Long Reflective Poems
Long Reflective Poems. Below are the most popular long Reflective by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Reflective poems by poem length and keyword.
the world is an image alignment
in the mind of the many reflectives
called causes that are seen mirrored
as changes passing with little lasting
only just one fourteenth of a brief second
that is reality to mankind's mind of/as the now's
being that fraction called time is our relative speed
with respect other creatures such as the most intelligent
of the raptor species called the raven that is not just self-aware
but is so as a problem solver and tool maker making it the creator
amongst such creatures of it's kind and proving mankind is not alone
but egotistically shares a species interdimensional intellectual time-space
stan sand
I like to write about biking.
And tangled things.
I like to enjoy.
The road.
Eyes with puffy feelings.
Fingers which have skulls inside.
The all along things.
That hide behind guardrails.
I like to write about biking.
All through the country.
With ghostly wheels and reflective shine.
And other things you can buy at a gas station.
The mush feeling.
Not in my toes,
Just plumes everywhere.
All along the highway.
All along the highway.
Dazzling.
Just like shards or plastic.
A tree or something.
The all along things.
That highways leave behind.
Plucking hairs as I travel.
They are everywhere either way.
I like to write about biking.
I went back and got tangled more.
Got tired and rested behind the guardrail.
Which goes all along.
In a cupboard, silent skeletons sleep
Where darkness holds its secrets, buried deep,
Their shape unseen, yet ever close at hand,
That any time may burst across the land.
A quiet hum, a stillness in the air,
A spectral chill, that the winds can lay bare,
But carried through wings of time, strong and true,
Mysteries that very few ever knew.
The sands of time may slowly slip away,
But the secrets stand still, through passing days,
A stark riddle, etched in darkness of night
Of journeys made, from dawn to fading light.
No whispered word, no sigh of pain or glee,
Just jumbled echoes, indistinct and free,
A testament of tall bills begotten,
Beneath the gaze of the unblinking sun.
The hollow gaze, where once bright eyes did gleam,
Now holds the fragments of a waking dream,
The cupboard`s key declared lost, with no sign,
A silent story, sincerely sublime.
The rhythm of the mind, a reflective sound,
No longer works, where wizard can be found.
Yet life's own pulse, in memory remains,
Through flowing currents, in the subtle grains.
A stoic stance before the coming storm,
A dead silence, to keep the spirit warm,
For though the surprises stink over time
Their essence rests hidden, without a chime.
At long last the cat gets out of the bag
With the dwelling changing under new flag,
Bursting open of the cupboard with force,
Revealing tons of debt burden at source.
One cannot but gaze at the skeletons
As the damage left after a cyclone
And thereafter think of ways to redress
The legated dwelling left in distress.
The simple truth is a lovely facade
May hide an interior that is flawed
And one need to think deep and wide to scan
The space before the future one can plan.
Our love, it's not a raging fire,
Consuming all in its wild desire.
No, it's a hearth, softly aglow,
Warming our souls, calming the flow.
The passion of youth has long since passed,
But in its place, a bond built to last.
Our friendship, a sturdy oak tree,
Roots deeply planted, strong and free.
The storms of life have come and gone,
Yet our branches reach ever onward.
Gnarled with time, but unbowed by strife,
We stand tall, and eternal in this life.
Our conversations, gentle streams,
Meandering through memories and dreams.
No longer rapids, rushing, wild,
But serene pools, reflective, mild.
The love we share, a harvest moon,
Bathing us in its radiant tune.
No longer the blazing noon sun,
But with a soft light, our day is done.
Though our steps may be slower now,
And silver threads grace every brow,
Our hearts still beat as one, my dear,
In this autumn of our love, so clear.
For what we have, this precious bond,
It is not the fire of youth beyond.
No, it's the warmth of a lifetime shared,
A love that has been deeply cared for.
So let us sit, and rest awhile,
Watching the world go by with a smile.
For in this season of mature bliss,
Our love, and our friendship, will never miss.
punctuation walks
on eggshells
when
words like
water
falls
flow into nothingness,
soaked in syrupy syllables
behind veiled vowels
assonance is the twin of
consonance as
a e i o u
are an
unfinished bridge
without connection
of consonants
weaved together
in visible
unspoken actions
woven without words
just like rhythmic meter
of thunder with lightning
like a lost refrain in a poem
assembled with enjambment
metaphorical reflections of a
reflective metaphor portray a
m i r a g e less sincere than silence
value blossoms
when the body adopts
a gospel language
where speech
is unnecessary
unless expressed
through true
dialects of conduct
without the use of
lyrical accessories.
