Long Restart Poems
Long Restart Poems. Below are the most popular long Restart by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Restart poems by poem length and keyword.
If I were to collage next year
I’d place bronze across gold
and third over first,
stick paper upon electric,
paste glutton below thirst.
If I were to sculpt next year
I’d chisel women into boardrooms,
chip away white to reveal colour,
smooth borders, fences and walls,
curve catwalks with something fuller.
If I were to paint next year
I’d splash rainbows over churches
and shade Xs in boxes to stay,
I’d smudge pay gaps, titles and labels,
etch over surgeries, filters and Black Friday.
But if I were to sketch last year,
using invisible ink I’d draw a stage, ruined,
without watercolour I’d wax a bridge, rammed apart,
in fine liner I’d retouch a city’s cycle path, attacked,
keeping a vanishing point in sight and restart.
So if art was time, and I free to design,
I’d graffiti the White House
with handprints the paint of all races,
I’d stencil love above hate,
and erase hurtful mouths from all faces.
An opinion falling like rain
Cascading over everything
A center point of chaotic felony
Delete your voice
They're coming for you again
Pound the pavement
Pound on the walls
There's nowhere to go
They know the way it flows
Paste pastel words over your mouth
When everything goes south
Those words aren't your own
They're prettied up lies
Spat by the callous kind
An intricate existence built up
By a foundation of broken verse
A wobble here and a wobble there
Everything is falling apart
There's nowhere for you to restart
Dodge the bullets, dodge the train
Your chest erupts in pain
Perhaps all this was in vain
And you'll slowly go insane
The words are falling all around you
Drenching your clothes and your mind
There's no escape from the apes
So tape over the paper cuts
Blossoming in your heart
Just don't be afraid
The swiftness of wind, elevated.
Cold skies spreading their gloomy wings.
A crow leaps, then lunges towards the darkness.
Pushing, penetrating the reaping clouds.
Thick white bondages, broken.
Faint scents of smoke linger, waiting.
An aura of orange pierces the atmosphere,
cherry blossoms burst into flames.
Sparks of a cold, empty pink petal waste away into the orange mist.
Swirls of heat and cold, clashing, the smoke grows.
Side to side, side to side.
Burning the illusion, exposing the heart.
Side to side, side to side.
Absorbing the pain, we must restart.
Standing still at the gates of the frozen Garden.
I take a step towards the stainless steel
I look back at myself, then back once more,
Petals from the entity passed through me.
Wind lifting me, soaring through the air,
surrounded by cold flowers, only then do I feel comforted.
As I land near the rotting roots I take a deep breath,
The pitch black void takes in all the surrounding light.
As the sky towers over in darkness, all that’s left
to guide me is the everlasting black,
illuminating my path to the throne.
We may liken head as Hiranyagarbha
Containing manifested universe within
The dimensionless Anahata an enigma
Residence of Atma in stillness sanguine
Upon cosmic egg splitting arises duality
Male & female energies fuse in the heart
Giving rise to bliss of explosive intensity
Moment to moment ignition does restart
Gurus divine blessing as rod of initiation
Enlivening within form enabled lifetrons
Thus arises from root to crown bliss elation
The pulse of bliss at each moment reborn
There is no finality upon this pathless path
The divine love imbibed in hues beauteous
Each moment in the pulse a holy sabbath
Resonating with the divine play continuous
Our affirmation no validation of this secret
Each in aloneness receives as of their merit
31-July-2020
I'm not playing games with my heart,
Love is not a game of ecarte;*
Take, discard, take again, and trump,
Win, lose, win, lose and then restart.
Love should not be just a speed bump,
Never a noisy callithump,**
On the highway from birth to death,
Love is a soft and sweet triumph.
And triumph fills our every breath.
When we drink at the shore of Leth***
Love's memory will not depart
Its passion fills the depth and breadth.
