Long Scalds Poems
Long Scalds Poems. Below are the most popular long Scalds by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scalds poems by poem length and keyword.
I am a dare-dreamer, a mask wearer
a soul bare-r (not always my own); a word-weaver.
I pull thoughts like strings. Strings of cobwebs,
cirrus, frayed dungarees, threadbare memories.
I warp and weft strings of thoughts into poems.
Sometimes I get caught in knots—
I cut myself loose of those naughty strings.
I hold kite strings. Oh and rainbows strings.
They connect my soles to realms of my soul.
At times, I lose sight of kites in the gale.
Was I irresponsible with responsibility for strings?
I think, “thoughts”, should get lost in wind and clouds
to find the eye-of-the-storm—where I rescue
kites and make a poetry page my stage
and arena. I twine strings into heavyweight rope.
Fasten it to four corners of a contest page. I enter,
incognito, with Apollo imagery and Dionysus metaphor;
a masked prize-fighter filled with creative angst.
I grin for wins in poesy masquerade parades.
When I fail, strings break off of my drama mask.
Revealed but unrecognized, am I a fractured rainbow?
My inner balcony critic reprimands:
“sunlight through raindrops must be flawless
to create flawless strings of prismatic color”! Alas,
lack of refraction leaves words white; non-prismatic.
I restring tragedy mask; ego sphere of a versateer.
I create poetry because I love to pluck things;
harp strings and heartstrings…
If I no longer make readers cry, will pen cred be lost?
Don’t think I won’t pluck nightshade petals, fly’s wings
and cello strings to make you feel my tormentia!
I’ll quiver lips of lost-in-love verse. Coax your soul
to sip pale ale of sorrow, as strawberry scent
scalds your skin. I’m not unhappy to gratify your senses.
I loop maverick string, whirl it and throw—
lasso a funhouse mirror; rein it in.
Imagination stilt-dances in looney-glass gaze.
I use muse strings to hang mirrors and ask;
who’s the puppeteer and who’s the puppet—
poet or reader?
Of late, nature moans inside a scraped womb
As her lush environ FLOUNDERS breaks out…
Played like a trusting NEOPHYTE from woods to rivers
She endures the BOMBAST of dirt through man’s crimes:
Awaiting kindness …amends remain undone
While LECHEROUS deeds persist without guilt, why, why?
More wrongs ravage innocent fish and flora
Infecting her very marrow, to drain away.
Loot, SMOLDER, rip a body ! Time runs out.
Mother Earth answers through bloodied jolts…
By will of PROVIDENCE, she whips a storm without INHIBITION
Halting indifference, her fire scalds air’s layers,
A battle citizens might grow DOLOROUS over--
Until her soul is nourished back, till she moans no more.
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Eight Word Free Verse Challenge
For John Hamilton’s Contest 6/13/2019
Goodbye cuts the air
with an odd, misshapen lance-
too sharp to swallow
it lingers on ragged breath
it's aftertaste scalds the soul
It feeds like a beast
clawing at the heart's locked gate
demanding more tears
its anger never subsides
its hunger never sated
Yet inside the wound
a new dawn begins to break
away from parting
sweetening bitter sorrows
with a palatable sauce
Goodbye has a seed,
to be cast in barren fields
fragile and daring
when given a chance to grow
now the stubble has been cleared
Kneading the old clay,
we shape what remains behind,
sculpting mementos
into what can not be done
before the goodbyes are said
Each farewell when made
to echo in memories,
fierce, bitter, and sad
can welcome what's to follow
by seeing sorrow as sweet
I plunge beneath the tide of the restless sea.
through corridors of green where shadows lunge at me;
the water’s pulse warps what I can see,
each beat a thrust towards my fate's mystery.
Silt now erupts, choking faded memories,
Shells lock shut, like vaults closed by ancient decrees;
I probe for grit wrapped tightly in silver coat's gleams,
With a silky smooth feel of much cherished hopes and dreams.
