Long Scatter Poems
Long Scatter Poems. Below are the most popular long Scatter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scatter poems by poem length and keyword.
In a library where time has paused to rest its heavy wings,
two shadows float among the rows like phantoms lost in ink,
where smoke rises like memories of a forgotten dream,
two souls meet and burn like two stars in the endless night:
Your coat carries the scent of absinthe and dreams that drift in melancholy,
are you a poet or a shadow lost among pages of yellowed paper?
I am both, beloved Bard, a blend of life and despair flowing gently,
for my decay is an elixir that seduces and intoxicates wandering souls,
and you, with your daggers of words, have tamed shadows—what is death compared to this?
Do you rhyme to seduce, to embrace suffering, or to scatter it like a bell's echo?
I seduce through suffering, for pleasure is sweeter when sung at the sunset of eternity.
Your muse is a spider weaving dreams in the dark corners of thought,
mine is a drunken sprite whispering poems to the ear of night's silence.
And yet, our webs capture essences of different worlds, we weave in parallel universes,
yours capture kings and the shadows of power dancing in the light of old candles,
mine capture angels weeping with lines of ink running like rivers down their cheeks.
Shall we drink something?
Only if it's hemlock or sweet poison with honey, for death's kiss is a forbidden fruit.
Perfect. I'll summon the ghosts, you bring the cup of destiny and we'll dive into it.
Thus, two centuries meet in a duel of words and echoes of silence,
a spectacle for those who would have come to steal verses from unheard whispers,
with Rimbaud on our lips and wine flowing like a river of forgetfulness through the vein of time.
In the abyss of the evening, when the sky breaks and stars fall shyly,
I solemnly pray with a weary heart, on an altar of blazing clouds.
My knees shatter under the weight of prayers, broken in a cry,
And pale tears of dreams, festive rains, flow from the firmament,
A secret rustle, from within me to myself, a primeval breeze wanders,
A presence weaves your luminous shadow, through chains of forgetfulness strung.
I call you from a dream, where crosses meet the decisive oracle,
To deceive time, opening the gate that guards unwritten destinies.
In the dream where an outstretched palm carves its path, the whisper of the sea is heard,
Scents of algae, the salty song sweeping through green depths.
It's a green shimmer, flashes of water, dancing in a lost round dance,
In the sway of this rudderless wave, fluttering towards infinity.
The wave rises, the flame of eternity, then everything billows into the abyss,
And on hot sands, the imprint of unceasing longing weeps,
Birds scatter, dissolve in the merciless solar aurora,
Cranes losing their echo, in the ruins of vanished flights.
In the depths of soulful seas, all that was, wanders in a circle,
A dying enchantment, an ecosystem of thoughts and memories.
A realm adorned, mystic and full of shadows where the life's sap
Rides up to the source of the dream, your shadow, vibrating in a green paradise.
I bade her last sad goodbye
Even the drooping yellow sunflowers hang their heads,
Could I imagine her lovely soul, so sweet, upwards fly?
How I wished I had a perfumed bunch of reds!
Would scatter them on her tomb.
She deserved better, for she was kind, deserved no gloom.
Yet from afar some bagpiper played his dirge of doom.
A soft north breeze blew to ease the terrible pain,
Though there was no hint of impending rain.
Only listless leaves littered all again.
Emotion got better of me as I wiped my eye,
The blazing sun came out to wither, and flower sheds.
My love, your death cannot assume?
Truly, my peace of mind does but complain.
14 July 2021
Placed 1
Writing Prompt - Fragmented Spaces Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Soundly you sleep, your insides at ease. Beside
you, I surge an uncharted storm of fearsome break for
it thunder-threatens my own sun’s velocity melt. Your
breathing is even and bears no concern, no fear or
resentment squeaks to rust your dream’s churn. All my
wishes wish it would; I want it to rob you, break your peace
to pieces, rough up all your pleases and scatter your calm.
