Long Mode Poems
Long Mode Poems. Below are the most popular long Mode by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mode poems by poem length and keyword.
How have you been, tell me the news,
first, where did you buy those kinky shoes?
Victim of fashion, prisoner of fad,
for better or worse, mad about it, good or bad.
Heard you're doing fine, have it made,
but, when did you get those slinky shades?
Modern mode, sartorial style, captured by trends,
it goes on for ever and never ends.
What have you done, relate all the facts,
now, where did you find that fancy hat?
New York, London, what's in what's not,
Paris or Rome, who calls the shots?
Moving up in the world, you have a chance,
tho', when did you purchase those swanky pants?
Who knows what goes on behind the scenes,
in all those glossy magazines?
I unloose my shoes and walk on dry land..
I walk with God in the Morning
I barefoot do I travel the steps I take I can
As I walk with God in the Morning
Although I travel short or far
Even if I shall not stand tall
For I shall not fall as I ever call
On my Lord and Savoir I walk on..
I'm barefooted and in full rejoice mode
As I walk with God in the Morning
I unloose my shoes and walk on dry land..
I walk with God in the Morning
I barefoot do I travel the steps I take I can
As I walk with God in the Morning
On Holy grounds I am found
As I walk with God in the Morning
7/9/74
Written words by James Edward Lee 1974©
Singing on the moonlight road
Lies a virtuous heartfelt star.
An emblem that bodes no code
Of masks that may go too far
Strumming on the moonlight road
Lies a spirit of such tender,
Accepting one as a church mode
Rather than a soul of blunder.
Walking on the moonlight road
Lies a friend of no mind game
Showing up here with an ode
A toast to you bearing a Name.
The Name I’m referring to
Is not a name of some brand
Nor a name of the good few
Yet a name of a helping hand so grand!
The Name I’m referring to
Is a veteran of hope
Veteran of an ardent hue,
Yet no veteran of a slope
Therefore, a wise friend is here
To leave you a short message
A message with no damage
That we appreciate your care
people think i am lost in the essence of time
the machine in which i live makes the world change emotive colors
there are some who think that i left my smile in the bed with my personality
i am lost in a space where i sprayed febreze to aerate my comfort zone
then my left hand is observed by all the judges that study me
my left hand begins to twitch, but i remain calm and medicate myself with daydreams
within said daydreams, the beautification of being lost for the purpose of sanity maintenance awakens me
then here i am in this dumper dust reality again
there are those who believe i am invisible amongst the population of time
two cookie shakes later, i am on droopy mode when i simply reply....YOU KNOW WHAT, I'M HAPPY....
As the clock strikes midnight
And there's a full moon in the sky
Into our room she walks
Something catches my eye
It's the black lacy piece she's wearing
Hemmed low to draw me in
Revealing curves of delight
Tanned undulations of skin
Her sexy swagger delights
As I turn from the window to view
The man in me hungers
Excitement now flows through
We stand in hold together
Our hands in wandering mode
I pray this night never ends
As our future hours erode
Our cries like anthem sounds
Echo from our hearts
Two souls from broken pasts
Cementing their new start
We awake in the morning
Spooned from captured joy
This first of many a night
True love, this girl and boy
in the inner sanctum of heart
where all opposites dissolve
we embrace the sacrednesses
breathing in fragrance sublime
as bliss mists suffuse our form
ushering time stretched peace
we sense soma nectar dripping
through hidden conduits within
illuminating our energy grid lines
wooed gently by bliss magnetism
spine a seamless band of light
connected to medulla and crown
dipping down over bridge of nose
over front dividing body into two
manifesting an ethereal cool heat
sun and moon in lovers embrace
around with in-form nodes orbit
with the toroidal heart pulsating
celebrating the dance underway
in the midst of being-ness as such
we hear a call asking us to hasten
to perform a mundane daily task
so we play out our role as ordained
thus flowing in vibrant nonchalance
my twin and I were thrilled
We got to wake up at four a.m.
Each of us had a new fishing rod
Mine was blue, hers was red.
We were eight
This was a big event
Grandma had sausage and eggs ready.
We were too excited to eat them.
She made us take them in a little pouch
“in case you girls get hungry”.
Grandpa warned us all the way we had to be quiet
Our giggles could be heard all over his truck.
The day was silent.
It was dark, like night, not morning.
We jibber jabbered, and he told us not to.
We were quiet when he put the boat into the water.
He held it for both of us.
Lake fishing! Wow!
