Long Outline Poems
Long Outline Poems. Below are the most popular long Outline by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Outline poems by poem length and keyword.
Driving down a dark street,
raging havoc
on the person one seeks.
Smokin' on the Mary J.,
displays the premonitions
of one's own mission,
to strike out
with all deadly intentions.
seeing the crowd of man,
reaching for the gun
raising sand,
hearing pops,
making contact with blood
falling onto the land.
White and yellow colors outline the scene.
red and blue flashers
with badges and masters
trying to keep the scene serene.
Trippin' on the idea of blue's clues.
Reacting with the party
when your face is featured
on the 10 o'clock news.
Sitting behind bars
for being notorious.
Trippin' with the buddies
realizing your passion of acts
was not so glorious.
Standing in front of the grim reaper,
the teacher
who's words frown
one's facial features.
Sinking into tears of fears
of the reapers critique.
Hearing echoes of the judgement
the reaper speaks.
Seeing life pass you by
like a baby's lullaby.
reaching for the freedom
that one seeks
when "VIOLENE SPEAKS."
The gods were deleted and the tribes archived
the Vista-View—two bedrooms
beige-on-beige a fungal beard
colonizing the microwave’s lip
You watched the iron bars then the glass
then the greenish biometric light
the glass drinks the whorls of your thumb
a cyan leech labeling the ridges before
the neurons arrive early
coaxing a instinct to open its eye
matter blinking awake in their wake
always a beat behind
its outline—stubborn delayed—stumbling to catch up
A vertebra clicks and the world misfires
the locker room’s thick lactating reek
wet cement and the chemical musk of
Axe Phoenix—a scent so violent
it strips the insulation
it kicks you back into the teenage animal
gristle of your own neck
3:14 a.m. at the Wawa parking lot
sodium lamps stutter in saltatory arcs
leaking amber data into the asphalt
a signal failing to hop the gap
unsure which reality they are meant to illuminate
You a prisoner
You the Ouijaboard
the opera is transcribed in unpaid late hours
stripped myelin pale lipids drifting like snow
the white noise of your own making
slowed to an unmarketable frequency
The listening that is not a listener
does not want your confession
it waits for the precise imperceptible
asymptomatic instant
your respiration falls out of compliance
Status: nerve sheath thinning
Status: saltatory conduction faltering
Status: epineurium issuing final instructions
Wishing for a woman or friend
To your corner room, alone, but then
Creating sins not yet penned:
Infallible rules of fallible men.
For whereas Love seems so bubbly
And see through feelings easily crumbling
Blanket you with insecurity tumbling
The reflection of a life lived humbly.
Writing your outline
Of perfection in flesh
Thrown back are your shoulders
In Confident judgement.
Less is more and more or less,
We long for a quiet, petting caress.
Towering above, forever beaming
Swearing allegiance with justice gleaming
Magnifies your drunken streaming
Until syringes of love start teeming.
The ice-pick points to the one to blame
Dealing silently a Go Fish game,
For all is wild and none are tame
In the snapshot of when the Messiah came.
In future eternities all jousts find cadence,
Without lance or shield,
Without fits nor radiance,
We settle in for perfect maintenance.
We settle for perfect maintenance.
Even with
The cross
Around his neck
And the childhood
Anxiety over
An imaginary man’s judgement
His thoughts
Were more iniquitous
Than my own
He would delineate the way
Shower droplets
Languidly glide down my skin
Leaving behind
A flushed path
On my pallid complexion
That no longer
Wears the perpetual damage
Of past men’s temper
Because his eyes
Can’t fervor over
A dilapidated temple
But he’ll keep
The maze of scratches
My nails leave
As it clutches
The outline
Of my skeleton
While whispering
His name
In the inflection
That causes
claustrophobia in the breath
as it stumbles in his throat
He would sketch
Those scenes for me
In my head
Except he enjoyed
Exorcising
Every trait of me
Cutting off
Every strand
Of bleached hair
Make my hands
Sit in gray water
Until all the black nail polish wore off
Ripping the piercings
From my ears
To fill the holes
With the chants of hymns
Fading out the dense screams
I was raised by
But it all
Fell flat
More than how he felt about the earth
It made me wish those words
From the mangled pages
In that book
Were hand fed
To me
By him
With coquettish eyes
Leaning into
Every idiom
Until
My stomach
Feels abhorrent
From the nocuous ink
As it snuck onto
My tongue
Just so I can say
I spit his deception
Back into his mouth
And even then
His thoughts would still be
More iniquitous than my own
My mind is like-
Checkerboards.
With organic patterns scattered in each square.
A mind’s eye.
A shaky eye which burns holes.
Heavy breathing sometimes.
But not scary.
Just letting the world become an outline of itself.
Seeing more.
Trying an imagination method.
That isn't like they taught us in school.
Bursts of effort.
Reflected by careful line drawings.
And also scribbles.
Letting the juice of a bicycle create splotches.
Spinning squares can unshape themselves.
And become the vivid version of what a simple shape can be.
I can see faces.
And make the eyes bold and sharp.
Whoosh-
Or not.
I can toss paint at a wall in my mind.
And laugh because I can let the colors bleed and twist into nothing.
My mind has-
Nothing to clean up.
Just take the mess.
And settle it down with deep breathing.
My mind is:
VIVID
My mind is also:
BLANK
And there might be more
Since the day
you became a news story,
I've been wondering
how long you spent
pondering the pavement.
Wondering
what thoughts oscillated
through your racing brain
in competition with your heartbeat.
Wondering
if you envisioned
flickering projections of memories
you can't rest with.
Wondering
just how it feels to be
a magnitude against the interstate
as gravity chalks a body's outline into the earth
Wondering
who could be the culprit in this case?
You were just a victim of blunt-force;
caution taped into an unclaimed crime scene.
Wondering
if you jumped in spite of joy
if being alive is to expand your lungs in full exhale
if being dead is to put an end to restlessness
Wondering
what emotion is present as you
leap.
Imagine if you would,
a comedic TV show.
Funny most evenings
and has a nice flow.
The guy who works
for Police homicide
the one who dose
the chalk outline.
A psychic friend of mine,
who's always on time,
He's a real psychic
He actually tells people
when not to show up for work,
or when they should
or shouldn't drive.
He's trying to save lives.
Working alone and
telling people over the phone,
when they should stay home.
He's been reported
to the police.
And chewed out
by the police chief.
He tells people to double lock
their doors so
they don't get robbed.
He knocks on your door
and says if you don't mind,
I don't want you
to become a chalk outline.
tomorrow don't answer
your door after 4:00
And ya know kids
like being told,
to be cool and
stay home from school...
Because their boyfriend
or girlfriend Ain't quite right.
Like a song that's sung,
they like to showoff
playing with a Gun.
The parents can't complain,
until then neighbors kid got shot.
They thought he was insane.
It was a day when the crowded avenue of wizened oak trees
Loosened its first spluttering of yellowing leaves;
And far out across the stubbled fields, devoid of the
Swaying stalks,
The blurry outline of receding hills where long ago I
Gleefully walked.
For although our brief lives are but fleeting...
In truth...the greater joy to be found more in the
Journey than in the initial meeting.
But this indifferent day was a day when the Sun hid its
Sullen face behind a cloud;
And the dullened sky, pulling hard overhead, as dismal
As an old grey shroud.
Then my slow tread was as heavy as a broken mans heart
When poisoned with the anguish of Cupid's first cruel dart;
And half-turning, I saw that thin curl of wispy smoke;
And biting down on my words...felt the swelling lump
Rise up in my throat.
Aye, they say that true friends are hard to come by...
But upon my oath I swear, before that alter and God...
There one such as he, did dutifully lie.
Once, as lusty and as hearty as any steadfast Soul
Might be...
And better by any measure than a lesser man such as me.
Never has any misfortune fallen on a friend left
Behind greater than this...
No dearer, faithful old friend more ever so sadly missed.
Goodbye my true friend...we will meet again one day far across the other side of the immortal river. Your unbowed and staunch friend. J H Fleming.
Just when they
thought you were done
here you come again
pen & pad in tow
Ready to go the distance
and to depths
they'll never know
They say
you never know
who it is you may
be entertaining
Is it an angel?
A demon?
Who is it today
we're defaming?
Maybe shaming
a sinner by
throwing rocks
at their glass
How about praising
saints that rig boards
& hide behind checkered
pasts?
I know!!
Let's be devils for a spell
or a few because we can
then grandstand in a pew
on Sunday
Fun days throwing
caution to the wind
as if you never knew
right from wrong
Shew others
because they're
not like you
Same old
broken record
song
You win
as long as you
repent again & again
Right
This world is a
bright heaven for sinners
& hell for saints
with starter packets
Who wants to wear
that jacket anyway
even if it does come
equipped with wings?
It seems the caged bird
only sings to keep from
having to tell its sad story
All the gory details entailed
depict a horrifyingly
ironic comedy
Often mistaken
for shtick
this dramedy
is sickeningly real
You have to feel
what I'm putting down
in order to pick up
on their spiel
They lay it on real thick
but thinly disguise it
so that you remain
unaware
Who cares what YOU
have to say anyway
right?
Hey you with the glasses
how about we have you
lead the masses to
destruction?
As long as you
follow instructions
your blindness is
alright with me
Are you following me
or are you tracing
the outline of some
blind architect?
More power to you
but respect is given
to those that
respect themselves
How many shells
does it take for us to
see what's at stake &
think for ourselves?
The titular template of loneliness,
the spaced out unbeating ethereal melody,
the dreamy quiet beginning energized
in the million steps you walk,
setting free the agonized heart
that quivers like the wilderness willow.
The outline of the unyielding essence
repudiates the catharsis reprisal,
you find a place at the edge of time,
and sense the sound of silence.
All the dreams blaze in an inferno,
you breathe the ashes of smoky memory,
whisper hollow words to the amorphous air,
for you’ve nothing more to say,
and silently float in the empty sky.
The space between the slices of soul,
where the frail feelings get frozen,
the lattice of desolation is configured
by the splinters of shapeless images of desire,
as they fly away in a silent way.