Long Reluctant Poems
Long Reluctant Poems. Below are the most popular long Reluctant by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Reluctant poems by poem length and keyword.
She is sparkling, scintillating, lusty, vigorous, peppy.
He was interested at lusty, but pretended indifference.
Zingy, zippy, vivacious, animated, high-spirited.
Okay, I’ll do it, he told his sister, acting reluctant.
She had set him up with dates before. They never worked out.
He arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early.
Still, she beat them there. She was pretty, and lively. Fun.
He laughed at her stories, and she listened to his.
She told him great things about his sister, and he shared too.
She was everything his sister said, truly effervescent.
But her drink was too carbonated, which made her gassy.
She was horribly embarrassed when overcome by the
Bubbly, frothy, foaming, bubbly stuff. He liked her for that too.
You swam deep into the water,
but I was too afraid of drowning…
we could have plunged together and allowed
cool bubbles immerse in waves,
gliding on love’s venturesome communion.
But I was reluctant, quite fearful of being
engulfed by sea monsters … until the Neptune
within me emerged like a warrior,
inviting my animus- instinct to feel
that breathtaking sense of courage, of grit.
And we would cruise the waves inside,
to float on a steady rafter beyond moonscape
where real commitment could thrive,
as I let my female ***** be your co- lifeguard.
This conscious awakening is now a fearless hunt
where my readiness trails an explorer’s length,
with a dare of passion, rising and ebbing…
this mix graceful yet bold ; my yin –yan undaunted.
.............
Animus-Anima Part II--Animus Contest
For Tom Quigley
………………………………..
‘What we women have to overcome in our relation
to the animus is not pride but lack of self-confidence
and the resistance of inertia.’ …Ema Jung, wife of Carl Jung
6/ 04/ 2016
Some of them are drifting vapor,
fluid pastel flavoring my tongue.
When awake, they linger like nectar,
or the hidden symbols of Jung.
Others are more like nesting dolls,
hand painted selves inside of selves,
secret centers wrung in reluctant recalls.
Narcotic sleep concocts misshapened shelves.
Still others are Fabergé eggs,
grandiloquent intricacies, ornate and refined,
interior parlors absent of regs.
Fantastic reservoirs are carefully designed.
But most of them are made of celluloid,
cinematic and impossible to avoid.
Published in the first PoetrySoup anthology- 11/20
When the last golden sun streak is vanishing
into clouds under the darken canopy of night.
The shivering dust settles behind the evening,
of cloudy Satire coming with new dawn of light.
Patrolling the traces of low whispering voices,
following the Verve of strange words in the air,
Sentence disappear again into clandestine vices
The choice of deeds nights is reluctant to share.
Bar and restaurant recommend to go the extra mile
after ruefully losing their keys the best thing to do,
is to make guests welcome with a smile,
the assured voice speaking louder than we want to.
Amorous thoughts locked behind closed doors,
only the sound of voices breaking the silence,
Heroes of the night, walking by on hotel floors,
bound in code by the laws of their conscience.
Energy roll away into spaces of sleeping room
corporate pleasure at the expenses of leisure,
Upper decks not lower into drapes of gloom
for lovers to lay their heads and count treasure.
The day is lit again rinsing away voices captured,
amidst the wanderings curious moments flow,
remains a mystery to know the voices that chatted
behind closed doors where hunger desires go.
We are in an interagency meeting.
I had been reluctant to attend.
energetic Redhead Smart Mouth took over our table
Sat next to me
Reached for the communal project each time
Insisted on doing group project entirely on her own
Refused all suggestions
I gave up right away
Choosing to entertain myself in other ways
We are all teachers at this table
Others refused to relinquish their power
Best meeting ever
I was able to play the entire seven hours
Loving how quickly she riled the rest of them
In seven hours I wrote twenty-two poems
Designed six bulletin boards, wrote a play
And designed two book covers
Now I look for for Redhead Smart Mouth at meetings
The stars have descended a little lower, to keep us —
My kinsmen and I —company on this night watch
On a newly roused African night.
We filch a little bit of the effulgence of the waking moon,
Reluctant, with the invasion of jealous clouds, their plumes
Fragile with inconsistency.
We rely on the luminescence of each other’s eyes and the trust
In our hearts
Tinder, broken by flying flickers of fireflies,
Shine through the breath of darkness, dis-virgining the chunky yolk
Of secrets and the clout of night, so corvine.
Every breath keeps us warm and frightens the monsters lurking
Around the lean corridors of the enchanted thresholds.
The heavens stare downward —witnesses to a stifling explosion of
Will; so are the crepitating crickets and cicadas —in prayers they
Egg us on, and through borrowed liturgy of nocturnal canticles.
The heartbeats in us make silenced music —loud only by the essence of
Gaiety and humming drums lightly tapped by ancestral fingers,
Helping to warm our hearts and will in the face of the severest darkness
Made lighter by the glows of slow-running lights — the broad painting of
Dawn.
