Long Oxygenated Poems
Long Oxygenated Poems. Below are the most popular long Oxygenated by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Oxygenated poems by poem length and keyword.
Equilibrium, harmony, and completeness
The Paramatman becomes one with the Atman.
It's like the ambrosic nectar and its sweetness.
Like the pristine jasmineness of the jasmine
Core dualism paves the way to non-dualism.
The illusion that blocks the way is torn away.
Divine rays outspread as though from a purine prism
Physique and psyche illumine like a heyday.
From the crown of the head to the sole of the feet
Divine vigour, like oxygenated blood, flows.
Flesh, bones, and veins feel a perpetual heartbeat.
Grace of the almighty, in every atom, glows.
Each moment is a mystery, like each day's dawn.
Between limitlessness and me, no line is drawn.
The first flickers of Alaska were lectured -
a mossy ground that upon footfall
created a commotion,
a locomotion of mosquitos -
not average but bat-like.
What young person wouldn’t squirm
at the frozen imagery?
The missionary went on to say,
Alaska is the longest bar in the world.
I’d say! The coastline being about 26,000 miles long.
Alaska the first, tucked away in a trove.
But those who ventured out to sea,
cruising the inner passage,
released fresh scent of salt,
waterfalls, hidden vistas.
So much so, that upon booking my first Alaskan cruise,
I was afraid that the bearer of such Utopian hopes
might be overdoing it, such as the spoilers of a movie
where you let out a sigh, disappointed by the letdown.
But, Alaska is no letdown. Neither is the Yukon.
Truly spirited places exist, ethereal beauty
that never lets your camera rest. Your eyes
pull the magic string attached to your hands,
and the bulbs flash like the paparazzi on overdrive.
The wilderness air with its rustic cabins and wildlife
invite an out-of-body experience.
You feel like your weary legs are oxygenated -
you can hike the Yukon trail, mount the Denali peaks
and speak to God eye-to-eye.
Alaska the first, you frightened me. You still stare,
but I’ve conquered your rapids,
stuck out my tongue at bears
and enjoyed my baked Alaska.
As the terminator loudly declares,
“I’ll be back”
I’ll drink to that…
3/2/2019
I am a son of the dark continent
By conception and ancestral offshoot
This black earth,
Where my dark ancestors deposited
The birth right of my life
In the dark bowels of our black sacred earth,
As the Canon and cradle of civilization;
The Land where my dark nostrils
First embraced the dark air in my dark lungs;
Which my dark ancestors bequeathed me;
The sacred ancestral black air which saturate
My dark back bone and black spinal cord,
Ensuring the purity of oxygenated black blood,
Meandering inside the black bowels
Of my black body and dark soul;
Galvanizing sacred ancient wisdom
The bloodshot ebony retinas
Of my dark sacred ancestors foretold
Time yellowed corn from afar
Blazing tobacco pipes competed fiercely in the twilight
For supremacy of sacred African nights,
With African Moon and unyielding black stars
Of Africa
The sweet aroma of embellished palm wine
Buried in the bowels of countless kegs of sacred African calabashes;
Roasted yam dipped in sacred palm oil and African pepper
Teased their black taste buds, stretching it to the boiling point of saturation;
Bonga fish and soaked garri was their appetizer,
As my dark ancestors soaked in the dark skin of black pride,
Battled to determine whose black skin was darker
Than the pitched black nights of Africa;
And whose black blood aligned more with black Africa's clay earth!
Partnachklamme
The most beautiful place
Above the Bavarian resort town of Garmisch-Partenkirchen,
There winds a country road which leads to the Partnach gorge.
Hikers are passed by less hearty tourists transported in hay wagons.
On the left side of the road, a river can be spotted through the lindens.
The river water looks like it was drawn with aquamarine pastels,
Having been super-oxygenated from the gorge’s rapids and cascades.
Playful locals built miniature dwellings and piers along the banks.
Loggers used to hike up the dangerous gorge to unblock log jams,
So safer paths were tunneled in and along the walls of the gorge.
So many sight-seers used to sneak up the loggers trails for the views,
That logging ceased and the gorge became a tourist destination.
At the mouth of the gorge, a guest house sells carbonated buttermilk,
Weiswurst, and other Bavarian specialties to fortify or refresh.
During the holiday season, pilgrims carefully hike the trails
Carrying torches which reflect from the icicles and frozen walls.
Waterfalls, narrows, bridges, and a logger chapel
All add to the charm of Partnach Gorge.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Willows weep in the morning sun.
Roots write braille onto buried rocks.
Each ring a witness to droughts, floods~
observer of seasonal tides.
Willows weep in the morning sun.
Sap pulses slow as glaciers melt~
veins map stories untranslated
by wind, beetle, or human sighs.
Willows weep in the morning sun.
Underground, fungal threads ignite
enzymatic cries for kinship~
networks flaring like neural stars.
Willows weep in the morning sun.
Sunrise cracks the bark; forest breathes
oxygenated confession~
We have always known how to wait.
