Long Mire Poems
Long Mire Poems. Below are the most popular long Mire by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mire poems by poem length and keyword.
I didn’t heed her words,
I thought they were unnecessary,
The atmosphere was friendly,
and there was no hint of anything strange,
I was surrounded by light.
Suddenly, it struck like a deluge,
Monsters stared through the window,
The eerie opened the door to my chamber,
Inviting dark elements into my slumber,
I found myself in a world of the unknown.
It was a journey through the mire,
A sail across turbulent water,
I fought and struggled
Against the recalcitrant tendrils of darkness,
Walking through the deep sea of the night.
This encounter is etched in my memory,
An ordeal that has revealed mysteries to me.
I still journey this path,
And I have learned from my experiences,
That the eyes of the wise often see what is veiled.
February 6, 2025.
Though dormant, your strengths are still present...
within the silky staircase of God-woven DNA.
Just peel away layers of perceived weakness
climb through the fiery muck and mire...
through acidic jive-devil-clawed lies.
Climb with a pickaxe of love and faith.
Shed decades of doubters and layers of deceivers.
Buoy the desperate dreamers, along the way.
Climb until ogres cannot reach your lowest high.
Until jealousy no longer bangs a cymbal against your mind.
An enriched life awaits those with fair intentions.
Climb as if every step uplifted the heavens.
Climb until you smack your face against the stars.
Just climb.
August 11 Relationship to God Bible Meditations Based on Ezekiel 39-32
Key Verse – Ezekiel 30:6 Thus saith the LORD; They also that uphold Egypt shall fall; and the pride of her power shall come down: from the tower of Syene shall they fall in it by the sword, saith the Lord GOD.
LORD GOD, YOU ARE MY PRIDE’S CONQUEROR
Lord God, You are my pride’s Conqueror with Your powerful grace
Thank You for bringing me out from hell’s wrathful embrace
Always breaking the chains of my worldly race
While rescuing me from desolation of sinfulness’ trace.
Lord God, You are my pride’s Conqueror with Your supreme ruling
Thank You for setting me to respond to Your heavenly calling
Always freeing my heart from arrogance-spoiling
While causing me to bud forth midst threats of falling.
Lord God, You are my pride’s Conqueror with Your great service-fire
Thank You for lifting me up from captivity’s drowning mire
Always stretching my reach-out pursuits to what You divinely require
While helping me against feelings to quit and retire.
Lord God, You are my pride’s Conqueror with Your inspired Word
Thank You for protecting me by Your Scripture’s sword
Always beautifying my virtues with Your forgiveness record
While sanctifying me by Your mercy You alone can afford.
Lord God, You are my pride’s Conqueror with Your assured promises
Thank You for enlightening me to give You my praises
Always filling my worship with Your joy that blesses
While delivering me from unbelief by Your caring forces.
Lord God, You are my pride’s Conqueror with Your omnipotent might
Thank You for pardoning me of my confessed transgression-blight
Always teaching my mind to learn from Your wisdom’s insight
While illumining me with Your truth, perfectly right.
August 11, 2023
If witches would stay off their broomsticks,
not collecting black cats and kids,
not charring the sky with their tricks,
keep to their bottomless pit, deep off the grid…
If their cackles were buried in hell,
their pimples and warts swarmed with heat…
if they couldn’t, not one, recall a spell
and stayed off the world’s beat…
If witches would fall in their own cauldron
with all the eyes, ears, and feet they stole,
their curses ne’er heard again, end their doctrine,
face down in mire and defeat of their souls…
then the light of the sun and the moon
and the stars and candles would burn
with a glow of happiness and swoon -
to a glorious paradise mankind would return.
10/25/2022
Thank you for the sunshine,
You bring to a cloudy day.
Thank you for being resilient,
When things didn’t go our way.
Thank you for bringing music to my heart,
That had for so long been gone.
Thank you for filling a void,
I’ve felt for so long.
Thank you for a smile that was a ray of sunlight,
Thank you for making me feel,
I was your Mr. Right.
Thank you for seeing the beauty,
In my tarnished soul.
Thank you for saying,
With me you want to grow old.
Thank you for staying with me,
As I drug our lives through the mire.
But, most of all thank you for,
The young protégé you enabled me to sire.
Through the mire, lie rows of houses,
in fact there all around,
This is suburbia the sprawl,
Spreading in all directions,
Concrete and steel surge upwards,
Indigenous trees bulldozed down,
Roads dark alleyways fester,
Behold this was once my town.
Weaving through leaky tunnels,
Stench permeates foul air,
Organization of the multitude,
Rats in a Rubik’s cube maze,
Where else can we go,
peasants of urban growth,
Incognito behind our masks,
Eyes burning, smog chokes,
A caveman of bricks and mortar,
Blind man who doesn’t need light,
Awoken from my life of slumber,
Searching for the high ground,
Find a weird monstrosity,
Towering above my head,
A ski slope, shopping mall,
I only seek, milk and bread,
Never seen the future coming,
Perhaps looked, the other way,
I helped create this Frankenstein,
To call it civilized would be a mistake,
Once reaped what was sewn,
Now concrete over everything we see,
Where in hell, has the sky gone,
Dystopia now, Can this really be?
COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE (43)
Sponsored by Brian Strand 18/02/2021
SPIRING
jumping over hoops,
getting caught on iron needles high.
dogs nipping, gnawing,
clawing at skin and rags,
rolling,
rolling in mire,
slithering round and round
the spokes of unwritten thoughts.
thoughts that teach a fettering,
flattening, fostering
of doubts.
printed plates invisible
in misty blue, burgeoning blots.
drowning ink expiring,
perspiring, perhaps
i
n
s
p
i
r
i
n
g
flames of dung. did you think
a match, could claim
to hiss and hAtCh?
it rebels!
rings hell’s bells,
until you quench its thirst. cursing cursive dance
melts in the cool sun,
satisfied by ashes, stoked.
smokeless sentience, reticence of cheer,
yet a new year...a promise to yourself,
to rise on black and blue,
or tapping the matrix of stars and moon,
spiritual spiring of heart and soul,
indelible ink.
4/12/2018
Bring Me Back To Life Contest
Why don’t you come now
To the plot of blue river shore
Where we would
In an intense chocolate mood
Sit in a sun rise satisfaction
On the grainy sand
And create pearl drops of time
From the rhymes of waves
With the vibrancy we behaved
Exchanging those fine chimes
From our moonbeam dialectics
And converging synthesis
Of our hilltop thoughts and marine activities
After a diamond quest
Like the river
Or inside the river too?
How wonderfully we regressed and progressed
Making those radiant rings of time
Sometime winged
Sometime pink tinged
Time is bland and monochrome
Unless from your chromosome
You paint it like Van Gogh
Arresting the wayward clock
During which
Regardless of Greenwich
Taking colours from our river-wave flowers
Taking flavours from our cellular tremors
Taking sounds from our nascent heart pounds
Yours and mine
In our proximity alkaline
Would paint the wavelets
In the cups and plates
Opening the normally closed gates
Of sweet sweats
From each pore
And millions of such pores
From smiling to laughing in a petrichor
Unlocking the thousand doors
Of a colour continuum
From San Francisco to Baltimore
As we exchange our breath
From our deepening cores
Raising a rivulet
In the blue pigeon’s breast
And the bulbul’s beautiful crest
A supreme rest
In a purple tumult
Shadows lengthen in ecstasy
As sessions come to a termination
(No termination is possible though
What happens is a slow transformation
Of one melody to another music
Speeches flowing into lyrics
The sounds into stillness mystic)
So therefore
Bringing to the fore
From the amalgamated core
A flower of fusion
Pure and fresh
Out of the flood
No mire or mud
Looking at us conveying greetings
We look too
And from the meeting
A poem is born
Why don’t you come any more
Very often I look through the eye hole
Of my expectant door
The wishes naturally soar
In case I may see you coming
Dulcet sounds your feet strumming
But it’s all mist
I almost don’t exist
I miss the oasis
Of the cleansing catharsis
_____________________________________
19 May, 2017
For the Contest sponsored by Neyda Ivette Negron
........jiggle clumsily; post halter-
behind braids- busy in evacuation of the cool pool water,
like a carefree bull in the field.
Her eyes sharp and cruel, unyielding to the faulter.
Fixating on a fool,
one caught looking,
looking around in a house of slaughter.
Baiting fingers thread the hook at the back of the neck.
Electric eel, slippery Brook,
Devil's daughter-sees her slithering tool- He, electrically awestruck like
A fist magnetic, en route to the face spilling drool onto Tesla spool archway portal of open space.
Strings attached, loose and taught,
drawstring and shortest lot of toothpick drawn from maw aftermeal twisting twirl, say ahhh.
Umbrella, sundress, undressed girl, with dimple and curls, Salem's lot,
lizard kind of you're in trouble.
You are aftermath wreckage, rubble.
Thrown into a dancing fire.
Inn-keeping-with something to visualize and desire.
He becomes her familiar,
one that roils in a mire.
The catch of the day
hung out to dry, for the letting.
To bleed, into the night.
Like a stain setting.
Sniffing helplessly like a hound
in the open airs entrails- in the dew of it's misting device of shroud.
Hellbound
In a twisting abyss of chance -romance,
in advance of death in a trance.
Hade's Siren smirks at the arrow holes of Eros bow.
Marksmanship, gamesmanship, act 3 underwaymanship, with an encore and a show, and a tip.
She takes a bow in mocking disrespect-
turned about face in splay.
O the feel of the steal.
The flash of a blade.
The flash of ages, gone to seasons
of gray.
Cursing in looks of kill, of a dialect universally known but unnamed.
Of that wet and silvery feel.
I am Irish,
I do not patter a brogue, not lilt, or prate the Celtic.
I’m annexed English, cockney, a dead queens piglish,
chameleon tongued.
Something took me, shook me like a spade
until an un-rooted soil fell, a ground crumbled
grew tropical jungles of alien expression.
Years press, some bulldozed, some were the wrecking ball.
Found my clay feet stomping, squishing mud,
fostering images, a mire between a to zee
but never enough letters to fit a parlance;
my placeless patios, my me.
America, a melting polyglot,
I’m still slanging, hanging words out to dry, new words
told contrary-wise estranged in an outlandish manner
of palaver,
a poetry of sorts,
sounds unbound and breathing
but never replete, yet a bellyful
to live in the eyes and ears.
Speak slowly and I will hear you with my lips.