and fall….
Into strong waiting arms, I am lifted up…
Sanity returns, filling my once empty cup.
I'm given the key to unlock the door,
And the hope to believe there's so much more!
Never alone, never forsaken, the sun rises on this new life...awakened!"
I don’t have a blueprint,
just this smudged version
of what she would look like,
an impression in a shop windowpane,
just as the light catches her in mid-thought.
To recreate, I must fillet an idea until
it is just a pulse, a blood surge,
a milky image of smoke;
I must work on her from the inside,
teasing out strands of mutual desire
from slim neck bones
and a tidal whelm.
My hands are palms outward and kneading;
a kind of questioning masturbation -
that is the gentlest way
to daub such imaginings into prayer.
Maybe I could chafe that conceit, like fresh
Virginia leaf between my fingers,
dunk her in a glass of Folonari Valpolicella
then place the wad between my gums,
chawing on it until she takes shape in my mouth.
No need to ever take her out,
she will disappear soon enough
into a space reserved only
for dwindling morning stars.
Perhaps she will suicide
on high-tension wires. An electricity
flaring her into a wind-blown gawkish appearance.
The sculptor in me leaves a fatal wink in this ideal,
one that will metamorphose into something
too fair for my skin-leaching hands,
too transient for still-life.
Then, when all is said and done,
she will simply remain this poem,
an on-going motif,
one that will surprise me again and again,
as I glimpse her once more
through a forever blurred shop window.
REALITY
"There are some who believe life here, started out there, far above the Earth,
maybe beyond the Milky Way; somewhere beyond sight and exploration, where
mankind has never thought to look. And some believe life to be a video game.
every thought and action under the control of anonymous players who
nobody sees.
Some even believe that reality, as we know it, is what we make it.
But if that is true, why can reality not be changed even in the blink
of an eye which sometimes seems to be how fast bees fly
when they are about to attack?
Around their solar father, planets circle in space
Each traveling the celestial realm at its own pace
But there is one he seems to dote on most of all
She's a lovely ballerina, dancing at the Galaxy Ball
A tulle skirt she wears in the guise of glittering rings
Moving in the black velvet sky as if she has wings
An endless performance choreographed by the stars
to music played by its moons, heard far away as Mars
Saturn shines like a beacon in the vast Milky Way
like a beautiful prima ballerina twirling in a ballet
Regal is the celestial sphere in her graceful pirouette
Bowing after a presentation no one could ever forget
His Majesty, is delighted and with a warm applause
He nods to his favorite child... in her he sees no flaws
He would place a crown upon her, made of ice and rock
and gift her marvelous gowns to adorn her as a frock
He cannot get near enough to embrace her in his arms
Enamored by Saturn, Ra is quite smitten by her charms
With human eyes, she appears buttery yellow and pale
Perhaps her constant dancing leaves her tired and frail
I would honor her with a poem, an ode in which each line
tells of her grandeur or write a song that would be divine
Far away, she may be but still mesmerizing to my eyes
Saturn, a distant amber gem, dancing amid starry skies
Love like He loved,
with sincerity and selflessness,
love with your whole heart, with love
that silences the fears that mock...
praising, ever praising...
with the wind, singing its melodies,
rushing away the darkness, dancing
in sentimental joy - silencing the night,
with breathless energy, singing,
to the moon, the stars, all glisteny,
gently kissing away every anxiety.
He dims the night's melody,
rich hues of laughing sensations.
His grace pours light over my spirit,
as I rejoice in His endless singing,
like a psalm, blessing in rhythms,
of wonders only known by the trickles
of love, like soft kisses,
preaching compassion,
reflecting the joy in a windstorm,
washing away the shadows of yesterday's rain,
reflecting on the soul,
the milky white moon, glowing quietly,
still as the tired excuse...
flames of mystery, lights unfold,
holding only the echo,
nostalgic like the scent so old,
arising on the fifth of June,
as summer teases with its violet hues,
night always remembers, too,
night breathes, soon,
singing a melody of truth.
He listens to the voice of yesterday,
when there was laughter in the dust,
bleeding thoughts, when it was all just make believe,
when he held his thoughts with whimsical
covering the shadows of fear with faith.
He can hear his voice making time,
more time than he really had, elated,
by the flow of love, soft and sure,
stirring melodies,
surrounding the heart's lingering energies,
with a sincerity, a serenity, a sense
of what it is to mean everything
to a heart who can hear the love pouring,
down to the soul,
rich and heavy as a morning dew,
a sunrise, too...
covering the spirit in a gentle,
whispering light through each limb,
each expression, an impression
what it means to love without conditions,
to love...
the way He meant us to,
to love...
the way Jesus blessed us, so
this love...
is more than affection,
more than attainable,
more than alive -
this love...
is like the stars in the skies,
always shining, shimmering like the smiles,
who abide with those who are pouring out His light,
reflecting what it's like to be a star, so bright!
Everything is an issue with my friend
I hope she is a girl as she is known to claim
She thinks she is Marilyn Monroe so
Think on my pretty
In fact there is but one good eye
Like a lighthouse beam beckoning
About the middle of the head
Large with yellow, pus oozing on her tiny face
Sometimes it looks cloudy or milky white
Under moon light it stands out frightening
She orders me to give her money...a gun
It must be time to make love
Or take her dancing in the dark
That makes perfect sense for the digestion
A large tooth stands out yellow gray
Turning green and festering today
It protrudes from her lower jaw
Stands as a monument to former days
When there were plenty
From the vicinity of the mouth she shouts
Commands me be still while she takes aim
I am a target of her love
She screams at me to pay the rent
Slurs her words, most unheard
Pretending to be sultry
My girl is far from pretty
The distance is from here to Mars
Ugly defines her nicely
Skinny is her only attribute
Shoot me!…. Shoot me now my pretty!...
