Long Pith Poems
Long Pith Poems. Below are the most popular long Pith by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pith poems by poem length and keyword.
Spiderwebbed folds hang from each arm
as moss will from an aged cypress.
He sometimes raises haggard hands
as if he dreams of rising again,
or to cover bleary eyes.
The world is his mind.
Daylight a brief fluttering against closed lids.
Night floats above him,
he feels a light-headed immunity
from the gravity of death.
Outside in the hard-wired clamor
buses and trucks growl up droning hills.
Order and chaos are ushered in and out
of pallid pools of sunshine
and the wheezing colostrum’s
of a cloudy effusion.
Most who travel are asylum workers,
the old brick systems of sanity
must be maintained,
the matrix clipped, then the disused
swept under crumbling foundations.
The infrastructure, the fabric
the kapok and pith,
the nuts and bolts of an older age -
it all needs workers.
The dying man hitchhikes under a hand,
feels the warmth of flesh in full-bloom.
He sighs,
the nurse hears only a gurgle,
she is monitoring,
the winking machines are monitoring
while camara’s monitor everything.
He remains in his world,
always sinking upwards
toward what he knows not,
but it’s not here so he does not care.
Juniper prevails where hemlock heathen dine
As breeders of the weaker worlds increase
A persuasive drink, the final glass of wine
Spiked by grand deception ruined Socrates
Slither those who slant to slander
Bodies styled from a wicked Cain
Betrayed by his honesty of mercy kinder
Of universe, a mind for generations slain
Still the breeders slither loose among us
Full of fruits from hemlock juice defying
Prerogative of pith, they launch another strike
Freedom of your voice, the final passage dying
“When the debate is lost, slander becomes the tool of the loser.” – Socrates
* There is one person I would bring back in a heartbeat, and that's my favorite human being of all-time, Walt Whitman - he literally changed my life with his poetry, and brought true beauty and joy to my life. Never underestimate the power of words. *
__________________________________________________
Oh, My Dear Walter, how your words have slayed,
Humbled me, broken me, molded and remade.
To taste of your world, see above or below it,
Wit of a wordsmith, wry pith of a poet ...
To so construe love without using the phrase,
Scrawl the sinew of war, yet delight in the days.
To yawp of the grass - journeywork of the stars,
Help revivify a nation, attend to its scars.
Find grace among horrors, sift beauty from death,
The soul-pull of tides - briny buss of their breath.
To habit us all ... to the dazzle of light,
Celebrate ourselves, bequeath us the night.
Ask recurring questions of romance and life,
Of presidents, bootsoles, and a moldering strife.
Demons and mockingbirds, Paumanok's dunes ...
The pale, horrid witness of unstinted moons.
'Twas sad-blown, a bugle, convulsed, was a drum,
Yet exquisite, the dirge for a soldier and son.
The sorrow of clouds in a ravening sky,
The weep of a child should the Pleiades die.
Knit airy-fresh words, with uncommon phrases,
Draw Apollo and Neptune in all of their phases.
Be there adoration as hapless as mine?
Yet no soul more ardently leveled, supine ...
No writer has reached deeper into my heart,
Idioms and phrases ... such allurement, impart.
Ah, yes, what I'd give to have just one chat,
With the rare human being who afforded all that.
And maybe I'm biased, if perhaps to a fault,
But the name of MY Captain, O Captain ...
Is WALT.
I met the man
Who has become
The man, my father
Fought so hard
To not become
To always be
That lyrical, selfless soul
Only out there
To rid the world
Of joyless, empty measures
Filled with pauses, rests and
Unintended notes
Rather
His motivation comes
In rushes, bursts and
Pure brazen moments
Ready to share
His love
To the sick and the slick
The blase pack of
Tepid luminaries
Each marshal of
Their own parade
And he conducts
Them
Honors their passion
For something
Other than
The driftless pith
Of the soured day's
Intentions
With his merriment
And simple brand
Of anguish-soothing
Feign-removing
Love.
(8/3/04)
Awe & shock bowlers in the dock our warlock & glock “the Judge”
Rapscallion & stallion with a gold medallion on a sinking galleon
Our burly oracle with each follicle so curly a rock wouldn’t budge
In the 90’s dungeon our classy curmudgeon brassy bludgeon
Can’t begrudge won’t nudge or fudge never a drudge trudge
Truncheon dining on hurly burly Courtenay & Curtly luncheon
Call to arms more like baobabs than palms it is “the Judge”
Robin big breast disarms with charms Test bowlers flogging
Logging in to his noggin not one for jogging just silky slogging
Speedsters scary & lairy others wary time for our hairy chest fairy
Strike hogging quest while the others just dobbins doing bobbins
Pacemen lobbing but no fobbing iron will still run robbing Robin
Smith no hobnobbing or gobbing but not a whiff of a riff of what if
Believers in his jobbing levers will go biff in any tiff the pith of Smith
Made from sterner stuff but always a learner on a bunsen burner
Did bewitch but off the pitch a hitch.. life after cricket not as rich
Strife was rife and as things got rough couldn’t scratch that itch
Baobabbed wizard mocked Windies blizzard grabbed it by the gizzard
Calling card hit the ball so hard seems that BATman was really Robin
Not just some county squire but maybe the ultimate Hampshire Sire
Hall of fame name can’t smudge hats doff to a one off “the Judge”
The House was featured on the T.V.