*a French game of cards
**a noisy parade
***a river in Hades. Drinking its water removes the memories of life.
For: Interlocking Rubaiyat Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Angel L Villanueva
October 21, 2021
And once more I am anew to begin
Finding moments for founded time
And dreaming for the everyday living
Timing moments for the unfounded to find
Perhaps easier if a simple restart can do
Yet the reset button isn’t at all to work
Perhaps better yet to being the fool
Let live moments to be unnoticed... undisturbed
And I do not have reasons to begin anew
Simply how my time has chosen to serve
Some choice entrusted for me to eventually feel
Not my choice... yet what of love?
And am single, alone and true
Time to mingle... I’m old and new
For another to know another you
To deal, to seal, to feel and to be real
I’m living for moments need dreaming
Yet unfounded moments comes with unfounded time
And once more I am older to begin
Laughing at time for moments yet to find
In forests where the whispered secrets play,
Komorebi weaves through branches, a dance so bright,
A tapestry of light in tranquil display,
A sacred serenade, a soul's delight.
Through leaves, the sun's benevolent embrace,
Bestows on earth its ethereal grace,
In dappled shadows, spirits interlace,
Creating sanctuaries, a holy place.
For Komorebi's realm, love's essence must prevail,
Its shadows on beloved hearts, a cherished tale,
Embraced by hues of love, a tranquil, blessed art,
A heaven for the soul, a serenity's restart.
This radiant art, a spiritual hymn,
A tranquil blessing, nature's whispered prayer,
Where light and peace in harmony swim,
An offering of serenity so rare.
When soul mirrors mourning moonrise,
rose silk ink bleeds fluent fine art,
while the goddess of thunder sighs.
Forsaken flowers face grey skies,
to illuminate kohl glass heart,
when soul mirrors mourning moonrise.
Shadows swirl amidst cosmic ties,
searching for stars from miles apart,
while the goddess of thunder sighs.
Dreams glow like neon gold fireflies,
yearning for songs that never depart,
when soul mirrors mourning moonrise.
Some rhymes are stained in scarlet dyes,
to thaw the pain on a night's dart,
while the goddess of thunder sighs.
I paint sunsets with cold desires,
find crystal clear cues to restart,
when soul mirrors mourning moonrise,
while the goddess of thunder sighs.
Everyone harbors a tattered fleet of bygones in dock
Old scores and sores of direct hits we've sustained
In past long gone battles and tussles, well past o'clock
But held as bygone mementos, your slate unclean and stained.
Forgiveness should not forget, but should move on.
Let sleeping dogs lie, let bygones lie and be bygones.
What's done can't be undone, let it be dusted and gone.
Bury your bygones deep, so your future is not cluttered with cons.
People you know and meet will tattle and tell on friends
Gossip truths and whoppers about what they have done wrong
But how does that help to make up, move on with amends
When the legacy of the past lingers, but should be long gone.
Like cartoon balloons, or stickies, bygones not gone
Pop up with messages, above friends, about who did what to whom.
Clean the slate, clean the desks, restart with blank icon
Having processed and churned over a past, rendered in salt, a plume.
Resolve to build resilience to cope with what's past
Expand your social engagement, divorce your bygones to past mast nailed
Set bygones adrift to be dashed in storms offshore, your harbor clean at last
To welcome fresh blow-ins with 'let's make up' blazoned on sail.
Inside my head, I sometimes hear a song:
Often it is one that I have heard before.
Just one song only, playing all day long,
turning off, then on; I do not know what for!
A special song for each day,which I cannot ignore.
Yes, each day it seems a different tune takes wing
to flutter in my brain so tirelessly.
This tune will take a rest while I am focusing
on matters of importance; furthermore, the melody
that I keep hearing might some other day revisit me!
My time each morning driving, singing to the radio
is the start of this phenomenon.
One tune will stay with me as into work I go.
It's possible by evening it could well be gone,
then restart at bedtime or reappear at dawn!
Last week there came to me a lovely tune -
A gift to me from a musician. It has stayed
for several days with me. I hope it won’t be leaving soon
The words inside my head entwining with the tune he made
are the very lyrics that I penned - my own sweet serenade!
WRitten By andrea dietrich, 9/14/2015 and posted 9/16/2015 for a contest that closed before Oct.
For Trashed #2 Poetry Contest, sponsor, Broken Wings