Long Portals Poems
Long Portals Poems. Below are the most popular long Portals by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Portals poems by poem length and keyword.
“Red Velvet”
The bookmark placed softly
deep between the red velvet pages
of a midnight mind unfolding like a labyrinth
slow and winding, irreverent in over-ride,
hypnotic draws you in from outside margins
through strange dimensions opening echoing portals
into her world, warm cavernous hollows,
kissing lost ships, lips like sweet absinthe,
the addiction swiftly follows.
Discarding white sheets,
“..let them eat my cake”, she says with a naked grin.
The crazy cat smiled,
“You can paint your words all over me anytime Sin."
Her sharp ebony talons softly traced the first word,
over his beating heart, like a Renaissance master imprinting her Nouveau muse,
his blindfold mind rising like an ocean in her bed.
"A safe word", she said, "this may hurt a little."
"RED"
Candide Diderot. ‘26
"Transport Terminals"
When ghosts find ghosts
they walk through the
core of each other
expecting knowledge
of the other’s being
it’s surprising mirrors
are considered
transport terminals
eerily reflective
otherworldly portals
between there
and here
past, present, future
managing the transfer
easily
but it's never
that easy
when you’re a ghost
blueprints are beggars
to transparency
fingers slip through
the heart never seen
the remand centre
for processing
other channels are used
necromantic psychography
quills for keys
moonlit silver water
in a pen, shaken
sharp fountains for ink
cutting calligraphy for
phantom tears
inside the turmoil
of a storm-filled ocean
stirred surface searched
for eidolon's face
reflecting the other
rising to eat
each other's worlds
becoming words
the hungry need to be fed
ghost writers scrying
lives away, not near at all
but in front of each other
turning empty cups
upside down reading
spectral tea leaves
messages invisible
but it's never
that easy
fingers slip through
the heart never seen
the bare bones
of it all
materialise
skeleton keys
for dancing
those inside
the mirror out
locked in the dream
fingers slip through
the heart never seen
messages
ghost written
on mirrors
quills for keys
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“The Special Ones”, Katie Noonan – George
https://youtu.be/LupbCITf4tw
Necromantic = Necromancy
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Necromancy
Psychography
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Automatic_writing
Scrying
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scrying
Duality
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dualism_in_cosmology
LYRICS/ "The Special Ones", Katie Noonan - George
https://www.lyricslrc.com/song890471/katie-noonan-special-ones
"Crazy", Katie Noonan (Gnarls Barkley cover)
https://youtu.be/NZkE9GB7JuU
LYRICS /"Crazy"
https://genius.com/Gnarls-barkley-crazy-lyrics
The sun withdraws gently, a charmingly shy figure,
Upon the eyelashes of the expanse, a longing rests.
The clouds, abandoned poets with dreams dry on their temples,
Fall, like leaves of the sky, on the cheeks of turned silence.
The muted wind, trickles into views of twilight,
A silent spectator to the day's caprices that extend grimly.
And the rain, locked slowly in sluggish silver chains,
Remains a prisoner of the nights, in a hidden stable without a word.
The dream deserved lifts me over time, over ancestral portals,
My journey begins beneath archways of celestial stories,
The wings given to me, I believe, are as white as the first snow,
And it suits me so well, to tread on the tracks of the earth that breathes in the morning.
Among the droplets of sun trickling down, sky's demiurges dance,
In flight through the ether, where life and death, drawing, caress, embrace.
The world's book wide open, with letters parted into words and signs,
Stands like a fountain of meanings, all noble, all proud.
With that essence of being that screams and calls for me,
To forget life, for it has all been like a vagrant ray,
Dawn emerges from the dense night, weaving treasures of whispers,
Misunderstandings lost in words, of a mystery too often dreamed.
From sleep I awake, in the folds of a new day I wrap,
My temples clenched by mysteries, by thoughts and by clouds.
The sun pours the last ray on the ashening page abandoned,
In the faded light, iron beats on hearts, on words, and on unwritten myths.
And the grass lets its dew dry, from the skin of the rich nights,
The pages of life become cobwebbed with memories warmed in gold and silver.
Madness, the beautiful gatekeeper of stone dreams that lurk,
Watches as the rain of the world, in leaden shackles, awaits its sentence to overturn.
Space the universal medium, in which everything grows
Where it comes from, is postulation, nobody really knows
Bursting with cosmic energy, has no interaction with light
A fabric interwoven with time, where stars shine so bright
One thing we can be sure of, within space we live our life
Which in turn compels me to deduce, the void came alive
I’m not saying it’s god, too big of a step, not ready to take
Yet I cannot stop musing, sometimes keep myself awake
Creation starts at the infinitesimal, tiny mysterious quarks
Which in turn make up neutrons, giving atoms their sparks
Clumping together to become molecules, gases and solids
Forming shapes in the ether, coalesced nebulae remodels
We’re made of stardust, supernova remnants, I do believe
Making us part of a cosmic balance, perhaps reality’s seeds
Our roots forged in space, allegedly made of nothing at all
An invisible garden is replenished, when ultimately we fall.
But enough of the science, we only scratch about the surface
This poem is about space, trying to explain its very purpose
Well I do have my own theory, about everything on the whole
I believe space is a living entity, holding portals to our souls
We where not given any choice, just simply born, it had to be
Part of an eternal extant life form, some call god or holy trinity
This universe has come to life, through sentience from sparks
And looking skyward I ponder, is it us, underpinning the quarks.
Musings on space Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
11/01/2021
Stars disgorge energy in waves by fissile pulsations
Equally in all directions, but do not call it darkness
Where those come not our way. Darkness is
A matter of perspective.
A rainbow of photons ignites our neural lanterns;
3D portals to navigate the pitch, the default state.
