Long Redness Poems
Long Redness Poems. Below are the most popular long Redness by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Redness poems by poem length and keyword.
On The Edge
He lay flat on the floor
On the edge of his mind's cliff
Taking notes
Wondering
is this life worth living
He tried to remember
Grasp onto
Happier times
Shadows of light
Fluttered beyond his grasp
Teasing
Evaporating
Hiding
Figments wrapped in glittering paper
Promising
Tempting
Geometrically angled
Away from him
He felt the coolness of the tile
Terracotta pressing against his forehead
Soothing
Absorbing his fever
Steadying him
Whispering
Promising relief
"Let your blood accentuate my redness"
" I will protect your bones"
Light flows through stained glass
Christ's brilliant blue eyes
Piercing his sadness
Reassuring him
There will be more days
Brighter lights
Warmth not clay
Sadness shall be left to yesterday
The floor will not be fed today
It is washed with his salty tears
The edge vanishes
Was it ever there?
One moment
Graciously
Turned to years
He sits in a pew
Looks up away from himself
It now seems so clear
He gets up
Walks across the floor
Walks out the silent door
Deciding once and for all
He doesn't need
Or want
This horrid place
Any more
His heart is healed
God goes where he goes
The suffering he lived no longer grows
What he remembers sets him free
He will not be lost to history
He chooses a life of Joy not misery.
Dedicated to native children abused in church and residential schools.
Their culture was systematically stripped away. in some cases much worse
things happened behind what should have been hallowed walls.
In writing this I question if this piece was honoring to Native people. As I thought about this I realized that this piece speaks to their resilience as a people. Despite what was done to them they have found a way to hold onto their culture traditions art and language. We have much that we can learn from them.
Written by: Richard J. Lamoureux
www.wisedummypoet.com
nobody here,
nobody there
I enjoy my breakfast on Jupiter
scattered
and radiant
the shimmery shoreline
rumbles in redness
in sickened harmony
nobody here,
nobody there
the reckless arsonist
has a talent
of unknown origin
what an illusory
amazing paradox
condemned for heresies
for an enormity
to the final battle
mice will march
nobody here,
nobody there
surrounded by
a surreal dominion
strangely through daytime
there is a crux
a rebus
a flux
just like crusaders
for the revelation
mice will march
the order is broken
they will deduce
and I just sit
with a bottle in hands
and watch in silence
nice mice fight
against
the creepy coral cat
still
nobody here,
nobody there
Put me to sleep, O little god,
spirit of the ancient, healing tree—
a beautiful rustling brewing within the ancestors' plant,
emerging from captivating redness.
Invisible as a shadow, leaving only gleaming, shining bones behind,
the unseen one remains hidden from my eyes.
Yet, it is a tree of lush, vibrant green,
fragrant and sweet-smelling, bearing soft flowers and a hidden thorn.
Your humming sound—a silencing rustle in the night,
in the deep gloom, in the gathering dark—
becomes a dirge for the dead, a hymn of my final rest.
With windows wide open on every side,
I am dangerous and lost,
without origin or protection,
I am weeping,
unveiling a pain of finding the courage
to sleep facing the solitude rather than
hiding from it
Christmas is a long song sung in winter,
An epic poem written with white quill feather pen and
Gold ink, and on clouds of paper,
Beginning from a sneezing December to a
Dizzying twelfth-calendar month,
When snow drizzles gently into the souls of
Those who hearken to the tinkling sound of
The church bell which rings gently with the weight of
The slow-passing season.
I see whiteness in every song, with so much redness;
Regal and romantic; flagrantly friendly.
Oh, how pure!
Oh, how sweet!
Well, that’s Christmas.
It lights up the courage in us to think right and assume
Merriment in the warmness of some frozen hearts.
It’s the best time of the year.
I swear to this because I am a child of Christmas.
It’s a time of fog and dew and sleet that rebaptise us.
Let’s not forget the slanting rain whose liquid kisses us.
And white Christmas of snow-carpeted lands and seas.
There’s no other time or season like it.
So full of gentleness and love,
Christmas causes hearts to race s-l-o-w-l-y,
As the year races on to breast the tape of seasons.
(The UK Queen's Platinum Jubilee was in June 2022)
You're at Trooping the Colour now, Dominic.
Were we not friends when we were schoolboys?
You look so smart now, Dominic, guardsman,
wrapped in the shining redness of that costume
under your tall, beautiful bearskin cap.
Recall that friendship, Dominic,
those distant days at school?
I saw your show on stage -
those school plays, musicals, but mainly ballet.
Such standards, almost worthy of a jubilee.
And here you are on our TV.
A performance, Dominic, seen by our Queen,
and millions, oh millions, of viewers.
You're at that Platinum Jubilee,
a concert full of marching men,
a march that is a parade,
a parade that is a ballet -
performing people, of course.
Would you wish to know me, Dominic,
now you're in your very posh world?
(June 2022)
(You may wish to see also "Obsequies for a Queen" of September 2022 and "Coronation for a King" of May 2003)
The nation is burning in the form of a hawk
Rising toward the heavens in fiery redness
The rest of the world watches, sadly helpless
Billions of animals dead, oh, Australia, we grieve for you.
The hawk is angry, fierce, eager to maim and kill
The forests are on fire, glowing as a giant campfire,
Enticing the hawk to come closer, teasing her in her sadness
Thousands of homes lost. Oh, Australia, we pray for you.
