Long Projection Poems
Long Projection Poems. Below are the most popular long Projection by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Projection poems by poem length and keyword.
In the dark she is waiting, 200 kilos of velvet
separating one world from the other.
It was art to her, she was under no pretence,
she was an instrument, and she made the other instruments merge in a delicious unprecedented harmony.
A poet, a warrior, a lover, a sinner. She has tasted the divine and the melodramatic, to capture moments, photographs, for the use of summoning emotion and reality.
She had been hurt and she had hurt, she had walked towards hell and ran away from heaven. Beginning as a muse and then enslaving the musicians one by one with her whispy and sultry tones.
An electric keyboard breaks the mumbling, vibrato, a pause, a cheer. The drape rises and she peers from the darkness, masked by shadow to the floodlit mass in front.
The drums are brushed gently as the crowd softens to the figure emerging from the dark. Not knowing if they were permitted to break the spell or join it, the crowd pay their respect with silence.
You can almost see the phantoms she has witnessed being beckoned into her. Short linear smoky essences, touching her then being pulled inside. She saunters slowly towards the mic, eyes closed, and with both hands it becomes a sceptre. This will be a heartfelt song again.
She inhales, her belly fills, and she breathes life into the mic. Her tones slice through the thick air, soft yet with such projection and feel. The crowd can not contain themselves and let out a cheer as their eyes fill. She masterfully picks up her bass, as if resurrecting a lost love, and it sings for her.
Her hair is gone now, most of the crowd know why and they want to cry. But she holds them, captivated, and hypnotises a smile into them. They sway to her, some hold their chests as if covering some hole for fear of their hearts falling out.
This will be the last time we will feel her grace. But she will be summoned herself. The band know this. She sits, the treatment has taken it out of her. But her voice never falters. That chair will be kept alongside the drummer that loved her. Her bass will be his kryptonite. But he will keep it close anyway.
The curtain will not fall tonight, it shall remain at half mast. She will bow and we will fall at her mercy one last time. In homage, and respect. She will leave but she will never be forgot. She has trained herself into them, and she will always be singing.
I don’t think I have ever written another poem of such emotional intensity! I was bedridden for almost four months. It was at such a desperate moment that I thought of scribbling down my feelings of despair and I found words coming out like a sudden spurt! It was a new awakening! I wrote nearly 34 poems in a period of nearly two and a half months, all in bed which I included in my first collection entitled BEATS. I still believe it was something providential...! Never had I written a single poem before!!
Left alone in a dull and dreary mood,
With none to lean on and look for,
I tethered my soul to sordid gloom,
And chained my fancy, never letting it soar.
Dull were the days and sore were the nights,
Time slouched on in mechanical beats.
Mind devoid of all buoyant thoughts,
Senses shut to every cheery throb of life,
I lay awake, staring on the ceiling above,
My eyes, so lost in a fixed stare,
Never a smile lighted up my stony face,
Nor a gleam of hope brightened up my brain.
Inertia crept over from head to foot.
I had long lost my zest for life,
With life saps drained out like an empty well,
I felt nothing but the heat of scorching drought.
Nothing could move my grief laden soul,
None could lift the weight off my back,
Embers of fire sparked from the anvil of my heart,
Heaves of sighs escaped from parched mouth,
I wriggled and writhed in unspeakable pain,
My spirits sank deeper into a slithery marsh,
I saw around only a thick pall of gloom,
Or was it a projection of my own self?
Anguish gnawed my nerves and sinews,
Flames of pain danced within my spine,
I felt my head so heavy and beginning to reel,
And the heavy weight of lead all around my neck.
I felt being pushed down to abysmal depths,
And the octopus tightening its tentacles all around
Who on earth will set me free?
What on earth can lift me up?
With thundering force, the question shook my weary self.
I sprang to my feet and broke loose my chains,
I found I was but in self – exile,
A captive entrapped within boundless space.
I saw the door opening to infinite lengths,
And the arched horizon looming larger than life,
I spread my wings and propelled up,
And darted through the clouds to distant shores,
Never to come down, where I thought I could dwell forever.
Let's be as clear as zeroism
could notnot ever eternally become,
to settle for Einstein's Theory of 4D Relativity,
which RightBrain easily transliterates
as complexly square-root systemic
geometric-biometric networked
fractal square nurturing organic regenerative
ecosystemic cooperative synergy,
reverse-temporal hierarchy of empowerment
as cause-effectively gifting grace forward,
more matriarchally associated,
as patriarchal structures favor power top-heavy structures.
Which ecologically feels very much like not being able to uncover your LeftBrain
notnot YangForce EgoCenter
for lack of RightBrain EarthTribe-listening
with equivalent YinSquared EcoConscious BiCameral Balancing Health
as Wealth (0)-sum Theorem of ReGenerativity,
trans-millennially reweaving as we cooperatively research
and speak across more differentiated paradigms.
