Long Needled Poems
Long Needled Poems. Below are the most popular long Needled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Needled poems by poem length and keyword.
Where lives aliveness,
healthy wholeness,
organically fluid integrity?
Despite trauma
unwanted present irreparable loss
separation
divorce
apartheid
excommunication
impeachment
shunning
incrimination
shaming
bully victimization
suffered also in our past,
personal
and/or vicarious
Now all right feeling
sometimes noticing chronic stress
in a systemic light/dark skinned racist
and homophobic bisexual-erotic
exotic past still felt present
deadening business as loser usual
In competitive CapitalHeaded values
for LeftBrain dominant privilege
monoculturing
monotheistic
monopolistic
purely white bright light
monochromatic
monological
non-ecological
verbal written down HIStory
Not much about woke-up
EarthMother wombed aliveness
with
and for
and of
and from polycultural EarthCreation
fully wholesum
widely pre-cognitive
and deep intuitive integrity,
Potential for win/win nature-spirited compassion,
love for felt trusted Truth,
passion for harmonic uniting Beauty
Inside as outside
inhaled
as neighboring green-leaved
and alively needled trees
exhale empowering,
nurturing,
nutritional enlightenment,
Co-operative Way
co-empathic Truth
and democratically Green
co-passionate wellbeing Life
Read analogically
top left toward bottom right
AND metaphorically
Bottom right felt Life on through
waving Ways
toward wellbeing truthfully cooperative.
As I lay on mound of grassland,
weightless in eyes’ astounded spirit
blending with angels, dirt, and
crosses; and to bear this emptiness
in writhing streams omnipresent
for day and twilight’s heavy
float--- my soul changes beyond
primitive instincts---a landscape
of bittersweet cycles appear,
and below it, the fluidity
from incandescent waters lap on
mouths of stars requesting patience.
Here am i sprouting below, above
and under their flesh; fulfilling
my need for deliverance out of some
needled pinch, awash by gush of rain
seeking a depth of quiet within myself,
and nothing came except a leaf falling.
Dark Contest for Charlotte Puddifoot
AN UNMOCKED ALLEGORY
(A Message In And For Each Day Of Ourstory)
Granny said that all things have a seed
and that every seed produces its own
thing to be reaped: good or bad:-
At the time, it was hers and the bible study
lesson to be taught and remembered; however,
at that time I didn’t get the full allegorical meaning
of what they were saying: good or bad:-
Now, at this time of grey hair and aged awareness,
I finally realize and know that we all scatter and sow
seeds—either to the flesh or to the spirit—and what
is reaped, is according to that which we freely sowed.
Now, as I look out over our urban fields, I
realize that many moons ago, syndrome-like
sowers of the flesh came like thieves in the night
and scattered their seeds of corruption everywhere.
Some fell onto the paved streets and were wheeled;
Some fell onto the sidewalks and were foot-crushed;
Some fell into the gutters and were washed away;
Some fell, however, into cracks and needled bushes:-
From these seeds we’ve reaped Black-on-Black crime
misery;
From these seeds we’ve reaped Black Families falling
apart;
From these seeds we’ve reaped Black apathy and its
depression;
From these seeds we’ve destroyed each other physically
and mentally;
From these seeds we’ve done the oppressors’ harvesting of
our demise.
Now is the time to re-plow our domestic fields with the
plow of the spirit;
Now is the time to rid our domestic fields of wind-blown
evil seeds;
Now is the time to take back the stolen they took from
our plowed rows;
Now is the time to rage defense against all forces that seek
to destroy us!
Come! Let us get ready Black people; the harvest season is
dawning;
Come! Let us get ready Black people; the harvest coming is
plentiful;
Come! Let us get ready Black people; time to take back the stolen
gift of freedom;
Come! Let us get ready Black people; freedom’s vision awaits its
due reality.
Come! Let us get ready Black people; reapers must be as equal as
is the harvest!
