Long Obsidian Poems
Long Obsidian Poems. Below are the most popular long Obsidian by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Obsidian poems by poem length and keyword.
Life is my power
Fire is my flesh
In every hour
Essences clash
Burn through the darkness
Into the dream -
Hear me and mark this,
Truth will not seem
Anything pure
Nor anything dark -
Truth will for sure
Be nothing like stark -
Over the ground
And around the lake
Truth coils around
And then stings like a snake.
There is a daylight
When things are true
And there is twilight
When all you knew
Vanishes, fades
And then blends into one -
Into the shades
And away from the sun:
Into oblivion
Into the void
Into obsidian
Chasms. Thus destroyed,
Truth yields to lies
And then soars like a lark
When people's eyes
Are tired of the dark.
Somewhere between fallen flares
of an untouchable phoenix~
and the nostalgic red of crimson horizons,
I feel the amethyst embers of longing
illuminate rambling roses
that mourn within my hibiscus heart.
O beloved Love,
I long to be your tulip twilight
adorned with unfading mauve haze,
where green-gold scribbles of sunset
erase interlaced flaws,
to harbor blue-black mists
twirling above tides of tainted topaz…
and I will thrive amidst
storms of insecurities,
as the Swarovski Horse of Poseidon,
crystallized in resilient silver,
gleaming in glowing grace,
beyond dews of darkness,
shifting the aroma of pomegranate’s kiss.
There, peonies of peace
feast upon decadent delicacies
in the barren garden ~
flourishing with jilted jasmines.
I wonder, will these metaphors
woven across my canvas in perfumed ink,
speak the songs of my splintered spirit?
For the moon no longer sings
the melody of my soul,
and I refuse to choreograph
a diabolical dance for resentful ravens,
collecting twigs from tortured trees,
as the crescent smile
wanes into neon nothingness.
Yet while the witching hour beckons
skeletal remnants to rise
as celestial ashes,
I go insane, lose my incandescent light
that glistens in opalescent hues,
leaving my quill to suffocate in solitude,
unable to grasp the musical muse,
to stitch sorrowful sonnets
with seething synonyms.
O stringed sapphires
sailing above the meadow of melancholy,
forgive this coffin curse ~
it holds carvings of a corpse bride,
aching to be seen beyond the kohl shawl~
cloaking the frost-glazed silhouette,
weeping woeful elegies
while slumbering in the
amorous arms of Orpheus,
for in your absence, I cannot breathe,
and sleep screams
like a long-forgotten miracle,
needing an oracle to
alchemize a soothing potion…
So lay me down in a bed
of deep daffodils and thorns,
watch me plead for merciful rain,
to free obsidian tears of terror,
while my psyche bleeds
grammatical mistakes.
I am forever trapped in tremors of agony,
unable to reopen galactic gates
of euphoric escape,
so tonight I’ll let the torrents of torment
embrace inked insanity…
"Alienation"
Burning through the atmosphere
a diamond hugs herculean, demanding, meteoric,
fast like a sharp spear aimed at Zion in the
obsidian night sky deep, so vast, dotted here
and there with other anaemic diamantés
twinkling, then dimming, as if in despair,
they don’t shine as bright
nor so fair,
this immolator is without peer
Lion of Judah, presence felt near.
A shooting star into the stratosphere?
Leaving a blistering debris trail in its wake.
A Sonic Boom breaks through the veil
sends out sound waves, touching, feeling,
slightly off-rail
sends out a Revelation heralding
resounding eardrum shattering tear -
KA-BOOM!
just like some glamour chick’s walked into the room
in 6 inch killer stilettos,
curve hugging deep velvet
the sub-level indigo blues,
shaking everything in the place
slams the door, her audience now captive
is frozen in place, tittering amongst themselves,
“Here’s something new”;
the world awakes to
crushed violets, heliotropes, shell pinks, eggshell pale blues;
she rises above him
he lifts his face.
Arrival in this
AlienNation
no Ocean, a barren place
Holding pattern and station.
Her vessel lands with a thud,
breaks the bedrock, dirt
she steps through the portal
away from it all, she’s escaping
this asylum,
it’s not evolving, it’s not birth
a re-entry of sorts,
a vacuum sucking back down to
Deadly Earth.
