Long Opening Poems
Long Opening Poems. Below are the most popular long Opening by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Opening poems by poem length and keyword.
Your words, which seem to be my words,
are but footprints on the fen floor of
the white page, echoes of wand'ring lyric loping.
And if, perhaps, the P's that B have blessed,
they click, they crunch, they sweetly rot underlip.
Tearing words from mind, squeezing through that jealous heartspace.
Tearing follows, wetting page after page, piling into a formless stream.
They clatter upon the mocking whiteness, an array in disarray.
A shattered and graphic mythography, mud clots on tile
after a hike. Why do not my hot words summon Leidenfrost?
I love words, no...I love meaning.
I love meaning, I don't love
the promise of words' bringing of
meaning.
It is National Poetry Month and Shakespeare.
died today.* The first time he died today was
four hundred years ago. I am set to write and read
'publicly' (which spellcheck insists and my heart
does not insist is better writ as 'public ally') some
'poetry' while dancers carve the air, in response to,
in love with, in relation to, hand/heart drawn trees
which have drawn, well-
wishers to wine 'n cheese' 'n chit 'n chat
an opening. A gallery.
But Prince died last night.
The artist formerly known as Prince Rogers Nelson,
and formerly known as a symbol,
and now formerly known as Prince. He died.
The symbol has gone and I don't know what it means.
The words are here behind my teeth, within my fingertips,
astride my heart, tickling that lump in my throat.
It is Earth Day, too. I'm supposed to say some words and make
them meaningful. And make them sing. And ring in the hearts as though
my ditherings are one tine of a tuning fork and the other is the spirits
of those dearly beloved, gathered here. Our coils unshuffled, for in our
sleep of life what dreams may come. But we stand upon, today, both
the funeral's grounds and the corpse to be. The Earth. We are meant
to celebrate her life as she withers. Strangled, starved, and trampled. And I?
I can't.
I just...
cant.
-ShhDragon
*He died today but every day we don't give birth to him with our tongue, on the stages of our heart, he remains a fetid, rotting, beautiful corpse. ’Lo four hundred years ago he died, but every day he isn't summoned, isn't animated, he remains dead. The fact of anniversary is our failing, our repeated failings, to bring forth what might be dead.
"Puzzle Stomped"
Pieces scattered
placed on a table
with boundaries
between
the incarcerated margins
there are strict conditions
Time drips
its wet connection
each piece a stair fitted
imperfectly
perfect
towards upwards
new mirror reflection
a cracked heart piercing
the tear with savage dedication
behind her veil
the known Morpheus assails
her compromised senses
holding her captured
behind the external view
eyes blindfolded
the blue sashes now let loose
opening green windows to
free the redressed vicissitudes
to undress the crisp breeze of her
monk chanting wake
a new phantom arrives caressing secrets
gambled on a fresh Delius
composing his unfinished symphony
he’s looking for her singular notes
Somewhere,
he stands behind her
sharp as a needle,
cutting tall poppy
each step she takes
towards her freedom gate
In his hands he cups
the hidden
missing piece
The sewing of pages
she continues to bind
in her sleep
along a strong spine
turning and folding stories
uncommon ne'er sublime
their spelt magic
grows majestically spoilt
seeded from a sweet perfume
conducting intoxicating notes
stories flying black-winged
off all the slippery knaves
and wax-sealed pages
like ebony feathers
mummerating starlings
turn into suffocating
dream stealing
king crows smiling maces
She the Smythsewer
laying tenuous imprints
for a new road home
He the myth Beyond
shakes the game board
peace in pieces, a long forgotten song
the chance card thrown
the blanket of romance
thundering over a stormy mind grows
patch worked with glassed-in
jarred ghost bees, the old
puzzle of a story stomped on
He places his feet
firmly between hers
closing in on time
Beyond takes her hand
And sensually whispers
along all her fairest fears
sweeping all pieces off her
tattered story board
fallen irretrievable
forgotten
left lacking
on the harsh floor
Cum dederit
dilectis suis somnum,
Ecce haereditas
to the tune of fate
there is so much more
the words are sewn and sung
the child in time fled
long gone, as if all was pure fantasy
destiny arrives supernaturally too soon
Time for a new story
He says darkly
and swiftly closes
Past’s door.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
Our beauty is hidden in our words!
Rumi (M. Mafi, trans.)
Our content in contentment
hides within commitment toward integrity.
Our beauty is hidden in our words
said only toward ourselves.
Barometers of mental health
for how we are and are not feeling
beautiful,
good,
fair,
balanced,
just,
harmonious,
confluent,
content,
graceful,
like good mentors without external hypocrisy,
and sometimes not such good mentors.
