Long Piercing Poems
Long Piercing Poems. Below are the most popular long Piercing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Piercing poems by poem length and keyword.
Beautiful canvas beautiful skin
arrested smiles
burgeoning love
seeping into me
oh, come on, karma talk
like a french lover:
"La vie est une fleur dont l'amour est le miel."
| Life is a flower of which love is the honey
and it is making me feel ill and cloudy. |
Is this what we lovers get? Is this what lonely
hearts feel when we mix love with art?
Oh, come on, please.
Karma is not enough
i gave it up for camera.
Remembering how i felt most intense pleasure
piercing my heart upon a figural stone shaped
as a monster's heart.
I messed objects with abstract thoughts
and lost myself which became more real.
and everything and every sense and every thought
tried to devour me within a black throat of fear
and it tried plainly ~~ i use to daydream at night
and paint colors in the darkest thoughts of my
mind; everything oh everywhere and everythis
and everythat |and it tried to eat me |
i woke up believing i was right here now.
Where i threw colors within my head
where i drew deepest fears away
when i was there when you cut me with
your words/i tried to say...i tried to say
tried to say....
Love is everywhere.
:: 07.07.2022 ::
In blue tinged glow of lustrous night,
Hollander watches bird in flight.
In breathless, quiet, shadowy gloom,
Trees are restless, night's abloom!
Hollander, where has gone the sun
In which you had so much fun?
And when evening's come, and shadows fall,
You stand and listen to a bird's call.
Beneath the trees, in solitude,
While on the night, the moon will brood.
How does Hollander view skyward lark,
As he stands listening in the dark?
Skyward, skyward, with piercing cry,
Floating gently, way on high.
Moon, with your dimming light,
Who would ever miss the sight?
Trees that bloom on fertile land,
You look so lovely, breathless and...
Night is a beautiful, sweet detainer,
As you look to the skies...Hollander.
In a world spun from the threads of reality and dreams, there exists a girl. Not just any girl, mind you, but a girl who carries the beauty of a thousand sunsets in her eyes. Her laughter, it's a symphony, a melody that dances on the wind, enchanting all who are fortunate to hear.
But within the labyrinth of her mind, there's a storm brewing. Thoughts, they whirl and twirl, colliding and shattering, painting a canvas of chaos and confusion. It's a bit like a broken compass, her mind, spinning wildly, never settling on true north.
Yet, she dances. Oh, how she dances! Under the silver glow of the moon, amidst a field of roses, she dances. Each twirl, each step, a defiance against the turmoil within. Her laughter rings out, a beacon of light piercing through the shadows of her mind.
Her intellect, it's a bit like a ship lost at sea. Tossed and turned by the waves of thoughts, it struggles to find its way. But there's a certain beauty in the struggle, a certain grace in the chaos. It's a dance, a dance of the mind, wild and untamed.
And so, she continues to dance, her spirit refusing to be caged by the confines of her mind. Her heart, it beats to its own rhythm, a rhythm that echoes the song of the universe. She's a paradox, a beautiful paradox, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit.
So here's to the girl, the girl with the beautiful face and the stormy mind. A girl who's a bit like a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. She's a poem, a story, a song, all woven into one. She's a masterpiece, a work of art that's constantly evolving, constantly changing. And that, my friend, is what makes her truly beautiful.
The Gaspe Peninsula dancing to music only she can hear,
She starts in the Appalachians of Northern Alabama;
Until she plunges into the sea at the end of the Gaspe,
The Mi'knaq Indians called it, the place where land ends.
She murmurs the music of the Scots and Irish settlers,
With fiddles and violins strumming and Gaelic lyrics;
On summer days, she is wildflowers and sun-drenched meadows,
That ripple in the fresh, sea breezes of the Saint Lawrence.
There are many wind turbine forests, a hundred miles high,
And the sound of the fiddles scream in her heart;
Along her shores she is rich wilderness, red cliffs, and forests,
And always the salt-tinged wind is caressing her soul.
Her peaks rise up to the azure blue sky in sweet solitude,
Birds swoop and glide her towering open rock forms;
And she hears accordian, gentle and soothing, weeping so softly,
And scattered are quaint villages and towns with bright roofs.
Many a shipwreck lay off her shores and the violin is sadness,
And the Blue Whales come surfacing and diving deeply;
Their blow-holes, blowing plumes thirty feet tall with a whoosh,
In the waters of the mighty Saint Lawrence that flows.
The fiddles are piercing and the piano cries as she nears her end,
Land plunges into the sea, and her journey has ended;
She is dancing to music only she can hear, of seascapes so beautiful,
Of boreal forests, pristine waters, wildlife, and high mountains.
_____________________________
October 5, 2015
Short Story/Music of the Gaspe
Copyright Protected, ID 15-714-669-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Do not fear the harmless voice
Which travels on the wind
Words that fall upon the ears
And tingle deep within
Pleasant like a melody
Awakening the senses
Piercing through bold barriers
Of self imposed defenses
They sing a song of innocence
Meant to bring a smile
To a face so fresh it takes the breath
Like flowers in the wild
Eyes so kind they brush the heart
A kiss of butterflies
Smells so sweet that hummingbirds
And honey bees imbibe
One tender touch from hands so soft
Unconsciously alarming
A vision taking human form
Unassuming yet so charming
Thought provoking unknown taste
Boundaries are unbreached
I cast my words into the air
From dreams where you have reached
Jan 13 2016
Standing at the cross-roads of
past,present and unseen future,
holding the truth so strong & firm,
fearing it may slip out of the lips.
Weeping heart hopes to shout the
truth to the world that I aint a
bad human as you perceive,
but the silly heart also
wishes the truth may never come
out which shatters your beautiful,
rosy picture on moral pedestal.
