Long Overlay Poems
Long Overlay Poems. Below are the most popular long Overlay by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Overlay poems by poem length and keyword.
With what I have to work with is all I need
Or do I? as I choose to write this with speed
Rule of thumb I have to emphasize the words I use
Do you think so? or should I just choose?
Portrait is a fascinating word it has so many meaning
Overview of this word is this I say; accent, highlight, illuminate, and stressing
Revealing more words to use is what I will do
The meaning of Portrait is what I will view
Random words that make the word Portrait now I will say
A word that means the same yet makes it more pleasant to overlay
I will now say some words or two; accentuate, feature, punctuate
These words can either be used or can be put on debate
Ice cream cones are meant to drip
But once you’ve got the knack,
You catch those drops on tongue or lip
To help preserve your snack.
At times the bottom of the cone
Might form a little hole,
Allowing an escape, unknown
When ice cream’s in a bowl.
So someone came up with a plan -
A paper cone-shaped coat
To overlay the cone, but man,
They’d never get my vote!
The paper's somehow always stuck;
It’s hard to peel away.
Thus, oftentimes, I’m out of luck
And there’s a price to pay.
I either toss the cone before
I’m finished or I might
Ingest some shreds of paper, more
Than I want in a bite!
I swap my eyes
for that of the bird
trying to see
things I should have heard
daybreak is cluttered
when I've lost all my sleep
important things pile
all up in a heap
but I'll trace a line
with the tip of my finger
find the place where your song
has the good grace to linger
I find it in tails
or in tales of mirth
exploring these notes
seems to help my self worth
the edges are sheared
sound becomes mute
these are the gaps
where I start to dispute
did I just listen
to beautiful sound
as all seems empty
when I look around
lines are traced
yet they all end
just a fingertip mapping
the missing voice of a friend
I listen, I look
I reach out with my hand
saddened your tune
can't return on demand
realisation occurs
with a bump and a start
I didn't call out
I just asked with my heart
no-one can hear me
as I silently pray
that I'll still hear your song
at the start of each day
I'll let all notes mingle
let rain fuse with sound
step outside to get drenched
and just lay on the ground
stare up to the sky
as stars stare back at me
it's my own voice at fault
I need not be lonely
if lines overlay
it's stars we're creating
I'm not all alone
the scrawls just needed translating
ONLY A NIGHTMARE - I HOPE
Furrowed brow beneath receding hair.
What worries are recorded there?
Wayward eyebrows overlay
Eyes, once blue, now dull and grey.
Once they sparkled, full of dreams
Of life ahead; but now it seems
The life I dreamt of long ago,
Strayed from that dream scenario.
Nose broken way back when;
Reset then broken once again.
Swollen, multi-coloured hues
Reflect a life too fond of booze.
Uneven teeth complete the scene;
Permanently stained with nicotine.
I study my reflection with a frown.
Today I think I’ll take the mirror down.
28th November 2019
The Metaphor of your face contest
Sponsor - John Lawless
Vanishing varnish kindly stood the test of
time in sweet and salty impermanence
A boat shed overgrown and faded into
significance of messages and meaning
of rays and days going by and moving on
And nights of course with moon and
stars abiding wheels of life’s abundance
The window graced with murky shades
of innocence where a young man had written
‘I love you’ into a heartfelt arrowed heart
The frame of recollection held the pane
in fading colours like a rainbow on the wane
Distressed wood weather beaten yet
many layers of green and red and yellow
sing the blues of long forgotten journeys
Flaking pealing retreating and still appealing
to nostalgia and loving longing contemplation
What once was stark from mighty strokes
brushing over knots where branches twisted
have retreated to embrace a new beginning
Holes in the door reveal a vessel still with oars
one holds a violet rose in innocence and love
The seasons have moved the man-made paint
towards new adventures where winds of change
have waited on the surfaces caressed by storms
How much I’m deeply touched by ageing shine only
the boat house knows as I speak to it in sandy whispers
It answers ‘Please don’t cover up my codes of beauty
Do not coat another overlay of glossy lamination
Let the elements take over because they know for sure'
05th October 2018
PAIN AND LONGING
Reluctant wood lay
marbled down His spine
as His passion extracted
His strength in diamond
drops daggered
my hip pain a micro
misplay of that which
nailed His truth :
Our bodies messages
carrying might and light
My cinnamon essence drifts
in this dwelling damp
longing for a wooden cabin
where Baboon stared at
shadowed breasts
I waved his fascination
through shower grate
unfastened, unhastened
seeing Christ in wild eyes
Knysna forest an apt
calling backdrop
mushroomed mossed
Seven heart muscles
contract and expand in
tired colour to usher pain
rhyming longing piercing
pine needles, boulders
in memory fall as
desert rain quenching
knowing that its core
lies in dark wells of
faraway hearing
tender beats stringing
steel fibres for placid
pearlescent Pleiadian
Home
So I tread on in this
blustery city with patience
longing, listless
nurturing a curule crown
His hand piercings a faint
ring of thorn shadows on
my open Sekhem palms
questing all questioning pain
into microscopic spheres
under veined mottled lids
Baboon, forest, longing
sleep, pain, bougainvillea
threadbare child hiding one
egg at Spaza shop
all but passing fleeting
frames on this eternal
faded tapestry
I stitch tranquility as lacy
pagoda overlay
©GhairoDanielsPoetry&
Song2017
Calls for resignation in cities
When press powers overlay budget of objective
Journalism
Speaking for others illustrates division wrong
Pilot project cost the city $287 per ride given
City Councilman Bill Miranda speaks to the driver of the city's trolley before boarding Monday. Perry Smith/The Signal
The employment obstruction of causeway
Is debilitating to finance language
In America
These root answers create pause in print
To retract office and improve democracy growth
Term limits aren't viable excerpts
No age allows frequency in representation
Open market Economics allows applications
Trickle Down Tips
Mathematically stated,
Budget given from total gdp
Allotted and zeroed burden
Shortfall stated mathematically,
Citizen and journalism benefit of?
