Long Rolling wave Poems
Long Rolling wave Poems. Below are the most popular long Rolling wave by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rolling wave poems by poem length and keyword.
The muddle of sleep—
The grand entrance to Morpheus' legendary palace
In whole or half a tablet;
Easy breaths of chemicals
In pretty, light-refracting bottles.
I prepare myself for an escorted journey
To where dreams float from their origin
Like glossy bubbles through netted neurons
I am the keeper of sedatives—
An expert in manoeuvring through fallen thoughts
Don't they know I need sleep too?
I need this perceived travel through time
To kiss my lips—
To enter slowly with its glowing tongue
And seduce my mind into a comfortable numbness—
To lug it, like a limp body,
Away from the sounds of rubber through rain
Onto a restful shore.
Yes,
I do vie
For my senses to trip, drunkenly,
Over one and other
Like a vague rolling wave in cloudy space.
It is actually a religion
Or maybe I'm confusing it with religious consumption—
Swallowing rotund solidity
Like a whore swallows fluidity.
This is not ecstasy
This is prescribed tranquility, so it's OK.
Okay, and infinitely sweeter,
Because it does not put me in a hot air balloon
With a finite fire.
I don't ever need to descend;
Just open my eyes to the sun through my blinds
Society is dancing on my back
Across my stomach
Trying to expel the demon inside me.
I love these molecular robots;
They drift with a purpose and close the dock
Where insomnia frequents.
Afternoon shakes off grogginess,
The invisible lotus leaf
Stamped on my brow,
And pulls me up the conscious ladder.
I don't want to be here.
Circles of slumber—those precious pills
Are always as good as I want them to be—
As I beg them to be—
As I need them to be.
Form:
"Poetry is a life-cherishing force. For poems are not words,
after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost,
something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry."
— Mary Oliver
With pen in hand, I readily compose heartfelt lines
filled with aggregations of thought and emotion.
Verses that break chains that bind, setting me free
as if I were a shackled slave in the Land of Goshen.
Freed by my pen, I've been redeemed from the sea,
and each poem a litany, recited on a rolling wave.
Poetry is the seafaring wind that fuels my sails,
navigating me to exotic, faraway places I crave.
I'm unanchored without the burden of an albatross
tied around my neck when I choose to compose.
While tethered to a pen, I'm safe and kept afloat
in tragic times of mourning and sorrowful woes.
Rhyming romantic Sonnets stirs my sensual blood,
for then I am imagining being someone's treasure.
With the heart of a passionate poet, I take part
by scribing torrid scenes of fervor beyond measure.
Writing breathes anima into the chasms of my soul.
I celebrate my poetry as art, a revered tour de force.
Poetry is my source of equilibrium, joy, and peace
when life's adversities attempt to steer me off course.
November 28, 2022
Poetry is a Life-Cherishing Force Contest
Sponsored by Sotto Poet
"Poetry is a life-cherishing force. For poems are not words,
after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost,
something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry."
— Mary Oliver
With pen in hand, I readily compose heartfelt lines
filled with aggregations of thought and emotion.
Verses that break chains that bind, setting me free
as if I were a shackled slave in the Land of Goshen.
Freed by my pen, I've been redeemed from the sea,
and each poem a litany, recited on a rolling wave.
Poetry is the seafaring wind that fuels my sails,
navigating me to exotic, faraway places I crave.
I'm unanchored without the burden of an albatross
tied around my neck when I choose to compose.
While tethered to a pen, I'm safe and kept afloat
in tragic times of mourning and sorrowful woes.
Rhyming romantic Sonnets stirs my sensual blood,
for then I am imagining being someone's treasure.
With the heart of a passionate poet, I take part
by scribing torrid scenes of fervor beyond measure.
Writing breathes anima into the chasms of my soul.
I celebrate my poetry as art, a revered tour de force.
Poetry is my source of equilibrium, joy, and peace
when life's adversities attempt to steer me off course.
Wandering down the murky tunnel,
I count the cracks along the cavern walls.
Further and further they spread like veins.
To my avid blood, their secrets call.
They promise understanding and hope.
All the answers my heart wishes to know.
I trace my finger along their ridged curves
And close my eyes, coaxing them to show.
I see the opening coming close, so
I follow them to the end of their reach.
I kiss the secrets goodbye and face forward,
Only to be greeted by a desolate beach.
I trail along the wanderer’s footsteps
Until I reach the sea’s cooling caress.
In I dip one toe and then two,
Sighing in contempt and bliss.
I scrub my foot against the jagged sand,
And turn to stare into the vast emptiness.
A place once so full of life and joy,
Now completely emerged into nothingness.
I remove my foot from the sea’s rolling wave
And wonder "Where did the happiness go?"
I once held it so tightly in my grasp but as the
Sand in my hand, it quickly fades too.
Should I return back to the tunnel
And beg it for the answers I crave?
Or wander through my existence,
Alone and confused, ‘till my grave?
I awake to find my breathing harsh.
Images of the vivid dream dance in
My eyes sight, to a horrid tune
As sand rubs my foot at the bed’s end.
Life is a beach but not too sunny when cancer comes along.