Caution taken (lathering
exposed epidermis with sun screen)
against harmful innocuous
rich (Times New Roman)
12 font ask tick sun yet sen sate)
refulgent radiant balm
unequivocal panacea medicinal luxuriant calm
on par with a old
sister wives tale remedy me late mom,
would magically construe
to alleviate home sickness qualm
post pledge initiation invocation befriending
Jason the Argonauts and Major Tom
dizzyingly zipping thru space
in search of the golden fleece,
(which acquisition
ranked as a no brainer)
which recollection, sans above exploit flashed
(at greased lightening speed) this peace
full May afternoon, a pitch perfect spring day,
one adequately oxygenated
air supply crowded house
legendary fete of the rising son momentarily
sol limb lee flared concluding with reverberating
(though decades elapsed
since fortuitous galactic heralded
world wide web panegyric
broadcast cosmos wide),
then with just as quick
memorialized recollection
prominently recalled,
said remembrance as things past
vis a vis denouement across Universe
with Poof! lifelong (black hole sun hopping)
capping achievement did surcease.
Ah...such blinding realistic provocation sparked
via pure imagination
upon one earthly terrestrial beast
Sunkist soaking raiment sequestered
within corner nook decreased
with onset of dusk, a mind bending
dreamy experience least
expected while nonchalantly fantasies take flight
basking (with robins)
in an angulated nook sky height
upon premises of Highland
Manor Apartment out of sight
from the buzzer (I may as well be
a million miles away),
thus poetic justice end trite.
What's with this nudging
This perpetual nudging
Coming from deep within
Urging me to write a poem
A poem of feelings
Rhythm and imagery-
And believe me
I'm happy, willing and able
Grasping for words, perhaps
Phrases with iambic pentameter
But I'm so spaced out
There's nothing there.
Wholly concerned
I swivel my eyes
Back to front, dramatically
Looking within my
Spaced out mind-
Scrutinizing eyes
Probing the many folds
Of gray matter and
Arteries with scarlet
Oxygenated blood
The veins deep purple
Flushed delicate pink
It's quite extraordinary really
This internal intangible world
There's no particular block
Of sorts, no glitches
In the brain wiring
No dead words, no requiem
In progress
I should be able to
Write captivating stanzas
With colorful, heartfelt words
But there's nothing stirring
No angst residing in me
Nothing bothersome
Nothing boiling and bubbling
Nothing provoking me externally.
So what's with this nudging
This perpetual nudging
To sit down and write a poem
Could this one be the one
Nudging?
© 2015 Denise Morgan?
I have braved the river of truth just to see what you would do,
I have passed through the sea of time just to see if you were mine
But hope lingers on the days gets longer and the moments get closer
And hearts meet silently in the village at the end of the street.
I have braved the wind and the rain, just to see what is happening over there but nothing has changed, all I can see is your four-chambered heart looking at me through the dark and the two ventricles operating in a double circulatory system .What on earth is going on I am trying desperately to understand I have to take out the science book and search diligently through the cook book before my emotions betrays me.
I have braved the fire in my soul to walk with you before I grow old, I have examine the chambers in the human frame just to see if the color inside were the same, the right ventricle pumps blood into the pulmonary circulation to the lungs and the left ventricle pump systematic circulation through the aorta the main and largest artery in the human body.
The aorta distributes oxygenated blood to all parts of the body through a systematic circulation of the left ventricle. And the valves keeps opening and closing.
Now I know where you stand we will walk hand in hand and sing a melodious song until we cross over, the gap between them has opened and it will take several thousand mile before he cross the bridge, I can enjoy a slow across the bridge and enjoy the company of my new found friend, we will spend quiet times underneath the lights and close the bridge just before mid-night; we just have a few days to go before we celebrate the success of the show. Reach out and touch the lover's heart.
What's with this nudging-
this perpetual nudging
from deep within,
urging me to write a poem?
A poem of feelings,
of rhythm and imagery.
And I am willing-
Grasping for words,
phrases, perhaps
something in iambic pentameter.
But I am so spaced out.
I swivel my eyes-
back to front,
peering into the folds of my
spaced-out mind.
My impenetrable gaze
sifts through gray matter,
where arteries pulse
with bright scarlet oxygenated blood,
where veins run deep purple,
flushed, delicate pink.
It is quite extraordinary.
I could write of colors,
I could paint with words-
but there is nothing there.
No angst in me,
nothing provoking,
nothing bothersome,
boiling, nor bubbling.
Just the nudging,
this perpetual nudging.
Clear sand colored sunrise
Against gray sky blue skies
What can I learn from this
Green trees are just black shilouettes
Each species a different shape
They just stand and feed
From the nutrients provided
Drawing carbon dioxide and release
Oxygen on which all animals depend
These trees don't struggle, cry
They just abide in place
Different from one another
But stand close each receiving
What they need from the earth
And from the air
It is pleasantly cool today
Air is crisp dry and just
Barely moving
Days like this are glorious
Hear crows, roosters, dogs
And man made equipment
Breathe deeply of the oxygenated air
Thanks for this time
Maximilianii sunflowers are in full bloom
Over night they opened
What a surprise
They are just beautiful against
The sand colored sunrise
There are five tomatoes turning
On the topsy turvy tomato plant
The cats come to join me
They want my attention
Just a pat or two will do
They want to be fed
Responsibility calls so I must go
Thank you God for the quiet time alone with you
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