I'm just as peace
truth as beauty
sayin'
'cause my proportion and rhythm RightBrain
intuitive truster/mistruster
is trying to draw this dynamic ecologically full-octave ReSonantly Hued sight-sound-smell-taste-feel EcoConsciousness Conjecture,
of ergodic co-arising nondual appositional verbs
of time's reweaving,
decomposing Yang-Yintegral Tao
unwinding PostMillennial PolyPathic Zeroism.
Reiteratively speaking, notnot double-binding
WinWin as regeneratively fractal-seasonal
global climate and landscape LeftBrain ecopolitical
as also RightBrain ecological health insurance,
avoiding further development of Cognitive-Affective Dissonance Theorems
in favor of BiCameral Polypathic EnthyMematic Communication Conjectures
on behalf of,
as in advocating,
as in Occupying,
as in becoming hybrids of Western messiahs and Eastern bodhisattvas
ReGenerative Climate Healthy-Wealthy EcoPolitical Sciences
and other EcoTherapeutic Sacred Artists
interested in ecological climates,
without as within,
above as below
interdependent as empty,
light as dualdark,
(0)Mega Point as BlackHole (0)Riginal Projection
of EarthTribe's sacred-natural Promise,
co-arising integrative potentials.
Relative, of course,
but also ReGenerative-(0)-Sum Positive
with DeGenerative-DualDark BiLateral not-future/not-yet-past Empty (0) Negative
RightBrain Paranoia about
Trees of Life
require Root Systems of Decomposing-ReGenerating SpaceTime Matters.
Your love for me was read in your eyes,
But was it not merely my reflection, gazing within myself?
The symphony of your gaze, a labyrinth of intertwined illusions and realities,
A game of shadows and lights where our hearts met in silence.
The mirror of light deepened in your irises, an unfinished poem,
Folded in the blood of time, flowing through the veins of the soul,
Each sparkle, a lost star in the constellation of the unknown,
Your gaze, an enigma, a portal to the abyss of my desires.
In the flow of consciousness, I find myself dancing on the edge of this dream,
Where the boundaries of reality dissolve into an infinite ocean,
Looking into your eyes, I believed I saw your love,
But I lost myself in my own reflection, a specter of unspoken words.
Your love, a wave that flooded my soul,
But could this wave be just the shadow of a deep internal cry,
Could that emotion be real or merely a projection of my untamed desires?
In your eyes, I sought an eternal truth, but found only my reflection,
A distorted image of what I wished to be.
Under the chiaroscuro light of the stars, I always wonder,
If your love was ever mine or just an echo,
An ancient song resonating from the depths of my being,
Your gaze, a lantern in the night, guiding my steps toward the unknown.
I stood on the edge of the chasm between dream and reality,
Where illusions merge with the tangible world,
Seeking answers in the depths of your eyes,
But what I found was merely my own reflection, an unfinished puzzle.
I looked at you as a map of all my hidden secrets,
Each smile, a direction toward my heart,
But in this labyrinth of emotions, I lost myself,
Always returning to the starting point, to my own self.
I turn my gaze to the starry sky, seeking solace,
But the answers never come from outside,
In your eyes, I saw a universe, but it was merely my reflection,
My gaze, deepened in the mystery of my own existence.
And thus, shrouded in the mist of melancholy,
I realize that your love was never yours,
But just a part of me, reflected in the depths of your eyes,
A beautiful dream, a fantasy in which I chose to lose myself,
Flying among the stars, searching without finding,
Always at crossroads, always returning to oneself.
