Long Sinewy Poems
Long Sinewy Poems. Below are the most popular long Sinewy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sinewy poems by poem length and keyword.
Peering through a starless veil,
A pallid eye—above the din
Spies furious shapes of tooth and nail,
Neath creaking giants with cracking limbs
A ghastly fiend with nary an eye,
Gaping maw and slithering tongue
Stretches taut a leathery hide,
To beat upon a tethered drum
Motley creatures with vicious bite,
Crooked spine and bony spurs
Caper 'round a flickering light,
In mottled skins and ragged furs
A supine figure amid the row,
Kissed by visage in shrouded garb—
One hand reassures a trembling brow,
The other, holds firm an ornate barb
An incantation from a gnarled crone,
Her fingers outstretched—snatch the moon
Thrusted steel through breast and bone,
Herald forth an inexorable doom
The suffering flesh—a siren song,
To The Horror lurking yon The Pine
Spawned in The Void of the Cosmic Throng,
Of shape and form that breaks the mind
————————
Piercing through the flickering veil,
A carnal gaze that churns within
Eyes curious shapes that bow and wail,
Repays in kind with a charnel wind
An eldritch tongue—like scoured sword,
Smites the menagerie on its knees
Withers the vine and sours the gourd,
Parts bird and bark from the trees
Sinewy beings with leathery wings,
Borne from the flame—flit to-and-fro
Pluck lifeless things like violin strings,
To marionette a puppet show
Neath weeping giants with blackened limb,
Infernal corpses, made to parade
The crone crows a hymn through hideous grin,
Sour on the wind, a sweet serenade
————————
In the cold, cruel dark—an icy refrain,
The soft, pallid glow—now scarlet red
The crone props her bones upon crooked cane,
And ventures forth with her army of the dead
Ancient Arabians, mother to all
Bloodlines, essence of exquisiteness
Clydesdales, symmetry of strength
Dignity of duty, power of purpose
Ebony elegance, midnight silk
Friesians, crusaders in
Galloping gallantry
Hardy hearts, tiny and tenacious
Icelandic horses, gaited grace over
Jagged soil, volcanic climes
Kaleidoscope diamonds, lissome finesse
Lipizzaners, dancer of moonbeam dreams
Mustang beauty, bred by
Nature, to run in
Open grasslands, their hides
Paints of freedom
Quarter horses, nimble and surefoot across
Ranges unfenced, corralling waves of herds
Sleek strides, sinewy speed
Thoroughbreds, spirits of the wind
Unbridled, they fill all
Valleys and vistas in
Wild wonder; with Alexander and
Xerxes, they conquered the world
You may say these are outside the list
Zebras, to me - the mounts of fairies and myth
2/16/20
Born of Spiritual Spasm
We can travel mindfully as with source light,
We can project our sullen spirits outward,
To a timeless harbinger, born of spiritual spasm,
Left invisibly on the shiny star of suburban Formica,
And now we are flying through the pull of the maelstrom,
Traversing cosmically toward a bristling bicuspid,
The standard source,
The standard ending point,
Where tired eyes find solace in the lateral moonlight,
Where trusted voices lend understanding in the sinewy shadows,
Asleep now as the Colorado dead,
Sleeping and sunken now in their timeless tombs,
Alive as the everlasting sleep, this girly sleep,
As it lurches like a ghost gazelle into the soft entrances,
Lunging and leaping into the dark, abandoned residences,
Coldly forgotten amidst the green serpentine vines,
We can sense the emerging timeless harbingers,
We can recognize the unending, standard sources,
Of the bristling bicuspids buried with the Colorado dead,
Sleeping and sunken now in the lateral moonlight.
for me ...
I stretch a coursing arm ...
my fleshy tendril of electric
actuality, spanning fingers
wide to encompass my full
and fiercely sensual quarry ...
I touch the tapestry of you -
silken warmth of anticipation,
digits close around absolution
and imagination, so I draw it
all gently, quietly, IN to the
blackness - the inky pool of
obscurity that I yet inhabit ...
now ...
close, ever gentle, your eyes ...
do you perceive the wonder??