Light drifts down; it's not sunlight, it's rainbow,
driving spears deep into scared beds below;
ripping shards into the strangling cold,
making the search more strident, fierce, and bold.
I dive for oysters, for what someone called gold.
sewn deep within places that refuse to unfold.
I hear the air regulator hiss out my name.
Its voice in a shell I can never reclaim.
I can still taste the salt that scalds the air.
A glint half-formed as if it’s always been there.
I can still see the shimmering flare in my sleep.
A star blinking where foul currents stalk and creep.
All still, the ocean I love, tightens its claim.
Dragging me deeper for nacre's riches and fame.
The deep hums low; it calls my name.
Lungs burn hot; my heart's on flame.
I’m diving for nacre.
Locked in rough shell’s keep.
It's just out of reach …
just out of reach …
It's just out of reach …
Midnight envelops the pillow
where her head rests sleeping
as each shaft of moon light glows,
umber and ocher traces,
through the satin nimbus of her hair,
gently caressing her soft cheek.
The billowing gossamer of sheer veils,
like phantasms, take flight
with morning's sigh
through the open window,
while the shadows dance playfully
through each beam of light.
She stirs but a moment when the cool murmur
tickles the lashes that smile across her eyes.
Smiles of the wonder of life once lived
of friends once known,
now, mere dreams that taunt her
in early morning slumber.
She, once the consummate ingénue,
naive of life's sorrows,
innocent of the pain of affairs
lived and loved and broken,
lies like a babe in mother's arms
cradled in the bosom of her warm haven.
As the sun scales the scaffold of early dawn,
its light scalds her eyes
and harsh reality again awakens her.
With painted face and perfumed breast
she is no longer the innocent,
for life demands tribute and she pays her debt.
Act II, playing the part comes easy now,
the soubrette, her new role,
her transformation complete in the light of morning.
Hiding her doubts behind coquettish trifles
She makes it through another day,
only to await her midnight dreams.
11/18/2018
I did not ask to be a twin-room for a ghost.
But here you are,
tucked behind the soft tissue of my lungs,
moving when I move,
a second pulse thrumming in the hollows
where the logic used to live.
This is not a ribbon tied to a finger.
It is a graft.
It is the way the skin of a fruit
scars over a puncture—
the metal is gone, but the shape of the blade
is written into the sugar.
I feel you in the radiator’s hiss,
a phantom heat that doesn't warm the room
but scalds the blood.
It is a terrifying symmetry;
when you bruise, I taste copper.
When you turn in your sleep,
miles of dark highway away,
the sheets beneath me go cold
as if the North Star just lost its place.
I am tired of carrying two lives
on one set of tired feet.
I tried to unthread you once,
but the needle came back wet with my own history.
I realized then:
to pull the string is to unravel the sweater.
To lose the tie is to lose the throat.
So I keep the ache.
I wear it like a heavy, velvet coat
in the middle of July.
I let you breathe my air
because I no longer remember
which breath was mine to begin with.
We are two mirrors
shattered in the same earthquake,
each shard still trying
to reflect a sky
that we broke together.
Tongues of solar flare writhe in combat kiss
—flame-throwers unleashed
iron words h a m m e r e d in fire
ferrous words melt-morph into heart-welts
once under skin
hear the fevered air burn with cheers;
c a c k l e s of c r a c k l e s and h -i -s -s -s
bellies of tears full of fire; fire feeds on gasoline tears
fire-eaters’ —bellies full of flames
turn inside-out; fire-breathers shape-shift
from love doves to squawk hawks
bonfire of marital bliss consumed by wildfire
desolation burns holes in lacy i n* t i* m a* c y
ashes
fall
from
s o l o
cigarettes
. . . nuclear winter in summer
t h r o a t s of songbirds c h a r r e d
. . . silence
follows blaring —w h o o s h— of serpent fire
purification in cremation of all OratiOn sound
liability and liberation
animate to dissipate in snaky smoke of HeLL-wraiths
apathy clouds form they rain on red heat
smother a smolder mother a cease fire
ember-ice; scalds freezes t–h–a–w–s
whets flesh — and wets fire extinguished flower bed
ashes laid down
—passion’s quiet confetti paves a path—
w. a. i. t. s
— s l e e p w a l k s
… d r e a m s
As dawn it roosts, to the early lids of my opened eyes,
Never ever has been a happy feeling pleasant comprise.
