Long Recommence Poems
Long Recommence Poems. Below are the most popular long Recommence by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Recommence poems by poem length and keyword.
"One day, . . . I saw the sunset forty-four times! . . . You know—one loves the sunset, when one is so sad."
Quote from The Little Prince
by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
Sky, mirror of our hearts,
tries to hide her burning heart under water;
The ocean heaves in empathy
with tears of angst the colour of fire
transforming, slowly, into lava.
Sky, mirror of our hearts..
Roses fall from her cheeks
spreading over pages of transparency
to turn her boundless looking-glass
into a sea of fiery roses
that will soon be devoured by
the charcoal of the night.
Sky, mirror of our hearts,
waits for the serene moon
to veil her smouldered cheeks
with gleams of composed silver.
Sky, mirror of our hearts
that will forever lurk within us,
at twilight, hides her blushing sun
until she re-learns to rise from the ashes
and recommence weaving hope . . .
Rumbling in my mind
The song of Arleen Hurtado
Trying to get into a Spanish mood
As I gaze at the flamingo dancer,
Dressed in black flaming wide dress.
Hear her castanets, clicking in rhythm
To the background of classical guitars
And the occasional shouts of Ole`.
Yes I can see her, steel soled shoes
Tapping on sturdy wood. She twirls,
Her dress inflated in a sensual dance,
Until she enters in a tocatta festiva.
Silently she taps as she lifts her dress,
Slowly revealing her beautiful legs,
And down again to recommence her twirl.
The audience go mad in applause.
She merely bows and retires to her room.
I’m there waiting for her.
Drained of every drop of pride she cups her hands in vain
As eyes seek to escape her haunting gaze.
Gaunt and pale, her spirits crushed, young mind and body slain,
Existence is one long and dreary haze.
Sometimes in her dreamlike state she sees another life
Where happiness and peace walked hand in hand,
There a young girl freely plays, no thoughts of future strife,
So many future hopes and dreams were planned.
Destined, so it seemed, to suffer countless human woes,
False hope came in angelic sweet disguise,
So now enslaved, addicted, she is helpless to abstain;
The girl who begs while inwardly she cries,
And one more grieving Mother sadly sighs
As demons recommence their evil lies.
28.08.19
'Eight word challenge contest' sponsored by Emile Pinet'
I awake again with this left-brain thought
that an economic conservative
about balancing his ever expanding budget
looks at my mountainside forest of firs
as a green commodity
for potential exploitation.
Yet when this same conservative
resides in this same fir forest,
now threatened by a large lumbering corporation,
he sees these same trees,
like himself,
as prey
in a win/lose zero-sum value-retention game.
Then I have this right brain passion
that an ego/eco-logically harmonic nondualist,
all about right responsible relationships,
feels and acts with compassion toward these same trees
in this cooperative win/win forest
internally governed by WiseElder firs, regenerative,
from whom we learn
to nutritionally
resiliently,
naturally,
spiritually climax
and recommence together, after loss,
in secular/sacred solidarity
of co-passioning seeds
structured to anticipate four-seasoned wealth givers
and receivers
of Earth's forested pro-active health care,
robustly optimizing self/other value maintenance.
These reviewed landscapes are not mutually exclusive.
Yet only the last is cooperatively left and right
nondualistically inclusive,
like ethical truth with aesthetic beauty,
compassion spiritually foresting
and reforesting
natural integrity.
i don't cower to death, he had me in his grasp
faltering through the sudor of illness
my heart beating slower than time's hands
like a worthless clock on the wall needing replaced
ashen flesh bore his mark, a kiss against my blueish lips
somehow missing his quarry, while i awaited my wings
he still abides in the dumping ground of memories
with promises broken, love unspoken, and heartless liars
in a dashboard of broken dreams long abandoned
that stalk my existence, awaiting to be restored
to recommence through the pathways of my mind
as more than just unused rusted out frames of thoughts
that only resurface in the outburst of downcast eyes
when the shadows of sorrow grapple my emotions
as he purloins another from existence before me
I don't cower to death, he had me in his grasp
the attrition of time has left me emotionless
unscathed by his touch yet numb beneath his kiss
through past's rear-views as i unwillingly await my wings
October 4, 2019
My Favorite Junkyard poetry contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish
Drop dead gorgeous dark eyed bus boy chased
Peer assured status, focus of my fascination
High fiving idol guffawed and elbowed adjacent
Mates in droves, admirers in rows, dreamy Damon
Enriched to glimpse soap opera face as I boarded
From boys' school nearby, the greener gender pasture
Glance at my rolled up skirt spoke to thoughts sordid
His fleeting grin sent collapsing knees, mates' laughter
In typical teenage fashion for the times, mid nineties
Before social media blinked million comment designation
Our exchange over months limited to several niceties
Emptying bus afternoon he asked me out, supreme elation
Profile examined in mirror the evening of our due movie
Re primped the pair of socks boosting breasts non existant
Had my (only) half decent outfit chosen for past two weeks
Prospect of dating Damon held no heart slowing assistance
Uneventful night pursued, spun by overwhelming innocence
Being too naive to encourage moves, nerves running riot
Our chaeffered lifts to cinemas knew no lip warming kiss
Closely guarded phone each evening, obstinately quiet
A month later, bus reverberated his revised standards
Update explained to his mates, his tastes were narrowing
One percent of girls bore requirements Damon demanded
Variety other than curvaceous blonde, saw attention souring
Perfunctory level of awareness, lack of inner dignity
Allowed me to continue, lust bound, blindly desiring
During next year, Damon must have woken to scarcity
Blonde eligible youngsters for his affection aspiring
Mirror had become a somewhat closer companion
Make up added maturity, curves came, and confidence
Outside brick walled front of school, squinted in sun
Damon boldly suggested our courting should recommence
Sideways glance with my fiend, Suzie, enclosed chapters
Desperately I pleaded with my fifteen year old foolishness
To keep a straight face as I turned him down, lustre lacking
"I don't know, " faux deep thought, " Chance is one percent"!
2nd August 2020
Dusty Old Memories Poem Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
The good thing about the end of the world is,
For some, it never even began.
A world filled with hate, suffering and lies
And every kind of self serving alibi
I start back over so many times i forget it hurts.
This world is a lonely graveyard with darkening hearts
It strikes heartless and hard.
Days of thunder is like an arc above an ark.
The world is at its doomsteps it elevated to itself
Just another step in stonestep preps
Something to carve their name into,
thinking it will fulfill them
Its just a wasted shot with a wasted breathe
But though the darkness descends,
The dawn must recommence once again.