Long Razor Poems
Long Razor Poems. Below are the most popular long Razor by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Razor poems by poem length and keyword.
"Well"
Well,
I’m way too romantic
aren’t I?
Tattoo’d poetry
on a tongue
not
speaking
on a body of work
spent unspent
love let loose
on a deep
French Kiss
tatoo'd poetry
on a tongue
locked in
your everything
diving deep 6
into you
like Persephone
underground
I’d rather be a carwreck
driven 100 mph or more
slammed up against your wall
with purile certainty
fingers entwined
the plot curled, legs twisting
fingers deep
in ink
Well, bursting
I’m deep
like deep Red bells tolling
out there
in that walk on water
ocean of yours
sharks circling
I ride
their sandpaper backs
holding tight onto their quartz fins
their razor sharp teeth
cutting up all my pages
in the in-between
emerged in everything
the losses over
every winning win
the black and white
Orcas circling grin
wolves like words
come to save me
and I am yours
eventually, heaven ridden
Well,
I’m deep
6 ft in
another
4 and 20
blackbirds
risen
Candide Diderot. ‘24
The clown juggled his feelings in front of an incredulous crowd
Life is a circus and even a fool’s manna does not fall from heaven
He had balls to impose his mask and mascara onto instant applause
Was not sure though about who was the jester of standing ovations
His delusion was the illusion of reality in preposterous meaning
An existential artist he seemed to be in retro postmodern nostalgia
Intermezzo personified with endless beginnings entombed in a grin
Cut with a razor tattooed on his skin facing an ignorant audience
True to his script he stumbled and fell short and flat of intemperate desire
Gobbled up sand mixed with elephant poo and regurgitated misplaced pride
‘I sold my soul to fake laughter but even the kids are stuck on their phones’
Past his best like a relic he assembled dust of anger and fear for the future
He had turned into a proverbial slurve a slipped metaphor of fading delight
An imposter of joyful exuberance in a tedious world that could not care less
A projection of resentment a nuisance and overdue reminder of innocence lost
He was real to himself though like a hole in a bucket draining trickles of faith
As he gathered oblivious agony and immeasurable shame and contempt
He whipped one last sphere of hope high into the canopy of sad gloom
Hoped that the contorted trapeze artist might catch his final effort to escape
She twisted dangled reached out then crushed into a net suspended in yearning
With the show over ungrateful spectators left the miserable dishonest display
The tent was locked up and the onlookers retreated into self-righteous boredom
As lions horses fleas impalement and con artists took to their cages’ containment
The clown and the acrobat slipped off the road and eloped into a promising night
17th June 2019
Leaving feels like losing you and leaving feels like lonely,
The closest thing to calm I have are nights when you're there to hold me.
Contact feels like grounding, your embrace feels like Safety.
God knows I haven't felt enough of that lately.
Leaving feels like cords severed.
Heart string and a hollow pit in my stomach,
The ache to be near you and wish that I wasn't.
So f'd up, so f'ing insane.
Every time you leave it leave imprints on my brain.
Co-dependent personality.
Thats my diagnosis,
Do you know what that means?
It means when I'm alone I feel hopeless.
I can't help that the pressure drops me to my knees.
I can't stop the intrusive thoughts that make it hard to breathe.
I'm sorry that my first solution is always su!c!de.
Because this is not a world I ever wanted to reside.
I take the meds that are supposed to fix this chemical imbalance,
Every memory I have is a trauma response and I'm aware its f'ing tragic.
I never learned how to cope with the truth,
Or how everytime I offer my body I feel used.
I am held together by this blanket of scars.
Begging someone to see them for what they are.
My ribs. My thighs. My wrist. My eyes.
Do you know how hard it is to lie?
I'm not alright.
I'll promise you forever but I want to leave today.
I want to leave right now.
I dont want to feel this way.
Because the closest thing to peace I had was with a razor to my wrist.
Enough alcohol to drown the screaming past my chapped lips.
I dont mean to dwell but did that feel nice,
It was probably the pills cause I dont know what else went down that night.
I just know that it felt warm and I felt safe knowing I'd never wake up.
Never feel that heart ache of being told to "get back up"
I know being su!c!dal is not helping my case.
