Long Rasping Poems
Long Rasping Poems. Below are the most popular long Rasping by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rasping poems by poem length and keyword.
Once upon a time
Distant memories
Dawning of morning crystals
Glittering reminder of starlight tears
In sunbeam's brilliance
Lighting jewels shine
Songbirds break into chorus
The smallest fragment of a breeze alerts
The senses whistling
Melodies explode
Through the branches leaves lament
Observing nature's space hold in colors
Fruit of tenderness
Mellow your sunshine
Blossoms love supreme touching
Fingers raise deep golden feelings yearning
Addresses one's heart
Lonely dust remains
Breathing breathless light explores
In darkness echoes bounce off deep caverns
Cold howling shivers
Devouring warm blood
Into the bones whistling ice
Winds voice of the lost souls' eyes turn bright green
As the spirit leaves
Dark moldy shadows
Light of moon sources cravings
Beauties kiss eclipses rose bleeds scarlet
Immortal heartbeats
Life stops ticking bang
Seduced black velvet pleasure
Sinking fangs into the succumbing heart
Drum beats slow echo
Fallen unchained truths
Slithering lizards crawling
Underneath the skin a beastly vision
Storm roars through timbers
Translucent blood slime
Flowing toxic energy
Mutating hollers screech into wolf moon
Scalding hot flames breathe
When red embers burn
Into the lustful ashes
Born inside scarred remains breathing wounds
An itch that scratches
Onto the mindset
Greenish cornea expands
Opening curtains in a split second
Haunting prey on light
Affliction of need
Rasping rattle in the throat
Death yowls airless scream without sun visions
A Collaborated Poem with Liam McDaid and Angeline Lim
Another reminiscence of West Texas. There have been many times in my life when I have felt very much like...
Tumbleweeds,
Lonely searching souls
Adrift on ever-shifting sandy seas,
Roll blindly by.
Spindly, prickly fingers
Rasping, grasping,
Scraping, scratching,
Trailing skeletal ribbons
Behind them in their wake,
Ephemeral reminders
Of their sad, brief passing
And their desperate,
Vain attempt
To reconnect with earth,
And life,
And each other.
In a brutal landscape of arid desolation,
Under a relentless and unforgiving sun,
Tumbleweeds,
Unwilling vagabonds composed, perhaps,
Of memories of where they've been,
Tumble onward,
Forever impelled by an also searching,
And equally lonely,
But coldly impartial desert breeze.
So it turns out we were cooked on slow burner until now and
the new mutant catches us by fire -- doctors must be going
through catechism drill, we 're bred to their natural trust.
Ah venomous serpent, wretch you, we shall one day build a
monument for the millions you swallowed up with words, lost to a
lunatic virus, the demon of our day that swung us to disaster, gone
is the splendor of healthy living, farewell, farewell. We must throw ourselves
a thousand shades of light, a mantle stiff with eagle talons that sink in the skin
of the innocent. The bloodstain laurels of a stalemate until the vaccine works it magic and the hour comes rasping to our hopes, not the temper tantrums of a mutating virus locked in its horizon. I greatly fear, regardless of the vaccine, the rising heat in its kitchen!
For the next three poems I choose "I don't know?" and "baptism" since these are old poems that I found that survived the burnings. I no longer write like this, but the last of the three is more my slant towards Robert Creeley.
untitled
A tropical sunset, wallpapered, eleven by fourteen,
Stares at my daily awakenings;
The sun, like a sleepless eye on the verge of closing
Can never blink,
But once cried a salty foreground sea.
Beyond the wall, deep in the horizon,
Hemidemisemiquaver rain, in four/four time,
Fills potholes with puddles,
And not knowing when to stop,
Makes lakes for romantic rowboating couples.
But in the dark night, frogs grate,
Sounding like a carpenter
Rasping an almost finished frame
That will border contorted perceptibilities
Or images in placid pastel.
