Long Profiles Poems
Long Profiles Poems. Below are the most popular long Profiles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Profiles poems by poem length and keyword.
The Stained Glass of the Other Realm
On the extremely blue sky float the heavy orange globes,
through their transparency the stained glass shows maps of the unusual realm,
the almighty slowness walks us on the vast harmonious racetrack,
the explosion of sun washes our aprons thrown scattered over extinguish.
Between the stunning state of event and the light that breaks fragile
our echoes recompose themselves in air like eternal birds,
the locals panic seeing the distant gray silhouettes
that grow vertically four hundred meters like sheet metal glaciers.
The birds with bird profiles don't float but stand frozen above,
wings tightly pressed cut from thick vertical sheet metal plates,
above their crowns moves a whirl of feathers that doesn't fall,
the speed of their freezing surpasses the desperate rush of pigeons.
They swallow the flock without budging from their glacier of air,
since they never look us in the eyes they might ignore us always,
the orange globes through which we see the other transparent realm
refresh us with explosions of sun that wash the heavy aprons.
In the rest of time nature is enchanting and full of frozen,
the harmonious racetrack floats through the almighty living slowness,
the stained glass shows maps of the world where birds stand vertical motionless,
the stunning event is a fragile luminosity that never goes out.
With a low, calming voice on the other line you spoke
My growing interest & curiosity with you finally broke
The plane lands & I'm walking towards you without the foggiest clue
Of who you are & how I was gonna handle you
Our old times recorded in a bottle I quietly miss
Composing a chat•box message & tossing it into the great blue abyss
Your consistent chat•box presence put me on a good high alert
For years & years back & forth via chat•boxes we'd subtly flirt
The more involved in my life you were, the more I walk away from the synthetic vibes & energies that cause me the pain every day
I can't think of a time where we ceased to exist
But growing up I can think of a lot of each other's lives that we've missed
Whatever social media we had, you were always there
Sometimes through your profiles I would just sit & stare
Figuring out the Man of Mystery I had always knew
Watching each other via pixelated screens as we grew
A vast great distance - but really always there
Watching through rose-colored glasses our hearts by ex's get hurt & tear
I feel like when we chatted, & when we were free
Our chat•boxes were just privately pixelated diaries
I wonder what finally gave you the courage to ask
But when you brought me a red rose - I Immediately knew my task
And although it really didn't go our way
I'd do it all over again & again & again today
So like I've said before - I've never fallen or been "in love"
'Cause I haven't found someone worthy who'll meet me far in between & above
If I had to sit and really think about the possible few
The only person worthy for a spot in my life - would've been you
I have cared & loved both - to an extent
However; no one's ever gotten as dangerously close as you went...
I have met a lot of people in my life
some are profiles on the internet
others are names in books,
others are pictures on television
others live in paintings
some I read in obituaries they were a picture in a magazine
some were names mentioned by papa in the stories
others we were born in the same house
others we grew in the same house
others came with that house
some we live within the same neighborhood
and others live on the street
They always remind me to buy them tea
some we went to the same school
some I met at work
these are too many people to remember
yet I hear there are another 7 billion
who can make other people
they all live the same story
all wake up, all sleep
like the same things
fighting the same wars
dying the same deaths
by this measure
as the camel driver told Santiago
Our life stories and the history of the world
are all written on the same sand
Where a series of
messages fly across
profiles inflated
in balloons of
hot air.
Where a model with doctored skin
sells better cells to cover your acne,
where people 'blackout' Tuesday
and appropriate taking a knee.
Where truth is a golden ticket, impossible to find,
where 'likes' replace juries, and we forget to #bekind.
Where stories are created at the push of a key,
replacing where dreams and drafting used to be.
Where a voice called Alexa can order, suggest and locate,
but also listen and through silent algorithms manipulate.
Where faceless Gemini can offer names for your new-born,
an ironic namesake, a duplicitous invader on your own front lawn.
And most of the time
those ongoing anonymous
messages simply
ghost
He was a one who liked the bums, who filled the blanks in
Others puns.' He took the literary litrally..And lauded all the
royals most librally' he was into his cottaging i beleive?
He kept some tricks, in his long old sleeves! He shook his
Spear at many a lad..And the upper crust he made real
Glad, he'd trowl on praise like no one else, leaving Anne truly
On the shelf.) A thespian he trod some boards' old willies
Wiles oft had them floored' an actor like so many others!
Lauded and praised he has yet; his lovers.' Theres a solid line
Of similar rakes wilfred bramble of the latter dates' bill
cosby, puff the daddy to' and then there was the wacko
Who sang of it blue (of men and mirrors) it gets me thinking?
Of richards and parnes and glitter and even sir saville stinking' of
liberace and even
da'vinchi.' With machinations contravening convention' opening this subject thats
My intention! (anthony kidman?) but not Jon Wedger..' Now
We have a man of a differentt feather.' Yet we never really hear
Of him!! Still alive but his profiles dimmed.? Mel Gibson
Also an honest agent' yet vilified in many pages, jim calviezel i rate him well 'and sound of freedom' what happened pray tell? Oh yes I remember!! An old plan-demic came, and couple of wars.)
And threats to life..Have we been there before? They let
The days accumulate; the decades form, to cover the cake
Maybe we'll sleep? ( yet not to dream?) While a nightmare
Continues along with humanitys muted screams!
