Long Pointed Poems
Long Pointed Poems. Below are the most popular long Pointed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pointed poems by poem length and keyword.
THE WORM
The worm that tugs at leaf
inverts the blade of grass,
lengthens its coil, enriches the soil.
The earth’s weight bears upon it
like the gravity of its blind world.
Its wefting ways warp the velour of lawn.
Long-drawn bluntness gaining ground
in low-geared, segmented progress.
Indispensable, deliberate, tardy work:
aerating oceans of soil over aeons of time.
THE BLACKBIRD
On the lawn, the tar-feathered blackbird
surveys its territory with springy hops;
pauses spasmodically, listens to
its feather-brained instincts.
Swift as thought (a leap, a bound, a rush)
the thrush jabs its amber beak,
like a brimstone pointed arrow,
pecking and gashing at subterranean stirrings.
It pulls and reels, wrenching the worm
from its obscure socket with electric energy.
THE CAT
On the wall, mesmerised by the hubbub,
by the bobbing beak of the blackbird,
flattening its feline form, cat’s eyes
regard the scene with lethal patience.
In perfect poise, shifting its body weight,
padded paws set the mechanics of a spring
and with split-second timing, the mortal fell
stained with red the perfect blackness of a wing.
Later, the cat will saunter to the wall
and perch where the blackbird used to sing.
It was a forties erectile dysfunction scare,
The home had become a war zone,
The warhead was damaged;
The wife was breathing fire,
Auntie Google pointed to Aloe Vera
For remedy with little side effects.
I picked one thorny leaf on the side road,
Squashed it into my water bottle;
Ooops, what a thorny taste,
I soldiered on, I had to be restored;
I kept on sipping.
I was back on track without counting;
Sunrises nor sunsets.
My diamond warhead is back
The wife ululated, what is your secret?
What a wonderful sign!
Now I smear it on my face,
On my arms, upper body,
Soon it will be the whole body;
What a glow,
Got the women staring;
You got a nice fragrance;
One whisphered the night last,
I polish my shoes with it;
Dust sits on them with a grudge.
An ode to Aloe Vera,
The miracle thorny leaf,
Just add water.
Walk in my bedroom,
You see my funny looking water bottle,
Never despise it!
The bullying
In 1945, yes, I know it is; a long time ago
in fact, 80 years ago, a war had ended
and many children went to school without
breakfast that consisted of scones
with brown goat cheese and a small bottle
of milk, there was no restriction on how
many scones we could eat
a family didn't want their children eating
at the school, as they proudly pointed out
they could feed their own brood
the children were bullied because
their family was different from us
The whole working-class neighborhood
had gone communist at the time. it was
something about freedom and quality
no one had the right to dare to be different
The story of the adults, how rich
that family was endless, it should no one
should allowed; all we children know they
had a big garden with fruit trees, the first apple
I tasted was stolen in their garden that
according to my brother had an angry dog
Suddenly, no one was communist there
was work for all, although poorly paid
People's pride had returned; politically
this was now called a social- democracy
In oil-rich Norway, few remember the country
was saved by the Marshall plan
im in the train station
of the city that i love
my city
they call it the second city
but it is second to none
it is the city of big shoulders indeed
big shoulders
fat shoulders
skinny shoulders
white shoulders
black shoulders
hispanic shoulders
asian shoulders
middle eastern shoulders
all kinds of shoulders
but above all
strong shoulders
shoulders strong enough to carry the heart of america
shoulders strong enough to carry the message of working class america
to the rest of the world
destiny
its where babe ruth pointed
its who sinatra sang about
its fundamentally blue collar
and down to earth
it is from the heart
because it is the heart
i love you
chicago.
Framed
The blank, white space, the charged
empty canvas…
[ ]
[ ]
Haunting my Slumber
Nudge with sharp–__>pointed elbowsblack of dark..
The eye beholds but let's go- before taking it in.
Sooo…+ add the lavender of desire
and look again
Sooo…+ add the lavender of desire
and look.
Oh verde!
Awe Blanko!
Together you wait.
Senior, Señorita , that sweet breath you take?
Tumbles over and over
Through and through
Until silence abides
in the broadcast of blue.
He had a friend when he was growing up…he’ll never forget her name
or the disease that ravaged her body…the disease she never overcame.
Her name was Lynn.
She had long blond hair, loved flowers and playing in the mud
until the doctors found leukemia poisoning her blood.
When she became too sick to play and was confined within her room
She‘d point outside her window and marvel at the butterflies in bloom.
“I just love butterflies!” She would say as she pointed at the sky.
“When you think about it butterflies are the only flowers that can fly.”