We thought we would be fishing on the pond.
But this was Red Haw Lake, the big lake.
We did not want to pierce the worms, so he did it.
We were not great at casting either, so he did that too.
Plunk. Plunk. Plunk. This set us into a giggling mode.
We heard shushing from the dark corners of the lake.
This made us giggle harder and louder, and inspired questions.
Grandma was shocked when we came home in a mere hour.
“I will never take them fishing again, they scared the bass for everybody”.
The rest of the day we went around saying “dumb old grandpa” under our breaths.
Loneliness of Gray
by Odin Roark
Could It Be…
The mirror by which we see ourselves
This captive freedom of art in all of us
This necessity to communicate
Desire to become
Is but destiny’s
Loneliness of Gray
For if
As in physics
The typical complementary colors
Blue and yellow
Red and green
Passion's mainstay
When mixed
Yield gray
Then why
When one’s being
Claims gray
Must disappointment ensue
When there is such empirical truth at hand
When there is no opposite for gray
As it is its own opposite
It’s own quintessential purity
Of emotion’s blend
why
Yes
Some would say
The artist’s mind lives unique perceptions
Available to all
Yet determined by most
As out of reach
Few
Accept this fourth dimension
Others reject
Where hands and feet
Colors and viewpoint
Change about
Inviting the dual organs
Nostrils
Ears
Eyes
To express like colors
Embracing opposites
Allowing vocal cords of multiple mode
To render art’s communication
Imagination’s reverse tongue
Creativity’s spoken proclivity
To forever accept extremities of the mind
As wonderment
As living
Ever notice
How simple the artists’ walk
It appears to be on whatever surface
Imagination might volunteer
Be it floor
Path
Greensward
Or bomb-rutted road
Where surfaces creatively experienced
Reveal a virtually abstract pressure-balancing of gravity
Requiring little of tactile distinctiveness
But merely an accommodation
Today’s levitational force
Accomplishing needed transfers of altitude
Where the climbing of stairs
But a walk up from lower levels of existence
To higher realms of selection
To the Artist
Passage from one scene to another
Needn’t be a factor
Rather trust in gliding
Where shadow and blurred focus
Claim one’s mingled curiosity
Into a chosen whole
Where much of vision
Voids transient objects
Ambiguous appearances like
Furniture
Or details of vegetation
Seeking instead
A diffuse lighting of every scene
Rendering the scheme of reversed colors and texture
Bright red grass
Yellow sky
A conundrum of black and gray cloud-forms
Down to the white tree-trunks
Green brick walls
Embracing
A Lovingly
Angelical grotesquerie
Such reveals one’s essence
One’s creation
One’s smile at chance
Depending on how
The mirror might be hanging
Trying an experiment today.
Making myself type as fast as I can
Which is fast
I type 85 words a minute.
I do not think that fast, so some of this is gobbly gook.
Maybe all of it.
I do not care.
I have made a goal, and we are racing to accomplish it.
My muse is laughing.
This was probably her dumb idea.
Wait a second.
I just realized something.
My poems today are heart-felt,
Because I am so in touch with my feeling self,
When I fly through my mind and grab up anything there,
That I do not have time to be in any other mind frame.
This is an awesome way to write.
I may try it again someday.
When I am in this crazy mode.
My sister and I are identical twins
There is a bond that is unbreakable
We share the same face, same laugh, same mannerisms
Our hands move in similar if not identical ways when we talk with them.
Our laugh is infectious; people cannot believe it.
But we also have a mode that is a silent laugh.
I have never had it with anyone else but my twin.
It’s a laugh that goes on and on silently after the loud laughter.
We stare at each other with open mouths and we silently laugh
Sometimes we cry with joy; our children say “oh, no, the silent laugh”
We have a bond that has not lasted us since birth.
It has lasted us since conception.
Identical twins start out as one; and they split into two.
We are the other half of each other.
When you say “other half to me” it means my sister.
This bond was cemented in heaven prebirth.
In our preteens we used to have some little arguments.
Pillow fights, screaming and crying over silly stuff.
When we were sixteen, we had jobs one block from each other.
I checked groceries out at a store; my sister worked at Polly’s Ice Cream Parlor.
A couple I had never met went to Polly’s and my twin waited on them.
After their ice cream, they stopped at the grocery store.
They stared at me as I spoke with other customers.
Showing them identical mannerisms and the twin laugh we have.
When they got up to me one of them asked “Is there anyplace you do not work?”