Graceful like the morning birth, sunshine smiles
lifting doubts, healing every last heartbreak
bringing light, gentling so not to forsake
hope calms the weary soul as love beguiles
silencing grief, raining hope through exiles
prayers erase all the darkest trials
Graceful like the morning….
Pretty peace pours through the lovely profiles
Leaving wonders untold - the soul’s keepsake
Reflecting notes, pleasant songs we partake
In heaven’s realm, there are striking lifestyles
Graceful like the morning….
Rousing Rondine Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Jeff Kyser
November 8, 2022
The land that lies
Happy dancer, singing songs,
Knowing that the end will come;
But which is the end and which new beginnings?
Waiting on the end of the beginning, is this the beginning?
This all started a long, long time ago,
When I thought I was winning, but now I know.
Remove the light from around her;
It has no use in being my magnet.
Turn the music off, for I am empty
And she could only ever be tragic.
Dancing alone at the end of the night,
Crying in the morning as I lie.
She is only looking lost,
Whilst I am truly falling.
She has never even seen me,
She has not heard me calling.
She has never truly been searched for,
For I have no power to remove my walls.
Sad boy blues with water eyes,
Stares at happy dancer with such despise.
His dead eyes reveal no fury;
The hate is hidden, His jealousy forbidden,
But never silent, truly.
Maiden calling, watches them both and laughs.
She lives in her bubble head as she lies her way to bed
And all that she knows could be contained in a small paper bag.
Her mind could be printed onto the tiniest part of a pinhead,
If only she could remember to not forget;
Maybe she could be more than the worthless words never said.
These are the people at the bottom of the barrel.
Three for the price of none.
Take them and all those singing without knowing of Axl.
Take this rose to free my hands for the gun.
All these people seen through drunken eyes,
Bloodshot eyes see fools in disguise.
All that is left in this pit at night,
Is calling cards and fake profiles,
Lists of idiots with studied lies.
Unknown numbers for adulterous wives
And I am so tired…
I am so very tired.
So tired of people with crocodile cries in the night,
Over people who do not even matter,
So why do I lie?
Suicide is not a surprise when the truth is seen at last.
I have lived in your land of lies
And still you wonder why there is no turning back?
Once choice is made, love is no longer your slave,
For the beast has been released and is free.
Free to leave you behind, free to fly,
Free to find a place to hide
And when I am found there is no more left to say.
What more needs to be said to someone who walked away?
(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Proper Usage of Space
----------------------------
The Romans primarily used boxwood
(buxus) to make woodwind instruments
like the tibia (a double-reed pipe)
But the Amitheaters were often
The term for using shrubs, hedges,
and trees to create a theater or
amphitheater structure in
a landscape is a sylvan theater
The Hawthorn Tree were used.
The hawthorn Tree or
(Crataegus monogyna)
could be found along streams,
pastures, forest edges,
and urban streets..........
Italian Stone Pine (Pinus pinea)
and the Mediterranean Cypress
(Cupressus sempervirens)
The soaring, dramatic
profiles of specific
conifers are universally
recognized for
framing ancient ruin
During the Roman Empire,
the staging of amphitheater events
—such as gladiatorial hunts
(venationes) or
mythological reenactments—
frequently required
temporary landscaping
-------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------
--------------Fig, Elm, Pear, and Olive Trees--------------------
-------------- For hundreds of years, the dirt and debris inside
the arches and upper tiers of the Colosseum sprouted dense
orchards and gardens. Local citizens even paid fees to graze
sheep and harvest hay directly from the structural ruins. -------
----------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------------
The Colosseum.------------
Who says a tree is bent, not straight, kinked?
For there are no straight lines in nature.
A line is a human abstraction, a connection between points.
Look around, all of nature is curves, coils, gnarls and bumps.
It's true that some spikes and spines are almost straight,
and beams of light are true,
but light has waves within
and the profiles of spines are wavy too.
All the lines you see in the view about you
are human-made structures,
with dead straight lines.
Most walls, roofs, bridges, buildings
are made plumb level and aligned upright,
by wayward designers, hell-bent on lines.
I am Sphinx Stone, Sun stationed statue
silent sculptured synoptic, not marble or
granite nor black tourmaline or crystal
timelines cutting cross my magnetic
magenta miracle to dissipate in dry
desert winds, my gaze unmoved
as quizzing quantum queens swirl
around a Blue Planet ascending
Sphinx Stone gathering goddess’ goodness
whilst slippery Sophi-el sprinkle sparkle
Nile evaporations down Sumerian
phantom phœnix photons
here I stare broken-nosed across vast
expansions exiting or entering dual
portal claws hot rooted into Violet Flames
of Mother Earth belying my etheric origins
Did Leo descend from helium heavens
painstakingly perfect from His tumultuous
gut with goblets of gold, goblins gyrating ?
ask you may North African secrets slither
no soiled sounds to simmer in sandy
storms or scarlet sunsets spreading
spells, silence my singular speech to
skulls of pharaohs or peasant alike
I am Sphinx Stone, my silhouette
signposted in simple or significant sigils
Saturn’s starlit sighs bypass not my
knowing aloof yet vacant stare which
agelessly gather stories of aeons
imprinting dreams of God into manifest
luminosity becoming your words on lion
bones or this ephemeral page
Sphinx Stone I see sabian riddled profiles
making prolific progress patterns filled
with steely grit, come now release
agitated ages of bygone bitters to
prick or paddle dimensions where
appled anemones sing my stare into song to
swallow swiftly sweetly slivers of sanctities
I remain Sphinx Stone stable
unsullied forevermore