Form:
two mice
in my room
at night
gnawing as
if a clock
one from my
bed to the
left and the
other to
the right
they exude the
illusion of time
getting past
every trap and
so their rasping
dentures
on wood
one the second
the other the
minute hand
and so they carry
on carrying on all
hours of the night
as if they want me
to once again set
the traps for the
exact reason of
being to be able
to smell and maybe
take the chance to
taste peanut butter
other then wooden
floor boards or
boring wine corks
that surely have
corked by now
yet now the day
and a day of
silence for
storing
their energy they
will nightmarishly
keep me awake
tonight as only
they see as no
light so their
stirring life
begins and
again the
gnawing
this ain't no
metephore
because my
wife i met her for
a reason
and these
mice are
just
teething
but teasing
but they
should've
listened to
the crickets
before eating
them because
that'll be the
day before i
cry but that'll
be the day
before
i die
Form:
Hope Committed Suicide (indebted for the expression to Lyric Man)
She jumped from formidable heights of evaporated elevation
All beacons of guidance vanished shine had varnished defeat
Dried parched tears scorched desiccated rasping lonely vapour
An overpass too far a tower too high a case too deep of closure
The draw bridge suspended the heaving weights festooned
Floodgates’ mooring unlocked her turnstile spinning reason
The parachute of resilient doubt reopened
The bungee merely scraped Pandora’s box
The trampoline projected springs into the sky
Hope committed suicide and failed in miserable stark persuasion
a bouncing ball against a wall
conkers bashed as Autumn falls
the swish of a skipping rope:
milk bottles clinking in a crate
grate of chalk upon the slate
the tinkle of five-stones on a roll:
warning moan of an air raid
drone of bombers overhead
the whispers of prayers said:
rattle of the tin-can tommy
rasping squeak of a swing
the bus stop bell request ring:
voices chanting time-tables
snap of a teacher cane
the double hoot of the fast steam train:
raucous yell of the paper-seller
the release of the works hooter
exhaust noise from my Lambretta scooter:
peals of a Sunday morn bell
the passing funeral ....tolling,
....a death nell
It was hot and arid in the desert
No wind, no breeze, not a breath
And Pedro and Luis were lost
And so very close to death.
As they crawled across the sand
As though trapped in still air
The smell of bacon frying
Seemed to hang around them there.
Slightly ahead of his mate
Pedro crested a dune to see
Loads of Bacon Butties
Hanging on a bacon buttie tree.
Turning painfully around
He said through rasping breath
The Good Lord, he said, has
Saved us from almost certain death
Crawling painfully forward
Eager for a life saving taste,
Yards away from safety when
All his effort went to waste.
A machine gun opened fire
Sending him close to his death.
He tried to warn his friend
With his very last breath:
Luis crawl away from here,
Crawl away man, in a rush,
Eese not a bacon buttie tree
Eese a deadly Ham Bush!!!!!!!
The Tragic Story of Rosamund Clifford
By some urge to learn more, beckoned,
I read up the life of Henry the Second.
With Thomas Becket he picked a bone.
This well known fact I'll leave alone.
Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine
became his wife and brought much gain,
but in one matter not enough.
The lack was relieved by a piece of fluff.
In charm and beauty sans pareille
was Rosamund, a bloom in May.
Lest her appearance eyebrows raise
he hid his love in a secret maze,
Or so he thought but his wife got wind
that he and someone else had sinned.
Thus it was that the wily queen
found her way to the hideaway scene.
"By dagger or poison, take your choice,"
said the queen with rasping voice.
No true event but a pure invention
was this encounter, let me mention.
To Hereford this rose they sent
there in a convent to repent.
Still young and fair, alas she died.
For shame once more, she had to hide.
Far from any royal palace
in stone were written words of malice:
"In life her scent was sweet to smell,
but not so now, the truth to tell."
Hic jacet in tumba Rosamundi non Rosamunda, non redolet sed olet, quae redolere solet.
Deep in a wood both dark and dreary,
I stumbled on til beyond weary,
Seeking the path that brought me in,
Finding it not my hope grew thin.
When before me burst into sight,
A mystery in the fading light,
Arising from the forest floor,
Out of place even more,
Than the silence and the still,
Though summer held I felt a chill,
For a heartbeat chimed a bell,
Reckoning what I could not tell.
And there before my very eyes,
A flighted staircase did arise,
Reaching full through the canopy,
It’s finality I could not see.
Through leafy detritus I drew near,
Faltering steps betrayed my fear,
The stair before me beckoned my tread,
Consumed was I by an eerie dread,
And stood my ground with silent scream,
And begged remission from this dream,
Cast away in in this woodland fey,
With dark of night overtaking day.
Turning aside and stumbling apart,
Desperate to escape with pounding heart,
Through branches and brambles grasping,
The breath in my throat wracking and rasping.
Then through a denser thicket I burst,
Only to see what couldn’t be worse,
There before me stood the stairs,
My lips mumbled near forgotten prayers,
For descending from accursed height,
Came a nightmare’s gibbering fright,
With eyeless void to steal one’s soul,
Trod closer yet closer this demon ghoul.
Turning I ran inspired by my terror,
Blindly I fled and such was my error,
Again I fell then getting up to see
The stairway again in front of me.