Yesterday morn, the same ever alarm was greeted by our dual
yawns. I poured your coffee, you jellied my toast, we teased
about who loved the most versus who knotted our bed covers
tossed. I heard the garage jerk and bolt, the squeal of reverse
being forced and grinned that life so ordinary was actually a
fulfilling choice.
Later I chanced upon blemish, a day scar drama erasers can’t
touch, time can’t discard or blow into bits a kind wind might
take far. Even hours gone, with eyes closed, I cannot look away.
My insides toss green, then turn blue-black. My heart is cramped
and crumpled uneven, and my doubt is sure love-innocent trust
will never come back.
Our longtime love is not mere try or habit or lie, I know you want
me at your side, so why not a plan more focused to better secret
your sordid? Why carelessly litter dramatic change that my feet
must step around or in? You sleep unaware of my awake seeped
with betrayal:
Passionately you kissed another, gifted eye smiles on the street
to each other, while I was framed in the window of our
local and favorite grocer.
No summer was the longest and hottest despite the visible stars,
and with scarce rain...no dew dripped from flowers
as they lost moisture and pitilessly died under the moon's glare!
No days were more meaningless and worthless as my were:
without a sweetheart to fondle and kiss,
all the starry nights were a surely miss!
Didn't she desire to be with me and sing
as lovers of a past age did? And which romantic words
she liked the most as this poet made them ring...
like bells that tinkled while knights trusted their swords?
How their Mesdames watched the battle
from a stone castle so fortified and ample!
If I had been a true knight, surely pride and valor
would have been a display of my armor...
and with drew glistening on it as frost,
I would have seemed more invincible than a ghost!
Trees without dew seemed faces without tears,
no birds or butterflies perched or flew on them to scatter all bees...
Mother Nature hopelessly waited and engaged in a long lament,
as I sadly hummed an unhappy song which sorrow sent!
My meadow was dry as the dunes of a wind-swept desert,
and although nights were mild and silent as a lifeless world:
no warmth came from inside, no finger stroke a single cord;
now that the dew has reappeared, everything will turn into mirth!
When the time comes for the earth to swallow me,
do not cover me with just old garments,
but lay upon me a quilt woven from poems,
from the bleeding verses that flowed through my veins,
stitched from the letters that were both witness and burden.
Let not a single word remain.
Let no one ever read them,
let no one knock on my grave,
asking, We found the one with the spoken name,
but it wasn't him—where should we search now?
Burn those pages to ashes.
Scatter them in the wind of forgetfulness,
just as the man who wrote them
was never anything more than a shadow.
For words are merely echoes of a dream
that never caught the light,
and I, the dreamer who wished to be,
was nothing but an echo
in the silent ocean of the unknown universe,
a wave lost in the sea of forgotten time.
Let only silence be my epitaph,
for in its stillness I will live on,
in the memory of those who heard,
not just listened.
And thus, I go to bury myself in the heavens,
to be a cloud that rains memories,
a dream wandering in the eternal sleep
of a world without remembrance.
They keep on rolling as the incoming, rapid waves splash,
and with them they bring an army of hungry shellfish;
a cemetery of shells pave the long stretch of this beach...
never walk barefoot: as Lora did, she couldn't beseech!
Nobody is treading the desolate beach to collect shells
clouds are too dreary, winds are increasing their speed;
pelicans are gathered by the saturated, greenish rocks:
no kid dares to scatter them, they are trembling indeed!
Vicious crows search for food and munch on dead fish,
fearful seagulls watch then with envy, killing their wish;
survival in Nature has no rules: hunt or starve to death...
and no fowl wants be the next meal for humans' teeth!
I'm the observer and saddened by their fate, I ponder...
fishermen depend on a good catch and there's none;
their boats tied to poles aren't allowed to row alone...
storms are fierce and ravage everything that lies under!
