Long Persona Poems
Long Persona Poems. Below are the most popular long Persona by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Persona poems by poem length and keyword.
You measure your body through a window. Once you fit, you
go outside of yourself, where the sky is missing.
Sit sideways looking over your shoulder.
A part of a person is stirring unmade coffee with a memory.
Another part stays by the windowpane
glancing edgeways into a cold tongue.
Yet another persona is playing with the squirrels.
The wind is in from lost town,
You find yourself observing the nerve endings of bare branches,
even the trees push their slow thoughts through you.
Shake mist out of slip-shod slippers,
then follow the claw marks
of small birds back into the room.
Today so far, is impassable,
wind-whales block most routes,
they are pushing drifts of insomnia ahead them.
The sunrise glimmers, shedding layers of frozen hide.
On the other side of a windowpane, watching
the light roll over rumpled blankets.
Dawn hovers between night and day,
it stays too long, while time and place
shuffle you like a pack of marked cards.
two points of a straight line
birth and death needing a kiss
after plunging depths
dissolved scars, rock burns
drawings in mud or deserts
falling through dream arcs
crossing grids
ferocious or mundane —
the line between life’s breath
and cremated dust mutates
neutered circle wise
a revolution, all of life’s charms
arose then passed
pop goes weasel !
how to metamorphose is choice
as cave shadowed is lit
d e t a c h e d
Heart glorious rest ——
b l i s s ed
cares not that holy scripts are opaqued
misinterpreted or
pencil coloured rewrit
knew caterpillars are programmed to fly
babes destined to crawl, toddle, skip
somersault into tigers or
ascend as eagles from eggs
cracked, purified
ignorance limped before experience
patterns faded, disintegrated
or turned pages no more
sigils torn
as Spirit whispering lacy touched
quivering strings
thunder throating
our slumber shakes summoned
leaps of faith sweetly om om Oommm —-
lightning peeled
every covering
quilts discarded
wounds or weeping curled
feathers float luminous
settle at a nest
wide Love for all and ONE
undressed forever
w a r m e d
——————————-
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what appeared to be poisonous was merely phosphorus
deeply tattooed into the warrior’s skin from an ambush
in the land of never-ending wars against imagined foes
with a myriad of causes cascading from power and greed
what does a Welshmen have to do in bloody Afghanistan
he used to have a lilt but now the speed impediment
was carved deep into the persona of horror shame and guilt
the snake had promised paradise not a distorted Adam’s apple
the stars had been bright connected by nebula and a waning moon
what an omen for the self-righteous soldier misguided of course
by fame glory and that now elusive war veteran’s pension
dole money merely covered the cost of the shack under the bridge
he attempted to count his blessings tried gratitude and the booze
which gave him some solace because blackouts were better than bombs
and the stink of his urine improved no end when vodka battled with vomit
but the protagonist never rose above the faceless evil of legalised slaughter
The sun shines through the smoke of that day, a bizarre reddish orange hue. The day before I read signs in shop windows that said, "business as usual" and people out among the rubble trying to carry on with life. A life turned upside down in recent months.
My flat had been bombed in November 1940, and since that time I was living from shelter-to-shelter trying to understand how this could happen. I often wonder what the RAF was doing to combat the German planes, still I wonder. Shall they let London be consumed by fire? What a bloody despair!
Walking through the streets pretending to know where I am amidst ruins I see children crying, asking "where is my mum, help me dear sir"! All I can offer is a biscuit from my coat pocket that was broken in two. "Here, take these lads" I said, hungry myself. Then the rumbling started again, the planes were coming!
I scrambled to the shelter nearby amongst many others, the explosions shook me in my boots.