(Lovejoy-Burton/ Dec 2017)
(1)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MEfqTlKPqfI
When r e a l i t y feels like
a poisoned paradise,
trapped in a claustrophobic cave,
strangling my spirit
with ice-cold claws of fate,
I close my fatigued eyes,
attuned to the mellifluous
flames of the moon-wings,
detached from the gravity
pulling me six feet below,
chained to a casket of chaos,
adorned with obsidian roses
clothed in ghost-veils of Lilith,
as this onyx heart
screams in silence,
longing for an ethereal escape,
where every song I sing
is no longer a tattooed mistake,
to the eyes that feel not
the burden I wear in resilience,
to the ears that heed not
the truth I speak
in hushed tones.
I am the storm of tranquility,
whirling through
warm winds like delicate dandelions,
drifting in the darkness~
an untamed asteroid
to your eclipsed breeze.
Forgive my bleeding ink,
for I choose to flee
from this sulfuric sphere,
testing my patience
while the seething sun
tortures my sanity,
burning lifelines breathing
within my splitting skin.
Yet I still remain
an unrestrained distraction,
skating upon Saturn’s rings,
steeped in sakura smoke,
exhaling toxic fumes of twilight tremors
into the vast blue ether,
drawing layers of lethal lies
from the dark sorcery sprouting
through hemlock roots,
as I sculpt paper boats from
pages of disappointments,
watching them ferry my demons
through methane lakes~
mirroring memories,
as melancholic mists engulf
my bones in volatile violets,
drowning me in endless waters
rippling with twisted topaz,
and scorching salt.
So let the tempest of life
unravel doleful desires,
entwined in the
whirlpool of doomed destiny.
I am more than a caged nightmare~
tonight I float with my shadow,
through astral projection,
abandoning the hellish embrace,
to drink from the citrine cup
of lithium serenity,
that numbs the p a i n
of existence, forevermore...
In love, the other is important, in lust you are important.... Osho
Glossy red lips sensual in lustful desire
radiating within, a fire of wanton pleasure
eyes meet, in subtle spark of excitement
captured too close, find a buried treasure
Love smiles for no reason, intimate thoughts
in sussurus gaze, drift to delirious oblivion
a bunch of white lilies, all throbbing with life
candle flickering forever, in a night obsidian
Glistening skin, pulsating fantasy of touch
adrenaline impatient, Isn't that getting late?
Lust says, I am wild thrill , vulnerable in trust
Love says, "For spring, my flowers can wait".
Dated 5th July, 2020
Sponsor D.W. Rodgers
Contest Name Love or Lust
If tormented truth is
the taste of her fire,
injecting her blood
with poisoned rain
in golden chalices,
what is the color of
eclipsed spheres
where there’s a
desolated darkness
that dwells through
devious spirits
to rise higher?
Maybe there’s no
heaven nor hell in
the onyx fields of
soulless stars,
where obsidian roses
bloom as signs of
the devil’s immortality,
crooning doomed
hymns to the
honeycomb hues
of raven's irises,
which reflect every
bitter dream painted
in strokes of thunder.
But when dusk
bleeds seas of deception,
sins stream through
sinister shadows,
slowly pulling innocence
to a chamber of pitiless
pins and heinous knives.
So watch her ascend
as the metaphorical mistress
of death and beyond,
she is no longer your
heretic queen
that serves you light,
that once breathed
and walked through
storms of toxic typhoons
cloaked in
summer serenades,
taming every hurricane
with her crystal wings
that never tethered
to an evil king of serpents.
We exist for different purposes, perhaps 1 perhaps six
Forage food, mark trails and warnings of the enemy we echo
Sometimes, the unknown and uninvited guests, we query
Is our unison voice singular to a higher up?
Are our motions and interpretations of our universe just?
Maybe we will never know or we will find out in five
I imagine they are watching counting our progress, from the obsidian vastness, perhaps in series of five.
We assume their intelligence is higher, maybe of aeons six
Do they see us and think we are primitive just?
Or are they amazed by how far we seem to echo?
