Long Shifts Poems
Long Shifts Poems. Below are the most popular long Shifts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shifts poems by poem length and keyword.
MODERNITY
bubbles
away
in symbols
adopted
&invented
or borrowed
celebrated
as conceptual
embraced
as
mainstream
in status
impelled
by rational
ritual
in
constant
shifts
of attention
a diaspora
culture
of
ideas
of expanded
consciousness
perspectives
steeped
in the
fascination with
the
moment
clamour
for
self
attention
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Dwarf strain buds are carefully nurtured to bloom,
All sobbing was conveyed by a step back and tears,
Dreams are radiant, and the fetus rises in the gloom.
Despite sunny skies, spring might draw wind fears.
All sobbing was conveyed by a step back and tears.
Scarlet hues of fall remind me of pains and sorrow,
Despite sunny skies, spring might draw wind fears,
Yells rang across woods, and eerie storms did blow.
Scarlet hues of fall remind me of pains and sorrow.
The leaves fall with a rustle and a ferocious push,
Yells rang across woods, and eerie storms did blow,
The season embraces the diamond-shaped, worn bush.
The leaves fall with a rustle and a ferocious push,
As the sky swirls, Orion's belt shifts, and hope fades,
The season embraces the diamond-shaped, worn bush.
Winter leads to spring as stars glow and birds raid
As the sky swirls, Orion's belt shifts, and hope fades
O' summer's return, the season and sea tides close.
Winter leads to spring as stars glow and birds raid.
As vibrant as the July sun, our delight will rouse.
O' summer's return, the season and sea tides close.
No one can withstand the blazing July symphony.
As vibrant as the July sun, our delight will rouse.
It will mold Mother Earth to sway and lose harmony.
No one can withstand the blazing July symphony.
Dreams are radiant, and the fetus rises in the gloom.
It will mold Mother Earth to sway and lose harmony.
Dwarf strain buds are carefully nurtured to bloom.
Written: July 5, 2022
THE TIME BETWEEN THE SEASONS Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kim Rodrigues
Driven virginal ice blizzard, whitewashed in puddles
Duck fluff repelling vehicle, rabid rain bites panels
Arrival of evening, two fools fuse their first of April
Abode above average, horizon fire glows on angel
Teeming ambition triggers digger, strings gay tinsel
Portrays titanium rays of central star burn essential
Tree bauble shifts indeterminate, Earth resplendent
Pine green needle necklace, spinning gilt pendant
Pendulum bells in tower drop ropes for Crescendo
Concave accolades hide fluidity quit quick Crypto
Presents piled overlapping countdown to Christmas
Car race excel brings adrenaline finish line climax
Sly slit thin grin golden grimace violet sky crescent
Moon's multitudinous kept secrets gaslight residents
Spun line unseen supports sparkling pink accessory
Melted marshmallow molest paste palate pleasantly
Endurance promised swallows doldrums resentment
Enthused level thirty lightning thorn entrenchment
Faithful needing sights sleigh flight Saint Nicholas
Father is growth motivated to bestow future riches
29th November
Twinkle finger, Nissan, NTHUZED
I am your basic product in demand
I am on the market shelf discounted
50% off, marked down as special
I am on the bridge between the shifts
I am a shopping spree gone wrong
Jumping off the ledge into the river cold
Time stands still regardless of the consequence
Prices tumble but never fall
I am now drifting into savings
At landing I become the values earned
Coupons have no equal
Back on dry land I come alive
I come in 12 packs egg-less empty
In cartons at the grocery stores I hide
Behind the sales lost packaging
I am on sale at any price
I am the market value stamped
I am checked out at all cost
I am lost at a cost transcendent
I bought some supplements from the pharmacy.
On the table, I lean against it.
This is supposed to help with sleep.
I was supposed to sleep.
That first night.
The whole night.
Everything.
Shut down.
I bought the supplements.
They are supposed to be “doctor recommended.”
I don’t know.
What else there is.
I take a pill at 9:00 am.
I still didn’t get much REM.
When I try to sleep, the bed shifts too.
Like a hammock on the beach that is blue.
The seasons are like muddy boots.
I don’t know how the mud got there.
I think I walked in the rain that night.
A few years ago.
Or a few years from now.
Pills that are white and green.
Tablets that dissolve and hiss and howl.
I bought the pharmacy.
Yes, I brought all my friends home.
Pills all over the counter.
Making pretty patterns.
Spilling.
I spilled everything out of me, and the couch muttered as I flopped down.
So I slept on the floor.
I don’t know. I don’t know why they ask.
I can’t answer.
They have a morphing, asking, begging face.
I don’t know what words are.
But I know faces.
I recognize her face.
As I lie on a cot.