good morning
good night
i walked the shadows of hidden meadows until there was a sign to the right,
you were bathing in the light, then it all fell flat
good morning
good night
ride along and sing a song with vague attempts of interpretation,
a transatlantic whirlpool of twisting and turning emotion,
good morning
good night
i'm sorry that karma took a small hit,
but it wasn't my intention
good morning
good night
perhaps this connection is a singularly demented projection upon failing stars
whose shine still glitter but with shadows of fear
good morning
good night
smiling involuntarily is a beautiful thing I'm sure,
especially at matters of such insignificance,
good morning
good night
one strides a rhythmic cadence as the little one jaunts with such carefree joy
and big picture indifference
good morning
good night
it's memory prevention week so I'm setting traps to bring the backhanded troll
to justice, it's a pretty penny to forgive and forget, my inheritance a bitter
serenity absorbing youthful anxiety
good morning
good night
stars cluster unaware of our constant stare, some have the look of shame,
masking hatred, they're twinkling smiling faces protecting the ones to blame
good morning
good night
nothing takes aim at the gaps and empty spaces that go on and on, and then
even after that they go beyond, not so much as a truth or dare of importance,
more or less an allowance, an embrace
good morning
good night
of course there's courage but it's arrogance that gets the job done, with a split
personality the lion awaits a cautious blend
good morning
goodnight
the truth of the matter preys pretend and colors splatter in a failed attempt to
matter, one way is the same all day, baring stops an road blocks along the way
good morning
good night
the hours played sleepless depravation, no breeze, no oscillation, a simple man I
am not, from where I've come a curious lot
good morning
good night
after all has been said and nothing has been done, there is the missing, and the
knowledge and the truth, but in the end we'll start over again
good morning
good night
Form:
though thine wife gladly
(and long time ago)
verily swept passed
her final child bearing year
this house broken husband
genuinely hankers to father
(yes sire re:to set sea men
"NOT FAKE," nor NONGMO
free and reduced)
and longingly participate
in parenthood again
donning baby proof couture wear
analogous (as aye imagine dragons
fire breathing worth tolerating),
those who fervently veer
yearning to undergo
sex reassignment surgery (SRS)
with unintentional surgeon's delicate tear
aye thru thoroughly anesthetized flesh,
(especially genitals under going
transformational substantial removal
via said - bravely bite ting the bullet -
sharp pinching shear)
contemplating, formulating, issuing
personal specifications to cutting crew
validating, testifying recapping re: questing
genitals do not reappear
since significant surgery purport, some hetero
sexual person might coon sitter *****
yet no doubt a homosexual
and/or lesbian would ap pear
to understand completely if he/she
didst unwittingly accidentally overhear
confidential conversation,
yet warmly reassured the speaker,
they did not intend to get near
enough to glean enough information
that said transexual could reduce wardrobe
with women and/or menswear
and this once distraught,
distressed, and distributed
without willingness unfairly
fated to live stemmed,
undoubtedly wrought from sexual misalignment,
would post surgery
hover off the ground and modestly
swagger off into the sunset
(this scenario projection strictly of mine)
anyway he/she could map out in one direction
destiny describing,
an upswinging trajectory linear
once future freed where gender now nsync
???????
with physical gonadal accouterment
unconcerned if urge arises
to swivel derriere with flare.
-------------------------------------
duyeer93
st
america
online
dot
com
matthew scott
highland manor apartments
schwenksville, pennsylvania
19473
USA
Religious,
and perhaps all pedagogical traditions,
are variations on a creation story theme,
both rooted in, and feeding on, multicultural evidence
of faith in polyculturally expanding
mental-crown/physical-root
therapeutic resonant wealth/resilient health-integrity
Fruit of Holy Spirit/Nature co-arising love/life outcomes,
actively loving trusted truths
with peak experienced sacred beauty,
and or diverse
more monotheistic Truth v polytheistic Beauty
fundamentally monoculturing,
monopolistic,
colonizing
abusive and neglectful
demonically dispirited
dissociative ideation,
irreligious actively distrusting trauma,
unnatural,
dis-organically disorganizing
rabidly anti-womanist
homophobic
racist
and anti-spiritual idolatries.
Metaphysics,
religious and scientific and aesthetically woven creation stories,
are bicamerally reconnecting
mindful trust and sacred body beauty
of humane EarthMother
indigenously polytheistic faith
in FatherSun+EarthMother
prime enlightening+empowering
ego/ecosystemic
inhaling/exhaling
informing/exflowing
positive wealth/health co-relationship.
Faith evolves an external landscape cultural projection
of an internal co-empathic landscape
empowering neurosystemic inclusivity
and economically ecological
re-connecting
co-arising peak inter-religioning gratitude,
and degenerative dissonance therefrom.
Gratitude
is a Basic Trust
aptic-empathic response
formed through the experiential praxis of agapic love,
tribal integrity,
RNA/DNA synergy;
the Holy holistic gestalt
of becoming ReGenerate Issue-Identity Awareness;
original intent of deeply enlightened co-gravity's bicameral listening
for healthy WinWin self-identity nutritional opportunities
with diminishing LoseLose risks through decomposition of WinLose networks,
internal and external.
Sociopathology:
My problem is that I am not the center of my universe.
Sociotherapy:
My solution is to perma-multi culturally reintegrate
within our shared universal (0)-soul center,
each moment,
each thought within time,
each relationship between times,
each resonantly resolving development
of EarthTribe's ecologically unfolding time.
I am house shopping
with the required Buyer's Agent,
also a fairly tolerant friend of mine.
She likes to drive
although not gifted with any sense of direction,
until we hurriedly arrive,
then she beelines into the ubiquitously requisite lock box
as if by smell.
Meanwhile
I visit current occupants,
the trees first and foremost,
then bushes
flowers,
occasionally, to my grateful surprise,
an entire garden,
or even just one vegetable,
a tomato plant,
a humble gang of shaded herbs.
I ask them how it is here
in their home.
I like to taste their soil
for signs of pregnancy
but who knows what contaminants
might fester here.