Tongue in Bloody Cheek
Cheek on tongue he slithers on abundant wilful slime
Checks in with teeth of timeless throaty choking curse
A serpent snail an earth worm fiery dragon in disguise
He cuts the chase incises to the point of razor’s gash
Knows his lingo carves positions through his acid battles
Penetrates fissures of inherent gripping gashing strokes
Battle critique and arguments for combat shed bloody ooze
Serrated edges dribble from articulated uttered discourse
Words can kill as they prepare the ground for deeds and action
Follow seamlessly draped in gusts of gut and gory shrapnel
Prepare the field of poppies sprouting over groans of bones
Make a meal oblige culpability on cumber lands’ sickly sauce
He takes the rough with the smothered smooth and from
the camel’s needled mouth delivers one final twisted slaughter
An eye for an eye tooth for tooth tete-a-tete and tit for tatty tat
He lies in mourning finely tattered slipped from blade’s double ridge
When doctrine implants demise of reason inculcates self-righteous venom
Toxic spittle engulfs gloopy scum as he dies by his very own skewed skewer
20th June 2018
As I lay on mounds of a shoreline,
weightless in eyes' astounded spirit
blending with angels, dirt, and crosses;
my soul bears this emptiness
in writhing streams omnipresent for day
and twilight's heavy float-- hours change
beyond primitive instincts--a landscape
of bittersweet cycles appear, and below it,
the fluidity from incandescent waters lap
on mouths of frozen stars requesting patience.
Here am i sprouting below, above and under
their flesh; fulfilling my need for deliverance
out of some needled pinch :
awash by whimper of rain , all senses
moored and fashioned so lamely
on brittle soil of life unlived ,
seeking a depth of quiet within myself
time rippling upon this decayed shell undersea...
yet nothing came except a leaf falling.
Looking skywards, the Alsatian’s eyes glinted for a split second, connecting to a piercing sun ray.
The ray beamed onto dried semen ammonia. Hot dog breath puffed from his nostrils, onto my bare arm.
He sprung next to a sweating succulent, where a tiny kruisbessie leaf quivered human sperm cell display, in a whimpering breeze.
This was a filigree second, in a day of twenty-four hours times twenty-four hours.
Next the Alsatian’s back muscles rippled.
Coarsely-soft black-brown hair along his spine needled up. Four other police dogs whelped in frenzy. He gave a whip snort-sniff, then one sharp bark of achievement.
Wolf ancestry pupils dilated, penetrating that of his handler.
Time, matrixed into bruised, scratched body was a figment, my cells metabolising light and raw earth like the fragrant koppie bushes. Detective voices sliding sediment rock were parachutes opening, falling, dissipating __the helicopter an incessant mozzie.*
“Hy’t dit gekry.” **
The Alsatian with his helper dogs found the evidence of a brutal ripping of my young teen daughter’s virginity, by an impoverished farm worker, on a rugged hill in the Little Karoo.
THE ALL partnered with dogs for humans.
from my loins, a jewel
God connected sun with earth
violence, a teacher
_________________
*mozzie : slang word for mosquito
** “He’s found it.”
_________________
This lifetime’s moment is etched into my evolving DNA as experience. The power of seeing an Alsatian’s eyes connect in radar, with the heavenly Sun, directing him to dried semen on a delicate fynbos* leaf was astounding. Instant perception was one specific gift during great trauma. I chose this unrepeatable moment as it emerged from memory when I read the contest details.
No line was hard to write, though I shed a couple of stagnant tears.
I deleted how I was able to access the best sniffer dogs in the country, the Alsatian and his handler being flown in from another city. I deleted contextual details about the time.
____________________
*fynbos : fine sweet smelling bushes, some producing small flowers, indigenous to South Africa. Rocky koppies are often covered with them, making this type of hill challenging to climb.
PLACED NINTH : Premier Contest
Sponsor: Daniel Henry Rodgers
Feb. 26
Through frayed seams a rosy dream bleeds
needled and re-stitched
with threads of time and love and hope..
and still — a rosy dream bleeds
the miscarriage of a promised rose garden
leaving me bereft but for entwined bands of gold –
contemplative thorns tempt my angst
moony moody barbs bristle twigs of tenderness
sigh— it’s not a laurel wreath worn atop my brow
as I sit alone with a squeamish friend
my blue-sky-to-storm-cloud introspection —
as your distant eyes deserted mine long ago
Winter's beast laid bare a cerebral graveyard
lost you wander amongst laid-to-rest neurons
worn headstones of thoughts and laughter and memories…
you wonder why they hide — why they died
the crackle of cognitive circuitry quiets
branched-lightning fades from unwitting clouds
and aged roots of reality perish
our red rose finished fallen to pieces
you-and-me-petals a messy heap like old potpourri —
yet in dark’s hush love’s scent lingers on our dream pillow
Oh nostalgic sepals embrace me!
