Long Palmed Poems
Long Palmed Poems. Below are the most popular long Palmed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Palmed poems by poem length and keyword.
It’s quite a thing to lay a life to rest,
to place rocks over roots rotten with age,
cover leaves once green with soil, sodden from rain.
Conceived in the meeting of metal and wood,
born a size from which never to grow;
used to move seeds, heave grass and then stone,
but trapped in the molasses of time, never carrying oats of my own.
It is quite something though to be grabbed by a child,
palmed by summer sweat,
and then chosen again by that same hand as a man -
to see your farmhand’s wrinkles in your own creaking frame.
Man, beast, or object, we all age the same.
I’ve lugged more than my weight,
cracked near ruin and wrack,
then just tied together with twine to dig holes!
his summer son giggling on his back.
I’ve been thrown, stamped, battered; called all manner of names.
Left to freeze in snow by this fence, kept warm in that shed,
replaced briefly by plastic but found again, under dust and cobweb.
It’s quite a thing indeed
to rust and be painted,
to dry out and then see
as this tool of a family,
the generational uses of me.
"Bat Crazy 5"
Some say
she was batsh** crazy
life hits the windscreens
in the labyrinth of life
that way
the foot remains pinned
to the metal, fast to the floor
full speed, left brained left hand
holding hard-gripped the gear stick
an upwards inflection, “You know”,
in the Queen’s Land, "all under control"
the open palm under the shaft
moving all the way up to 5,
reflecting on the mirror rearview
she watches the eyes
of her child
dreaming of open highways
the foot remains pinned
to the metal, fast to the floor
full speed, left brained left hand
holding hard-gripped the gear stick
never once moving from 5
the left all the way up to targa 5
right hand up on the wheel
left hand down right up to 5
windows spitting emeralds
like a baphomet
the two finger salute
the other above so below
watches on
"here we go again",
the 1 above it all
watches on
as above so below
that 1's long-suffering
that way, aghast, but resolute,
that 1 has never-ending reserves
of eternal patience
and watches on
perplexed
her mind geared on
how to kill off
a spider
and his sister, next
changing lanes
easier said than done
when you're hell-bent on
Freedom
the highway sign
Happy New Year
flashes ever onwards by,
foot to the floor
left brain baffled
at forgiveness
at Christmas
long gone by
right hand on the wheel
left hand down
open palmed
shifting gears
accelerating increduality
towards the accuracy
in the justice of karma
drivers sitting on both shoulders
inside the vehicle
holding the wheel
the internal speaks
to the universe
listening
for kindness
and answers
on a lost highway
Blue Sky
nods, as if in agreement,
that 1's always amused -
but never confused, that way
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
“Is it possible to switch dimensions?
There is currently no conceivable way to get to these if they exist, and they may only be possible, not actual. To travel between realities, they need to be in proximity. To be in proximity and not interact, they need to be incompatible. If it is a compatible universe you could travel to, it is already here.”
"Won’t you let me know,
if you made it home that night
Oh won’t you let me know
If our bones made it home alright..."
Palmed within your outstretched arms openly displayed
our fates are mapped for all to see, believe or be denied,
so upon the lines of time and faith, let your love cascade.
Closed eyes will not belay the coming, I'm afraid,
nor opened eyes change an outcome gone awry
palmed within your outstretched arms openly displayed.
Anger, sadness, fortitude, love that's been betrayed
can all be read upon palm, the future revealed, espied,
so upon the lines of time and faith, let your love cascade.
Within the carnival, behind the draped tent's arcade
the gypsy fortune teller sits, her foresight on your hand applied,
palmed within your outstretched arms openly displayed.
Lines short or long, cut or curved, choice seems but charade
the hands tell all, the time of birth, of death, all they do confide,
so upon the lines of time and faith, let your love cascade.
So hold your hands above your heart let your love be laid,
lead the best life that you can, let goodness be your guide,
palmed within your outstretched arms openly displayed
so upon the lines of time and faith, let your love cascade.
