Long Retrieves Poems
Long Retrieves Poems. Below are the most popular long Retrieves by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Retrieves poems by poem length and keyword.
When the lights of evening dusk have eluded me long enough
I shall not walk through the hallways of death
with resentment at my side
nor shall I hold any grudges against my fiends and
family members
When the sun in faded gold retrieves above the ocean
I shan't use force to make it stay, I will let it go
and if the good Lord hulls me in like he did
with Peter, I will not anchor my ship in deep waters of rancor,
for I know that for every dying sunset there is a brand new sunrise.
I won't waste time on pity nor greed,
I will happily be hulled
and when I'm finally finished cruising the world,
I will let go of that mast that I have grown so fond of,
and join the seagulls in the sky.
Shadow Play
While Freud sits at the mind end of the couch phallus in hand
shapes others’ dreams in unspoken imposition ‘must-abation’
analyses abuses his daughter in metaphorical incest projects
his own aggressive sexual drives and neurotic megalomania
Jung after killing the father figure sits with and under shadows
gathers the zenith of clouds rays collects collective conscience
unconsciousness retrieves ancient symbols propagates mythical
archetypes to archetypical conclusions reflects tainted sunshine
He forges gently I surmise poles and vaults of contradictions
opposites polar juxtapositions seemingly un-mutual mysteries
and ponders light and darkness tearing torn apart thus healing
in the complementing contrast of void change completeness
Where Freud posits polymorph perversity bit by sexual bitter
sweet bit in a bid for so called science of mind over matter Jung
morphs perpetual change crafted and cast through a different
lens admits to poetic licence narration oral traditions and growth
******** in mind not of the ***** castrated in fear not envious of
phallic dominance over clitoral defence wombs groomed entombed
by guilt transgression sexual submission shallow **** oral penile
ossification of flaccid resurrection Jung begs and offers to differ
In complex incomplete never-ending search a path from change to
change and beyond dialectical synthesis played enacted in parallel
processes and progressive psychological drama of a different kind
he much kinder more reflective less regressive and adventurous
Lets shadows erect and paint play dance reflect and move on
16th August
The moon reflects softly
On the ocean’s surface tonight.
I’m a master of intelligence
With the C.I.A. codename: Night Surfer.
I secretly...spy my surroundings,
I text...coded messages to the target.
To rendezvous in the heart of the sand.
For an ambiguous adventure.
The soothing...waves provide
As a sound barrier to muffle her sighs.
A cool breeze stirs and tousles her...hair,
A top-secret mission is underway,
As I spy and search my target thoroughly.
Merging silhouettes fuse as one bulk of shadow.
My clandestine service...steams up,
During these passionate...pulsating moments.
Her keypad for her secret gates flicker’s
In a crimson flash for the secret code,
As we play tongue...tag on the sand.
“Let me inhale you...let me devour you,
You flutter your eyelashes like butterfly wings.”
Then, I trip the alarm...as it loudly sounds through the air.
Brrrp...brrrp...brrrp...brrrp...brrrp...brrrp.
Intruder alerts blare through her facial expressions,
As I encrypt the code to cease the alarm.
I softly kiss the nape of her neck,
Under the blanket of celestial moon and starlight.
My hard drive retrieves the data...
A mission success on a sexual...spy op.
Pleased eyes gaze into the distance,
At the reflection of the moon...beaming softly,
On the ocean’s surface as we disappear swiftly like we arrived.
Leaving behind sifted...sand with the contours
Of a steamy rendezvous of a successfully completed mission.
Aerial dribs and drabs, a sidewalk canvas
As a toddler chases bubbles her mother blows
from confectionary soap,
Fluttering fluidity in spring air
Child's laugh, a mosaic of innocence, discovery and glee
Her run after each globe, unsteady, twisted gravity
Her footwork shifts in warfare wobble, no sinkhole falling
Her reach to pop each bubble, circus kerfuffle, giddy,
giggles that swing like a trapeze artist,
while a mother retrieves
unexpected memory
shards of recovery
that coat a guarded self
Neverland jester, a child's guileless glow,
routing air baubles
unconstrained by space,
untethered from fear,
avoiding a fall off the planet
to limited mobility
For sometimes life's march
doesn't start on time
Poem revised: April 19, 2021
cigarette falling, snow-
ing in-
side the bronco,
buck-
ing ash two-digit scissors
reach-
ing like tongs
passenger’s eyes pop
driver
retrieves, revels, masters
the smoke; a joke
to the occupant
occupational hazard:
timing of
timber
window ajar; a trail
of chimney smoke
a cautionary tale:
don’t make my insides jiggle
jingle bells are merrily ringing
can’t help myself
previously, at the airport
man flies
off his luggage seat
goes splat in the turkey line
his phone’s fly-
ing
and i wonder why
i’m the only one
giggling
i leave the state in newfallen snow,
splash-
down on the tarmac
in Georgia
Nov 2022
Word Toccata in A Major
Jaundiced ’53 Cadillac in my sweetheart’s carport.