Concert opinion
In no boycott
All are conveniegned
The arrogant treasure is slushed
In life styling the outgoing fund phrases
Those whom capitalize
remove civil liberties
This is lobby, page, reception, speculation
Book of retraction for new
Journalist objective argument
In dissection of
Insolvent democracy per acre or
Hectare
The statement of cost
Is evidence over budget allowance
This is corruption
Term slush
Fund not empty
Being spent in spiral
Loss of life as replaced in numerical
Press campaign powers
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
Olive Cadwell • [email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
SAG-AFTRA Info • [email protected]
This Concludes Lesson 1
Plagiarism and Capitalism
Verse As Boycott
It always starts the same
a fairy tale
first child
second child
It
you didn't even want to see him
let alone give a name
I did
you vanished
sleepless nights submersed in days
hours became a battlefield
we stood against over 20 armies
they had a name
and classification
one life got cataloged
yet destitute of any record
as no one ever took his picture
nameless
faceless
less human
for the rest of them he turned to less
but mine
he was my silver shoes
first years were a laugh
then electrical storm
aimed his metal hat
and cry whispered
- something is wrong
they put him in great blackness
and told me how the roads to that core were misplaced
but he wasn't
he was just in the right place
my little tin man
countless times shrunken metal heart stopped
so I lend him mine
and became his breath
sight
touch
I've tried to overlay him
as there were 3 openings in his plate armour
strange how something empty can be a life-saver
(had to save you)
so I assembled these tin sheets in my arms
and made system to see you
we did it
they finally saw us
and named me the courageous one
but I wasn't
I was terrified to live without you
yesterday
as the letter came
I had to hang my silver shoes up
"Your right on the status of nursing parent stops with the death of a child with difficulties in development ..."
that night ... I died with you
I’ve come to the place where I can see the bigger picture and can truly say; My Journey? God allowed it! I would not be heaven-bound Today if...He hadn’t allowed...the roads that I took Yesterday. It really is that simple. You see, God waited (Isa 30:18) for me a long time, and now I’m totally grateful and so aware; our present relationship did not at all depend on me, it was He…Who First Loved me! Pressing-on…
I’m so past the faulting and denying
so over… pointing fingers of blame
I’m making my way to my eternal home
but not without some trials and pain
And I don’t care anymore who’s right…or wrong…
I’ve no interest in whether they ...pay
who really cares if they say ...sorry?
for, revenge got lost…in heaven’s overlay
I mean, really…
there have been times when I’ve gone…there…
to that miry and profuse place…
of loathing and despair
There have been times
when life handed me some things
that brought me to my knees…
where to me ‘holiness’ was a joker’s sting
So…yes, decisions I have made
haven’t always been for the right reasons…
thereby I and others were grievously affected
as I willingly wallowed in those dark seasons
However, of this I can attest…
when my filthiness was scorned…
with the odor of my carnality pervading…
and my self-worth scattered and torn…?
When my very presence was detested
and every step I took…was to some a liability?
when I didn’t even…try…to do better
with my selfishness…a gross reality…?
When I wore my sexuality like a badge
and I was desired…only…for that…?
when, over time, none wanted me…for anything…
but turned….and gave me their back…?
There was…One…who reached out a hand to me
who came declaring His Love…without a condition…
who embraced…all…that I was not, then waited years…
to hear…my words…of an honest contrition
So, why do I Love Jesus… like I do?
Why do I flaunt His Salvation, yes...fanatically?
Why will I never turn from following Him?
Because He was that…One…Who First Loved me!
Rom 5:6-8, 1Jhn 4:19
copyright;jmsbell/1/5/2021
The Choctaw
never taught me what the
Choctaw would’ve taught me.
The Australopithecine never taught me what
the Australopithecine would’ve taught me of.
The Memories, these Memories,
our Memories are fading songs in
an echoeless cave.
The listeners have tired,
moved on.
The choir sang, regardless...
...for a time.
And, in time, the silence overcame
the joys of recalling and the calling out
was no longer met with the
Response.
The ochre greened-over,
the iron dust fell from frost and
puddled dryly on the floor.
Summer winds, hot and desiccating,
soon scoured the walls and ushered out
the swirling cinnamon sand.
The drums beat to mineral-rich cave-dew,
on occasion. A sometime rain that formed cones.
They stretched with weatherings; sometimes taut,
sometimes loose. Their stories lost, nothing taught.
In time, their skins followed their long-lost bones into
the buried burned and carved, now-broken empty bones
Home. The silent tumulting earth. The cold overlay of the
Singeing Beneath. The singing stalled. The echoes bounced for a time from
voice to ear to wall to child to child to wall to stone to dust.
The stars never taught me what
the stars might then have taught me.
The dreams and dancings, the tremulous and then-credulous
tremolos, the inspirations of ululations, the song-stories of
peoples, of healings, of wilds, of ways...now silent.
This silence, in this echoless cave,
is the most wanting, most missing,
Sound.
Sound I’ve ever heard.
The cave never taught me.
The music never taught me.
The drum never taught me.
The dance never taught me.
The cave never taught me.
The fire is out, the embers lost.
The handprint remains on a wet wall in a dim corner in an out-of-the-way
scree-field crevasse just past the Cree field impasse.
The teachers are gone.
The ancestors quiet.
The cave never taught me.
The silence may
yet.