Stolen Sunlight From Moon's Surface
Stolen sunlight
ripped from the Moon’s surface
the blinding light of your soul sheers clean my reflective powers
you tore away the mirrors
I am left naked before your gaze
the clock down the hall that ticked so loudly for so many years stopped
instantly
on that day…
the day you opened your smile to my
eyelids…kissing them
shocked and appalled by your advance
(the leather chaps you once wore
you wear no more
and the chain saws stopped their incessant roar)
the leaves fell from the trees
snow blanketed my pain with white barren
questing waves of peace
I stole a sideways glance at your nose
The cut
so sharp of your chin
The absolute perfection of God’s creation
Your ear!
Your hands bent by pain
Looked like bird’s nests for me to rest in
And I was the shadow rainbow ‘of a thousand natives sprung
Sprawled wide and true across every single horizon
Born to the shore to eat !...In plenty the copious gifts of the sea
The fish swam to me and asked to be my feed
the grass sprung up beneath my feet
the clover begged me to rest a while in the daisy fertile fields
I was the crocus of spring !
The beckoning of a mother’s call for dinner!
I was the park where children play
The picnic spread wild and wondrous…and Strawberry rich
I was baked goods and coffee
I was laughter and drenching …drenching truest tears
All in the moment
the very moment
in which you ripped the sunlight off the moon’s surface and gave it to me
with your first quenching
wrenching smile
I am reflective of the Collective,
Choosing to be more effective,
Selective of my thoughts.
Rising from being distraught,
Taught to believe I was small,
I find I'm creating it all.
Breaking down wall after wall,
I fall into my destiny,
The best of me waiting to be seen.
Getting between my patterns,
Splattering old pieces of me,
Seeping into creases secretly,
Knowing what I came to be.
Sitting in silence I wait,
In an enlightened state,
I wipe the slate clean,
Changing my fate.
Straight from the source,
Replotting the course,
Jotting words of force,
To help enforce my directive.
Spreading through the collective,
Love is the true objective,
Be protective of thoughts you choose.
Using the power like a tool,
The fuel to help you cruise,
Into many different views.
I am a reflection of you,
Choosing love to make it through,
A collection of reflections of me too.
Our grandson who has Huntington's Disease has been going to physical therapy for a couple of months now at our local hospital. Huntington's Disease is an inherited brain disease that came from his father's side of the family but it can crop up in families where it has never been before. The disease is an abnormality on the DNA with too many repeats on the CAG which causes a problem with the protein gluten. It causes a condition called chorea which is only a small part of the illness.
worker repairs glass
second floor hospital room....
falling, falling tool
The illness causes many personality/cognitive/emotional problems as brain cells are no longer able to function normally. The person gets in trouble with the law sometimes because they try to self-medicate their illness. They have trouble sleeping, handling their emotions, and that is only to name a few things.
daredevil chances life
each minute upon the rungs....
pink crepe myrtle blooms
He is somewhat like the worker upon the ladder's rungs each second of the day his life is in danger. We never know what reaction he will have to anything. His chorea is gradually, slowly getting worse plus he has some rigidity which is uncomfortable for him.
second ladder up
eighteen inches higher....
blue skies reflected
The reflective glass of the hospital displays a beautiful scene. Verdant leaves of the great thicket of oaks is reflected in the glass. It seems they are high up in the puffy cottony clouds which are seen in the glass. Such a placid scene which helps me to relax a little.
will the worker fall
from higher orange ladder....
a swift prayer said
Will there be a treatment or cure in time to help our grandson?
perspectives,
&beyond first impressions
moving images
notions,
found objects
refracting light
restless
shifting
silhouettes
incomplete structure
recesses in exteriors
informal
at
scaled
angles
or a
complete whole
nothing visible
pointless to
speculate
the lines of hopelessness
in a
downward
spiral
the emotive aspects
of a sense of place
everchanging
beyond telling
a special time
of intense interest
an intimate presence
unspoken
in a dedicated space
reflective profiles
circles in spectrums
of colour
distinctive
explorations
acquisitions of
legacies
all
motivations
of a
creative influence
upon
the curious heart
Shimmering silver cosmic trees suddenly surrounded him
Maybe he truly was the chosen, the keeper of the arrows of light
They gave him a sense of love and protection he had not felt for a long time
Maybe since his parents had passed on to the other world
These cosmic trees were speaking to him not with voice
But through inner thoughts, telling him they chose him for his pure heart
That is what his grandmother had always called him.
He smiled thinking of her lovely warm disposition and loving ways
He stared at his reflection in the magic reflective pathway
Noticing the harvest moon for the first time in months
Harvest moon had always been his protective nature sign
He felt the love of his grandmother and his parents. All was well.