Long Reprieves Poems
Long Reprieves Poems. Below are the most popular long Reprieves by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Reprieves poems by poem length and keyword.
she leans back and points bare toes at clouds
chains creak their rhythmic squeak, hypnotic loud
taken aback, her hair sails slipstream flung
downstream freedom for a moment hung
in mid-air - earth's force gives up its grip
hands sweat, hold tight, they cannot slip...
underneath, grave ground drops and falls away
above, a fraction weightless, she holds sway
swing's song suckle drugs her hungry mind
lids close, sun glows infrared behind
pushed ahead, prow barges coldest breeze -
heady heights drop back to life's sleeze- tease
whistle warns soft shots across neck's nape -
a tug towards untimely no escape
pendulum head, concave waver rocks it
self gives way to backbone's growing grit
back or forth, the dipper croons reprieves unbought
no more a cradle - ladle, once more sought
after - alter course - alter - falter, first
of all, go back, bold, and slake high spirit's thirst
looming dark dips her fears in far off stars'
molten matter - fired white hot globes unbar
eternal flames, external spin as atoms swim
in ether - her thoughts burn bright just for Him
now's the time, now's the place, blown up sky high -
now's the time to kiss the shattered sky.
5th March 2019
Aqua Marine.
"Righteousness and Peace - they have kissed each other. " ( the connection of the two will be as evident to all as is the close association of affectionate friends...) Figuratively, a kiss could represent a demonstration of respect and devotion, and often served as a token of affection.
Last year the fields were dust and bone,
The rivers whispered in dirt and stone.
The sun stood high, a ruthless king
A crown of fire, heat never-ending.
It saw itself in glory and pride
And looked at the Earth in arrogant snide
“See me, how I’ve grown into a King,
Without me you wouldn’t be anything”
On the ground, far below
The flowers tried to stretch and grow
But their roots found only thirst beneath
And soon there was nothing left to reap.
They wilted, some in fear and hate,
Left silence- empty and desolate.
The Sun looked down in stunned despair
“Oh no I’m sorry – I’m un aware I just
Wanted all to see, how I have become a better me”
It fled in a bought of gloomy rain
To grieve and repent for the suffering and pain.
Seasons turned, as seasons do
And soon the great thaw gave way to blooms.
From sleeping seeds and smothered breaths,
The flowers arose from the dead.
They laughed and sung and danced in bands,
Waving their petals like music fans.
They sung forgiveness to the golden skies,
“We forgive, though you watched us die,
We understand that fires burn
But now its spring, we must return”.
The sun shone down with a meekly stare,
Its brilliant rays no longer proud or flared.
It heard its pardon, the flowers’ reprieves
But it could not shake the guilt it had buried deep.
The sun, ashamed, began to pour
Its sorrow down forevermore.
The clouds, they gathered, bloated and dim,
The air grew thick, the sky turned grim.
The river swelled, out of its bed
The water rushed and rushed and spread.
It tore through roots of daisy and lily
And swallowed the meadows of the Mississippi.
The flowers, once so brave and bright,
Were drowned beneath a falling light.
Their stems went limp, their petals bled
Not scorched this time, just softly dead.
The sun burned on, behind the veil,
A ghost behind a cloudy jail.
It couldn’t find forgiveness in itself,
So please next time, forgive yourself.
The tergiversation against King Jesus is appalling
All the fiefs and land and margraves are falling
Even the ancient parchments of the Holy Roman Empire
Are being burnt in the Eclectic Funeral Pyre
God is Overseer of all antiquity: from the fall of Adam and Eve
All the way up to and include the resurrection of you and me
All the kings and queens of the middle ages
All the seers and the corrupt sages
Are the chess pieces, as each one ceases
Become deceased (don't think you can do whatever you please)
As God slightly bumps the chessboard and causes reprieves
With nothing but direction of HIStory up His sleeves
With fair maidens along for the ride
(Some of them have something to hide)
And they don't know what resides in their wombs
That one day the offspring will fill the unholy tombs
Only God can move and direct incomparably
The comprehensibility of and panoramic of all history
Dread, dream of tomorrow.