So he would bring her potted flowers…making sure they were in bloom.
and he would catch her butterflies that would flutter around her room.
And when she could no longer get out of bed her smile would ease their gloom
as she watched all of her butterflies fluttering all around her room.
Memories of her flutter back to him every now and then
when he’s alone inside his room,
when he’s walking in the mud
or when he sees butterflies in bloom.
"To have Clarity of Intention means to align oneself with the clear and single-pointed purpose of that [regenerative] impulse itself. And the way that alignment occurs, in a [bicameral] human heart and mind, is that the intention to [co-]evolve becomes more important [and obvious and ubiquitous and nutritious] than anything else in this [living ecosystemic] world." Andrew Cohen, "Evolutionary Enlightenment", p. 111
Life is like a game of Old Bodhisattva Maid.
We co-arise the cards and hands
we have been dealt
and have dealt ourselves
facedown,
we have gifted and been gifted.
So now you know,
we made that Old Maid hairshirt
and capital choking tie
now in your hand,
just means its your time to wear them
until they find some other happy hapless guy.
Love is like a game of Wise Elder.
We co-arise our carded minds
dealing mutual subsidiarity to co-gravitate together
facedown forward,
faceup backward down
through time's past intertransactional memory,
co-empathic gifting to and fro.
So now you know,
we made this Wise Bodhisattva Elder shirt and tie
at Left and Right
MindThought and BodyFelt hand,
just means its our Time to help us
compassionately wear them
until We find some Othered unhappy
hapless ego-soul
To have Clarity of Intention,
healthy body/wealthy mind
to co-align oneself with equanimity
to each moment's co-arising
Old Wise Elder Maid
cooperative Win/Win game.
The prior property owners planted the most beautiful flowers.
We took possession last December, and this is our first spring.
For the first time, I noticed a lovely flower a few days ago
and last Sunday afternoon, pointed it out to our neighbor.
Upon seeing that flower, I sensed an air of stealth and utter
secrecy, and as I stared at her, being arrested and captured
by her beauty, I was mesmerized by her stunning presence.
Why, it was one of the most beautiful maroon blossoms that I
had ever seen. She is a Super Lily, and I have named her Miss
Maroon. She and other lilies are growing at the foot of the
second of four Crepe Myrtles, trees of which are causing me
doubts about their flowering displays this year. Anyway,
I must say that Miss Maroon pleases me well this year.
The young pecan tree which grows about 15 feet away appears
to have been shocked by a late freeze and is struggling
for survival and might be calling it quits for this year.
Miss Maroon's other neighbors are a scattering of red roses,
marigolds, and a cactus plant whose beautiful yellow coloring
I am greatly anticipating. But for now, it's all about Miss Maroon.
052523PS
The scarlet rope from a window hung
was used to let the two spies down
from brothel built in city wall,
it rescued them from a close call.
A token of the covenant
between the spies and prostitute,
That scarlet rope made the house of sin
a refuge for dwellers within.
When Jericho’s walls were laid flat
And all within its walls were slain
the only ones spared within the town,
were in the house where the rope hung.
When death’s angel o’er Egypt passed
that dreadful night in Pharaoh’s land
The only ones whose lives were spared
were in houses where blood was smeared.
The blood of lambs sacrificed
pointed to Christ, the Lamb of God
whose blood was shed upon a cross
to save man from sin’s death and dross.
The scarlet rope from heaven hangs
from where the Son of God came down,
to bridge the gulf and smash the wall
which sin produced, through Adam’s fall.
But only those who claim Christ’s blood
as payment for a life of sin
will be spared from the fire of hell
the kind that on Gomorrah fell.
Some ghost in peoples mind need to control,
every aspect of circumstance to enroll.
The raging spirit in constant demand to chase illusion,
with sweet words, drama and phony conclusion.
The fear of not being in charge by all means,
destroys all good attention in short coming’s not seen.
Hidden fragile uncertainties covered by shallow believe,
creating painful structures with no relief.
Destinies beatitude pointed towards all direction,
chained to the source of this infection.
The perjuries towards the illusion of freedom,
is the constant rising of another millennium.
The catastrophic ripple effect towards the relative,
by poor judgments sensed has competitive.
Megalomania is the belief of power abilities regardless,
shallow emotional intellect performed by ruthless charges.
Powerful and admirable pictures are usually the point,
questioning others towards responsibilities being a ‘disappoint’.
The dragon of false illusion has many heads,
taken others credit and values as alphabet.
Mystic pseudonyms is the fire in the oxygen,
riding the beast of burden to the melancholic dungeon.