Long Oxidized Poems
Long Oxidized Poems. Below are the most popular long Oxidized by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Oxidized poems by poem length and keyword.
Written: January 1st 2024
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Inverted into berth
back to the coast
braced by a breeze
with hurricane fury
we cluster in the crevices
stroll on shattered shards
return to the abyssal realm
at last able to sail free.
The fog is currently lifting
we're floating out to sea
utters crow cries on its perch
will assist us in steer
astride of a mermaid
out in turbulent seas
calling me constantly
once again at home.
Wood composes my limb
my body has aged
ages oxidized the skin
sailing by themselves
carry me, carry me
from water that freezes
return to my family
shielded from the ocean.
Lay down my body
cover me with satin
lost their zenith
with the azure, rolling sea
perform each step again
conjure me back to my bed
once again, at home
to at last find peace.
In a glass or in a cup,
Many a people like to drink me up.
Rather I'm hot or cold,
My flavors and aromas never grow old.
I've come a long way from where I begun,
Let's take a look and see how I'm done.
I come from a tiny, little seed,
Acidic soil and plenty of rainfall is what I need.
It takes me about three years to grow,
Being a Camellia sinensis plant is all I know.
Me and the other leaves are plucked by hand,
And taken to the Tea Master on command.
We are inspected, sorted, and weighed,
Then onto the tea factory where I am made.
I can be dried, oxidized, fired and shaped, or withered and rolled,
The process of making me is centuries old.
So next time you sit down and enjoy a cup or glass of me,
You will know my story, and how I came to be.
appears a Roman goddess
halo affects adorn as spears on a diadem
Her torch enlightens the world
flames are gilded in 24K gold
reflecting the sun's rays, looming She is not
for the floodlights illumine night’s darkest hours
the French had created Her
Americans built Her a concrete pillar
the old raised funds as the young saved their pennies
grounded granite pedestal protects from blue bolt strikes
disassembled in toto scattered and strewn She was
93m in height
neoclassic colossal copper sculpture
oxidized to muted green an outer patina
broken chains at Her feet breaking free from tyranny and servitude
typifies a democratic government
She faces southeast welcoming all arrivals transversing the sea
France gifted Americans, brothers of liberty
against sepia skies, streaked layers, cream colored clouds
a silhouette stands on Liberty Island
This is the tale of who? Let’s say for the moment,
the sake of mythology, it’s the story
of your shadow. Whether for you or me
begs the better question. It’s not a monument,
perhaps a confession; the embodiment
of false resurrection. How for you three,
my three lovely daughters, I stump by the tree
of stalled percussion, slow rising and hesitant,
quick to detach, quick mourning abandonment.
I was born by stand-still theology.
I prey without reason, worship instinctively.
My only real fear is one of imprisonment:
That you’ll understand the breath that deceives
sets fire to the forest of oxidized leaves.
Sometimes the only solace to loneliness
is the fading photographs around me...
many pictures in black and white, some of them
are in albums, some on the wall - in ornate
frames, which I would never replace!
The oxidized metal carries the aroma of the past,
Pictures speak to us, aloneness dissipates!
The picture of my mom and dad
on their wedding day…the beaming bride in a red saree
and the shining gold jewellery adorning her,
my dad looked the handsomest man I have ever seen,
and chivalrous...even now they take my breath away!
A picture of the family together
with young and old - my elderly grandparents,
when they settled in a new country,
with hopes and dreams in their eyes...
protecting members of an uprooted clan,
perhaps the nostalgia and uncertainties lurk -
behind the longing for the land they had left overnight!
The most precious photograph in my life
is the picture of my mother’s father...
who I never met, except in this painting…
but in my tender moments I dreamed about him !
A dazzling man on a horse, to me a knight in armour,
who passed away tragically in his prime…
Each one of these photographs present
a story of courage, and love, and determination…
which were the traits they
passed on to their children, and the future
generations! The photographs are the
witnesses of a glorious past, a past which
manifested the history of struggle and victory.
Photographs get faded,
History does not!
Her eyes are burning, fire is coming out of her face
flashing and roaring and become vas of power immense
her hair is flying high and her voice has become unruly
high of her feet become frenetic to kill the snake, Ruthlessly.
As a wife she is gentle but never weak in strength in stature
today she is seeking her revenge after enduring severe torture.
The earth trembled with her roar and the power creates storm with thunder
the supreme power has got up to destruction ; once tho, was so tender
she was almost dead when she was swaying in confusion
in the way to peace with her utmost sympathy and compassion.
In return, she gained the poison in his call
not only in soul and mind but attack in corporal.
