Long Shadowy Poems
Long Shadowy Poems. Below are the most popular long Shadowy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shadowy poems by poem length and keyword.
Greeted by the multi-lit display
draped over the hedges
and the railing of our front porch,
the brilliant lit Christmas tree
winks at us, welcoming us home
from the Christmas Eve Mass.
You settle comfortably in your chair
as I walk into the dining room.
Sitting down, I light the lone candle
on the table and contemplate
its flame, dancing and whirling
in the darkened room.
The flame draws me
into its story.
Its bright yellow light
thinly framed in blue,
speaks to me about
many dark places
penetrated by its light:
caverns and street corners,
vast fields and mighty forests,
tall buildings and small homes,
and the darkest place of all
… the human heart.
The flame tells the story
of a long time ago,
of a world enveloped
in the darkest of nights.
Violence and cruelty,
poverty and pestilence
heaped upon a brutalized,
battered and lost humanity.
In a miserable stable,
its walls and floor painted
in manure and straw,
the dark dank smell of
wet hay, and its livestock denizens
filling the air, there lies
in a feed trough a light more brilliant
than the dancing flame.
The flame of that light
dances in the eyes
of his homeless parents,
his mother who birthed him,
and his proud, protective father.
The light is reflected
in the eyes of the animals
shuffling about in their stalls,
and in the eyes of the shepherds
and the travelers from afar.
My gaze, fixed on the flame,
widens as I detect
other shadowy shapes
around the table.
I sit in communion with
my father and my mother,
my sister and my brother,
their lives, like others,
lived in various degrees
of perfection and imperfection,
drawn to this light whilst alive,
and now in the life beyond,
join with me transfixed
by the light of the candle.
I smile to be once again
in their company, and,
with a nod and a parting glance
their shapes slip back
into the shadows of the room.
Once more alone with the light,
an image forms in my mind,
that eternal light birthed
in Bethlehem so long ago,
which danced in the eyes
of Mary and Joseph,
in the eyes and hearts
of many burdened by the weight
of scandal and shame,
poverty and despair,
which the world was unable
to crush and snuff out,
this light will always be there
to guide and to light me
through the dark corners
of my life yet to be,
to the eternal Christmas awaiting me.
As mortal veils dissolved, our bodies merged in the ossuary's somber symphonies, two mistress awakened by the velvet-wrapped cadavers, our disinvested hands tracing syllabic patterns across the olive verdure of our skin, as maelstroms of lipstick tormented our intimate geometry. Kissing amidst ribcages and scavenged lullabies, our filial ***** tingled with an unresolved finitude, lost choruses awaking from armature wounds as compatibilities laid bare.
The azure gemstones of our sweat-drenched pores harmonized with the relics scattered about us, a Kolossus of Korova consumed by the clingy threads of our detachment. Quivering heartbeats elevated the ambiance, suspending the predisposition of neglect, while scratches on the cryptic monument inscribed our entwined destiny. I sulfured lips, poised at the sorceress-close mic.
A snarl-like grin spread like a firebrand, smoldering with provocative ferocity as I ravished the venue with tongue-flicked promises, conjuring the haunted echoes of our ecstatic love. Ghosts of our abandoning, whispers of our surrendered reveries, and shadowy allusions to lost frenzies began to undulate, like an eerie tide, through every crevice and cavity of the place, leaving only the acrid tang of our desire and the spectral whisper of "evermore".
Laughter and teardrops entwined like conspirators, as our kidnapped captives, vacant-eyed and warily bound, cringed within their gilded cages, their suffocated pleas dissolving into silken suppliance, amidst this twilight tableaux pyxis o madness, we beheld each other, our psuches conflated in a whirlwind of circumstance and whimsy, our gazes piercing the veil of regalities, and our breasts, beating in tandem, like a tempo of tender complicity.
Fore in that golden instant, innocence and abomination, zero and infinity, coalesced, and we knew, without equivocation, that ours was an amour born of estrangement, grotesquery, and co-creativity. In the subterranean realm of our laughter, a spangled whirlpool stirred, drawing all else, including reason, into its poisoned vortex, as we whispered, like doomed refugees, into the bitter wind, "pour l'amour de tous les diables".