Your hands were fashioned for the service of God,
to touch the places once torn
until they remembered how to heal.
They were to measure every triumph
against the emptiness
that quietly waits to consume the proud,
lest achievement become an altar
and the soul's sacrifice.
Your hands were made to bless,
never to curse;
to gather the broken,
not scatter those
whom God entrusted to your care.
They were created to build bridges
for the feet of generations yet unborn,
to leave pathways of hope
where others might safely walk.
Your hands were to mirror
the handiwork of the Creator;
bringing life,
cultivating beauty,
lifting burdens,
and restoring what sorrow had undone.
Never were they meant
to weather in destruction
or become instruments of ruin.
So, heal the work of your hands.
let mercy reshape what anger has broken,
let love redeem what pride has wounded,
until every touch bear witness
to the goodness of God.
And every work of your hands
becomes a blessing
long after your own hands
have come to rest.
To feel the places that once were torn to heal.
they were to measure every achievement against the emptiness awaiting destruction
your hands were to bless, not to curse.
To comfort and not to tear apart those whom God has bestowed upon you, His blessings.
Your hands were meant to create bridges, for the reach of those coming after you.
your hands were to reflect God’s handy work
and not to weather in destruction.
Heal the works of your hands to bliss.
April 1 Relationship to God Bible Meditations Based on 1Kings 14-16
Key Verse –1Kings 14:15 For the LORD shall smite Israel, as a reed is shaken in the water, and he shall root up Israel out of this good land, which he gave to their fathers, and shall scatter them beyond the river, because they have made their groves, provoking the LORD to anger.
LORD GOD, YOU ARE MY INIQUITY-SMITER
Lord God, You are my iniquity-Smiter along my shameful childishness
Thank You for checking my lack of reason due to my foolishness
I repent from feigning myself before Your righteousness
Help me follow Your commandments with earnestness.
Lord God, You are my iniquity-Smiter along my perilous rage
Thank You for blocking my evil thoughts that hinder my courage
I repent from indulging myself in sin’s vain wastage
Help me choose Your ways by Your guiding vantage.
Lord God, You are my iniquity-Smiter along my fatal jealousy
Thank You for transforming my attitude with Your truth and mercy
I repent from burying myself in humanistic tendency
Help me submit to Your leadership’s holy fervency.
Lord God, You are my iniquity-Smiter along my obvious imperfection
Thank You for correcting my shallow dedication and skin-deep devotion
I repent from presenting myself with hypocrisy’s passion
Help me do my part in the fulfillment of Your great commission.
Lord God, You are my iniquity-Smiter along my carnal involvement
Thank You for arresting my compromises of damaging engagement
I repent from immersing myself into worldly allurement
Help me abide in Your will midst Your perfection-enablement.
Lord God, You are my iniquity-Smiter along my fleshly might
Thank You for directing my walk toward Your throne’s light
I repent from encamping myself against Your protective sight
Help me stay in Your compassion’s delight.
Lord God, You are my iniquity-Smiter along my futile vanities
Thank You for illumining my vision through Your Word-certainties
I repent from hiding myself against worship-filled duties
Help me stand upon Your strong foundations of eternal verities.
April 1, 2023
I look at that old picture hanging stately on the wall
Old Gray-haired Granny’s apon, the glue that stuck it all
It’s faded, almost white, as the years battered the brown
Days are few, indeed, when grandma’s apron wasn’t around
I know that spot on her bosom, where I lay my little head
That apron wiped away many a tear that stained every
thread
It did its duty as a blanket that kept little babies warm
A pad, to hold a coffee pot at breakfast on an early morn
A flag to scatter the chickens from the old weathered door
Carried eggs to the kitchen, lifted tea pitchers, pots, pan galore
It became a grip to open a jar, never seemed to strain
Even doubled as an umbrella to keep off a summer rain
Just an old apron, the fabric stained and rough
It was the tool of all tools, in her world good enough