O Death, shadow the move.
Sin, thy light! Blanch to borrow!
Sorrow, what to prove?
Weathervane, by lightning struck.
Are you out of luck?
Antlers, justify the buck!
Night, wind, run amok...
Anger, boil within my veins!
Justice, I invoke!
O ye prisoners, break thy chains!
Egg, devour thy yolk!
Torn open, O resting place?
Sounds like a disgrace!
Poison, best to speed thy pace!
Cone, caldera, case...
Autumnal the colored leaves.
Red run roll reprieves.
Corn stalk, indigo, thy sheaves.
He who fights believes.
Gifts of gold and silver?
O riches, where to find?
Ask the huntress! Fill? Fur.
Somewhere the sun shined...
Dark fire, bloom and blossom!
O belladonna, brain!
Pain within us, play possum!
Downward, my disdain...
Never have I felt the sun shine
Or heard blowing wind speak
Within this cavern I align
Frozen in stalactite confine
I dream drips of dew drops unique
Formed by the sun I seek
One of the countless stalagmite
Protect the cavern floor
Facing our northern brothers height
Waiting here unmoving, my plight
Made of their drops, solid to core
Yet I want to be more
Not to be still rock formation
Dependent of their scrap
To grow on in bright elation
Not in this darkest damnation
Not to feel like nature's mishap
To feel caught in a trap
I could be flora lush and green
Pure dew on fragile leaves
Only my wildest roots unseen
Branches with elements convene
Reaching for solar rays achieves
Reprieves by shadow thieves
I’ll wait for giving’s from above
Fall to our rounded tops
Our centuries of growth thereof
To petrify, not push or shove
Wishing this muddy water swaps
With fresh gleaming dew drops
~ for Karin ~
oh how a fair breeze of Autumn can stir
my heart with reprieves - the redolent leaves
remembrance of romance with you in a blur
soft eyes in a camber of absinthe and amber
wheaty hair spilling like corn silk to shoulders
framing two spicy bow lips as they smoldered
falling like leaves … for you
oh how this time lifts me back to a dream
our ivy-clad schools - such unripened fools
a world as our oyster, and raw it would seem
escaped to the woods - discarding our goods
we swam on a blanket of bright leafy death
straining in passions to fever each breath
falling like leaves … for you
oh how the chill always kindled our flame
pining each week for the rose of your cheek
weekends adoring the ways that you came
our fleshy memoirs ‘neath branches and stars
each mutual climax much sweeter than last
the moments exhausted like us, far too fast
falling like leaves … for you
oh Autumn yet sings midst my sinews today
the libertine flood still coursing my blood
you ‘waken my core in the most vexing way
when October flies I ache for your sighs
tho’ marrow grows icy the mem’ry remains
chaotic obsessions through prurient pains
someday I’ll surrender them - tears in the rain
falling like leaves for you …
still falling … in Deja vu.
* This is a very rhythmic and musical form I created called ‘QARINAGE’ I hope you enjoyed it. *
( photographic art created copyright-free by the author with GALA AI software )
Strikingly Naked
By Odin Roark
Voicing the reflection one sees insures
the facade really is,
was,
must have been.
Time passes…
How smoky the reflection,
this aging identity of accumulated distortion,
where once perception played innocently,
found disguises to hide behind,
who now past the age of innocence,
sees the exposed abyss of shadowed deceptions.
Such awareness knows well the mirror,
where cognizance of the make-believe
beckons the right light,
the flattering shade,
the required eye-sparkle of denial,
no matter the reality.
At some point…
Behind the rehearsed and performed persona,
we raise the inner window
revealing the self-of-fact,
that place where we gulp
what air is left,
sucking up any reserved willingness
blowing in from subterranean shores
to help beat back our self-imposed exile.
One surges forward…
Pulls open the only door
the entrance we feared opening,
an opening your inner monologue
always whispered was there
but you chose to remain imprisoned
by the mirror.