But your honor, if I'm honest.
I f'ing hate this place.
I repeat cycles and hurt everyone who's close.
I push the only people who care about me away, This is not a life I would have chose.
I get it.
I promise that I do.
But when I tell you that its me.
Please don't ever think its you.
Unopposed Oxymoron
This poem is light as a heavy contradicting complement
and rhymes with no correspondence of sound sharp at
the cutting horizon’s edge of melting confusing fission
Serious like a foolish jester and in trivial necessity it wants
to be chimed in disagreement discordant harmony figure
of speech silent shapeless tallies and out into central periphery
Traditional post-modern as an anchor less mooring unbound
a planar linear Oxo cube for poetry soups soaps speechless
rhetoric it says nothing’s everything all for refutation and proof
Cut as a half witted razor blade dull as laser bred dull diamond
the oxymoron in proximal distance joins divisions idiotic
intelligence bland precision in amorphous diffused clarity
I am nothing but and everything as I know to know nothing
where healthy insanity and clear normal madness when
condensed reflection and prismatic diffusion meets parting
My initial final backfiring telos in idle lazy effort’s endeavour in
rhyme and in lightness dissonant un-melodic featherless burden
is that being at different places in different times in the same
space and same moment is not an oxymoron but debatable truth
Written on 27th August in Johannesburg dateless timeless
and nowhere with a blank mind and mindful disregard
Ben Sana Mecburum: “You are indispensable”
by Attila Ilhan
translation by Nurgul Yayman and Michael R. Burch
You are indispensable; how can you not know
that you’re like nails riveting my brain?
I see your eyes as ever-expanding dimensions.
You are indispensable; how can you not know
that I burn within, at the thought of you?
Trees prepare themselves for autumn;
can this city be our lost Istanbul?
Now clouds disintegrate in the darkness
as the street lights flicker
and the streets reek with rain.
You are indispensable, and yet you are absent ...
Love sometimes seems akin to terror:
a man tires suddenly at nightfall,
of living enslaved to the razor at his neck.
Sometimes he wrings his hands,
expunging other lives from his existence.
Sometimes whichever door he knocks
echoes back only heartache.
A screechy phonograph is playing in Fatih ...
a song about some Friday long ago.
I stop to listen from a vacant corner,
longing to bring you an untouched sky,
but time disintegrates in my hands.
Whatever I do, wherever I go,
you are indispensable, and yet you are absent ...
Are you the blue child of June?
Ah, no one knows you—no one knows!
Your deserted eyes are like distant freighters ...
perhaps you are boarding in Yesilköy?
Are you drenched there, shivering with the rain
that leaves you blind, beset, broken,
with wind-disheveled hair?
Whenever I think of life
seated at the wolves’ table,
shameless, yet without soiling our hands ...
Yes, whenever I think of life,
I begin with your name, defying the silence,
and your secret tides surge within me
making this voyage inevitable.
You are indispensable; how can you not know?
Attila Ilhan (1925-2005) was a Turkish poet, translator, novelist, screenwriter, editor, journalist, essayist and reviewer. Keywords/Tags: Turkey, Turkish, Translation, City, International, Leaving, Depression, Absent, Absence, Parting, Separation, Distance, Loss, Break Up, Soulmate, Soulmates, Love, Lovers, Companionship, Passion, Desire, Longing
I smoke the grass and mow the laundry,
Fold the dishes and vacuum the mail,
Then smile while I’m taking a selfie,
Texting proof of my own Holy Grail.
And I wait in the dark for a friendly reply,
It's just me, my cellphone, and I.
It's got an app for this, an app for that,
And the blessings of Amazon Prime.
Plus all that streaming podcast chit chat,
That's consuming my ration of time,
While I search for a site that might brighten the sky,
Meant for me, my cellphone, and I.
It’s got a post hypnotic ringtone
That determines the mood of my day.
It seduces in razor blade silence,
Then presides while the game is in play.
Just don't ever dare to ask the question, "Why?"
It's just me, my cellphone, and I.