The hawk cannot get away, caught in a whirlwind of unhappiness
Tethered to the horribleness of what is happening.
Helpless to do anything, except watch the forest fires burn and burn.
Sadness all around, trees lost forever. Oh, Australia, what will you do?
The nation is the hawk, the hawk the nation. Hypervigilant, and sorrowful.
We watch on the other side of the world, rooting for the hawk. Will he make it?
Will he eventually be able to fly up and out and rebuild the nests?
Optimism is thrown to the hawk in droves. Oh, Australia, we are here for you!
Sitting here lost in worlds within worlds
Watching things spin
Listening to graveyard voices
Of owls and bats…
On tombstones, I sit!
I see things that should not be.
Things that are of deep nightmares!
Hallow things creep...
Watching skulls scream
Memory is fuzzy as shadows swell
My minds eye once one sharp now
Soft in the frame, the shadow of people I knew once? Maybe?
Linger here and there, a mumble of voices dwell…
Soft images drift, a car crash, a spill of light!
Crimson and Cobalt strobe into the secret night.
All are slow in the process of time...
The headlights boar deep into their night
The screech of wheels,
the slow-motion crash in soft lines!
...all is a fuzzy memory.
I know not where or when
I know I am just here
Remembering my life in silhouettes and fire.
My mother's voice dying in course din of metal, mired!
The father's hand goes slack the redness paints all, ruddy black!
Sitting here lost in worlds within worlds
Watching things end.
Listening to graveyard noise.
Of black cats and slinking rats…
...and unknowable things!
On a tombstone, I sit...
I see entities that should not be
Of things that are in the deepest of nightmares!
Hallow wraiths creep!
Skulls watch with grins.
Woolly is my memory as shadows dwell.
All I have is a fading soft, sigh!
Like the gentle wind...
The lingering touch of mist
A fleeting ghost of a memory...
...a quiet graveyard voice…!
Like the parting rod of the biblical Moses
Did you my dearest one did part my wet redness
Forever shall I cherish my first moment of romance
As I surrender all to the sweetness of nature's dance
Moved by the bliss of love, we quenched the sun and awaited the moon
And with every strength of my emotions did I joyously croon
My senses and members responds with equal fire
For my king has made of me, his crowned and valued desire
Have I not but drank your manly liquid to stagger
And have welcomed you to my moist paradise of tight wonders
A pale pinkish silver path decorated with curled golden grasses
Forever shall I melt to your hardness and caresses
I have craved you since the first day my body opened to a man
For my breast and eyes looked to you a handsome smiling man
With ecstasy have I danced upon your manly mantle
A royal throne for me, your most fascinated queen
Your entrance into me is but a partial taste of heaven
Long have I awaited your come since my years of one and seven
With the zeal of a warrior and the strength of youth
Did my hero defeat my walls and took me on pleasure path
. . .
I don’t feel like doing anything. . .
And yet here I am, writing again. . .
Punctured thoughts gushing redness of frustration and disgust,
Black rivers flowing and intoxicating the remaining blemished white of reality,
Stuck in this brain,
Wracking desperately for order and purpose,
I want to be perfect,
And yet the concept of perfection in certain viewpoints is downright sickening,
Puking out flaws. . .
Diseased in the mind. . .
Stretching out in exhaustion. . .
Not wanting to feel the numbness of nothingness,
And yet not wanting to face the day. . .
I am angry at my life. . .
Scared of what’s coming—of what’s not coming,
I damn my aching mentality into the dark depths of arbitrary emotion. . .
No one gives a sh*t. . .
So who cares if it overflows?
Asphyxiating my very existence,
Hope springing to mind for s p l i t moments,
Then fleeing like a damned jackrabbit in heat,
Wanting its companion,
Playing hard to get—becoming hard to get,
I hate. . .
I love. . .
All in one.
The emptiness is almost welcoming,
But the sun refuses to shine there in that strange pleasure. . .
I feel the earth below me as splintered pictures wisp around me,
The days I’ll never miss,
The days I have come to wish were my present,
And those days that will never leave me the hell alone. . .
I think we all feel it,
Justin different ways. . .
The rubber bands on her braces snapping. . .
Saliva squirting out and splashing me in the face. . .
Is there a reason my stomach wants to melt and fold over?
Webs keeping them intact,
So intricate—yet delicate
Her eyes popping out of her head,
Violence surging in her like a mad dog,
Drooling and snapping its folded-skinned jaw,
Tightened buds blooming blasphemy,
Forces, vile forces spurting out in cuss words. . .
Like it’s just a regular day. . .
I’m staring at them all. . .
I am crowded and so sacredly alone here. . .
I sense madness,
But that’s just another defense mechanism I have formulated in the imagination,
If I am mad,
WE ALL ARE. . .
I was never there to begin with. . .
My brain is totally tapped
Something in me finally snapped
My blood pressures on the rise
Flames are shooting from my eyes
Getting feverish and hot
Tightness is about to start
In my hands as fists are closing
Signs of anger surely showing
Veins in my head fastly thumping
Stress is furiously pumping
Through every inch and every space
Redness on my cheeks and face
Tremors causing me to shake
Like a dangerous earthquake
That will do a lot of damage
I can not control or manage
These emotions so watch out
Smoke is coming from my "snout"
I'm a bull about to charge
Painful sharp horns big and large
So stay clear out of my path
At full force I will attack
Everyone who's been a jerk
In my life causing the hurt
Making me go this insane
Revenge is such a deadly game