Celebrities put on hard hats
posed with sledge hammers.
It was said that the old structure
had ‘good bones’. What it did have
were walled-in nocturnal whispers
and a resident paranoia.
Interior decorators re-imagined rustic hues
a bohemian nest chic-est
Rooms were staged and displayed
yet beneath the contemporary
the old retold its history.
Much of the house was to be renovated
pastel and neutral colors
replaced flock and wainscots,
yet bricked-over alcoves
still dripped a dried red rust
of long held rumors.
The house concealed itself,
but its fiber and pith,
its conduits continued to throb-on
echoing an older heartbeat,
a retelling
of long unsolved crimes
thinly painted over.
You found me nearly hollowed out.
A bag of bones upon the ground
My soul retreats into my pith
But not before you catch a glimpse
My soul hides within my core
For the light it had, it has no more
Your fingers and eyes begin to comb
Through the mess of flesh
Incaged in bone
You looked me over and sat me up
Then opened up my cranium
Dumped out the mush you found inside
repaired my breaks with linen binds
Then laughed as love
Welled within my eyes
There was no doubt, you were sure
You had siphoned control, my will was yours
And in the shadows behind my eyes
You began to sculpt your plan
you cut away the bulk of my spine
Ensuring what was left, molded to your hand
With precision you built from metal and twine
A device made to replace what you took from inside
A system of tightly pulled strands
With rhythmic steps, your fingers would dance
Upon its lacquered wooden keys
bringing movement to each tethered braid
That now coiled around my neck like snakes
Any ability of my own to make
All were rendered seized
I felt the practice, your hands had seen
Felt the dexterity within your wrist
you cut away my vocal strings
And from under my flesh, you stole
the instrument so finely tuned
Relative to the echos sung by my soul
you plucked it from my being
Like a cherry from a tree
placed it against your lips
Then swallowed it whole
I watched the bulge slide down your throat
And through your lips now crimson soaked
Disguised as me, in my voice, you spoke
you replaced my tongue with silent wood,
To speak your lies as best it could.
You place upon my hide new clothes
To cover the showing bits of bone
you repainted my grain to look as it should
Even my wild auburn curls obeyed your comb
You left my derelict eyes alone.
For the desecration of my soul
Was the final act of your Ventriloquist’s show
Meant to forever loop Inside my skull
My breathless surrender pulled the curtain closed
As you dusted the shelf where your trophies go
A new home
for your Beautiful
Lifeless doll
Oh, My Dear Walter, how your words have slayed
Humbled me, broken me, molded, remade
To taste of your world, see above or below it
Wit of a wordsmith, wry pith of a poet
To so construe love without using the phrase
Scrawl the sinew of war, yet delight in the days
To yawp of the grass - journeywork of the stars
Help heal a nation, attend to its scars
Find grace among horrors, sift beauty from death
The soul-pull of tides - briny kiss of their breath
To habit us all ... to the dazzle of light
Celebrate ourselves, bequeath us the night
Ask recurring questions of romance and life
Of presidents, boot soles, and moldering strife
Demons and mockingbirds, Paumanok's dunes
The pale, horrid witness of unstinted moons
'Twas sad-blown, a bugle, convulsed, was a drum
Yet exquisite, the dirge for a soldier and son
The sorrow of clouds in a ravening sky
The weep of a child should the Pleiades die
Knit airy-fresh words, with uncommon phrases
Draw Apollo and Neptune in all of their phases
Be there adoration as hapless as mine
Yet no soul more ardently leveled, supine
No writer has reached deeper into my heart
Idioms and phrases ... such allurement, impart
Ah, yes, what I'd give to have just one chat
With the rare human being who afforded all that
And maybe I'm biased, if perhaps to a fault
But the name of MY Captain, O Captain ...
Is WALT.
I don't know
Who was it
But it is definite
I got the rainbow
At a forgotten point of time
It was placed
A flower vase finely laced
The vine leaves climb
Very often in the sleep
During the REM phase
Shows up the lace
The pink relief
I wake up naturally with
The water lily in my psych
The morning I so much like
The words of clarity and pith
The glistening bone china
Not just solo
The aroma of aloe
And the little myna
I am sure some angel
When I was a child
With her hands lotus mild
Had given the flowers of the apples
It may be my mother
Or someone else
All my ice melts
In the dream stir
In the complex world
The survival wouldn’t be possible
Without the seagull
From the gift impearled
The decorated vessel
Returns over and over
Forever the lover
A hundred boats sail
The sail of affection
the winds of love
The clouds of fluff
The rhododendrons
________________________
April 14, 2018
Anonymous Angels - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Yazmin Malik
sole am i
meat locker are we
apeiron births god
pith distills self
self distills pith
god births apeiron
we are locker meat
i am sole
already dead am i
nihil gestates genesis
corpse digests worm
bone ensouls flesh
flesh ensouls bone
worm digests corpse
genesis gestates nihil
i am dead already
damned am i
yesterday flays tomorrow
flesh exuvial are we
pitiless is time
time is pitiless
we are exuvial flesh
tomorrow flays yesterday
i am damned
alone am i
nothing begets thought
clay invents god
dust unbegotten are we
we are unbegotten dust
god invents clay
thought begets nothing
i am alone
nihil kills nihil
Nihil Kills