Down flight after flight of stairs I reached my destination for the night, quite unsure of what would come about but safe. Like a sardine in a can, I could hardly move there were so many people in such a cramped space, so I prayed along with others around me. Looking at the dirty disheveled faces everywhere I felt a nudge upon my shoulder, a voice said, "here lad have a drink". An older man handed me a bottle of Beefeater Gin which I gladly accepted. Its warmth soothed my worries if only for a moment in this living hell I was in. Hearing the bombs above I don't know what was shaking worse, me or the bomb shelter. I became numb as the Gin took hold of me in this nightmarish haze. "How long have I been out mate" I said to the older gent next to me. "The sun will be dawning soon lad" he said, "I'm going to street level, come with me chap". We climbed the stairs lined with people, unknowingly dead or alive until we reached the door to the street, it was so quiet I could hear myself breathing.
I looked at the sky, now a white-pink hue of smoke through which a star still shining shone as the sun broke the horizon. Reflections from the water of the Thames glistening light shone the trees budding their leaves, and in the devastation, I viewed the beauty of English roses..........
A broken shell, a living hell, and all I'm left with now is my regret.
Better days ahead were a pipedream after our relationship crumbled. Countless arguments. Disagreements. Every day! For my life, I can't believe we stayed together as long as we did. God knows I didn't want her to leave me. How much longer must I wrestle with these painful memories?
I just feel regret, unspoken, I just feel the pain; since she left, my life has been a broken shell, a living hell — I can't believe I let her go; it was foolish pride before the fall the day she left when I lost all — I should have held her closer, I should have made her see the feelings I have for her, what she means to me; I didn't say I love her or beg her to stay, instead, I stood in silence and watched her walk away, and all I'm left with now is my regret.
Justification is an exercise in futility. Knowing what I could have and should have done leaves an inextricable switchblade in my soul. Love's lessons learned too late — love's loss too great.
Misting eyes beseech as memories replay in my head, but they're too painful, and I feel dead. No joy to be found. Oh well, my self-imposed hell. Painful memories open like an oubliette under my feet, plunging me lost and languishing in isolation's labyrinth. Questions left unanswered, decaying in the debris fields of "what if.”
Reflection can be a catharsis for the soul, but it can also rip a hole in it, and soon reality roars from guilt's bottomless pit to devour all hope. Sometimes despair is mitigated by occasional reminders of us. Thoughts lingering on happier times, blessed moments mine to treasure. Until the damnable loop of regret dominates to decimate any respite of joy. Vanishing expectations. Weeping willow's silent wail. Xerox memories fade with time.
Years have passed, and my thoughts continue to haunt me over what we could have had. Zero-sum game — all I'm left with now is my regret.
I relish sparring repartee of clever quips...
Particularly, when voicing and/or
writing bon mots doth betake
chuckling clownlike me
rumbled stilled skin,
and e'en rouses
this mummified corpse
(asleep for bajillion years)
among sleepers awake,
where mine inside belly
doth pleasantly ache
jollity the best medicine
most thus spoke Zarathustra,
asper nonpareil persona
American radio broadcaster
Doctor Demento would attest,
one need not buy,
nor spend real or "FAKE"
money, yet brilliant come
back (as averred by
unnamed modest chap)
sweeter than New York cheesecake
moist definitely more
delectable than grubstake
jamming gobstopper with
yodels, ring dings,
or mouth size edible
chocolate candied drake,
a propensity for parrying
thrusts humorously recently
adopted, though occasionally
embarrass self,
and perhaps I might
momentarily even forsake
such wordplay, but
honing humorous turns
of phrases come roaring
back to partake, and
appease simple pleasure
inexplicably to satiate
passion with English
Language and slake
unquenchable thirst
experiencing euphoria,
vis a vis yours truly
melding, jump/kick starting,
forging, distilling
reasonable rhyme
(albeit short lived) giddy
as if I won sweepstake
this newfound affinity
with whittling words
manifested during opaque
throes of fatherhood,
when ceaseless parental
demands sought fast break
from learning to
accommodate lest stressful
overwhelming anguish
found me undertake
king oft times frazzled state,
where among great
anonymous dead poets
society, posthumous renown
would be small consolation
for widowed missus,
whose then two little girls,
(now grown to womanhood)
would inconsolably shake
for ever and anon drowning
their sweet sorrows,
where profuse tears
engender lachrymose lake.
I bow to Renaissance persona Leonardo Da Vinci
Non- parallel fantastic
Illustrious Marvellous
Master of Robotics
The Great Scientist, Architect
Brilliant Intellectual.