my heart yearns to return to the bud
to the fullness of our June bloom —
instead, I bury desires beneath life’s litterfall;
amid pollenless stamens and leaves of one-sided reveries
and cage my fear my despair behind purple thistle facing the light
as I free a smile for you, my love —
you my sun that still parts the rain-bearing nimbus
Serging through life, I whipstitch, weft, and welt,
But always, my thoughts are pick-threading.
As stippled patches of emotion rise and fall in me,
See me, feel me, touch me, heal me
Just too many scars.
The mindless mind stresses itself through mental snares,
I waste away beneath it all, piecing and pondering.
Where the struggling soul and pleating body meet,
I seek significance in life’s lucid-lined layers.
Confronting my inner fears as an owneress,
Time leaves its cursed mark in starched stitches that cut.
Each moment experienced is like a closing zipper,
My calm exterior ridges are often rough, ready, and ruffled.
A life full of scars.
While unique experiences blend like transient ombre shades
My essence feels like a needled complex knit.
Memories form patterns from life’s four-patches
Challenges scissors cut are like shredded sharp diamonds.
Yet more paths diverge along life’s shifting chevrons
I strive to fit somehow; this square is what I do.
Yet my world stands out like tri-recs blocks
Creating stars and pineapples to fight fifty-four forty.
Scars that are hidden and visible, surface and deep.
Like trapezoids, I sense those oblong obstacles loom
Worth or less by my own limited gauge, I measure.
I pray each day new chapters begin casting on
While others exhaust, reaching their bind-offs.
I do seek a pattern master, and I need to pray for one.
I contemplate constantly along selvages of thoughts.
They hang like dangling tails…
I start to visualize my purpose slowly seaming.
Look as I whipstitch, weft, and welt through life, serging.
As I graciously and sagaciously test life’s many swatches,
I devote my life to the Master Seamster the…
Healer of scars.
Deceit of sun when rays are still but porous;
unwelcome thief, afford my dream more seconds.
Some dappled shadows flit through mystic keyhole;
alight upon pellucid remnant image.
I stifle yawn as thoughts embrace the vision.
My ever-restless spirit merits story
which doesn’t evanesce at first obstacle
encountered when issues foisted upon me.
Embarked on travels, trinkets of high finesse
that crossed the boundaries of reality.
The past firmly imbedded in the future,
illuminating a path predictable and
imbued with fantasy and peccant grandeur.
Adroitly I manoeuvred through initial
self-doubt that plagued a multitude of people.
Circumlocutory whim of eidolon
expertly gathered evidence to support
demand that’s straddling realms, but I will resist.
I read the missive through and then carefully
enfold my dreams in cocoon, preserving them.
Unpleasant facts I spat out like an obol
that’s placed under tongue of recently deceased.
The critics can wait with Charon for day of
reckoning – future set aside for visions.
My dreams swim at the edge of river’s conscience.
Expectations made dreams luminesce brightly,
but withered in morning sun’s naïve splendour.
Like sands in the hourglass, the grains of wisdom
filtered through consciousness and needled thinking.
I set aside the search for epiphany.
Mottled bodies inside and out
Needled veins black and about
Eyes dark through unsleepened nights
Lying in door ways that's about right.
Bottles and tins surround my life
Once i was married, no longer have wife
Kids disown me as i lie there spent
Confused they are where the family has went.
The above is not me, if you don't mind me saying
Its a vision of life, for the ones who start playing
Who take that fork they meet on the road
Again the doorways no family abode.
Many a home in this modern world
Hit by life's Tornado's in never ending twirls
Some see the light at the end of the tunnel
Some down the drain, in a spiralling funnel.
Society seems to breed the above
Are they really the clever, who absorb that first shove
To be an Addict as you walk down that road
Be ever so brave, ignore that goad.
Live strong, live free
An Addicts life is what you don't want to be
Sometimes, don't think of you, think of others
Or they remember you under an earthly cover.