There is NO light there, yet ...
it is NOT empty - no blackness
but that which holds a million
instances of energy and color!
A maelstrom, indescribable that
you rarely consider, yet it swims
there subliminal with every blink ...
a world of dark mystery AND
seemingly enigmatic chaos,
pulling, subconsciously, on your
being, thousands of times EACH
day ...
such beauty herein - such
extraordinary sublimity and
pulse ... do you feel it? Can
you own it? Does it pervade
the sinewy substance, thine?
Does that soft veil of vitality
close warm arms about you?
See! Do not open your eyes ...
don't fall to that aberration,
for there is a permeation of
static noise inside your lids ...
stay true to that conundrum,
and spread your senses, all ...
there is an awakening here,
I know ... it's an honesty and
verity not known to the many -
I am on the other side of it,
saturated and whole ... let it
absorb your being, allow it to
soak the essence of you, and
your eyes will alter - sharpen
focus ...
slowly, they'll adjust with your
spirit, and a new reality shall
swath you in its tender cloak ...
sacrifice the bright, for those
without eyes - know a truth,
astounding ... and live again ...
for me.
~ 5th Place ~ in the "Open Poetry 3" Poetry Contest, Charlotte Puddifoot, Judge & Sponsor.
Too many of late,
Especially for "us",
The last of the
Baby Boomer generation,
And the reality of our placement
In the flow of existence,
Is that the realm of oblivion
Reaches it's sinewy fingers
For all of us ... with
Greater frequency
Each day, it seems.
Those "larger than life"
Mentors and icons,
Whose creativity has
Provided the soundtrack
And accompaniment to our lives,
Are no less susceptible to
Mortality's cold kiss than
We are, though that
Pedestal we place them
On sometimes seems
Higher than transience.
As with each such a loss,
The sun will rise a little
More hesitantly tomorrow,
Its rays will settle a bit less
Warmly on our faces, and there
Will be a "void unfillable"
In the world of music ...
A sour silence, the
Remedy for which only
The ears of angels will
Strain to attend.
They came last night
Sashayed and tromped through
A dreamy, semi-wakefulness
Snapshots of vague faces
Riffling pages of pageantry
Shuffling through suffering.
I failed to recognize many
Longed to linger with others
Applauded successes
Cheered failures resiliency
Reached to touch, to caress
The sinewy shadows of sorrow.
Awed by the strength and tenacity
Of life’s forever fortunes
As they danced across its ballroom floor
Huddled in its corners
Laughed at its ever-changing punchline.
A soft tear reminding me
That I had somehow been there
Shared a cosmic connection
With a distant,
Yet eternal
Moment.
Written: October 1st 2023
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the ocean of silence, I’m stunned
Astonish by its grandeur as I descend.
A comely curtain of conciliatory calm
Elapse the chaos, surreptitious and warm.
In the hushed embrace of the twilight sky,
A silence plummets, ambrosial all nearby.
Astonied hearts stand in solicitous awe.
A comely night implies her ethereal flaw.
Emollient whispers waft into the air.
Surreptitious secrets are shared with care.
Incipient stars start their gentle wafture,
Surreal leaves create a ripple in nature.
Mellifluous melodies mend meteoric might,
Fugacious flimsies that fizzle out of a fight
Gossamer moonbeams cast their diaphanous glow,
Creating an aura of silence, tranquility, and bestow.
Ineffable fairness, fiercely feisty, not frigid,
The break of dawn silenced, as if timid.
Saturnine secrets shrank in secrecy.
Stupendous silence slides, sinewy spree.
Lull launders, looping the limp land,
As warblers start with a duteous band,
Sullen clouds gather, ominous and dark.
Yet awestruck hearts find solace in calm remarks.
Reassuringly, the heavy silence lingers.
