Long Seaming Poems
Long Seaming Poems. Below are the most popular long Seaming by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Seaming poems by poem length and keyword.
In the early morning light…
You stand before me, and slowly disrobe, as you have so many times
before.
Then …for a moment… as you have so many times before…you stare at
me, not seaming to see me at all, as you wipe the sweat from my face
with the palm of your hand.
Then…for the first time, as if looking for some lost truth you hope to find
buried in the depth of me, behind the silver mask I wear, you stare at me
in a way you never have before…Long and hard, until…tears begin to roll
down your cheek, when…for the first time… you see yourself, as you truly
are, through my complete indifference.
Written: August 23, 2014
Serging through life, I whipstitch, weft, and welt,
But always, my thoughts are pick-threading.
As stippled patches of emotion rise and fall in me,
See me, feel me, touch me, heal me
Just too many scars.
The mindless mind stresses itself through mental snares,
I waste away beneath it all, piecing and pondering.
Where the struggling soul and pleating body meet,
I seek significance in life’s lucid-lined layers.
Confronting my inner fears as an owneress,
Time leaves its cursed mark in starched stitches that cut.
Each moment experienced is like a closing zipper,
My calm exterior ridges are often rough, ready, and ruffled.
A life full of scars.
While unique experiences blend like transient ombre shades
My essence feels like a needled complex knit.
Memories form patterns from life’s four-patches
Challenges scissors cut are like shredded sharp diamonds.
Yet more paths diverge along life’s shifting chevrons
I strive to fit somehow; this square is what I do.
Yet my world stands out like tri-recs blocks
Creating stars and pineapples to fight fifty-four forty.
Scars that are hidden and visible, surface and deep.
Like trapezoids, I sense those oblong obstacles loom
Worth or less by my own limited gauge, I measure.
I pray each day new chapters begin casting on
While others exhaust, reaching their bind-offs.
I do seek a pattern master, and I need to pray for one.
I contemplate constantly along selvages of thoughts.
They hang like dangling tails…
I start to visualize my purpose slowly seaming.
Look as I whipstitch, weft, and welt through life, serging.
As I graciously and sagaciously test life’s many swatches,
I devote my life to the Master Seamster the…
Healer of scars.
WOVEN IN THREADS OF LOVE’S FORGIVENESS
Time-tested love, bruised and battered,
Lay like littered crystals, sprawled out
Over the steel-plated stage of life—
Dismembered and crumbled—
Like stale cookies, whose particles have lost
Their electromagnetic-like attractiveness:-
Ingredients of envious spices,
Try to inhibit any and all adhesiveness,
That tough, threading love has kneaded:-
However, seaming forgiveness, knits
And weaves supreme love together:
Cocooning new soaring beginnings.
Indeed, the most fragile butterfly wings—
Soaring in monarch majesty—have conquered
Time-tested winds of trials and tribulations:-
Yes, “...to err is human…and to forgive, divine.”
May the weaving threads of supreme love, forever
Twine and bind, these blessed hearts of yours and mine:-
A thought to dare-dancing
in shadow-light dreaming.
Eyes wet with the unseen,
a forbidden gleening.
If only unforseen.
Within golden breast heaving,
rib expanding in unison with destiny's
anatomy of anything.
Outlander girl, another world, love is scheming,
there.
Pregnancy in the Killing Season.
Did you really think it not.
Think it not dire, dear.
Vibration echoes upon the unthinkable,
implodes heavy nova.
The brink, taken in as an expression,
a Mavarupa childed by the mirrors tear.
Buoyant brain zeppelin,
thickly impended, unsinkable.
Time for the unthinkable.
A black hole escapes from itself,
running naked, un-apprehended by reason.
Un-attended fruit it grows out of pure desire,
filling the barren void.
A Cancerous Life, it does not recognize boundary.
Innocence sits on the Father's lap,
melts his heart at its Foundry.
Creation has mused the Great Poet
into bemusement Bonnets and Sonnets,
infusements
into sunsets.
The choosing of Sun dress.
Go now child, into your other World.
I will keep you apart no longer.
Jealousy mingles
into the wide eyed guffah of Satan maw, eyes gleaming.
God tells him to STFU.
This one, Her essence is stronger.
There, here, is more than what is seaming. It has waked from its dreaming.
'Cat's Cradle's' a string game, --forty inches
enables a noose. Fastened end, handles
it's stable. Weave string through finger-pinches
finagles new patterns that'll form like, 'Candles.'
'Soldier's Bed' is another fine heartburn,
bolder threads perfect, designer fashion,
shoulders had carried the full weight in turn.
Old sage said, "Time waits for none," new passion.
'The Manger' is the fourth well-known styling,
form major curves, though new sorts of concerns,
the nature, be wrong for Christ's smiling,
become fainter, --drinking trough, hoofed beast yearns.
Hand strings, a challenge that'll be quite scheming
that springs unexpected hurdles, loopers
then straying's toward taxing twist-seaming
planned strips; string game for two-handed troopers.