It was 64ºf and overcast this morning when Lisa and I started our 5-mile jog to the Harbor and back. We always start our semesters this way. We’re emotionally ready for fall weather and hopefully, a long and cruel winter.
Sunny, Lisa, Leong and I were starting the morning with breakfast together. We have summer catching up to do.
Of course, Sunny never does the expected. Over a bowl of heart-shaped Cheerios in the cafeteria, she announced that she’s “really going to try this year.”
“That's a choice,” Leong admitted dryly.
“You mean academically?” Lisa asked, for clarification purposes.
“Wait,” Leong updogged, “Did your parents ask for proof that you were here?”
Sunny rolled her eyes, she knew she’d get trolled with a newfangled declaration like that, but she meant it and she wasn’t tempted to elaborate.
“You’re a phoenix, rising from the ashes,” I said encouragingly.
“It’s a 4th in a lifetime opportunity,” Lisa noted.
Handling university academics is largely a structural task.
All it requires is artfully arranging information and slices of time.
“You’ve got this,” I affirmed.
“Let’s not get excited,” Sunny cautioned, “One reason I’m so hot is that I’m emotionally unavailable.”
“It’s your best quality.” Leong observed.
Tick tock, we’re all still unpacking but things are taking shape. Senior year starts in 3 days.
.
.
Songs for this:
Suddenly I See by KT Tunstall
Don't You Worry 'Bout A Thing by Stevie Wonder
Our cast:
Sunny, (roommate) 21, is from Nebraska, she’s a cowgirl (seriously, she has a quarter horse and barrel races it), she’s an outspoken fem-facing ladies-lady whose life is an endless parade of ‘sleepovers.’ Sunny knows all the best gossip and she’s somehow befriended all the professors.
Lisa, (roommate) 21, A Manhattanite and reluctant ‘glamor girl.’ My bff. A fellow (pre-med) molecular biophysics and biochemistry major.
Leong, (roommate) 21, is from Macau, China - the Las Vegas of Asia and a proud communist (don’t knock it til you’ve tried it). She and Sunny are ‘molecular, cellular, and developmental biology majors.’ I speak Cantonese - I lived in Shenzhen China (about 30 miles from Macau) - maybe that’s why she was originally paired with us?
Me, Your writer is just a simple country girl from Athens Georgia.
He was talked into hunting, but always reluctant.
He had an eye for beauty, and he loved animals.
His father trained him, and he was forced to do it.
He never enjoyed it, despising killing animals.
She was a lake faerie, delicate and pretty.
She had an empathetic heart and adored her fishes.
She liked the land animals too. She was soft-hearted.
She could not understand hunters; was fearful of them.
They met in the spring when he dipped to get a drink.
She had popped up for air, at the same time.
His arrows startled her; she told him of her fear of hunters.
He buried them, and never looked back.
They are a happy couple, non-meat-eaters, living on berries.
Fruits, nuts, vegetables also make up their diet.
He is living closer to his truth than he ever before had.
No longer fearful of hunters, she still does not seek them out.
Their families did not know if this union would work but it has.
They have been together for ten years, frolicking in the forest.
The animals trust them and have forgiven him his hunting ways.
All is pleasant; they are joyful and happy most of their days.
Poetry Soup abounds in poets who are special in unique ways and for me it was so hard to single out just one. So I was reluctant to join this contest. However at the last moment, I thought of choosing one, Edward Ibeh, a true gentleman in my eyes, who never comes to limelight, except for the contests he holds from time to time.
E - Effective words in place, a poet’s grace.
D - Diligent in duties and devoted to virtue in every place.
W- Wisdom and humility combine in this forbearing soul.
A - Authentic heart that cherishes life in its whole.
R - Radiates kindness like a guiding light.
D - Dignified in character, making many hearts bright.
I – Illustrious poet with a passion for his art, so genuine.
B - Braving adversities, in family and community shine.
E - Elevates fellow poets, giving due respect to all.
H - Honorable in every way, he's a gentlemanly soul.
“You don't lose if you get knocked down; you lose if you stay down.” Muhammad Ali
I've been struggling to exist,
since the day I was born.
A dehydrated butterfly
in a garden without rain.
A white page, an inkless quill,
a silent poet without words.
But when eyes feel fuzzy,
head a little dizzy,
and the pills don't work,
we fight the confusion like a
gladiator without a sword.
a knight without a shield.
Every time we get a bit of respite,
it's time for another fight.
Sometimes like an old boxer,
we get knocked to the ground,
but like a fledgling I resurface.
What other choice do I have?
I'm no mercenary,
no militant, no martyr.
I'm a wounded samurai
under a cherry blossom tree,
bloodshed blade by my side.
I drink pain like a glass of water,
embrace agony like a lover,
suffocate sorrow until it's over.
Pain is a reflection of my existence,
my wounds a reluctant legacy,
written from massacres of warfare -
but there is no purpose without struggle.
I always keep hope for tomorrow,
but live for today.
Life is an advent of adversity,
we win, we lose, we learn.
We are all warriors,
as life is one constant conflict.
We are forever fighters.