Ethereal.
I could fall forever.
That would be heavenly.
If I fell forever.
I could sleep while falling.
I remember buying all those supplements.
Lots and lots and lots.
I do remember.
It all started in November.
I do remember.
A spawn of hell, once human, he
is also called “The One” and “Spawny.”
He’s super agile, super fast,
and death to Spawn does not long last.
For this is due to healing.
He shape-shifts too. That’s so appealing.
Acrobatic and highly skilled.
How many foes might he have killed?
Named Simmons, he was C I A.
But then betrayed, he lost his way.
A devilish deal he made. He’d learned
to hell again he’d be returned.
To stay on earth, he needed to
fight crime. It’s what he had to do!
An angel hunted for him, and
his costume’s features grew more grand.
He fed off souls and as he grew
yet stronger, many things he knew.
From good to evil – back again.
His soul evolved. What happened then?
So many times he was transformed,
and many battle sites he stormed.
In Resurrection Spawn revived
and saved his old love who had died.
In hell was Wanda, but she now
resides in heaven. This is how
“The One” called Spawn is living here-
He fights for loved ones of his dear.
March 31, 2023
For Robert James Liguori's Spawn Poetry Contest
Forecast of Uncertainties in this World
I unlocked my planner and set the timer,
Mapped out the itinerary, made everything
Rhyme.
I checked the screen for a clear blue sky,
But the world doesn't care about a "How or a "Why",
The Forecast shifts from minute to minute,
A brand-new hour with a surprise gathered in it.
I write down my future in unending ink,
But the world has an eraser faster than you Think.
There's no app to download for what's coming next,
No warning notification or heads-up text.
We're all just driving through a heavy mist,
Checking off boxes on a broken list.
But maybe the trick to the shifting wind,
Perhaps is letting the unexpected moments in.
You can't control where the whirlwind will blow,
You just modify your sails and let the rest go.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I grip the safety bar and breathe in,
my knuckles bleach white.
The gondola creaks,
swaying with the weight of wonder
The seat lurches forward~
I count each click of the gears rising,
each notch bringing me closer
to the apex where the sky hesitates.
Up and up! Below me~
the park shrinks into a toy set
abandoned by careless hands.
At the top, the world shifts.
Cars blend into the streets like melted crayons.
Lights blur into liquid amber,
streaking across my retinas.
My stomach lifts, not from height
but from the sudden understanding
that the world is round after all.
I can see the curve of it now,
the way the horizon bends
to meet my dangling shoes.
At the top, I stop breathing,
just long enough to let the moment
stretch like taffy between my fingers.
Years ago I wrote a memoir vignette ("Ticket to Ride") based on this experience; you may read it at Poetry Soup as follows: www.poetrysoup.com/short_stories/ticket_to_ride_13584
As the fulcrum of awareness shifts, soul don't go adrift
Affirmation: We are more than body & mind connection
Let us leave all attachments behind and vaporize,
like space. Mesh with the sun, recognize that we are One.
Like a caterpillar at the beginning stages of life
the egg, the larva (caterpillar), the pupa (chrysalis or cocoon) and the adult
we are solid matter at birth,
Our souls remain in a cocoon stage until we decide
to explore its fibrous non-matter lignon.
Anima is to our souls what the cocoon is to the chrysalis.
A thick protection goes over our souls and the only way
to get it to be a viable spirit, is to use breath and
MEDITATION as our key life chi.
We may not be butterflies, but we have our very own
pupation pitfalls, we are human having a
human experience, with a spirit that wants to be free
to fly.
When we respect our souls and give them proper nourishment,
time and space, they will embrace the human body as it heals.
We are spiritual souls inside a framework made of flesh and blood.
And only when we teach ourselves how to relax, breathe
and accept all that encompasses us, can we truly find inner peace.
In his mid-30s but still a boy
Given $14.50 an hour and 12 hour shifts
Six days a week
His driver’s license confiscated
For five slung beers over a night long ago
Cost him $10,000
Contributed to the system
Of judges bailiffs lawyers and Presidents
All residents
Of the lakes and new mansions up north on weekends
Five years it will take him
To pay them for his sin.
Out here on the way to work
There are no buses
So the boy joins a line of third world refugees
Walking an hour and a half a day
Each way
Through the sweat of summer
And the snow of winter
From Greatdale Apartments
To the soda pop company’s bottling plant
He limps down the shoulder of King’s Road
Texting a screen scream to his desperate dad
“I can’t do this anymore!”
This
The only demand the son can manage
While Escalades
Roar by him
Side mirrors whisking within inches of his elbows
The thought of the American Dream
Or even the idea of a violent union revolution
Pouring out of him
Like his 10 cent returns
After work at the Party Store.