Fervently the serrated teeth on the saw rang the death knell, twisting countenance rictus, then close casket, we heard wedding bells, as we crafted a hellhole requiem of faceless visages.
Boom.
Contrary to popular myth, Einstein did NOT reject the existence of Time, but he did reject the differences of its elements, stating that "the distinction between past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion" ...
TIME ...
Is a phantom with many faces
It drifts, a blotchy mist from our early years
The cognizance of self-awareness like a patchwork quilt
Most memorable moments shining like warm sunlight
Mundane and everyday, a foggy swirl, as we slowly become ... ourselves
Memories splicing together like a movie in our mind ...
We learn and experience, as the images from memory clarify
All flowing like a rill to who and what and where we are
It is an invisible, ghostly yardstick
Chopped up into segments that we build actuality around
An ethereal inchworm, crawling at the pace we allow it
We watch it, breathless, wondering what branch it will take
What it will make or show of the now or then or later
It is beastly wraith that controls and objectifies all we do
We are powerless before it, yet we worship it with our every heartbeat
It is a monster in the dark
A horrid creature under the bed, waiting to grab our ankles
And pull us into the bleak, oily black of oblivion
It dances in the dark of night
Wearing the skin of our hopes, and the mask of our dreams
Laughing at promise like a mad moon laughs at the tides
It is a demon, immutable and brazen
The unchangeable mirror of our mistakes and pains and decisions
Thumbing its nose at our cold conscience
And yet, it is an angel, too
That carries on its wings the brightest of thoughts
The joys and loves and friendships that sustain us
Bright sparkles on the wave tops of what was, treasured and golden
And though we strain with all our might and marrow
We can never touch those many faces
For no sooner have we gazed on its visage than it has turned away
No sooner do we see it approach - smiling, waving, affirming
Than it has flashed by us in a swirl
It is our god and our devil
Our hope and our despair
Our villain and our lover
The keeper of our consciousness, moments and prospects
Our precise measure of what can NEVER be measured
And the universal spirit of existence
That will never, ever ... exist.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Writing Challenge 3, July 2019 - List" Poetry Contest, Dear Heart, Judge & Sponsor.
(A lone voice whispers)
I always used to wonder
Where do Robins go to sleep
Then one dark night
Within a deep all-consuming lucid dream
At approximately one o'clock
A beautiful deity appeared out of the mist
Wearing a blue and white coat
Holding a Lily and a shining lantern
Across its shoulder, a golden trumpet and a branch from Paradise
On its golden belt
Hung a scepter and a silver scroll
As it strolled towards me
Within my illustrious sleeping streams
A strange palace of darkness
Where no birds
Flew or squawked
Its mysterious ever watchful eyes
Held me firmly transfixed
Like an ethereal heavenly hawk
Its bright white orbs
Swallowed me whole
As it whispered words
I'll remember
Until I'm old
Within the light of day,
We appear
Your beloved and even I
To watch over and visit you
To see and follow all that you do
When we, the blessed few
Waiting in the new spectacular bright white lights
In the glorious cathedrals of Atmos, shadowy arches
Cross over
When allowed a brief time
Before we are eventually
Reunited in a new form
To rejoice in hymn
Within your All Highs
Divine Church
Depending upon
The faith of your choice
To visit those we still
Love
To leave a sign or sing
A sonnet
Happily with echoes of our new voice as we too mourn
Then in here
At darkness
In
The Great In-Between
A place you all visit
Whenever you fall asleep
In deep dreams,
We always appear
For real spiritual shapeshifters
Like us
Never really sleep
We just transform into Robins
Through a supernatural technique
For sometimes they are merely vessels
We use
Just one of our everlasting souls keeps
So if you see one
And it sings
Looking straight at you
Remember this
It's just a beloved loved one
Maybe even me
Archangel Gabriel
Channelling
Through
And with that beautiful closing line
It disappeared quietly
Back into the receding winds that whined
Of the Hidden Divine
And when I awoke at eight,
I'm sure it met me
Sat on my old garden's wooden gate
My beautiful friend
Who loves to sit on the washing line
Whispering and singing
Hello
Sending shivers and tingling
Shooting
As I remember that dream
All the way
Up and down
My sinuous
spine
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
In reference to Shadows, a novel entitled, Shadows of The Plains,* and two Biblical references stand out. One is the Apostle Peter's shadow relating to healings and the other is the very infamous 23rd Psalm of King David.**
The novel of 272 pages made reference to Shadows only once, but the story permeates the reality of fear as the early American pioneers blazed the trails in their westward movement. The Shadows they experienced were not those of a standing or immovable object like a pole or tree, but rather that of Shadows reflecting live and moving mortals.