Painter, sculptor
Designer, Helicopter-Inventor
Military Engineer, Draftsman.
Meteorologist, Zoologist , Botanist.
Peerless performance
sparkling, shinning in every discipline
charming and alluring me.
My veneration, reverence
flowing in opulence
with overlapping emotive urges
on deep admiration and adoration.
To conclude:
In Obituary to include:
All qualities in single personality
owning God gifted talent and handsome look.
I bow to The Great Polymath
To Honor My Hero
Contest by Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Don't care about what others think,
Until when my ego falls near the brink.
A lot of this bothers me,
Yet it all helps to see.
My flaws are now so clear,
Only my persona holds fear.
I can't forget those memories,
I can't free myself from these miseries.
Don't care about what others say,
Until when their words catch up to me someday.
A lot of this brings me down,
Yet helps to be on the ground.
My realization is so present,
Only my perception holds resentment.
I can't forget words told,
I can't leave behind my innermost mold.
Don't care about what others feel,
Until when I finally see it's all real.
A lot of this quells me,
Yet it brings out a new way to be.
My resilience does exist,
Only my feelings persist.
I can't forget these lessons,
I can't forsake the inner child lost in ignorance.
Don't care about what others
Think, say, or feel about you.
Some of it all becomes pain,
But most of it brings strengthening gain.
Be sensitive and steady, like a tree,
For you are destined to grow.
You'll never truly from the beginning know
Who you deep down want to be.
Don't care about what others want you to be,
Until when both you and them agree.
A lot of people in life change,
Yet it is the way destiny is arranged.
Your inner strength's like a tree,
Only time holds the key.
You can make it through,
You can always be you.
Don't care about what others tell you,
Until when everyone can see what's true.
A lot of time is what we need,
Yet it is all conditions we shall heed.
You'll take thoughts, words, feelings to heart,
Only your mask falls apart.
You can grow from this seed in such ground,
You can gain more inner strength newfound.
DEEP DENSE LOOK
Potrait of Old persona with wise wrinkles
and deep dense look
piercing at every nook
of bygone days
to reminisce emotional bonds
and introspecting life long experiences.
Now turned his face from earthly matters,
not interested in dynamism of life
passing through last phase.
Immortal soul to be detached from body after demise!
Where to fly? Only to surmise!
Transcendence to unknown zone!
ALONE!
Ruthless realisation of leaving Earth
where life was spent since birth
in trouble, comfort, grief or mirth
enjoying, struggling, caring, loving
now tending to inevitable termination,
Enjoyed life, completed duties!
Now ready to leave in happy mood
on wishful expectation of Re-incarnation.
07/02/22
The Pastel
Contest by Craig cornish
Personas have limits, boundaries veiled by the thin masquerade of pretense
They whisper promises of identity, yet crack under pressure of reality's weight—poet
She puts on her face while vaping smoke surrounds,
Carefully paints fishtail eyes , studs, and crimson lips,
satin scarfs around hug her hips
Bindi adorned when with the Janes
A sterling nose ring pierces a membrane
Azure pools of light inserted—contact’s atop
wistful deeper dark reddish brown longing lens
Riffles through a cosmetic bag,
Faberge`a final touch then off she struts
Spinning the roulette wheel in random realms
Burned through one persona after another
The mask worn smothers
Charcoal tears pour down her cherry cheeks
Personas have their limitations
Reinventions only break the tiresome tensions
Infinite shades of pale, anemic, listless
Darker are the shadows that deem
Her skin is frail, weakness fills a ship and torn it’s sail
Though her wit retains its cutting edge
out on the ledge an empty soul on trial
Tragic trends suit her
Charcoal tears won’t save her
Metamorphosis’s demise, elusive unmasked
Limited are the bounds of weakness,
Marie-Thérès Picasso’s golden muse
hung herself after his death
Now a frozen memory in the dark daze
as nothing else remains its love’s myth
She played the games we may or not resist
Gone those days frozen in merciless mist
where fate awaits