Long Rinsing Poems
Long Rinsing Poems. Below are the most popular long Rinsing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rinsing poems by poem length and keyword.
It started with
a drop that burnt my forehead at first,
then dissipated before it
had a chance to cool.
Denied passage on the path that traces my jawbone, ending where my mouth falls into a frown.
The sun was too quick to claim it.
Yet, there was no repudiation of the rush that followed as the long overdue clouds gave birth
and Earth received their babies,
afterbirth and all.
I stepped off the porch,
eager for the dirt to turn to mud,
which clung between my toes.
Then---
I held out my foot and watched as
the water streamed down either side,
rinsing the dirt away.
Clean. As it should be.
Will you dance with me,
now that the rains have returned to Zimbabwe?
A glass cup with a partially yellow-viscous liquid
filled just a little above half way
reflecting through a sharp angle, the rising sun
towards the thick and white woolly coverings
while sharing lips having the taste
of a throat rinsing chilled red wine.
Simultaneously eating warm confectioneries
from meaty tables of attractive bodies
picking each piece of popcorn
from allocated settlement of personal body portions.
Intentionally spilling chilled milk
on sacred anatomical planes
to mop it all out
with the ever longing wet tongue
all leading to a stage without a grand finale
just to make the road wet
for a sweet shower and a wonderful good morning.
k i n d n e s s
is the petrichor perfume
enveloping the sky,
between~
you and I
as clouds splatter juniper sprinkles,
coalescing stubborn storms,
rinsing away stained foams
with raining roses,
serenading hymns of heaven,
calming the internal conflicts
like soft rays of morning stars…
Tonight, I follow the distant sirens,
echoing sagas of the soothing sun,
seeking c o m f o r t
through soft feathers,
unfurling love laced in lilac
and lavender,
while candles and crystals
radiate radiant rubies,
elevating elegance,
enhancing z e s t.
For in the corners of my heart~
thrive twinkling tendrils
of tulip twilight,
wishing upon swirling sparks
of firefly wings;
'let this world be a diamond haven,
where compassion is the dialect
that eases thunder-struck seas..'
So remember…
I’ll be there when curtains close.
Listen to the breeze
carrying my prose,
written with timeless glitters.
Tell me that I am the name,
the crooning tern that glides above
resilient ripples’ whispers.
Tell me that the mauve moon
veiled in mellow mists
reminds you of me…
as I still weave k i n d n e s s
in kaleidoscopic ink,
to erase the darkness
that f a l l s upon your silken silhouette.
He is noticed
and
it has nothing to do with
runny nose reminders
torn pants
or the fact that his mother is social welfare user
they see him
surrounded by the blue frame
below the picture
an issued words for rinsing out that hands
and he had flowers germinated above his hands
as possibility to be
only if
it had been
addressed to him
delivered from laughter
saved from desire of
finding through him it's personal complacency
the solace
those words were more needed
they could have seen him differently
different
at least
without
that rope around his neck
Like the sparkling stream flowing down the hill
I see you dance around my green meadow,
Feel the air of ecstasy standing still,
Enticed by the ripples, your shy smile shows.
Shimmering dawn flushing the horizon
Masks your mystique face as the red sun burns.
Yearning splays hues in the sky of my own,
Straying there to wisps of cloud your smile turns.
Treading in blue night you’re drenched in stardust,
Enigma like sparks on you I see glow,
Rinsing you with secret aura of lust,
Its cadence in your smile begins to flow.
Even if from close many times I see,
Still, for me your smile is a mystery.
December 14. 2020
Syllable count : 10 per line (howmanysyllables.com)
Contest : Lifes Mysteries
Sponsor : John Hamilton
dew trickles, rinsing dusty leaves
cleansing the dark despair who grieves
exchanging daydreams for nickels
rinsing dusty leaves, dew trickles
rushing thoughts, over mountain streams
for nickels, exchanging daydreams
oh, the tears, so tied up in knots
over mountain streams, rushing thoughts
blazing sunlight, erasing fears
so tied up in knots, oh, the tears
cherish the still of dawn so bright
erasing fears, blazing sunlight
gentling praise, love to which I’m drawn
so bright, cherish the still of dawn
weeping words beneath sun’s soft gaze
love to which I’m drawn, gentling praise
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.