Mentors with words redolent of harmonic peace,
or maybe sometimes too much non-violent peace,
passive aggressive surfing, searching back and forth,
or even violently imagining unworded diverse futures
of yourself,
those around you,
generalized economic and sociopathological
and therapeutic
States and Species of thrive or demise,
and planet Earth,
and our Universe,
sometimes a metaphysically closing system,
sometimes more beautifully opening
although with considerable stress
tipping points,
trimming tabs and scissors,
adjusting balance, halves of ecologic,
within our internal voices of environ-mental health
as hope for cultural beauty.
Humaned nature adds economic
and cultural
and psychological freedom to evolve
kindness of mutual subsidiary intention,
an active love of peaceful mind.
Nature is only limited by absence
of regenerative orthopraxis,
caring and nurturing,
economically and politically powerful values
exercised within the classroom of each day.
Ecotherapeutic voices in our nights
and days of reconnecting consciousness
create our daily practice
of natural systemic design,
this song of synergy,
creative universal intelligence.
Cooperative kindness and competitive unkindness
are capacities coincident to all of nature,
a polar range from regeneration through decomposition,
from synergy through negentropy,
Kindness and love self-optimize as "Truths of Beauty"
when we freely choose sufficiency of contentment,
with full will and ecojustice intent.
My words surf my beauty and hope and synergy,
in and out,
back and forth,
listening for my listening gracefilling bicameral heart
and comprehensive consciousness,
discovering contentment within my content,
form within my information,
ecobalancing function within form,
fractal frequencies within bioregenerative
self-optimizing function.
Surfing echo frequencies,
Earth's words of microwaving grace.
Beautiful is the soul that we all have within is self, buts some of us hungry for a change why do I have to be treated differently I die for a change I wake up every morning faces these same kids day in and out, you cry for the teacher to recognize the pain in her class but she just look the other way its not far for us to come and be treat like dirt and you yelling for help nobody is listening to you lost in this way of life. I get spit on hair is pulled slap on the face cheek red tears are falling kids are laughing so I roll in a baby position looking at the girl next
to me with tearing falling why you doing this to her we can't help that we are not like you God made us this way he wanted us to be who we are is
that our fault. we want what you have she is just a human being just asking for a friend and this is what she gets a slap in the face
for asking, you kids are the once that are ugly was you brought up this way to treat kids this way, I am your brother and sister in God's eyes
so you are hating your sister and brother and deep down you don't even understand why. teach walks in and see her lay there shame
to raise up, my child what happening she looks up I was hit for being who I am, you see it every day why didn't you stop it, she just sits there with a tear my child it's going to get better you will see she pulled me up took me to the office went home with nothing to say child, what happening you made me this way what do you mean I have no friends everybody in that school hates me I don't want to go back never she slaps the door mother standing there with a stare baby girl please stop crying mother know's how you feel how because I went threw the same thing, slowly the door opening up she sits down and we talk people are hurting all over the place so they take it out of the
people that are not like them, we don't know, but what I do know is God has seen it all and things are going to chance you will see, sometimes I just want to kill myself to end it, but my heart feels there is another way out, baby never give up your life for nobody your life is too precious to me remember when you think that my child. a knock on the door who can that be a young man standing there I opening the door he steps in with a smile held out his hand do you remember me, yes I do he came with a kiss hold me so close baby girl you are so beautiful to me.
less
Open Letter to you,
MY LOVELY HATE SPEECH
I hate my speech today, yesterday and the day dust rises.
I was there opening my eyes carelessly, smiling like an idiot
I was gazing shamelessly, walking like an idler without course
Little did I notice my vehicle lose direction; little did I notice my head bleeding
I was just there; the settled dust rising, tables turning, grenades and bullets are now apples
Little did I know the power in my lovely hate speech.
What pride did we get after slaughtering fellow Kenyans like goats,
What are the stuttering rifles rattling about, are humans turning game,
What are the grenades doing in civilian pockets, are they keys
Why are the churches burning, you cannot tell me tis the holy ghost fire,
What has that neighbour done, why is that policeman lying there,
Why is no body answering me, am I alone, or are you wondering too
Should I assess the power in my lovely hate speech, am concerned.
My love speech I hate you, my hate speech I love you
Both speeches are one, are the same, of same taste, I hate my passion for you
I love my fellow politician, i love his dirge during my friend’s burial
You bleeding mammoth my friend, I like your corrupt tummy
You scavenger of your own carcass, I like your greed for power
You megalomaniac virus of a beloved country, we love you, let us be
Little do we know death will let you release us, How uncertain are we of you.