Our adaptations lead us on paths marked by contours going up
To search for meaning and ensure our surroundings we query
That one stridulation triggered a series we have to query.
Where it came from, why the palpitations of five?
Did wires that weren't supposed to touch there up?
It must have communicated something their six may not be our six.
We could try to mimic and that signal we echo
To the beyond and hope they understand us just
Up down we march to match our actions just
A rich medley, multi-terpene blend signals we are going to query
We march towards the stridulation, our sensilla seem to echo
A chain of unknowns multiplying in exponentials of six
The map we attempt to follow only goes up to five
We hope to convene the right message up
I'm sure the crows caught it, we felt the disturbance up
But that was not one of us just
Different temporal structures, I guess we close the voyage in six
Just for the moment as we recalibrate and make a new query
Signal predictability, yardstick useful for seconds five
To aid us try to understand the beyond that we echo
Our conquest to understand is only now an echo
The intensity we ought to have no longer stepped up
Hoping to cross paths again and know in five
What’s being said and signalled just
Atop a hill of questions we send out our last query
And hope the higher being catch it as we count to six
We map the numbers from six to five,
Hunting the crow's echo and cosmic query,
While up on the mound, we are just ants.
It's the time of butterflies to fly
angelic wings drifting hurried by
in the powdered blue clouded sky;
retrograde illusions left from spring
revolving a floating dance upon the wing
venturing into summer's fling;
hovering on echinacea cones
resting momentary brief never alone,
touching each water splashed stones;
Lepidoptera orange peached winged gilds
skipping flower petals imaginings fulfilled
rare and delicate lives quickly spilled;
sloe obsidian indigo shaped melds
barely a moment to be held
large and small and medium without bells;
awe and wonder at bespeckled migrating swallowtails
riding the gently salted sea wind sails
monarchs of the day uncompromised and frail,
grouped gatherings cluster to a southerly warm surprise
down to Mexico, the gulf and reflected in a child's eyes
the journey has begun and flight DNA memorized;
observe and watch, their efforts on the clock of need
spring north to breed and feed
leggy landings graceful on the summer milkweed
then south as summer fades away
with winters ready to chill their fate each day
for now, enjoy, let the butterflies play.
Obsidian oscillated into lava
slid across syntactic streams
tumbled thick greenwood thickets
impenetrability an illusion wicked
shatter splinter sassy sinkers
Lord Ashtar himself lifted gnarled garbage
two big broken black bags to Source
split seconds of screaming searing sores
baby posture soak singular satin
Prophet Daniel’s prison-free prediction
Coloured lava languid loosen
yin-yang of yesteryear’s yarrows
as Watchfulness wed yearnings
no black bumblebees boomerang bombs
rainbow hands bell belly beckoning
Solar flares ignite twin hearts atoning
corona emissions spill splashing space
sodalite sprinkle sundrenched shores
kaleidoscope pupils please pulsing fate
Hearts purely placed on golden plate
Four eyes fathomed Guy Fawkes fickle
feuding onto a fervid foolproof floor
Stonehenge now sturdily steadily stood
sedating simple silent sleep suavely
accede alchemical ascensions
Missions matched mottoed moulded mountains
timelines merge in moss musical movement
Justice jump Jungian jurisdiction
Presence posy a present perfection
Dreams deliver dictums to Duet
Delicious domed desserts diffusing !
Painting by Scottish painter "Peter Doig". One of the most well-known contemporary figurative artists. In the Magic Realism style, this artwork is titled 100 Years Ago.
muted shades of grey
clad in a fearful ruby
in a state of lucidity
dwelling inside his gloom
the surge of echoes
outlining melodies
a point made of obsidian
eyes devoid of spirit
darkened crevices
crows rubbed me bare
your boat is ruined with red blood
effused of victim's body.
the sea won't reflect you
Diss your curse
the sun has faded
your stained aura
the solitary light now.
written: May 27, 2022
7th contest place
A Brian Strand PREMIERE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
http://www.artnet.com/artists/peter-doig/canoe-island-a-42CcWSGhw1gqyXCWSIDnOg2
https://www.wikiart.org/en/joaqu-n-sorolla/church-roncal-stairs