Day by day her heart decays ; oxidized at instant
so, she is furious to kill the snake the cause that repent. (To be continued)
It was simply an old rusty tractor
An eyesore for passers by
A graveyard, at the back, of a pasture
All covered with weeds and vines
Curiously, on slow approach,
I wanted a closer look
Carefully climbed the barbed wire fence
Hopping over a weed wild brook
What once had been paint was flaked and gray
Oxidized and turning brown
Left to die, to bake in the sun
And weather back into the ground
Some of it's parts were stripped away
Others hanging by wires
The steering wheel and seat had strayed
Yet four worn out flattened tires
Days of use had long since passed
The weather had taken it's toll
A necessity which was built to last
Still standing and left alone
But to me it stood for something more
It stood for time and growth
Shiny and new a dream of yore
Some family's lives and hopes
How times have changed lives been sustained
The wind and dust have swirled
With growth of crops, growth of a country
The growth of a starving world
Though time had been unkind to it
Now a tombstone out in the clear
As I rubbed the rust from the relic's side
Engraved was the name John Deere
An original poem by "poemdog" Daniel Turner
On a rainy day, I float like a spider in an earthen city,
the glue of the body is my own land,
who also can I blame?
Insane to find the demonic catastrophe suppressed,
folded in the gaps of the body of the beauty!
The lamp post, like the naked thighs of the sun,
gives a shameless handshake in the afternoon,
the delight of an imaginary woman!
Being a monk, I am being oxidized by my own digestive juice, who else can I blame? So many disobedient hormones born in your own body!
The great art of walking up the night of a women's civilization;
exquisite craftsmanship of cosmic architects,
their banners have been put up for auction,
prices are rising like crazy horses in the stock market!
Men cannot move the peacock's tail to calculate the simple figure!
Who do I blame?
Fastinstru with Neanderthals,
people are now all hybrid!
The youth of a half-eaten man submerged in water,
burns in cheap cigarettes and
eats adulterated poisonous food,
like bait fish guardian.
Seeing the fertile love of Goddesses Aphreter, the fun-filled cum, when it smells like rotten jack fruit, I understand that it is my own body --prowess beast,
every time I count the grains, the poisonous bite is accumulating in my jaw!
a decayed
unfulfilled dream
of mine
an antique coin
that has oxidized
on both sides
coated
brown and green
as if
dry gangrene
has set in
on a dead tissue
no longer flickering
light
when kissed by the sun
(Yalto)
Patina Poetry Contest/Winner(10th Place)
Sponsored by Anthony Slausen
Date written and posted: 06/30/2018
Daddy's specter plectrums mercilessly
Fraying my nerves raw
with oxidized guitar strings.
my thoughts relentlessly hemorrhage
onto clay vinyl grooves
s p i n n i n g
endless nights
of
suffocation.
a midnight jazz wail
lacerates
the void of your absence.
notes gnaw through bone marrow
ravenous maggots
in the corpse
of our love.
Chords violently crash
splintering my fractured vertebrae
a car wreck
in slow motion.
plucking
the frayed synapses
of my misfiring
modal limbic brain.
feel the searing electric distortion
static fuzz of madness
surge through
morrow's marrow
my moanin'
a primal scream
at the Eve of Destruction
trapped in a skipping groove
of creation
shattering guitars
and blasting kneecaps
in an empty cathedral
of resounding sound
Our touch
a violent crescendo
of needles and poisoned honey
pain swollen sweet
as a mother's milk
laced with a junkie's fix
on a stillborn birthday morn
each note
a razor-sharp reflection
etched in stretch-marked
scar tissue
of the agony that throbs
within this moog menagerie
of fractured femininity
set
Between the sets
of our shattered chords
a single note lingers- soft
almost tender-
like a child's last breath
before the
final
f i n a l e
Silence crawls
a venomous asp
a deafening absence
louder than stacked amps
of patriarchy
reverberating in the hollow spaces
between drumming heartbeats
where your persecuting promises
used to nest and breed
I am the discarded B-side
of the one-hit wonder
rising from dumpster-filled
lungs of domesticity
reborn
in the Electric Avenue
of my own making
singing
Billie's bruises
Muddy's floods and
Johnson's hellhounds
to the ghosts
of futures stillborn
in this Rhapsody
of beautiful
destruction
Moon-faced and sickle-smiled
I conduct this orchestrated
Savage band of ruin
my voiceless voice
a lightning rod
splitting the sky
of expectations
as I agonizingly birth myself anew
in the RCA Victor Rhapsody of Blue
of Beautiful
reconstruction
P e r h a p s…
a new refrain