Holes Within The Holes
(nautical in nature)
A hole in the dark
The ship sank apparently
Unseen or something paused
Passed briefly through a lightning strike
Perhaps there was no ocean
Or hole in the ocean worth noting
Being it was dark
No witnesses, no survivors
No evidence between the flashes
So what is there between the light
Was there a floating box of dynamite
A cannon sitting intransigent at sea
Where a sun drenched sky was not
Above, so clear the missing sky arrives
Hangs out wireless above the awkward
Over water, a soup made of smoke is fog
Less tangible to the touch when landing soft
Drowning becomes a mystery
A blanket of saltwater, sprinkled with people
Alive or not about a floating box perhaps
Was this just a juxtaposition to the mist
What can be said about a ship
Drifting in and out of memory
Underlying the surface stands a sandless beach
Holding the ocean with a shore line incomplete
In contemplation, in contempt of land and masses
Cast out, stretched on a string to pull it all together
Perhaps an evaporated puddle formed at first
Or invisibility came to call before the birth of oceans
Between the space that serves serenity or both
A hole within a hole within a circle
In the dark where circles form
Where mushrooms have no names or rooms to call their own
Because there are no places left to grow amazement on
Worlds with no corners rotate through space
They form smooth edges with opinions razor sharp
Sink in the middle of the oceans agitation
If only they were strong enough to lift the fog
Into boxes safe and sound much larger than themselves
Sandless beaches make good company
For ships lost below the surface shallows
Wondering how they got there in the first place
Holes inside the holes inside the circles
Sunk to the bottom fall about
Deep in thought about tomorrow's questions
Of holes inside the circles hollowed out
There's a phantom
Following me home
I’m overwhelmed with fear
I’m always alone
This place is so dreary
I feel stuck here
Like I’m forced
To live here with no escape
I want to run
But my legs won’t move
It’s like my feet
Are glued down
He would poke fun
At me
But he didn’t know
His words were like razor blades
Slowly tearing me apart
Every day there
Was killing me
Now I have a bitter heart
I feel like this darkness
Is swallowing me whole
I feel like it’s goal
Is to kill me
This darkness is turning
Me into something I dread
An insensitive loner
I feel like I’ll end up dead
There is no end
To this pain
It just gets worse
I could never face my fears
I have no friend
To rely on
I am stuck
Crying bloody tears
Euphoria
E~ Enchanting ecstasy at each glowing
thought of you.
U ~ Unreserved understanding that I do
not write the script for the planet.
P ~ Plato's philosophy is divine, to
question all things mercilessly.
H ~ His Hellenic eyes, sparkling from
Olympus, calling me.
O ~ Openly obeying in dignity,God's
Omnipresence.
R~ Reveling rhythmically, allowing me
to dance to my own poetic beat.
I ~ Increased Integrity founded on
honest individuality at all
costs;razor sharp honesty
A ~ Amethyst Angels, may they bring
inner peace to all of humanity.
June 25, 2020
10am PST
Poem # 1,311
To the other woman,
I am not mad at you.
What you see in him now,
is what he shows me yesteryear,
only one of us will weep upon his grave:
To the All-Woman Who ‘Loses’ Her Mate
When love unravels, and betrayal stings, The all-woman weeps, her heart’s fragile wings. Yet hidden within this tempest of pain, A metamorphosis awaits, a higher gain.
For grief and loss, like chisels, refined, Her mating intelligence, a gift divine. She learns to read the subtle cues that lie, In future mates, revealing truth from the sly.
And so, she emerges, battle-scarred but wise, No longer blinded by love’s sweet disguise. Her heart, a compass, guides her through the storm, detecting low mate value, keeping her warm.
But what of the other woman, entwined? She dances with deception, love’s twisted bind. Her prize, a man who once betrayed with ease, A history of infidelity, a heart ill at ease.
As days pass, the all-woman stands tall, her dress discarded, memories small. She knows her worth, her happiness her own, No charity case, no borrowed throne.
And when malice whispers, its venomous hiss, she invokes Hanlon’s razor, dismissing the abyss: “Never attribute to malice,” she wisely imparts, “That which is adequately explained by stupidity’s arts.”
Human behavior, shaped by traits unseen, A dance of folly, wisdom, and what might have been. To the other woman, no anger, no strife, Just a silent knowing—one weeps upon life’s knife.