She tells the story with tears in her eyes: Her family's farm, largest farm in the county;
Land-granted, debt-free paradise; all they needed pay were quarterly taxes;
She tells of how one hot summer day, the wind began to blow,
Blowing away moisture-filled clouds, drying the ground into crackled layers.
She tells of bitter winter days, snow blowing back into the clouds,
Pastures dry-freezing, blasted by cold winds from the northwest.
She tells of hot winds scorching pastures; starving cattle choking on thistles;
Government agencies purchasing the remaining cow-shaped, walking skeletons;
She tells of beloved horses loaded into rail cars bound for St. Paul stock yards,
Purchased by the army for $3 a head -- 75 cents per glue-filled hoof;
She tells of scraping grit from the butter dish; scraping mud from the ice box;
Of lifting dusty scum from the milk bottles; rinsing dusty scum from mouth rags.
She tells of two years with no crops, two years of blowing dirt;
Two years with no rain, no snow; two years of diffused sunlight, beautiful sunsets;
She tells of so much electricity in the air, in the ground, running from roof to wire,
Men would wrap their hands in pieces of cloth before they touched
The handles of their cars, lest they be thrown to the ground from the static.
Her voice lowers as she tells of the day the wind finally faltered, then died away.
She tells of the day her grandfather stood on his once-proud porch,
Finally able seeing through clean, clear air, the farm he would soon no longer own.
Taxes unpaid, liens placed on farms, on equipment, on promises; 'sheriff's sale' posted;
Her tears fall as she tells of how he was forced to let it go, to give it up;
She tells of her birth, ten years later, in a migrant shack in Washington state;
She says history sealed her desperate legacy before she ever had a chance.
—In Which the Speaker Is Corrected—
He found the warmth where afternoon had lain,
And there resigned what every creature must;
I checked my step, then spent my quicker breath—
"Wilt eat and be all thy little trust?"
He wagged, because I still had said his name.
The room received us free of praise or blame.
Whilst yet I fetched the bucket and the cloth,
He brushed my knee as though I welcomed near;
Twice I removed him gently from the boards;
Twice he returned, mistaking wrath for cheer.
The cedar breathed. The rinsing water shone.
Outside, one thrush persisted in one tone.
The stain withdrew beneath the woven thread.
The grain resumed the labour of the floor.
No shadow crossed the candour of his gaze;
He waited only till I moved once more.
Nothing had altered any eye could prove.
The room kept listening after I had moved.
The kettle answered from the further wall.
A fly inscribed one circle through the light.
The chair remained exactly where it stood.
The window held the ordinary sight.
Then quietly—
The words went on obeying whom they chose.
They crossed me as the daylight crosses dust—
Without dispute, without the least delay.
He laid his forehead softly on my hand,
Possessed of no resentment to repay.
The floor grew clean beneath the whitening cloth.
The room had learnt another use for truth.
I drew the door. He crossed it as before.
His tail acquitted neither beast nor man.
The boards were dry. The bucket held clear water.
The cedar kept the fragrance with which it began.
No mark remained.
Only the house remembered who had spoken.
I sneaked in the house late last night
Couldn't risk turning on the light
Tripped over a chair and took flight
I felt the smite I felt the smite
A bruise appeared upon my thigh
Although from drinking, I was high
Without having an alibi
I'd have to lie I'd have to lie
I tried to keep my self-esteem
Covered it with expensive cream
But touching the spot made me scream
A faulty scheme A faulty scheme
Wife heard and asked, "What happened here?"
I said, "Sorry to wake you, dear."
She didn't believe me, I fear
I smelled of beer I smelled of beer
My suff'ring was not convincing
She used curse words without mincing
When washing dishes and rinsing
I am wincing I am wincing
I'll never pull that stunt again
Wife threatened me with ball and chain
Inside our house, the shrew does reign
She is insane She is insane