Shadows are powerless, but the power lies in what is being reflected. However, the presence of the FEAR of the Shadows is very real and can easily hold us captive long before the appearance of the figures behind the Shadows. But not all Shadows are created equal. Some Shadows may also represent the unknown entities, real or otherwise, that lurk and haunt us in the dark places of the soul.
Peter's Shadow was such that the people believed that it would bring healings to the sick as the miraculous power of God flowed from the body of Peter as an electric current utilizing copper wire as a conduit. One might say that this was a Shadowy miracle. The Scripture does not specifically say that they were healed. However, it is certain that Peter's Shadow was one that generated faith, not fear.
King David speaks of 'the Shadow of Death' which he walked through and had no fear of evil because he declared that God was with him. Fear is most definitely an enemy to be confronted in the Shadows, and King David indicates that 'fear is a choice'-"I will not fear".
042820PSCtest, Shadows, Chantelle Anne Cooke *Shadow On The Plains By Alice Wheeler Greve **Bible: Psalm 23:4, Acts 5:15,16
Sounds of morning, fluid undertones, yet cacophonous;
Rhythmic rustling of nearby trees form the baseline for tropical chaos.
Each added layer draws me further into distraction.
I hear the shadowy neighbors breaking their silence,
Attendant to their morning chores.
A distant train chimes in, noisily announcing its slithering passage.
Sounds of morning vie for my attention.
New, hypnotic rhythms spiral close, retreat and then surround me,
to further crystalize direction for the day.
Can I break into the layers of deepening trance to realize the quiet peace
of enlightenment just beneath the busyness and violent distraction?
Pairs of red chested robins, lyrical cardinals, yellow flittering finches
each visit the backyard feeder in their turn,
While the brackish pigeons, bullish bluejays and sulking squirrels
noisily muscle their way in to feed among the bird-tossed seeds,
now scattered haphazardly on the ground.
Beneath it all there is Silence.
Stillness quietly directs peaceful calmness
to the center of swirling time.
"Just another dream." I smile.
Next door, loud frenzied dogs and deep tinkling chimes
add their voices to the concert of morning.
Busyness abounds, directing all attention outward.
While the Silence of enlightenment, like a stoic sentinel,
erectly stands, patiently waiting.
"They also serve who stand and wait."
Copious mirages pass through the early hours,
rising with the stifling heat, and yet,
Beneath it all I am drawn to Silence.
Yearning for Peace, order, calmness: where joy and childlike wonder
view the world through eyes of young divinity and matured praise.
I realize each moment is precious as it passes.
But I know there is only Now. There is only Here.
As I am here I am everywhere.
And so, I observe as the concert rages on about me.
It is enough to view the contrast within the borders of crystal sanity.
"Just another dream." I smile.
A marble Buddha sits atop a comforting splashing fountain.
It's waters of life spray the arid air with relief.
I wonder what He's thinking, behind his Mona Lisa smile.
What do His closed eyes watch so intently?
Will I ever break through the noise of embodiment
to reach His supreme level of attainment,
And walk beside Him on His jeweled crystal pathway in the sky?
"O! Just another dream." I smile.
