Long Press down Poems
Long Press down Poems. Below are the most popular long Press down by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Press down poems by poem length and keyword.
"If you could say it in words
there would be no reason
to paint”.
Edward Hopper
..............
I could be a figure
inside an Edward Hopper painting -
alone, sitting on a bench seat
in a park, deep in the solitude
of a disconnected world.
The moment is framed in silence,
pulled tight across the morning
like a stretched canvass
waiting for a brush to press down
and set the taut still trembling.
But there is no shadow
poised above, no brush in a hand,
just an empty sky that seems
to go on forever, spilling beyond
the picture and into nowhere.
I wish I could escape
the framed boundaries
of this artwork, to stand back
and see the same perspective
that was used to paint me.
On a whim,
a demon will grab a fistful of mind.
Slap it down- roll it out- sprinkle it with lye.
Then pull out its cookie cutter heart.
Press down hard...real hard...
Feed pieces of sanity to its hoard.
Half devoured, they crap you out.
Into the shadow of an indigo night.
Clear the eyes of the craggy miles.
Slug down a cup of fog.
What is that sharp pain, that dull sound?
Just beyond the cobbled soul...
Something just isn't right.
Stroke the cat
Sweep the floor
Croak "good mornings"
shower
Wash away that crazy gray.
Snakes are in the showerhead...again.
Go for a long walk.
Pick some daisies.
Hissing is in the swaying veins of the leaves.
The locust eats throat-deep into peace.
Stagger toward home into a hearth of talking bones.
Read the daily dread.
Stroke the cat again.
Take another nap.
Pray for a warm breeze dream to move the bloom of life.
Back into its golden vase heart to temper the pendulum.
Sweep the suckling demons from the chest...
Where the hell is my rolling pin God in all this f fin mess?
Sun up you're up time's up get up
light on paste on brush up brush down brush all around
chin up shave up wash up wipe up you're out
kids up mom's not
suit up tie on press down the thumb go-round
then down back up flip down to pull knot-up
turn-round looks-round grin up aplomb all done
drive on downtown park up lockdown press up
look-round liked sound work bound all-round
onto a room, found pot a brewed on two
drop up on top the cup a brewed
a tongue go-round fresh ground abound go all
around or down more down but not the ground
looks-round clock found heads down aground
looks-round, and found, holds-up brewed cup
time's up fun's done work bound must run
had fun all done kids off yes Hon what's up
we've a meeting at ten--not again, I said, no Xbox--thought 'twas for me ... oh is it any wonder?
The sun casts shades of pink upon cobalt blue horizonal clouds this early
spring morn. The chores of day press down upon me but in the still calm of early
morn let my spirit be recharged, reborn, renewed soaking up the beauty of God's
creation.
bees buzz
then silence...
nectar found
The fog has settled in the valley upon the creek exaggerated by the apricot
rising sun. Dark green banked against silvery gauze fog like ocean waves banked
against the sandy shore. The sun now tops the trees its brightness reaching out
in extended rays of brightness duty calls come and I must go.
we merge ...
I, rooted in your core
pushing up as you press down -
never deep enough …
supine, you on knees above
I reach up -
weave my fingers thru silken strands
and gently guide your head
down toward me …
( moondrops in your eyes … sighs )
sweet tresses fall between us as
our mouths melt together -
tongues playing their own game
soft like bubblegum …
I swim up the river to your soul
to that place indescribable
warm and dark …
( maelstrom of desire … afire )
we are so melded that
I almost feel alone ...
lonely, but in the sense of being US
and one …
I could let go my spirit there ...
without fear or regret or contemplation
I could stay forever on those
shores, in joy -
lost in our union and that
ethereal embrace …
( selves spun a-bliss … whispers )
but …
it is far too precious for those ends -
too exquisite and rare
all for the sake of how momentary
and blessed for the sake
of how perfect …
how passionately and
imperfectly ...
perfect.
(edit)
Sitting astride a frozen mountainside,
eighty others waiting their turn to go,
on the slope blue and red gates a path scribe,
a man says, “racer ready;” so they know.