And my real estate agent,
although a friend,
finds it unseemly
for me to put my mouth around
what I probably won't buy.
She, too soon,
coaxes me away from my greet and meets
with shade-givers
and grasses,
the edible and ornamental neighbors
of the "big house,"
to explore the darkness of plumbing
and electrical systems,
attics and basements,
kitchens and bathrooms...
Her list of boring things to look at
and too often smell
in a bad way
feels endless
in comparison to too brief introductions
outside,
speaking with,
listening for,
hoping and faithing and loving with
any signs of life
among these large majority of property historians,
co-investors,
cooperative care-givers and receivers.
Eventually,
it becomes our time to aimlessly wander around
in search of yet another lock box
on our life For Sale list.
I say goodbye to the trees
and shrubs,
my occasional edible
and more popular ornamental hosts,
far too soon
to ever learn
if they would choose me
or not
to become with them.
I feel like I do
on election nights
when winners and losers are announced
by statistical projection
before votes are actually counted
from all us co-investors;
and long before registered voters
have listened to trees
still standing in our yards,
on our farms,
in our fertile forests,
to learn their quieter discernment
of which candidates produce more healthy cooperative outcomes
and which more toxic competitions
within these diversities
of Earth's wealthy nature.
Damaged Goods
Damaged goods describe both the external and internal features.
After all, external damaged goods refer to those features because the internal features are still whole, functional, useful… Hey, many people delight in getting such a great deal. It works on the inside and that's what counts and is relevant.
Who cares about a ding, wrinkle, crinkle, buckle, etc? It's cosmetic. So far, these references are about things. Misfit toys.
When that phrase describes our internal features, it makes me cringe inside… it sets off a cycle of so much doubt and fear…morphing into self-loathing…
Words can be razor sharp and cut deeply, most of the time onlookers can see the damage. They can choose to help, ignore, or cut some more.
What about the slow agonizing death from a thousand shallow cuts? The recipient of those below the surface cuts, often ignored, falsely justified, are likely to segue into self-inflicted injuries. The internal bleeding are unnoticed or invisible to onlookers, and sometimes by the recipient's self-denial.
Far too many succumb to the external and self-inflicted internal cuts and scrutiny.
What can the external judgmental people do? For God's sake, stop judging others. Look in the damn mirror, if you're going to judge others, first start with yourself.
What can the internal judgmental people do? Look in the mirror and truly see the wonderful person that you are. Everyone has flaws, it's what makes us human.
We're not defined by our past mistakes and choices. Our lives are defined by the choices we make now based on our lessons learned and our desire for change.
Above all, bestow yourself with compassion. It's rare for a person with this level of pain, and maybe shame, to dole it out onto others. No, they'll give grace and compassion to others in the same circumstance, and yet deny them for themselves.
In my pipedream, I envision a world void of external and internal judgement, a world where the phrase damaged goods is banned and forgotten.
First, I must look in the mirror... and recognize what I own... and need to change
Sherry Barton
February 22, 2025
Mild dystopian cracks open
cobwebbed laden figurative door
to my super charged
subconscious shrouded self -
portal carelessly left ajar
steeped in dark shadows,
wherein spooky monsters creep
along edge of night,
outer limits of twilight zone
serve as makeshift restraining: bar
21st century alchemist busily massages
a fictional holographic projection
to contemplate car
re: ying the terrestrial firmament
into spasms of expiration, which whim far
fetched since the following conjecture
contrived within overactive imagination
of yours truly - such peculiar notions par
for the course sans striving
to become adroit
teasing out ethereal material
analogous to embrace
plasma up holding star
reed cosmic funereal invocation
loosing prognostication silencing war.
So without further ado
I offer to continue
embellishing literary above
iterated missive anew
for ye to ponder and brew
from a mister wordsmith
comprising wife as counterpart
complimenting beastie boy
aptly named duo motley crue,
whereat dwells within complex edifice
housing he who begat
offspring numbered uno and deux,
whereby this husbandly spouse i.e me
resembles a cross eyed
cryptogram solver
geeky long haired pencil necked geek
artificially inseminated yik yak
with fertilized egg of emu
unbeknownst to many edified readers
might consider myself brain cells few
explainable from being
chomped on by a carnivorous oldish gnu,
nevertheless unaffecting ability
to sire female progeny
re: guarding biological process
concerning human reproduction
viz ova linkedin with seminal glue
swimming swiftly via viscous hue
biological processes extant
from equator far north
to Inuit housed in igloo
nonetheless, genetic heritage
comprised predominantly of Jew
genealogy heritage indeed
Ask Jeeves, cuz he knew
with one very late Uncle Lou
who suffered mad cow disease,
and considered hims
a milch cow and frequently did moo
calf full when bovine brand new
which found me to rue
what comprises reality to be true
that all humans originated
from the primate zoo.