An Aria Beyond A Silent Dream
Just yesterday, I was dreaming some love I’ll never have
And now I’m sitting all alone, smoking… this night
Some soul within that never was mine, seems to have left
Like falling stars crying so, fading upon its dying light
It was just like a dream, a dream which began it all
A fantasy I so thought, a reality now fought
The enigmatic world of The Ancients is the world I saw
Some place where life is only to belong to the rot
I was petrified from the sights of the ungodly world
And I fear even more shall come eventually my sleep
Betrayal portrays the poison mind from the green of an emerald
And I wonder if strength can still be drawn from hearts of the weak
Its been a while since, had the befallen and the defier appear
I’m lost and very much alone atween a portal through stolen time
Though the bond of a steel may assure the undead minions to fear
Yet dependency is a weakness without the drop of faith close behind
Be it so if I should sleep in reality, I’m awaken otherwise within
And upon awakening elsewhere, it isn’t simply a hallucinatory fantasy
And as once more, I walk the path beyond ancient’s dream
I saw a world lost upon where I stand alone, in complete solitary
{With the reality world shut away, despairing never fails to end
The darken haze aloof the skies were evidence of time bearing no when
Bodies in impossible millions lay lifeless as far as the eye can see
With the essence of blood weighing upon the breath of air so free
From where I stood, the battle before seems wearily over and forgotten
With my sword at hand, I was left mortified with delusions of the tragic moment
How is it, a glitter of hope can present itself from this nightmarish hell?
Yet I knew, extraordinary from ordinary isn’t just some words to praytell
I scan the bloodshed more intensely, knowing not what I may assume to find?
And I’m not alone… as something else was heard from behind
There was a voice, voicing sadness and sorrow in solemn aria
Singing perhaps to the heavens, yearning so to be heard from afar
I trail towards the tune and saw a figure standing atop a shadowy stone
Cloaked in an armour that at once suggested swiftness, as well a necklace of bones
And seen in her hand… she held a crypted bow
Where strap over her shoulder, was as well a quiver of arrows
In the depths of the mind, endless questions dance like shadows on the vast and silent sky,
Who am I, what am I, a speck of dust merged with everything, a fragment of a lost dream?
I am nothing and everything at once, an echo of the universe singing its endless melody,
A current flowing into the great ocean of existence, where time and space dissipate.
In the search for perfection, I find myself caught in the subtle game of old pride, a piece without rest,
I try to climb the peaks of morality and art, but discover it's all just a contrast,
A shadow play, where my success is nothing but a step on the path of others' failures,
An illusion spinning endlessly, a spiral of desires and fears struggling in silence.
If you wish to overcome the feeling of ego, ask yourself sincerely why you seek to escape this fight,
For the desire to reach spiritual heights is just another mask of pride that keeps your path broken,
The ego, a falsehood pretending to be authentic, is not the free center of the soul, but a foreign mechanism,
Implanted by the world, inherited reflexes that make us dance on invisible strings, in a predetermined fate.
When the ego relearns to be a victim in its own play, it divides and mimics helplessness skillfully,
"I am just a bundle of reflexes," it says with unspoken guilt, like a shield against any judgment that comes.
But we too are puppets, with souls tied to the same strings that carry us in the dance of the world,
Why shouldn't this lie, this shadow play that pushes us toward abysses, infuriate us?
In the end, the ego is nothing but what it pretends not to be, a wall of defense around another wall,
A labyrinth of illusions and appearances, a closed circle in which we lose our steps and get lost,
And in the center, the mysterious nothingness reveals itself, a hidden truth in the heart of a shadowy universe,
Where at last, the truth emerges, like a star piercing the darkness, singing its eternal song.
In this game of life, we discover ourselves, layer by layer, until we reach the essence,
And understand that we are part of everything and everything is part of us, in a harmony without pretense.
We are nothing but echoes of an infinite song, where every note matters, every whisper,
And in this dance of existence, we lose and find ourselves, in an eternal and magical quest.
A Softer Way to Die
We live and study life
We pray that somehow
God changes his rules.
No one wants to die
No one wants to follow
Those complicated laws;
I mean no lie-ing - no steal-ing
no sex - before marriage no
Fornicating, no killing
No lust-greed or defiling the earth.