My eyes are full of your ocean, the palace you exhume immorality
My ears are preoccupied with your desert, the desert devoid of trust, and the just
My nostrils have your pungent infamy, your callous greed, your everything
My mind can’t decipher the thought of your sanity, your policies and you
You make me lose taste, you make me look like you, you make me you
I am youthful to the economy, i am youthful to the wise, am not youthful to your “youth”
Little do i know death will let you release me, How uncertain am i of you.
Am talking about you, what have i said about me? What?
I hope I know the promise in my Kenyan Anthem
I hope I have a plan of getting rid of the chaff, the you
I hope am not you, i hope you don’t like seeing me wise
I hope your son is listening, the son that wants my very own daughter
I hope am the government, the government of me, for me and by me
I hope i know peace, the peace am preaching, the peace you hate. I hope.
Yours Kenyan,
Mzee Emmanuel Mwau.
I once saw a man one early misty winter morning. He was crossing at the intersection as I was preparing to make a U turn. Upon seeing him, not in worn out shoes, but completely without any shoes, I felt duty bound; so I gave him the shoes on my feet. This memory came to me as I thought about a song I heard years ago about a Mr. Bojangles who ran a string of bad times and was wearing 'worn out shoes'.
I was deeply moved when I first heard the song nearly 20 years ago, and it has stayed with me since. When I heard it on the radio being performed by Sammie Davis Jr., I fell in love with Mr. Bojangles whose life demonstrated someone down on his luck but still tugging along and doing the best he can with a little confession about 'drinking a bit'. The story also speaks to people with talent and artistic abilities, reminding them that their call, their purpose, their assignment to touch the world, is far bigger than them. Sammie's opening with a whistle was rather soothing.
Whether it's age or addictions, people or circumstances that stepped on one's life to crush them like a roach, we need not stop or give up on ourselves or our gift. If we are blue and sad, Dance! If victimized by manipulation or loss, Dance! If we have come to or toward the end of life and find ourselves feasting on bitter herbs, Dance! We still have a story to tell and one to leave with the coming generation.
The language of life is to love, to laugh, and to Dance, and need never die for any reason. I never learned how to Dance physically, but sometimes when all alone and no one is looking, I Dance. My inner spirit and attitude have learned to Dance. If not as high as Mr. Bojangles, jump as high as you can; can't jump while tapping my heels like Mr. Bojangles, but I can tap the floor.
I suspect that I have Mr. Bojangles to thank and so many others like him who over a span of years have taught me not to cry over spilled milk but to wipe it up and pour another glass. Sammie's closing with a whistle is rather telling and speaks to our approach to life regardless of what it throws at us. Yes, We keep whistling and talking, sharing our lives with whomever will listen, and move on to the next chapter, because it is never over until God says it's over.
071620PSCtest, Same Old Song, Beth Evans. 1P
Seasonal sensational Love
These lovely eyes bracing the glimpse of Trees, Mountain,
And Rain in parallel, Falling in its pioneeringly expressive ways!!
Clutching my attention, Serene beauty stickered on my Heart,
Tantalizing with the rhythm of jazzy shake,
Rain pounded against my window!!
Ringing bells lighted the inner peace,
Mountains dwelled with the green nature band,
Paced off those lovely yards,
The garden green snippet filled my soul with the refreshed air!!
The sun rising across the bay,
Inter tranquillity fluorescenced my soul.
Praising vociferously with the theme of attitude towards life,
Around the globe wanted to face the Life's fate.
Ruby red sun tinged through the west,
Water falling through the Cleavage of the mountains!!
Rainbow flashing against my eyes like a mist in heavenly arcade.
Thumping night life on the bustling island amazed me!!
The white cotton sky,
Plugged in with vivid spectrum in depth!!
Immersed in deep ruby eyes of her,
Neither the constraints of latitude and longitude,
Just bouncing the sunshine forever!!
Bracing with rose gold moon in its arms with the twilighting stars,
Perked up with full of energy!!
Rejuvenated with full joy,
The strength of spark instigated my feelings towards you!!
Harmonious accord establishing the ceasefire,
By showering rain to melt the temperature of boiling sun!!
Opening the switches of my heart,
Stimulating the senses,
You will find desire of Love towards you!!
Melancholy rain, Cinerous sky,
Blazing eyes, Peasant walkaway!!
Just can’t forget You Honey,
Life has quite often solaced my eyes,
Glow of cotton rubbing socket of vision throughout years!!
Your eyes,
I love you baby!!
Your smile,
I like that way You come and cheers my heart blazing my soul!!
Baby just come in my life cleansing my broken heart,
Baby you come back please!!
And then only you will find the peck on the cheek!!
Staring in my direction,
You attracted me again, occupying the vacant space of my heart!!
Come again, please heal my heart!!