Contest: Rhyme Battle Round 4
Brighter than a fall bonfire, but with the chill of ice,
the Winter sun haloes the gray and barren woodland,
throbbing, almost hesitant, with a fluorescent pulse,
brazen in its unrelenting descent, it clings--
to the horizon.
How it hurt my eyes.
Thin skinned, the lids tinge orange, the white of sol merging:
trunks, boughs, branches, twigs, welt the dusk--
rouging the line between, blooding the virgin night.
Pricked, the brain pulses in tune, unable to look away.
How it hurt my mind.
Splayed fingers block, the sharpened spears of screaming fright.
The Winter sun, indexed, palmed, scratches, the face of I.
Within a lightless room a pall hides blue veins, near comatose,
brazen: the light, the light-- I sigh, until shades and stars arrive.
How life and death both hurt.
art by JulieG350
First Published by Dual Coast Magazine Issue 1 - 2014
Brighter than a fall bonfire but with the chill of ice,
the winter sun haloes a gray and barren woodland;
throbbing, almost hesitant, with a florescent pulse,
brazen in its unrelenting descent, it clings to the horizon.
How it hurt my eyes.
Thin skinned, the lids tinge orange, the white of sol’s merging.
Trunks, boughs, branches, twigs, welt the dusk,
rouging the line between, blooding the virgin night.
Pricked, the brain pulses in tune, unable to look away.
How it hurt my mind.
Splayed fingers do not block the sharpened spears of screaming light.
The winter sun, indexed, and palmed, scratches the face of I.
Within a dakened room beneath a pall, behind hides blue veins,
near comatose, I sigh, the light, the light, until shades and stars arrive.
How life and death both hurt.
First Published in Dual Coast Magazine Issue 1 2014
Don't ! Ask the sun, where we were
hidden, perhaps, in that caffeine moment.
And, pondering on the empty space !
Don't ever say, the visual became clear
as the silver dropped, to the deep floor
like that broken sun,Yes! There are secrets
Between the doors of safety, where you played
with the past, un-knowingly.
It was on the inside of the outside of everyday,
needing ! And wanting to be balanced in scales, of comfort.
While outside the Frog and the Heron, watched on,
as visitors were composted, In a myriad of cackling voices.
The happy shone, it sprinkled the day!
Left me with joy full in my head and heart,
It was, the time, that time, back tracked
the feeling you get in that Sun of short shadows.
Surrounded ! And everything once was !
And stones warm, purpose built, together, talking, and walking back.
It may have been then In 1967, see what memories,
and thought pools we swim in,
between two distant unreachable shores.
Maybe a sandy future palmed and green,
or the rocky crags of endless chores.
Colours seem thin, its stacked and smoked out doors.
A tarry sun accompanies frost, on blued wet feet, tramping moors;
Whiling away the day, she stares into the fire making deals
with ghosts in the flames, I stare at the empty jars,
I care about the red wine still in the glass, and now
time is as fragile as the comb, dripping like a yellow sun ;
But, i know the wham slap of the morning is due !
Like an unwanted letter, or whisper of bad news.
This moment can be split, and spat against a broken future
I need a compass point to be sure of this journey,
a map of shifting clouds, of muddled ideas to gain
a painless transposition along this ragged edged trail.
Tomorrows, tomorrow are numbered, and in short supply.
So upon this bed of chaste dreams you lie,
within this pure love you die,
from this breath of life you bleed,
yet grow again from another seed.
Pulling birds from pristine boughs
gleaning songs, blue- broken clouds.
Dreams tossed to deep indigo pools
slung into reefs of jagged clowns.
Semi-sorry for your burning hurt
I've sated flames then put them out.
In thorny rags -you're bled pure
of milky desires, we're devil's curd.
You taste it all void of screen
a cord of bitter sips of sweet.
I gather rainbows then bleach them out
(heart grapes beneath burning feet).
A ball of fire on gasoline roads
you open your heart then explode.
Love, amidst charred painted rose
gossamer bird palmed and crushed.
Faith chin deep, an indigo blush.