Dour faces are glum, yet prudent fingers
Guide the oxymoron of emotions that flow,
Glowering and divine in their quiet glow
In the gloomy hush, discretion gleans hold,
As discerning minds decry peace in the fold,
The prudent ones, with a discreet glance,
Understand the power of silence dance.
Glum faces settle in quiet repose.
Views deepen, and worries dispose
Astounded by stillness, they are in awe.
Of absolute peace that stillness can draw.
Awestricken by the amorphous depth it brings,
They decry solace in the lull that silence sings.
A curtain of calm tumbles, amazed and serene.
As the amorphous depth of quiet is felt and seen.
Inauspicious cruxes balmily soothe fears.
As diaphanous whispers softly, quell tears.
Hinky hearts hearkens a hypothesis behind,
A voice uttered, "Love silence will never hide".
No query or qualm can squeal this bond.
Silence is where my peace is dulcet fond.
In the hushed embrace of the twilight sky,
Silence reigns, and my love will never die.
FOR WHAT IS POWER
For what is power?
A dream, a vision, a destiny?
All un-achievable because….
Because we accept the definition handed down by those in power.
Power is strength. Strength is power.
Rosa Parks had strength, she exhibited power,
not in muscle or machismo but in her presence, in her tenacity,
in her steadfastness. Rosa Parks was empowered
by her strength - to act.
Ghandi had strength, cloth wrapped, sinewy strength.
He exhibited power, in his defiance, his belief.
He shed blood, his own, while refusing to strike back
at those who struck him but at the laws and mores that
permitted such actions. He was empowered
by his strength – to act.
They did not wait to become empowered,
did not seek validation of their strength,
became the empowering strength for others.
Martin Luther King was not empowered by his dream,
he drew his strength from it,
used that strength to empower others
to find their strength, to stand, to march,
to defy, to unify – to act.
And what of us? Will we acknowledge our strength?
Will we use that strength to empower others
to find their strength? Or will we deny that strength
and hope to find empowerment elsewhere.
John G. Lawless
7/10/2014
for Verlena S. Walker contest-Strength Empowers
((sorry Verlena, I blew the line count))
How do we go back through Time, Space, Matter and Reasoning to the Origin of
Origin and commune with the Original Originator?
Is it through our death?
Is it through re-birth?
Is it through the Earth?
Or is it when we berth?
As we drift in-to a quiescent dock
Bourne by waves of Mercury, we rock
Silent and peaceful... no sound... no talk...
Perhaps, this time at the dock
We may find a bit of luck
At communing on the floor
With the Original Originator
How do we go back through Reasoning, Space, Matter and Time to the Origin of
Origin and commune with the Original Originator?
Is it through the Sun?
Is it when we mourn?
Is it when its dawn?
Or at the peak of form?
As we flex muscles of wood
All sinewy, all musculi, all crude
Hunched like Mr Olympia’s brood
Perhaps this time at the Water
We will commune with Awe, with Laughter
As we (hopefully) end at the door
Tha’ll be opened by the Original Originator
How do we go back through Matter, Reasoning, Space and Time to the Origin of
Origin and commune with the Original Originator?
Perhaps, this question I think can be answered on through infinity ad infinitum.....
Form:
Hawkish angels with golden bows
chase away shawnee and wolves.
A sinewy faith built the rough and ready.
We were pleased to claim this land
for Jesus.
Despite the tornadoes,
we continued to raise
Midwest cities
from a leather flogged bible.
We were conceived in closets
where ancestral bones watched.
Buried in leased plots;
stones marked our lack of,
or notable faith in affluence.
Just past Easter, cracks appeared
in a pink painted sky.
An ethereal plaster crumbled.
angelic limbs hung,
caught in a cracked tableau.
Plastic arrows littered marbled floors.
A mall dream, but the dream had legs
unseen, they kept running
on the spot.
Log cabins transported themselves
to Theme Parks.
The Tuesday after Easter
hope clogged casinos,
took root.
God began to fill
storage units
with all His kids
persnickety dreams.