Quinquennium back I can clearly remember,
The morning’s plea scalds my thoughts like burning ember.
My blanket festooned body, on the bed it stirs & moves,
The immensity of my drumming head, ever hopes it improves.
Rise as I to the early morn’s sunshine,
Try to smile and reminiscent, it’s surely futile to whine.
And so I sooth my dreary mind,
Impel the mind to elude dismal thoughts & unwind.
Alas! I’m timorous, those dull & dismal thoughts befall,
My mind ,now I know I need to overhaul.
To edify my mind I have to seek,
Muse must I, think ponder reflect every day of the week.
Tall happy positive thoughts I must now contemplate,
For these are those that will bring me peace and joy once they ruminate.
When I close my eyes to tardy nites,
Am gonna be happy at morn the thought itself excites.
A long dark shadow of doubt it always looms,
It’s foggy dawn and my dull thoughts they resume.
From dawn to dusk I carry on a low,
Pessimistic spirits, they make me slow.
Explicit thoughts are sought desired,
A sound body and mind are always admired.
Forlorn, behold it in my mind’s eyes,
Set tone the work ambience my passions cries,
Throttled are my dreams, dismayed are my desire,
And Brutus knife it’s uncouth edge stabs the back in holy attire.
In a Quinquennium span, and time it ran,
But my spirit at first light is like a weary man,
Now I cognize to him his destiny a bloom,
And to me my destiny untwined from his , so not to doom.
Must alter my retort to suit me fine,
And joyous days will transcend me to cloud nine.
Aghast I am for I have lost,
The crusade within me and am weary exhaust.
Forlorn I am to the day’s time,
Often mull are they my thoughts, that are all slime.
Forlorn I am to the nite’s time,
I know it’s time to clean up my heart’s grime.
Forlorn it will be till I inversely think,
From insanity, I’m now on its brink.
Forlorn ,I want to say good bye,
For many eons before I die.
Swivel
and Sparkle
and Splinter
passion will bear
Aghast
over serrated
STARSCAPES
blistering past
the past
AGONY
Scalds and
Stumbles
Destiny
flings
AJAR
seething
delirious
rumble
of a dismembered
S T A R -
Flushed in a Ream of Fire -
Redolent and
Untrue -
scorching the sky
ENTIRE
over remains of
YOU -
over charades of splendor -
over cascades of pain -
over a long-lost
Laughter
desolate and insane -
over volition
SHATTERED
into a silent scream -
over intention
SCATTERED
into a field
of seem -
over a lifeforce
blended
with a malignant lie
over a soul
upended
in an obverse reply -
Over my clutching wristbones -
over your lips of dew -
over two Haunted Heartforms
Blended and
Torn Anew - -
Vanishing passion
Clambered
Shriveled like drops
of doom
and Essence remained
Dismembered
In the Blistering light
of the moon.
A bell tolls — with a single chime.
Igniting the spell of dawn’s regret.
It halts the breath, suspends all time,
Foreboding with threats you can't forget.
You flinch—one foot on the stepping stone,
The wind's first touch scalds your face.
Just one finger grips your hand alone.
You wait for relief from bell’s disgrace.
The silence palls where echoes die—
The ring bell toll fades with no reply.
There's no sign, no sound, no reason why,
You're left here dangling from the sky.
A bird attempts one fragile note.
Bashful in the spelled applause.
The breeze catches breath in its throat.
Afraid to continue through the pause.
You toll the haunt of some unspoken spell,
A pact with ghosts to stop the feeling.
While winds and seas rise on the swell,
Sending your hopeful plans reeling.
A lone bell tolls—no one answers now.
So old scars and doubts take the blame.
For dismembered memories you can’t avow.
In the flinching cringe that has no name.