She felt his hands so gently lift her hair
Her fingers trembled on the moistened quill
She knew his lips would graze her shoulder bare
Her writing she kept up to mask her thrill
He pressed into her back his angel face
as thighs of steel closed in on rounded hips
Her line of thought she could no longer trace,
for she was lost in wonder of his lips
Her sonnet all forgot, her quill fell down
She felt his hands undo the single bow
that loosely held together evening gown
She smiled at wanton ways she’d come to know
With patience born of love he did undress
She leaned back on his chest till she was freed
His hands sought out her breasts with sweet caress
and in their palmed embrace she sensed his need
She stood up to her feet, and she turned round
to face her lover seated on his chair
She drew his face to taste what hands had found,
for well she knew the pleasure he found there
She watched his mouth and tongue dominion claim
A moan from deep within escaped her lips
She felt herself go weak, and he untame
for grip of hands just tightened on her hips
And soon she found herself on bed of love
Enraptured was her body and her mind
With trembling hand she touched his face above
as he plunged to her depths release to find
As morning light tinged sky in pink array,
she slipped out of his arms and sat to write
The honeyed words dripped down without delay
and soaked the page in rhyme of love’s delight
Eileen Manassian
“Scrabbled”
I could write a book
about all your dance moves
fire handed on a platter
heart beating like a hammer
a body of work
glanced at nonchalantly
on an open floor
dance cards marked,
silent deals made
and understood
blind man’s bluff
toe tapping a sequence
by numbers
on a floor assisted
instinctually sliding
in the desultory
golden yeared
in the dusk of setting sun
aces played straight to the kitty
passionatley winsome
words
she spins
dancing
across tables
stories lost in the beat
of poetic seduction
never touching once
the steps down a strong spine
elusive open palmed
read like a gypsy
down a back of satin
warm fingers reading
sliding down notes
braille like velvet skin
held in your arms
and turned like a cello
to face you
strings pulled
john-donned
plucked undone
the heart
hidden
between
the legs
the cupid’s bow kissed
a work of pure fiction
mercilessly
teased
"dance?"
She
whispers
in your ear
"your
scrabbled."
take
note,
regards
sincere
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
“Paralyze My Heart” / Dua Lipa vs. Finger Eleven (mashup)
https://youtu.be/mlYbDA7TkBE
"Miss U Less, See U More" /Faithless
2.0 (Purple Disco Machine Remix)
https://youtu.be/Jp8NXWqvxRE
"Black and Gold" / Sam Sparro
https://youtu.be/eHuebHTD-lY
Man Eating Flower
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/man_eating_flower__1220943
Not De Beauvoir
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/not_de_beauvoir_1245050
Licking Life's Luscious Lips
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/licking_lifes_luscious_lips_1288730
Cherry Ripe
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/cherry_ripe_1288487
Entranced
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/entranced_1254444
#Thank_you
My hat is off, gratitude to the table.
Lemme put on my dancing shoes,
this is a call for celebration.
Pop the ink out,
Painting brush, firm on my right hand,
Toss closer the rainbow colours
Wanna pour my heart out,
on this poetic board.
Drip of smile,
drizzle of love and
some dash of happiness.
See the driping joy in my heart
Fireworks in my veins
These butterfly, chasing in my stomach.
This is love in making
The art no feeling can fathom
Smiling from chin to chin
Waving from heart to the world
Your support surpasses time and age
In my dreams, I hold you dear to my heart
Cuddled to my soul,
palmed to my two hands in every prayer.
Poetic ink acquiring new tracks
This is poetic rebirth
They said it's a gift.
I'm my mom's womb I unwrapped it myself,
before this world could name it.
They said it's poetry.
I defied and put the ink to it,
Made it an art,
an expression,
a voice to the voiceless
A language code
I said it's poetic ink,
This ink continues to drip
Leave space for the artistic dessert
In this kitchen, art brews,
creativity fusion
It's poetic meal, I'm serving
This is poetic ink. I said it
I am poetic ink
#Poetic_Ink