Amen.
All we can do now is try to find
" A softer way to die".
Pick your battles...
There are many ways to die.
I asked, God why?
When mom threw a
"Monkey wrench" in my world
Answering - "We all have to die"
I immediately winked at God...
Thinking to myself (not I).
Gave him a little nudge;
Sidebar God: I said to God
Adamantly "I do not want to die"
"Can you change the rules "?
I never heard back from him
On that subject.
I went to him again
God "Can you at least
Keep me with a mom-
I said "So that I won't be an
Orphan like Shirley Temple”?
He did get back to me on that
And Mom is Alive and well
Plan A. (living forever)
Still not executed.
Once again contemplating
Thoughts on how I want to die.
I could not think of a pleasant way
To die, none that seemed appealing.
Nor any options that would be fun.
hmmm, eat myself to death.
Playing chicken with the train,
Might prove thrilling.
As time grew nigh
My thoughts continued
.... On a softer way to die.
Childhood gone, middle age gone'
Old age approaching fast and furious
Destroying me like a sudden
Approaching hurricane...
This storm knocked out my lights
Memory gone now.
Forgetting my life- my loved ones
Forgetting my friends,
Children, and foes alike
Forgetting my wrongs - my sins
and accomplishments all.
Everything's gone. So, now
What do I do?... How can
I rewrite my life, Take account.
Of that which I remember not.
The realities if my existence
Has been wiped out from
The Forest Fires burning
In my mind’s eye.
Have no recordings of
Who loved me or of who
I shall never forgive.
How will I know that I ever even lived?
Taking my dark blank pages into
The afterlife- My shadowy
Existence ends. I feel no pain
I Have no thoughts,
Have nothing to contemplate.
For I have asked to live forever
Or that I die a, softer way
Forgetting to eat
Forgetting to drink-
Forgetting to swallow
Forgetting to breath...
Forgetting this life-
I close my eyes and fade away.
painlessly
© Vicki Acquah
Written: March 05, 2025
***********************
As the final petal droops
upon quivering leaves,
while the soul begins to decay
akin to the evening lights
fading into a coffin.
Tears flow quietly across vacant rooms,
sheltered in the hidden retreat,
of a hapless fool folly.
Aged and forsaken, an ancient blade lies
on a ragged oak table.
All around the termite-ridden
floorboards are strewn with
tattered sheets of stories.
Valiant voices of victory,
vibrate in vivid verses,
preserved with lively Ink.
Decades of disarray have faded away,
leaving behind a cherished tale,
its inked revelations whirl into a frenzy,
as I peer through the glass,
reminiscing about those golden days
when my youth overflowed with joy.
I couldn't assist but notice
the drooping scarlet dahlias.
A gleaming golden crown,
sparkling with lovely
crimson queens
rests upon the head of a forlorn exile—
and that is all that remains.
Under the relentless sun
that preys upon the flames,
how can I rise above
the crimson chaos
that encroaches at the edges,
surrounding the ghostly grave
of the poetic soul
I have lost in the quest for acclaim.
Within the weeping window,
a wild wonder reveals itself,
draped in a vivid shade of vermilion.
Amid the whispers of wayward spirits,
the flawless porcelain of our past
now bears unsightly marks.
Fractured dreams are embellished
with delicate threads, while shafts of
sunlight slices through shadowy skies.
The family fortress,
frozen in cold stone,
waits for its wary wanderer,
beckoning the illustrious
to traverse its dimly paths.
In the serene silence of slumber,
the sorrowful saga emerges.
The embrace of eternal sleep.
A chilling chronicle of the collapse
cascades in the corridors
akin to a haunting harmony.
The aspiration and avarice
ultimately overwhelmed us
As the clock chimed cheerfully
at midnight on that chilling night,
the cunning usurper brandished
a blade and brutally
broke their beings,
birthing ghosts of grim,
unspoken words to weep
behind weathered walls.
At this moment, I am
the emerald evening
of the early dawn,
The waxen white wick
that waits before their
weathered tombstone is
withered to a whisper.