I asked Eddy on this and he asked me who told me. I said one of the lads but I don’t want you hurting him. He was fine. I said I knew a bank robber when I was in the south before. They’re what I call alternative businessmen. They rob a bank and don’t have to be wage slaves. They know the risks and the cash is actually insured so is paid back to the bank.
There was in issue with a young Pakistani lad. Words were said as Eddy was close to a very pretty Asian lady who the lad also liked. There was a bit of pushing and shoving in the cake storage area. Later both said sorry and shook on it.
Eddy came back to work as he was fired due to an incident. This led to another display of his temper. He had a pal who had a Queen’s crown neck tattoo. They both had a row. They were ten or twenty yards apart and such was Eddy’s word that his mate took a step back! This was after he argued with the bakery manager, a woman who was like a bloke. She took it and gave it back.
Time moved on and I left the bakery. I worked briefly in Littlewoods in Shaw. And who did I see there? Eddy! My opening words to him were: “Where’s my guinea pig?”
It was cool to see Eddy there. I missed him. We chatted and I told him of the incident I saw with his pal. He said did I see it and I replied I did, all of it. It was funny looking back but Eddy could’ve hurt his pal seriously. I’m glad he didn’t.
We worked in the warehouse picking and packing orders. There was another incident with a young Pakistani guy again. Words were said and Eddy gripped him and let’s say told him off. The Pakistani reported the ex armed robber to the supervisors. The two were separated on different floors. Eddy went to the guy’s work area and ‘told him’ off again! The guy never said a bad word to Eddy ever again.
Eddy told me his dad owned a pub near where I used to live. He dad was a big fan of both Numan and Bowie, the superb 80s singers. His dad liked both the same not one over the other.
I wish I’d have spent more time talking to Eddy as he was the real deal. We civilians don’t get to meet real life gangsters very often, part of the underworld. I’m not talking about stealing cars or shop lifting. Eddy was the real deal. If he robs more banks I want him to remain free. I hope he’s fine and healthy right now. Did you know he also had an A Level in art? He was quite a guy.
***
As I awake I hear singing coming from the window Opening up the blue curtains I see trees swaying in the breeze Looking closer I see a bird's nest Little ones waiting for breakfast Where is mom with their food Here comes mom with breakfast in bed
At the end of a busy day before I hop into bed I must check out the window for my little new friends They have been tucked into their bed of twigs Now I must be tucked into my bed of soft blankets
Each morning I awake to singing As the weeks go by the singing is getting louder The little ones are getting bigger They are getting a beautiful feather coat
Today I awakened to no singing I ran to my window and tore open the blue curtains The nest was now enemy My friends had grown up and flown off The mama bird sat looking at me We both felt sadness as a tear ran down our checks
Date Written:7/20/2021
Finding Your Muse Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh
Foundation of the piece.
Is life just a purging of the soul and to ascend to a higher plane of existence,
do you have to let go of everything and everybody you once loved or knew?
To do so?
Or would you wait to be called to join them if separated because you couldn't let go of your old life?
Title:
Unable to let go
(A lone raspy voice talks in the fog as it slithers in - to a hidden audience)
I crossed over
In March
On the fifth
In the year of our Lord
1902
And all these sad years
I've sat
Patiently waiting for her
I've watched
Our old beautiful world
Burn
Through the blackest of fire filled nights
Through two world wars
Witnessed hearts bleed
With incomprehensible need
Seen corruption and illusions unfold
Hand in hand
With greed
Out in the warm and cold
As the seduced welcomed evil into their strongholds
Watched shining stars fall
Sat thinking of my fate
As I wait
Pining asking myself
When will she call me to walk and join her through that silver gate
That I look to
Down this dark road
Every second
Whenever I think
Of her
For I've looked in
Old memories that once beckoned
Explored all the seconds and who knows
Linked to being found guilty of sin
Chased paper boats
With endless time
Just hoping
She's coping
In Heaven
And not broken in two
Like me
In this Deep Divine
But still
Perched
Upon this rock
Chained like Prometheus
I
Wait
Even though the Mendli
You lot listening
Think I'm crazy
But my old Love
Still cuts me open
Making me cling to an old life
With wild dreams of a new beginning
So angels
Forgive me
But hear me
Quick
Take my hand
And lead me home
To her
Give me the Star Fire
If this can't happen
Or you can't do it
For I fear
I can no longer
Wait
For the opening of that gate
So let me cross the burning sand barriers
Step straight through the eternal fire
For is waiting for true love
The price
Worth all this pain
As one
Moves on
And one remains
Show me a happy couple
And I'll show you the fire that ignites
And it's that light
That I pray
Keeps carrying me
On horseback
To my beloved wife
Throughout
All these
Endless nights
As I fight Father Time
To return to that old life
(C)
Copyright John Duffy