Balancing my bleeding feet on
the sharp rubble of my broken world,
with dagger piercing my tongue,
so not even the moans of
truth are spilled.
Shouts are so loud that no one
hears them and the eyes
silently sheds tears which
no one ever sees.
Hope we see the beautiful
sunshine together rather me
having heart in dark and smile
in the bright light.
Written On:26/01/2025
PS:About people who cant let out truth ,even when hiding the
truth hurts the person holding on it,in keeping his loved ones
safe and happy.Those loved ones have no idea what the person
is doing for them.
I sit in scarlet-slashed silence
refusing to permit the
piercing dark
to stain the sky with ugliness ~
so forgive the
receptors of resilient rectangles;
I witness smoke of confusion
drifting through
a distorted perspective
while ink bleeds
3 a.m. across the caffeinated canvas
where crimson
crowns blurred
borders of boundaries,
leaving no room for twisted tales
to tamper and tweak the truth
of a mind devoted to
peace and poetry ~
while the host of hostility
bereft of humility
plots to curate cortisol
forked within
the silverware of spite
let not the hurt ~
O inverted intruder
teach the bruised blade
to talk in textures
that could trigger
a tormented tornado
beneath ice-cold nails
as karma follows
the feline eyes
of cruel consequences
to your doorstep
I chose to be the current
flowing above unapologetic roses
no longer seeking
validation nor sagas
spoken soundlessly to the stars
I mark the withering
of wickedness
and woeful words
to embrace the
light of Heaven’s house ~
the ultimate ultraviolet
dripping from the
hands of hope
read me as I reweave
a valley of awakened dreams
where desires
spell themselves
in deep blues of devotion
nevermore vainly vulnerable ~
amidst the geography
of gilded grace
crossing the length of my limbs
until I arrive
at a guiltless lane of immutable love…
It’s half past three.
I am fully awake ~
but I am neither
an insomniac nor a sleeper,
merely a word-dreamer
in love with Poetry ...
A beehive, filled with golden sweetness.
A guardian leaves, landing on thick skin.
With urgency, piercing through the layers.
A hand raised to a pale face.
Eyes filled with rage,
beating beauty into compliance.
Stripping her of grace and dignity,
domestic abuse is his forte.
Amidst the tears and this final act of cruelty,
A familiar scent awakens in the hive.
Extending limbs, razor wings emerging from our queen.
Stingers piercing from fingertips, aching to strike.
As she lingers and towers over the man,
The stars align in his vacant eyes.
Hypnotized by fear and unrestrained rage,
A swarm of beautiful bees flash their colors.
Lifting her arm, we brace for impact.
The man now speaks in screams and wails,
twitching and crying, he can only blame himself.
This flesh and blood now belongs to the hive.
IF I could make maize grow in a desert
Then that power I possess by your will,
That which can make static air become wind,
That which can cause trees swing side by side.
If I feel down and out right now,
It is that I am not living by your shadow
For when I walk in your shadow I feel my heart serene,
It gives me strength to walk on, to live
THE moment I stray far from you,
I come face-a-face with my enemies I fear,
I meet straight out with devastation,
I discover that all green grass is brown-scorched
And flowers of yesterday have drooped in the sun
As if sulking as in suffering from a cold;
The mountain appears massive and strange
And I speculate: alone who can craft a mountain?
The flash I drift far from you,
The sea ripples with fumed waves and iced storms
As if it is a combat zone for warring nations
WHEN I struggle with you in my soul,
I get upset and my essence sheds tears
Not of hate, but of my incredible love for you,
I am derisory and without you am dead
For I cannot have sane mind-set anymore,
I feel like a man who died two centuries ago.
I cannot lope far from you as your shadow is ample
And it has unsullied, piercing eyes
That can see anything veiled and exposed;
I cannot talk sick of you my superior,
Your sharp ear resembling that of a wild hare
Hears the lot I whisper, you are amazing
I will not think perverse of you
Since you already know what I think,
You know when I am faking at you.
SO by your shadow I shall subsist,
It is not momentary like that of human beings,
Even when the sun is out of the array
And when the moon has botched as often,
Your shadow still shall be felt universally,
Though it can never be seen by man;
By your shadow I shall live
And my heart and soul I shall wholly give you
As a token of my sky-love for you my grace.
What else can I give you other than my heart?
Other than my passionate true love?
Killdeer
Killdeer Hidden in the crisp green field grass, my babies lay under our guidance protected as they lay nestled safe in a quiet place.
A nest I have scratched from a small shallow area in the brown soil camouflaged from sight.
Dee –dee- dee- dee-ee- kildee- dee-ee !
Bobbing my head up and down attempting to distract and lure the predator away from my nest as it comes near. Immediately my mate runs quickly to the left, feigning I have a broken wing I hobble to the right. It's coming to close; I spread my wings and take flight to escape taunting the predator with my call.
Dee –dee- dee- dee-ee- kildee- dee-ee !
We successfully succeeded to divert the predator away. I back track to my babies, shaking from the trauma I have gone through.
OH! No!
One of my young has ventured away from the nest I have to direct him back before he falls prey to one of our predators.
Thank goodness the others have remained hidden.
Replicas of ourselves, our downy fluffy babies are scurrying about following us. They’re foraging around for insects and earthworms since they are not old enough to fly.
My chicks will be on their own after their feathers and wing muscles are sufficiently developed for flight
©5/14/2015
Voice Call: loud, piercing kill-dee or dee-dee-dee.
• This was an experience I had on a church courtyard when walking my dog
Contest Name: Your Favourite Old Poem #2
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton