Long Red rimmed Poems
Long Red rimmed Poems. Below are the most popular long Red rimmed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Red rimmed poems by poem length and keyword.
The grandfather clock solemnly struck two.
In the pitchy night, shadows seem to flit about.
I close my red rimmed eyes tight
Yet I can see all around me for sleep eludes me.
I lie on my bed like a dead crab on the hot sand,
not daring to move lest sleep evades me.
I imagine phosphorescent planes flying over fallow fields:
This is not a night dream that conducts to slumber.
For dreams can be soothing, this is anything but.
Almost dark despair as my tired eyes are wide awake.
I shut my eyes and imagine red full blown sails
weaving their way in a rubicund sunset
towards their berthing quays.
How quick they arrive and I am sleepless.
I think of you, dazzling and lovely,
covered in golden sand....like the crab.
No, no this does not work much for me.
The grandfather clock struck six.
Did I miss a beat? Did I sleep?
I don't know, I feel like the dead crab.
Rigs are quiet now,
slumbering spires of steel
so cold - yet bread for many men.
Children may cry for the world's want of energy.
Towers of glass are empty now,
monuments to a better time,
of exploration, excitement, and excess,
when the world grew.
The eyes of good people are red-rimmed now,
as disbelief screams in a silent vacuum.
The only life left is the endless cycle of pumpjacks
and the hum of compressors
teasing their worthless treasures
from the dark bosom of the earth.
Everything is broken now, burned and blackened,
confused and cancerous.
Industry sleeps, but our age is not over.
Shifting now in death-throes and embers,
the black phoenix shall rise once more.
31 March 2020
Written for Coronavirus COVID-19 Cash Prize Poetry Contest sponsored by Team PoetrySoup
Eccedentesiast
Someone who hides pain behind a smile
Someone who laughs at jokes they don’t find funny
Just to see if the sound is still believable
Someone who muffles her sobs
because her mother is sleeping
Because she cannot bear the sight of her mother’s worried eyes on her yet again
Someone who puts on makeup
to hide her red rimmed eyes
To pretend she was worrying about her looks rather than her heart
Someone who loves smiley face stickers
because maybe that would make hers a little more real
maybe that would distract them from the fact that her smile was fading
that her composure was breaking
maybe the stickers could mend the cracks in her heart
I can’t do that
I don’t remember what it’s like to laugh
For I am too exhausted to move the useless muscles
My sobs are too loud to be muffled by my pillows
And I curse myself for the crease in my mother’s brows
For ache that is sure to settle in her chest
With mascara running down my cheeks
No makeup in the world could fix the ugliness that lies within me
The stickers are tearing along with my heart
The more I stick on the faker I feel
Who am I kidding?
I am not an eccedentesiast
I cannot hide my pain behind a smile
Memories of us flicker like a candle wick's flame
Yesterdays, I recall, but today nothing is the same
Sleep's become illusive. Each night I am unsettled
Openly, I cry as if my red rimmed eyes are nettled
Uttering a sigh, I gaze at the glowing gilded moon,
Lingering in loneliness while attempting not to cry
Thoughts of you flow through me like a waterfall
Often, I stare at shadows dancing upon the wall
Keepsakes of our life, I cherish with all my heart
Every time I look at them, I try not to fall apart
Eternally, I will be grateful for all that we shared
Please, God, mend my soul, for it has been bared.
April 12, 2021
Any Acrostic of 10 To 12 Lines
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
On a damp Sunday, where the grass and earth
Call my name, out from the tangle of covers
On the humid wind, the forest beckons
With her arms of fallen leaves, twigs
Ferns uncurl
My heart is pounding in my black sweatshirt,
I unzip it and touch my collar bone, and then
The rough arm of a sycamore
Just when I thought I was King
She sways in the wind and wrestles me down
Just when I thought I was good at letting
Soft earth mend my brow, just like the worry doll
The white lilies and morels fade away
I know the moment when my heart pounds
And refuses to drive to work, to go back
And I scream silently, but I’m reflected in the lake
Lines and red rimmed eyes, but, something else
I spread my arms and look up, in time to see a Red Tail
Following along, parallel in the grey sky
Let’s let that be enough, crown of feathers
Enough, gentle lake wind
To dream another day to a close
I will always remember Alene
for she had the wandering eyes of
blindness.
As a child, I would stare at her eyes
fascinated, and not a little scared.
Alene was a kind, matter of fact lady.
She always ended her sentences with
“honey”, as in, “Can you hand me my cane, honey?”
or “Please help me to the counter, honey.”
I could not tell you what color Alene’s eyes were
for her iris’ were glazed over with an opaque
sheen, like thin clouds on a hazy day.
Alene said that she could only see shadows
and used her red rimmed cane to navigate.
My mother took her grocery shopping often
and I came along to help.
Alene dressed plainly, but she always wore
a bright colored scarf around her dull
brown hair. She may have not looked
attractive on the outside, but inside she
was kind hearted and loving.
Alene always appreciated everything others
did for her, and always let them know it.
She was not shy, but rather humble and
respectful. Alene was just Alene...
When I look back to my childhood, I would
not trade one day with Alene for a thousand
days with someone who was beautiful on the
outside, but cold and selfish on the inside.
Yes, I will always fondly remember Alene.
Written on 5/2/2018
What is me...misery...imbedded deep within
Buried at the bottom of a heart drenched in sin
Washed in doubt, turned inside out, nowhere to begin
Left alone, my unhappy home with silence as my friend
Unable to grasp how to act left borrowing the pain
Overdressed within distress and nothing left to gain
Down each cheek, water weeps, leaving a snails stain
Unable to sleep, incomplete, insanity grips what's sane
What is me...misery...company no one keeps
Eyes open, red rimmed, tired, but still never sleeps
At the slightest intrusion the miserable me only weeps
Slowly every passing second throughout me it creeps
Everything looked upon is envisioned to only depress
Even the happiest of moments cause unneeded stress
Killing all other emotions now already dead more or less
Nothing left, for my misery has become a miserable mess
For Poetry Contest: "Misery" 12/29/18
Hosted by: Edward Ibeh
Placed 2nd in Contest Results
The lines in my eyes are red-rimmed in sweat
Burning is the sensation of this melting intellect
Focus has abandoned to an easier place to think
Unmanned in disaster melted skin turning pink
The ringing in my ears compromises my own thought
Unable to pay attention to who, when, where, or what
Overwhelming my existence, won't follow my own path
Nothing seems to add up I just can't do the math
Lines crack beside the crow's feet of my eyes
Belief is beginning to feel like the Devil in denial
The sands never fall up just down to time one's death
The water is rising under the bubbles of my last breath
bmdavey@01/16/2023
There.
third row, second seat
hair over eyes, red-rimmed
tired maybe?
shirt buttoned wrong
laces untied
broken hearted
last row, right at the back
a young couple
giggling
not watching
love
how long will it last
the movie starts
theatre darkens
eyes front
focused on the screen
engrossed, distracted
popcorn, drinks, spilt
front row
now on the floor
children
necks tilted up
vibrating in excitement
can't look away
middle aisle
near the exit
new parents
on the edge of their seat
waiting for the call
desperate for a night off
movie ends
lights rise
people stand, stretch
slowly trickle out
leaving behind spilt drinks, popcorn
the floor a mosaic of people
netflix
stan
prime
hulu
peacock
disney
empty now
darkness lingers
screen unused
velvet seats grow dusty
stale popcorn permeates
I am empty now
No one there.
Thrice I attempted to express my feelings,
Thrice I failed miserably.
A fog covered every part of my soul.
A storm darkened my brain,
But no lightning lit my thoughts.
All that was sweet, is dead.
And I am dying too,
Slowly but surely dying,
Slowly, till with the finality
Of an auctioneer’s blow
Death’s axe shall fall
Like a yellow karate blow
Then shall I be cut in twain:
But not yet, alas not yet,
My death but lingers,
Now I only wane.
Oh, curse the world.
Has the time come
When I must close my red-rimmed eyes
And give up my ebony soul
To the chaos and darkness below?
14 September 2021
Placed 1
Word Chosen No 2
''L'' Contest New or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France