She leaves the hole keys inside the empty fish bowl.
Hidden in her trunk are a set of golf clubs with knife wounds;
Her secret boyfriend with the purple tattoo of a face scar,
Recites from shotgunned memory the Love Song by Mister Eliot,
As my sweetheart bathes upstairs with a fleeting candle and Camay,
Pure white, and scented as eucalyptus breaths in the cooing moonlight.
Fevered ’49 Commodore parked luridly in her back alley.
He retrieves the hole keys from within the empty fish bowl.
Hidden in her trunk are a brace of golf balls with black bruises;
Soon he will trudge through fairway greens in pursuit of exotic birds,
Reciting Prufrock with two young robins pecking seed before him.
Upstairs now, he relaxes in my sweetheart’s bath with Camay and a gun,
Pure crimson, and scented as medusae bulbs in the screaming moonlight.
Again, the snail of time seems frozen:
White grass surrounded my cauliflower;
Now, naïvely visited by mice, -a dozen,
Come from the huge hoarfrost`s tower.
Furs with the variegated undecided color
Stay in the bed of tired yellow leaves,
Telling their jokes with old dark humor
On what poetical surprises fate retrieves.
Beyond the horizon of their question,
An echo in the season of the frozen sea,
Whose trembling hands, with scent of onion,
Squeeze the lemon of the sun in my cup of tea.
My morning tea`s made from leaves of time;
Flying leaves,-I tried and never I was able
To catch while tasting my dry biscuit`s rhyme
Fallen down under the sky`s golden table.
Beneath her breasts
lies a special place
where the soul and the heart rendezvous.
Between her thighs are the answers
to all of life’s mysteries.
You should have known you’d find them there.
In the palm of her hands is the cure for heartache
and unrequited love. Never will she ignore
a distressed spirit. Calmness is inside her.
There, she gently fights a war against
dismal destinies and dilapidated dreams.
With the diligence of a child at task,
she retrieves you from the catacombs and breathes life into you
so that you can begin again, as if you never knew death.
Look for the woman.
Omnipotence is there.
Stardust sprinkles from heaven and glitters my mind
Ignites on impact and retrieves distant memories
Lightens the path to the future and guides my senses
Many of the kind sparklers have long ceased to exist
Their life span has been huge in comparison with mine
Yet we are both finite ephemeral transient and real
When I look inside me and match our reason for being
I cannot but think about smallness and greatest desire
For peace and compassion kindness and tender caress
My late grandma taught me to respect all sentient beings
Today she would be a Buddhist or benign esoteric witch
And I know that stellar constellations can feel the pain
They touch upon my sad sorrows and ease the hardship
Emote passion and inclination and give me a knowing smile
When I get too big for my boots and require overseeing
I embrace cosmic powder and sift through my feelings
Follow a comet here or there as they drift past my joy
I will not outlive celestial bodies but my soul marches on
18th March 2020
Packed like sardines
inside a jeepney*—
Too full,
with a jeepney strike going on.
Rushing,
mother and child ride along.
Greasy, dirty, malnourished…
The woman holds a can—
a makeshift drum.
Little boy hands out envelopes,
he looks like he's 3 years old,
he's most likely 6.
Woman beats her drum,
nobody listens
chatter drowning out the rhythm…
Invisible ears to go with
invisible envelopes
His head touches my legs,
dissipating heat—
an indicator of how long
he's been under the sun and smog
The thought chills me…
He stares at my sister's shopping bags
with searing eyes…
Windows that I can’t bear to look into,
afraid to see my reflection of clouded guilt and frustration
I shake my head, no food to share
but my hands reach out to his,
to give him some money.
My sister remembers a bottle of iced tea,
and hands it to him.
He has a hard time opening it,
and asks for help from the school girls…
Invisible again.
I reach out and get the bottle from him
Temporary refreshment
for a body that is parched,
for a soul who is thirsty for so much more.
I cannot help but gulp in guilty air.
He sits on the aisle,
savoring the tea
as his mother thumps on the can.
The little boy retrieves envelopes, all empty—
as hollow as the sound of the beating drum.
What do you do,
what can you do?
The jeepney stops.
They alight from it...
The mother looks back
and says, "Salamat.*"
It goes straight to my heart.
Her eyes move me most—
one eye is cloudy, grayed out,
perhaps a manifestation
of the storms in her life?
That single word seared through me,
and I felt how much she meant it…
Her thank you
made me want to give so much more,
to call out to her and give whatever I had at the moment
but they are gone...
Lost in a crowd of faceless people,
and I myself want to get lost,
hide my face in shame…
What can you do?
--For Debbie’s Tell Me a Story contest…
*jeepney—is a public transportation vehicle here
*Salamat is “Thank You”