You and I stand in the same primordial darkness
As “In the beginning.” The light is within, only.
Spirit boats, carrying light as once the living carried,
Follow a course shrouded in a mist of tears
To be reborn into the light as it was before the Fall,
Like one emerging from a cave through a waterfall.
Love's hurls tutorial in springtime melody;
Endear this embrace with impulse and dance;
Offer sensorial touch of harmony;
New glimpse of sure grace inspires soul's sweet trance.
Ask as moonbeams light your journey pathway;
Expect joy to flood a charming report;
Zest in precious sight as movement now strays;
Easy surge of blood in fertile concort.
Play with warm fragrance in mood miracle;
Intuit fond passion in life's mysteries;
Touch a kind brilliance the proofs oracle;
Align fond reason with fated destiny.
Promise to live love beyond things mortal;
Herein and above in endless portals.
Leon Enriquez
28 Apr 2014
Singapore
Memorial Day 2
“All gave some, Some gave all”
Written: by Tom Wright
2016
Today, we memorialize our soldier’s who lie at rest,
Many left families, perhaps some, with wife and child.
Facing life’s challenges they gave country their best,
And for a period of enlistment would become exiled.
They chose to represent our country and its flag,
Some paid the supreme price for our freedom of choice.
Some had their awaited homecoming via a body bag,
And today from heavens portals let the angels rejoice.
Today, I give thanks to the unselfish Veterans for their service,
Those who stood in the gap as defenders of what we hold dear,
Our freedom; and to my brother Master Sergeant
Joe D Wright who served 4 tours with honor in Vietnam;
Tom
To me … they are memories;
Portals to my youth.
Each one has a story that connects me to a truth.
Inanimate objects that come to life inside my mind.
Still life, gathering dust that helps, my little boy, to find.
To me … they are building blocks;
Ingredients that have contributed in making me;
Set aside long ago, but never forgotten totally.
Perhaps, rusty on the outside;
Scarred in a place or two;
Broken and missing a few of their parts,
but, hey, I’m that way, too.
To me … they are one of a kind;
they are wholesome and so unique.
But, to the people looking at the price tags,
they are simply considered an antique.
Across figurative and literal board...
mine hardscrabble existential debacle spelled losing game of trouble
Oft times, I experience wretchedness being alive
spurring wonderment whereby thoughts
of my demise doth drive
analogous to buzzfeeding bumbling bees
combing into their hive.
Giddiness prevailed
when coronavirus (COVID-19)
warranted quarantine to diminish
transmitting pandemic virus thru the air
lifestyle change no major imposition,
cuz yours truly already familiarized
with self isolation
courtesy his social anxiety despair
schizoid personality disorder the diagnosis
nsync with loathsome
body morphology toward self
viz mental health impasse a legitimate malady
impossible mission possibly
since in utero didst impair
minimally abetted courtesy
Buffalo wing and a prayer
wishful thinking only death can relieve
some recently approaching year.
Indifference toward self sums up story
viz mindset to whit
resignation to cash in chips
at a tender age, I did submit
evidenced courtesy abysmal grades
during stint as student
kindergarten and first grade the exception
earning appellation dummkopf or nitwit
showcased apathy to access ability and excel
overshadowed courtesy powerfully pointed outlook
within his bedroom at 324 Level Road
sequestered long haired pencil neck geeky hermit
four familiar walls constituted ambit.
Refuge sought vis a vis withdrawal
from world wide web
refusing sustenance (think anorexia nervosa),
thus these lovely bones withered away
thankfully mother (a licensed practical nurse)
of course intervened without delay
belated acknowledgement
regarding maternal love hip hip hooray
enrolling expertise of Doctor Ted Goldberg
at Collegeville Community counseling
to ameliorate psychological internal melee
running rampant and roughshod within me psyche
pushing self destruction down into stairway
entering portals of hell
analogous to Earthen bowels
deep within Zimbabwe.
Whether the above sentence incidental
to feeble attempt at reasonable rhyme
so please geography buffs pardon moi
add dull less cent delinquent puns
he did cashier plus
any unintended faux paus as aspiring poet
artfully crafts elaborated gimcrackery,
albeit impious kooky mishmashed
outlandish quirky s*it.
When I was in Atlantis,
We walked not on ground, but upon fields of light.
The air itself knew our names —
And the stars bent low to whisper secrets.
We spoke in silence,
Words unneeded between hearts that saw all.
Clairvoyance was breath,
Clairsentience our compass,
And the soul — a library open wide.
Crystals sang in our temples,
Drawing energy from the eternal pulse.
We lit cities with intention,
Moved mountains with dreams,
And healed the wounded with the truth of our thoughts.
Children came knowing the galaxies.
Elders sat with star maps etched in their veins.
Time was not a ruler,
But a dance —
And we moved with it, in rhythm,
Never fearing age or end.
I remember the halls of sapphire and gold,
Where silence roared with wisdom.
Machines bowed to willpower,
And portals opened to worlds beyond this solar flame.
We traveled by mind —
To Andromeda, to Sirius,
To places no Earth tongue dares name.
We were creators, not consumers,
Guardians of balance, not lords of war.
But hubris crept in —
A shadow at the edge of all light.
The crystal towers cracked,
Not from weakness, but from forgetting.
And the sea… the sea remembered.
It swallowed us — not as punishment,
But as a closing page,
So that we might return again,
In flesh and pain,
To reclaim the wisdom we once held in our hands.
Now I walk in this world,
With whispers of then behind my eyes.
And when I dream,
I dream in blue and gold —
In symbols that hum with ancient memory.
Atlantis was not a myth.
It was a mirror.
And we… we are its echo,
Returning, reawakening,
One soul at a time.