(To be sang to the tune of "In The Navy"
By 'The Village People')
In the Micro
Is where we put the milky tea.
In the Micro
To make it hot as it can be.
In the Micro
One minute is all it needs.
In the Micro! In the Micro!
In the Micro
Is where we thicken up the soup.
In the Micro
To give it the finest gloop.
In the Micro
Helps to flavour it up more
In the Micro! In the Micro!
In the Micro
For this is the only way,
In the Micro
To get the porridge right each day.
In the Micro
Be it salty, be it sweet.
In the Micro! In the Micro!
In the Micro
If your dinner does get cold,
In the Micro
Even if it's a day old,
In the Micro
You might just save your meal
In the Micro! In the Micro!
Alan Shepard, astronaut, took golf balls to the moon
He whacked them only when he knew that he’d be leaving soon
‘One flew two hundred yards,’ he said, ‘and as I recollect
one came down in a crater, although I never checked.’
In seventy-one that bit of fun by NASA was allowed
Such jollity in twenty-one would now be disavowed
Like all the stuff they’ve left behind those golf balls lay there stranded
At least they do if it is true that both those golf balls landed
And then it all got boring with rockets on the wain
Those Saturn V Apollos superseded by a plane
Referred to as the shuttle like a boat, a bus or train
I doubt that space flights ever will excite me once again
Be careful what you wish for: is that not what they say
Something mad is happening, in outer space today
It should be so exciting as beyond the Milky Way
A hurtling flying saucer makes our population pray
It’s passing stars and galaxies at speeds beyond compare
We know it’s heading here because it didn’t stop off there
And now the bloggers tell us what the BBC refutes
It doesn’t come in peace because it’s loaded up with nukes
And finally it slowed down as upon our moon it came
And then it simply hovered there like it was taking aim
Then each TV and radio and stuff with speakers in
Crackled into life with a God almighty din
You humans shall obey these words and leave to us your earth
Or you shall be destroyed because you are of little worth
And then that space-ship blew apart as something smashed its shields
In orbit its astounding how much power a golf ball wields
***
[Postscript: in 1971, Alan Shepard took two golfballs and a modified club to the moon. Apparently, aware that any ‘whoops’ moments might be blamed on ‘larking about’, this was sanctioned on the proviso that all scheduled tasks had already been completed: thus Shepard teed off shortly before leaving the moon. To this day, Shepard retains the record for the longest golf shot on the moon... Duh!]
Why are there stars?
Without stars, how would we know that the darkness holds beauty and light in
limitless value? Where would fireflies find the inspiration to put on their
dance of love and loneliness, searching for a mate?
Without stars, what would the Milky Way wear to spin and twirl, and flaunt its
extraordinary beauty to the Universe? What would wee one's wishes send
shooting across the sky, to find purchase in their dreams?
Without stars, what would there be to shimmer in a lover's eyes at night, and
measure the depth of their gaze? What would we use to count the ways we
love our precious ones, or number the grains of sand on the beach?
Without stars, how would we know where to find water at eventide ... those
sparkling reflections of wonder and magic, that ponds, lakes, rivers, and the
sea, gift us after the sun sets? (Diamonds adorning the depths).
Without stars, what would lonely sailors befriend in darkness - what would
they use to tie their thoughts and hearts to loved ones afar, or navigate their
way home? What would the moon have to outshine in the night?
Without stars, how would we give sum to the winks of an eye, the thoughts of
a brilliant mind, the thrums of a heart, the ticks of a clock, or the giggles of
a child? What would Sagittarius let fly from his bow?
Without stars, what would the Big Dipper dip? What would Orion wear for a
belt? How would Polaris know where North is? How would Canis Major wag
his tail, or Gemini know his twin? How would Pegasus fly, or Pisces swim?
Without stars, what would make Heaven so ... heavenly??
And I am dread to imagine how few poems would have been written, without
the exquisite beauty and shine and inspiration, that the blazing Sea of Suns
overhead, has given to the human race ...
It is a muse without compare, and a glorious, dazzling expanse ...
Without equal.
Demigirl Definition
A space between
Androgyny and conventional binaries of female identity
A gender not recognized by mainstream policies
And subjected to the far corners of the Q+ community
Act 1: Physicality
I am a tangled mess of tree limbs
With coils blessed by God
Skin, a milky chocolate brown
I trace the bumps around my knuckles
My fingers map out the uncharted waves of pink stretch marks
That caress my torso
Act 2: Personality
I am trapped in a fish bowl
Eyes distant behind the shadows of twists
And Afro Sheen bottles
I sing to myself in the shower
Broadway lights rain down,
Warmer than the steady stream of water
Pouring down onto my face
I stare at my legs with sorrow
Wondering why can’t the thighs thin?
Why can’t the bruises on my knees kneel down
To the power of Band-Aids and cocoa butter?
Interlude
I am not woman nor man
I am alien, the Lord’s creation
In a body that still has not grown to its full potential
I am still but a lump of clay
That has not been fully formed by the hands of divinity
Act 3: Artistry
I am always a genius, never normal
Always the machine
That can only bring
My intelligence to the table
I work into the stars of my future
Crash and burn into millions of particles
I never meant for the scars and cuts
To be permanent markers of self hatred
I never meant for my escape from reality
To be a betrayal to my own sanity
Act 4: Acceptance
I am a metaphor for metamorphosis
An ever changing melody of gender fluidity
I am the culmination
Of all that has come before me
Demigirl or Nonbinary can’t begin to encompass
The intricacies of my identity
For I am an opera for feminine otherness