Long Permafrost Poems
Long Permafrost Poems. Below are the most popular long Permafrost by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Permafrost poems by poem length and keyword.
Global warming perpetuates climate change! No longer a theory; it's a fact. Scientists say we can do little to prevent this; we waited too long. We are experiencing severe climate events that will lead to the extinction of many species, perhaps even our own. The world's reefs are dying at an alarming rate, and the fish will soon follow. Plankton is dying as temperatures rise, and microplastics saturate our oceans. Carbon dioxide isn't being stored in the Earth's oceans, nor in its jungles fast enough, for we've polluted one and cut the other down. And we will be in serious trouble when temperatures rise high enough to release the methane gas trapped in the permafrost. The cold ocean waters are warming and swelling from the heat, disrupting currents that will negatively impact the weather, leaving many countries underwater while forcing tens of millions into mass migration. Over seven billion humans depend on Earth's resources. Human action still dictates the severity of the outcome, but we have failed as stewards of the planet, and we may well eradicate ourselves in the process of recovery. It may very well be too late; it's up to God and fate to get us through.
glaciers disappear
a starving polar bear dies
an Inuit cry
Hunted, gathered,
Now, humans reign,
Produce emissions -
CO2, methane,
Absorbing heat,
Driving storms,
Breaking all the
Climate norms.
Glaciers retreat,
Ice declines,
Ecosystems
Intertwine.
Coral reefs die as
Tipping points are crossed -
Mass extinctions,
Thawing permafrost.
Collapsing currents,
Can't count on
The rainforests of
The Amazon.
Infectious diseases,
Food and water scarce,
Should have honored
Agreement of Paris.
That's where we're going
But I have no fear.
My kid can worry.
I won't be here.
Credible education
To tell us how.
Behavior, policy -
The time is now.
Bull eve me (Adam, whether existence
fact or fiction),
his immediate legion heirs whole
heartedly partook
to regale no Joe king paternal prominence,
sans legendary, fraternity,
and consanguinity subsequently implemented
faux pas threatening Nittany Lions role
attested by this papa, a curmudgeon
resident of the North Pole
burrowed deep within tundra
necessitated drilling permafrost black hole
son, which boring task found me dissatisfied,
asper penultimate existential goal
thus, I decided to sell coal
to New Castle, transported
within loco motive conveyance
doubling up as fish bowl
decimated crossing Arctic
great barrier reef Atoll
lauded me with mouthy gift horses,
(one Mister Ed, adore
hubble hoof only high saddled
Equus caballus neighing boar)
feted me, a hay er raising chore
followed by Mister Barns Noble encore
generation standing ovation,
a deafening applause
resonated across the floor
then an electrifying speech
by (plan net fitness diehard) Albert Gore
describing raping, pillaging,
And looting dip lore
able incursions as heath n (moor
or less opprobrious upon poor
sacred Mother Nature
whimpering and softly doth roar
ring, now treated like a whore
telltale global devastation
impossible to ignore agog
pollution extant across
entire world wide web bog
gulls restorative legislation,
when offal debris doth clog
estuaries, where watersheds habitat
choking with despair,
thus imperative to grab hold collective
figurative (corny as this may seem) ear
cuz jackknifed, irreparable,
horrible gnashing fear
fully betokens catastrophic
environmental fractured glare
ring hooker impailment here
and everywhere.
The leopard kills for love
sun burns for souls,
the moon moans for blood
stars frost the steppes,
the fire of your eyes
warms the wastelands,
alone the horse rides
Tree of Life leans to the winds,
the arrow strikes deep
a wound becomes wise,
the griffin sees you sleep
in this dream somebody dies,
lightning hesitates for your heartbeat
the storm doesn't stop for sympathies,
The storm doesn't stop for sympathies
pick up your head and move towards Truth,
permafrost phantoms play for promises
amid the hills of hero's, ancestor's proof,
Kurgan Tombs keeping treasures young
from the Northern Lights to the Pontic Plains,
memories of millenia the Scythians have sung
from Hyperborea to the Pyramids,
with bow and battle axe liberty was earned
empires paid tribute to their valor,
they were the Masters of Eurasia's fortune
their spirit will always seek a new frontier,
the world pulled them away with a modern dawn
only the sun knows where to find the future,
Only the sun knows where to find the future
only the future knows where to find hope's clarity,
We embrace the song of the suffering vulture
rely not on the feed of death's charity,
We venture through the danger
exposed to the ancient elements,
predators prowl with patient hunger
We are prepared to wear the weapons,
Colonizing the wilderness with wisdom
We bring industry and culture,
there is a dance we call the Soul Storm
in which the falcon rides karma's fire,
when the Devil blows war's iron horn
destiny demands that we be the debtor,
J.A.B. 2020
... stalactites hung like dystopian snot from a statue
her brain was frozen and formed ice in her mind
a lacuna without inlet or outlet arrested in time
mind’s skates tied up in bundles of snowflakes
gloves off for defeat with all speed set in arrest
not even her black woollen hat showed any signs
of thawing heart-warming emotions for comfort
empty speech bubbles covered her scraped tongue
where a mouth-watering waterfall should pursue
a pick axe with nothing left to dissect or construct
dangled from a callous corpus callosum in pain
unable to connect right left wrong or left to correct
this was not what searching tranquillity had promised
in contrast transcendence wept at chilly flood gates
a voice that had so much to part with in a landscape
of permanent layers of verglas onto vaporous rime
she wished for some slime or yuck glopping goo
but permafrost refused a glimpse of impermanence
a fool thought it funny to stick a carrot in her nostril
helpless she could not leave the vegetative state of affairs
clung to a string of crystal beads at pearly gates of no return
this is a lie I am Pinocchio at the threshold of truth
a metaphor unable to break the spell of apocalypse
unfulfilled amphora and vessel that can’t even leak
incontinence at the pointless orifice of evacuation
without one drop of hope for cataracts to dissolve
a lonely icebreaker with nothing left to crack open
where a firm skull should harbour my residual flow
when a polar bear embraced her unbalanced spectre
shared his white furry coat under a mantle of darkness
shales of introjection floated away from the solar eclipse
which had sheltered her from a charcoaled manic cauldron
touching middle grounds in between scorching euphoria
and lifeless apathy just long enough to remember that she had
not taken her medication and the self-help manual was useless
sometimes catharsis has to wait for one small lucid moment
when a beak meets a beaker and cascades start from a dribble
It begins as a sordid space without definition,
with the nebulous boundaries collapsing inward,
enfolds the air thick with the dust of remote faces,
enwrapping you each time you think of freedom.
The winter of depression arrives detached
with heavy dense fog featuring as your desolation
that configures covertly your misty psyche,
shape-shiftng to self-design of vague despondency.
The somber sky falls flustered on convoluted awareness,
wrecks the crown of bejeweled night’s exuberance.
The sickle moon slices the shimmer of its fading glow,
dissolving at the brink of the pervading expanse of blue.
In the dungeon depth of opaque onyx solitude
the ground hears the feeble footfall of stillness.
Glacial sense of chilled passion congeals stealthily
the excavated exposure of lonesome inner secrecy.
Painfully curled broken wings of the petrified free bird
can’t fly in the lacerating chill of the woeful winter,
envelopes surreptitiously the frosted senses,
the fervent warmth of sanguinity freezes unfelt.
The sky of longing falls frozen through the morose mist
on the permafrost of abandon in the arctic silence,
where the icy fountain of the forlorn cold heart,
gets buried deep in the gelid blue of seclusion.
But somewhere inside of your self-devised sphere,
perceived not above, not beyond, but deep within,
the seed of patience germinates to defy desolate winter,
splits the ice, sprouts spring splendor of redeeming hope.
CESSATION
That pain is like treading on bottle tops
Or stumbling into some hidden caltrops
Suddenly, as when some lightbulb pops
The welcome relief when it finally stops
Like making big gains on currency swaps
The blood pressure and heartrate drops
Yet is thought so typical of all milksops
With a false sympathy everyone adopts
Once ended, one hopes it never returns
Not just pain, but embarrassment burns
Yet that is only one of several concerns
How to grin and bear it, one soon learns
To hold your breath as the jury adjourns
It is more a prize of resilience one earns
But recall how much the stomach churns
When it’s never over, if one so discerns
Some sort of final line must be crossed
Ideas of permanent pain must be tossed
No wonder that one may then feel lost
As if buried deep within the permafrost
Like being frozen stiff without a riposte
Or see one’s ongoing destiny embossed
But with a better ending than a holocaust
Just seeking cessation at almost any cost
The Tears Bequeathed
Of frozen droplets’ ice water in his veins swamped his heart
little crystals of permafrost too rugged too woebegone to even
drown his open-ended sorrows in the tears bequeathed by the
outpouring void the downtrodden chute where his flute had once
Charmed her flow the lock of her hair the green amber gaze
now unbound in the bygone foreplay and symphony of dreams
‘Rose Perlemoen’ mother of pearls had left him a catcher in the dry
lost in transition suffocated by fanciful reverie teased in playful
enchantment pleased of seduction seized and then ceased in smothered
abandoned fanciful fantasy of infinite love of eternal longing
‘Carpus Momento’ spurned lover and seeker had tasted seedless
grapes of temptation once fulfilled twice refused ovules released
A crevasse had opened had wrenched snatched charging pound his
rhythm then closed over cascades of torrents in misty eyed drought
When blood reached his cheeks ichor resembled no virgin’s stream yet
an ocean of red escaped from jugular vessels as he lay on the ground
His final words drowned in tears torn apart written in ink from his heart
opened by her cunning freeze like icicle’ lingo to his child yet to be born
21st October 2016
Words Drowned In Tears Poetry Contest
The sky never complains about the storms,
but homes clusters of things we’ve lost~
to form a canopy of comfort,
amidst electric threads, suffocating in silence.
When cold is the air ~ tender and crisp,
cradling the gold within jinxed jasmines,
aching for a rosier rise of the sun,
as clouds sigh reveries, tinged with tears,
wreathed in memories,
of how love was once an orchid in summer,
now this heart trembles, frozen in numbness,
like a vine breathing in winter,
seeking tendrils of truth from soils of promises~
a quiet verse in a permafrost sonnet,
sealed with thistles ~ settling into nothingness,
but will the snow moon,
ever taste the hope within solitude,
that rests upon my tongue?
Or am I to remain a paradox of petals,
floating through flurry lakes of space and time?
The somber sky falls flustered,
wrecks the crown of bejeweled night.
The sickle moon slices its glow,
dissolving at the brink of blue.
In the depth of opaque onyx
ground hears the footfall of stillness.
Glacial sense of chilled passion congeals
the exposure of lonesome secrecy.
The broken wings painfully curled,
can’t fly in the lacerating chill of winter,
enfold the frosted psyche,
fervent warmth freezes unfelt.
Frail emotive candle flame flickers,
the wind of cold abandon blows it out.
Morose mist enwraps the winter nights
within desolate distress innately framed.
The sky of longing falls frozen
on the permafrost of arctic silence,
with the icy torrent of the forlorn heart,
buried deep in the gelid blue of seclusion.