The day it came to me, I never could imagine the obnoxious waves
that would come rolling onto the beach I so enjoyed.
With tests, surgery, eventual radiation treatments,
and with each new rolling wave of depressing information,
it plunged me deeper and deeper into despair.
Being told the lump inside my breast
was probably benign - then learning it was not.
Being told I should not need chemo - then being told
indeed, you do need chemo- you are “genetically at risk.”
Each wave was one of helplessness, uncertainty, and dread.
Turning down chemo and opting “only” for my 34 days of radiation
was not what my surgeon desired, but I am considered now a survivor,
albeit one who whose next possible encounter with a wind storm
would be that of an encounter with a tsunami.
I plant on my beach now beautiful trees with fruits' nourishment
to combat rare effects of unnecessary treatments in my storm's aftermath.
However, I thank God for the sage advice of the few professionals
who counseled me intelligently in the time of my wind storm and also
in its aftermath, and I thank God for every sunny day on my beach.
May 28, 2019 For The "Topic of Cancer" Poetry Contest of Craig Cornish
You disappeared like foam on a slow rolling wave
You sang a deep-throat song like from a small creature
Your gaze sang songs of sad sunrises to me
You shook my world leaving me by Life's roadside
On dark alleys running through my imagination
You sought people with sad souls
I became confused, your sadness overwhelmed me
your discontent hung like lone shadows on a barren hillside
Lover's pain is meant to teach fragile lessons of the heart
The pain you inflicted on me is an open wound I hide in my soul
I'm not naive, I know that life is not a frivolous party
but neither should it be all pain
A peaceful anxiety engulfs me
As I sit wafting through the winter of my sorrow
trying to make sense of us
you were my chosen one, I chose my pain
You are not to blame
You were the guiding star in my life for a short minute
my father should have warned me
women like you come soft and cuddly like kittens
but leave in a fiery destructive storm
But it's too late now,
you are with him wherever you are
and I am here sitting on the floor sobbing
embracing my tenth beer.
I can honestly say that I have loved,
and lived on the edge of the world.
Shared from my shore to yours all
my emotions from inside.
But as time comes and goes,
so do the people that pass .
I was looking for an open embrace,
a soft gentle smile when I saw your
face.
Searching the world’s depths for a love so right,
one I could reach for and know all would finally
be alright.
But sometimes life is cruel and fate takes the
upper hand to rule.
As time comes and goes so, have my feelings
for you I hold dear wishing you could be near.
Knowing those shores are simply shores.
They border the distance between us.
I have no magic bridge to draw nor a
path that can reach you tonight.
Time only remains to remind me of the
distance that will always remain between you and me.
I cannot set sail upon the deep blue sea.
For the time moves on and it passes
swift with each rolling wave.
Nevertheless, I can always say I have honestly
loved you with an undying love.
From within the flux its breath sweeps the shoreline,
Sometimes spewing forth flotsam and jetsam
Lolling us to sleep with its soothing savoury sighs.
Its siren calls hypnotising the unwary and confidant.
Drawing us to depths of hidden fury and peace.
Scouring the lands with an insatiable appetite,
Forever hungry, it’s stomach a pitiless pit of plenty.
Its minions devouring the fallen. Lost in opaque screams.
The rolling wave ripples through to the very soul,
Its innocuous plate sparkles in white foamy trepidation.
Beckoning us, taunting us, through its congenital self.
Primordial waves bathe our lives as we search the shore.
For peace, love and isolation, now flung and strewn.
Where hope of salvage dwell in our beachcombing souls.
We wish to return from where once we came, we lost embryos.
Our mislaid mother calls, still we newcomers neglect her voice.
5th Aug 2013..........S.de Burca
Upon the crest of a whispering wave,
A love letter sealed in a bottle's embrace,
Tossed by the tides, an age ago,
Lost in the depths, where mysteries flow.
Within its parchment, emotions reside,
Ink stained with feelings, impossible to hide,
A longing expressed in words so true,
Captured in time, like morning's first dew.
Conch shell trumpets a tale of old,
Announcing love in echoes bold,
Carried by breezes, a melodious call,
Love's proclamation, enchanting all.
Cowrie shells shimmer, treasures of the sea,
Symbolizing love's currency, pure and free,
Gifts from the ocean, precious and rare,
Like the depth of affection two souls share.
In a world of fragments, memories cast,
Love's legacy endures, forever to last,
Upon the crest of each rolling wave,
Echoes of devotion, eternally brave.
Home from School
A little stream by the village bridge.
Clear cold water over jagged stones
searched for pieces of china in the mud
as we meandered slowly home.
Once-treasured patterns and bits of bones and
a black eel,rolling wave,burrowing far.
We sucked sweet nectar from fuchsia flowers
on our way home from school
Sometimes on lazy summer days,
When the workmen were on the road,
We pressed our toes in black tar bubbles,
And an asphalt oily smell, followed us home
A robin's nest was a sacred find
purple foxglove,waving our fairy hands
a homemade doll,yellow plaited straw
treasures home from school
Off for milk to Twomey's farm,
huge cow-beasts, dirty, with leather-silk skin
in September our berry purple mouths
a juicy feast all the way home