An hour passed, now it’s my turn to ski,
explode out of the gate with a kick-start,
frozen ruts are what I find greeting me,
muscles press down to absorb impacts hard,
frantic minute, a forward-moving fight,
the scrape of ice, gates flying past my face,
come faster still, can barely stay upright,
you win or fall, there is no second place.
Cross the line, frustration at the results,
tenths of a second leaves you in the cold.
Calvary Hill.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I curse the day I ever entered Jerusalem,
I curse even more ever meeting Gestas.
The night chills seem to burn in to my wounds
and I feel wretched and stretched upon this cross.
The blood around my mouth has congealed
since i stopped biting my lips in pain.
My whole body aches with stiffness
from cramps and the pressure in my chest
is becoming unbearable,
I try to press down with my feet
but exhaustion is taking its toll.
I drift in and out of conciseness
and dream of water and warmth.
The crowds have all gone,
except for one woman
who kneels at the foot of
the cross of this man Jesus.
This man, that fool.
I bemoan the fact this man
even knows his Father
and I curse mine whoever he may be.
I think Gestas is dead,
for he has not hurled abuse
at this Son of God
for a long time now.
I pray to this mans God
that the guards will finally
break my legs and end my torment.
I call to him for help
and I hear this Jesus say,
"today you shall be with me in paradise"
My salty tears run down
my battered cheeks
and fall into forever.
A sign of my human frailty,
a sign of mans inhumanity
high upon this hill.
A Testament indeed.
Form:
From Loneliness to Linkages
In the midst of a lonely night
With not a voice to greet the ear,
And not a human sign in sight,
Seated at a familiar desk
With faint fingers on the lap-top
And a thoughtful mind not at rest,
In the quietude of a room
I dare not ever call my own
I can hear my breath in the gloom,
The tick of the clock on the wall,
The rustling of the gentle winds
As they caress leaves that do fall
As feathers on the lowly ground,
The sharp shrilling sounds of crickets
And the quavering croaks of frogs
From a nearby verdant thicket.
From the loneliness of my room
I try to link up with the multitude
As I press down the keys of my laptop
To create verses in deep solitude
And rhythms with or without rhymes
In a freely structured version
Beyond the bounds of space and time
To convey my deep-seated emotions
Gathered in solitude and quietness,
Share my cherished thoughts and visions,
Impart images ingrained in my mind
In the daily course of my lonely life
To one and all who may wish to find,
In a bid to forge linkages with friends
Beyond the range of the oceans
And bring down the loneliness to an end
Written by Krishnanand Guptar
18 February 2023
we merge ...
I, rooted in your core
grinding up as you press down, never deep enough
supine, you on knees above, I reach up
weaving my fingers through silken strands
I guide your head gently down toward me, moondrops in your eyes
sweet tresses fall between us as our mouths melt together
tongues playing their own game, soft like bubblegum
I swim up the river to your soul
to that place indescribable, warm and dark
we are so melded that I almost feel alone ... lonely
but in the sense of being US, and one
I could let go my spirit there ...
without fear or regret or contemplation
I could stay forever on those shores, in joy
lost in our union and ethereal embrace
but it is far, far too precious for those ends
exquisite and rare for the sake of how momentary
and blessed for the sake of how perfect
how tenderly and passionately ... perfect.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Brian's Select 1, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Favorite Poem From Last Week" Poetry Contest, Lu Loo, Judge & Sponsor.
There are pets and then there are people in fur coats. My Angel Face was a people in a fur coat. She loved to go riding in the car. She would put on her seat belt and mommy would be put on hers. Then it was off to hit the road to see what we could see. With delight to the bank for a cookie. Angel Face seemed to know when there were no cars-no red lights in front of us. She would take her left paw/leg and press down on my right thigh. She would press down until I would go. She would do her touch and we would go faster. Touch my leg again and we would go even faster. We never figured out how Angel Face knew my leg worked the car. She wanted speed and she got it. My Angel Face was a people in a fur coat.
Date Written: 3/31/2021 Note: True Story
Submitted For:Your 2021 N-A Choice 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by:William Kekaula Date: 04/28/2021
N/A Title:"Touch And Go" This or That, Vol 1 Poetry Contest Sponsored by:Edward Ibeh