Long Pressing Poems
Long Pressing Poems. Below are the most popular long Pressing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pressing poems by poem length and keyword.
Ooooouuuuuu
Iiiiiii just wanna knowww if I’ve got your eyeesssss.
How do you feel about meeehhhhh
Ohh I’ve been waiting to see your faceeee
Just to seee
Do youuu do youuu really want this pressure
Do youu do youuu act like it’s pressing ya
Spent time in cali waiting for you to call me !
Im ashamedddd
When will be the next time we meettttt.
Couldn’t wait for that dayyyy
Oooooouuuu cause I can’t lie im starting to miss ya.
Got me thinking bout our ruminations .
All these other lies got me feeling so jaded.
Im tired of what they say hey !!!
Do youuu do youuu really want this pressure
Do youu do youuu act like it’s pressing ya
Spent time in cali waiting for you to call me !
Im ashamedddd
When will be the next time we meettttt.
The Weapon of Indifference
The purpose of the society you live in is to destroy you slowly and surely,
all you have is at the service of what consumes you with nobody caring,
the weapon it will use is cold indifference that freezes you in the void,
you cannot adopt the same attitude you must jump into action now.
Every society has its weak points of resistance that break easily,
the painful places where the open wound bleeds in heavy silence,
put your finger on the wound and press hard and firm with all your strength,
dig deeper into the subjects that nobody wants to talk about.
Behind the scenes hides the ugly truth that doesn't want to come to light,
the underside of the beautiful decor covers the filth that slowly rots,
insist upon the sickness the agony the ugliness that everyone wants to forget quickly,
speak about death and oblivion about the emptiness that awaits us all.
Speak about jealousy indifference frustration about the absence of love in the world,
be abject and you will be truthful saying what nobody wants to hear,
society destroys you with its hidden weapon of cold and empty indifference,
you must jump into action to put your finger on the open wound always.
Dig into the subjects hidden beneath the shining surface that everyone sees blindly,
insist upon the agony the death the oblivion that awaits us all in the end,
be abject in your filth that speaks the brutal truth of existence,
do not adopt their cold indifference but jump into action pressing hard on the wound.
With burnt plastic you exhale
Soft hair and skin and small weight on dirty mattress
A paper weight pressing down
I split the wire and I stored the glass bottle in the cabinet beneath the sink.
Where I thought of kissing you.
In the room I put my fingers in your mouth,
Where she heard everything to the other wall,
Where we held each other.
With burnt plastic I exhale
And with a school-issued laptop.
From showering in clothes
From swimming in clothes
To a clinging
In the mouth and on the skin
I didn't bring a toothbrush
Will the floor welcome me
Where there is nowhere to put my weight?
"I can get through anything.
Through any night,"
I tell myself
And it is true.
When my heart felt like
A hopping cricket or
A feather falling or
A tire rolling or
A record skipping or
A ball being squeezed tightly by a fist,
It kept working and pumping blood.
When I feel it run in my neck
Or when I saw it open on my hip,
When I see it in the toilet too
It runs.
Unlike when I run
It is controlled.
Pump bump beating.
When my feet strike the ground I am not sure what they will do next.
Like I may fall upwards with a quick flip.
No, there are rules.
Cuddled against you
Feeling your naked skin
Against mine
I am contented
Like a bird in flight
Or the moon at night
Welcoming your touch
Like I might long for
Truths that reveal
Insights and inspirations
Into the heart of feeling
Sighing in vivid dreams
Warm breath against my ear
Penetrating the chill in the air
That whispers on my breath
With a sense of yearning
For sun’s brilliance
Rich radiance of hopes
Lingering in my spirit
Flickering furiously
Hues of lilac, blushing
Like grace that fills the air
With music that is so rare
Playing a tempo within
Fondling my leg
Lingering there, a hand
That threads its way past
Shyness that beckons
To release it’s murmur
Into my breast, pressing down
Where I once felt afraid
Of the passion
The release of a storm
Thundering in a cloud of mystery
The ebb and flow of hunger
Released within me
Cuddling, caressing, clinging
To the craving, rich in urgency
Awakening my thirst
For a sense of sweetness
That comes from knowing
Love so true, so real, filled with you
It settles over the horizon,
gray, dark smears of gray,
and above it casts a pall
of overcast. Ominous it looms,
but no thunder comes,
it won’t come again until
spring warmth leaches back
into dry, dismal air.
Gray season has settled in,
from All Hallow’s Eve until
a distant day of fool’s,
It wraps the north, blots the sun
to a dim point of distant,
dying light.
The world starts as brown,
then flakes fall, sleet,
rain that freezes and dooms
drivers everywhere.
Brown to white, the white
mottles with the gray,
and all other colors fade,
save stalwart evergreens.
Cold comes, wraps around you,
gets within you.
Turn on lights to avoid it,
start fires to undo it,
warm showers to defy it,
but it’s there, pressing,
day after day, until you feel
that cold and gray are forever,
reason be damned.
It’s a long, gray season,
and it fits a gray mind.
So I rest, then I revel.