Revelation…
The door now open,
leads to other doors,
so small they seem
as you bend, crawl,
find other rooms,
windowless cubbyholes,
where night sweats
and endless reprieves
once kept you breathing,
albeit your own recycled dead air.
How rewarding…
To see for the first time,
your own recidivist delusions
reverberating like shattered emulations,
blinding your eyes with its refractive light,
burning through regrettable behavior imprisoned,
where no steel bars were ever necessary,
where a place of truth awaited,
a wilderness you are finally ready to explore.
Such is the manifest moment…
When you couldn't be so strikingly naked,
had you not kept yourself so carefully dressed
all those years.
“Love is like the wind, you can't see it but you can feel it.”
- Nicholas Sparks, A Walk to Remember
Soft wind caresses my cheek,
Carrying a gentle that is just what I seek.
Gusts of joy, falling with leaves,
Simmering cinnamon and ginger reprieves.
Wafting slowly, a dance with wonder,
Laughing, soaring, then raging thunder.
Whispering melodies, music in lights,
Faithful colors of calm autumn nights.
Glistening, silent as the moon in the sky,
Strewn by the One my heart won’t deny.
Whooshing, twisting, encircling my life,
Harvest of love without great pain or strife.
Breeze of autumn, stilling the soul’s fears,
Breathless, urging, wiping away her tears.
Melancholic, like the memories who survive,
Defeating time, destiny who’ll always thrive.
Dreamy sighs, shadows dancing in the air,
Listening to silence, where abides my prayer.
Still, cool gales, taking me through the days,
Embracing my spirit with such love and praise.
Listen closely to the wisdom of the wind’s gasp,
She’ll reveal the warmth of autumn’s grasp.
Burnished fires, feeding on the crackle of harvest trees,
Blessing the moments with her playful tease.
Unspoken, her promise is forever in these hills,
Reminding all that she is the sensation who stills.
Blinding the storms, she leaves a winsome hope,
Giving assurance that the soul will be able to cope.
While I may never know the source of her amazing,
When she speaks, she tells of One whose worthy of praising!
I listened for the rain,
it emerged slowly now and again
from a crepuscular caliginus sky,
the tenebrous mist that trickled down lightly in the by and by
as if they were drops of salted tears
shed by an unseen entity's fears;
it was the dream that seemed far away
to hover throughout the day
with scattered light cool breezes
beating and flushing the tree leaves into the eaves,
spitting, spewing, snaking, swirling for all to see
stretching just above the distant canopies;
for once the weather predictions were spot on,
it remained overhead for three days within the briar
each day more intense than the prior,
no reprieves as it fell west to east
and cycled back again from the ocean to land to feast
on shorelines, forests and homes as if a wild, relentless beast;
the drops were big and cold
chilled by some northeast winter's scold
quiet then loud drumming on every roof,
streams and puddles formed aloof
into places where footsteps once abound,
the earthy musk odors rising from the ground,
now the lush grass rolled over
patted down the pelted clover
bowing in submission to the stormy drover;
I heard its' tumultuous cry
rocking, pitching while on the fly
without a whisper or a word before it died,
I heard it,
the rain sighed.
Like a sweet child in ballet
toe steps glide across the archway,
A graceful pirouette holding breath and heartbeat
balanced then suddenly rising like modern athletes.
A rhythmic cadence hustles across the days
when life is simple and living all game play,
Then the day waltzes methodic 3/4 weeks
sashaying manic tango pause then slips away piqued.
The merengue drags bodies closely touched
sweeping lags across the room in two quarters clutched,
bolero sharps and turns spinning like the fading years
lost in the frenzy of living fast and freely shed tears
A twisting stomp to slap the earth
quick tarantella wild winds giving birth,
a shuffle into polonaise gentle and lullaby eyes
slides to rest in minuet reprieves and haunting cries.
Too soon the days are months turned to years
and decades lost to the aging cheers,
gone is the youth of preset times
lost but not forgotten holding their prime.
Like the dance that stirred our spirits long ago
dream and memory holds steady in life's shows,
there is no end for life's pawn,
the dance lives forever a youthful swan.