The sand from the hourglass is slipping through the cracks between my fingers.
as I track my time in increments,
regulated, rhythmic, redundant.
the weekends coming,
it’s almost winter break.
I think, as I fail to realize that I am watching time pass me by
like I'm standing on the side of the road watching the cars drive by
instead of being in one,
controlling the wheel and pressing the gas.
I catch a glimpse of an empty car parked on the side of the road,
desperately scrambling towards it,
my hair whipping around my face,
obscuring my vision,
clouding my judgement.
I try and try and try to push it away—
but it keeps coming back.
drive, drive, drive,
a voice tells me.
as I steady my shivering, shaking hands grasping the wheel.
don't,
my hair hisses.
encircling my face with the grip of a vice
tighter, and tighter, then black.
Surmounting boundaries
my special child
freely soars
toward development targets
pressing on persistently
maneuvering his wheelchair
against obstacles!
Triumphantly ascending
along hope gear with prayer-wings
my son exemplifies milestones’ possibility
midst God’s boundless grace*
defying asserted diagnosis:
“progression toward retrogression”
vanquished miraculously by trust’s altitude!
Now overcoming downfalls
cheered by loving support
he keeps on persevering
succeeding with patience
while inspiring my stewardship service
for divine faith-flight…
wondrously liberating!
2Corinthians 9:8 And God is able to make all grace abound toward you; that ye, always having all sufficiency in all things, may abound to every good work.
June 16, 2022
So many moments reflecting.
Refracting so many experiences.
The lenses of time’s, evolutionary passing
have become moments of history pressing,
pressing upon one’s memories hoard
within which all has been stored.
There has become this void !!!
Reminiscing may help to avoid.
These memories, lucid, will remain
until more adventures come again
to enliven one to never ever refrain
from moments gone, bringing pain.
There has become this void !!!
Reminiscing may help to avoid.
Memories will enlighten, until I depart
this plane. A journey towards a new start.
Touching the moments You, created for me,
brought your essence, your soul for me to see.
There has become this void !!!
Reminiscing may help to avoid.
Thirty five days, three hundred hours
spent on so many of my days, it towers
above a thousand 3 and ½ by five prints
that illustrates the stories, fabulous hints.
There has become this void !!!
Reminiscing may help to avoid.
Looking into the many adventures, the reminiscence
of my Beautiful, Daughters, Love, Family presence
that helped make up so many of my nights and days.
For this journey, these adventures to live again, one prays
There has become this void !!!
Reminiscing may help to avoid.
The last image these tired, old, brown eyes got to see
was my Daughter Gail, hand in the air waving goodbye to me
as I entered the metal body of this giant silver bird
echoing in my ears the voice and every word I heard.
There has become this void !!!
Reminiscing may help to avoid.
The curtain, soon will be coming down upon this play
so that I may then begin to experience a normal day
were thoughts of my Beautiful Daughters, Love
is not fused with all the work I will soon rise above.
B. J. “ A ” 2
July 15th 2017
I absorbed the image, beyond capture—it slipped into my soul like a summer rain,
Saturated, it became an eternal murmur, my eyes see only a zoetrope of time,
All voices sing the same refrain: "what a wonderful day," as hope unravels its rhyme.
I'm sorry to be negative—I didn't choose this role in life's play,
I'll hide the burden, that's my aim—to stop time's dance,
To freeze the frame, distract myself from the guilt pressing like a heavy stone.
I could immerse in the senses—lying roses stand near,
Just a tilt of the head and melancholy would vanish like a dream,
Let me turn back, observe, become part of this scene.
I could choose a rose, pluck it, summon the curse of thorns,
Let the thorns cut me, bleed, take the chain from my neck and be free.
In this image I'm trapped, can't you see? Caught between four corners,
I look through the lens: no way out, just a maze of shadows and lights,
An impassable border, I just need to escape, see the scene clear.
To step forward, leave behind the ugly backdrop, find the hidden set,
I throw you the camera, shout "catch!", let images crop, reveal the truth.
All that matters is for it not to be just in my mind, to become a dance of reality,
If I'm uncertain, I'll work with it—I'm still, not dead, but a searching soul,
Hell: I'll spin the wheel and be free, refraction: you no longer dictate my role.
the arc of this air rising like smoke
amidst the nival flora of hills
trails against gun-powder skies
with barrels drawn my mind pivots
in the anguish of yesteryear's pain
i cower like this sun beneath clouds
unwilling to lift the veil of eyes
and see the crimson splatter awaken
in the momentary flashes elapsing
through triggered little thoughts
that hold you in the corners of my mind
somewhat confined by my pacific soul
but still able to break free of these chains
sometimes i see you there
pointing more than fingers
and i choke on the weight of hands
pressing against my throat
as i try to swallow down these tears
sometimes i hear your uttered rage
in the shots of darkness that echo
along the halls of lonely walls
where bullets once shattered my heart
i still see the fear in my eyes as reflections stare back
in momentary lapses of this wretched love
that left me live yet die in its hands
January 13, 2020
(aching)