Long Slipstream Poems
Long Slipstream Poems. Below are the most popular long Slipstream by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slipstream poems by poem length and keyword.
"My Eyes"
Green glass
broken and polished
washed in on a storm
from a tempestuous Ocean
briny and
stinging
deep deep deep
as a journey
has ever been
cool to the touch
transparency
contained
within the smooth jagged
worn by icy tides and
buried in burning passages of jade
Reflection,
their sea eyes
your seas
green calamities
on straight lines
your words
strung and
slipped
around their sees
through the eyes
of a sharp needle
Sewing stories
in the
Short Slipstream
patchworks
for a blanket of
Love
ocean forests
closing clams
gathering pearls up
watching
through windows
other souls write
sage Delphi oracles
green shamrocks
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
Oily sky, weightless portals
of slipstream bubbles in a fluid -
superhighway of a different means.
Effortless, my travel, everywhere at once,
like a cat after a string.
A scattergory of movement in instant summation.
Summoned by the reading of uncategorized belief.
Where what is possible is aspired to will,
like "Tom Sawyer" in a Rush song.
Looking for
that Sprite of Strange Wings
under moonlit skies.
She
will evade me no longer
in her Black Mamba mean streaks
of hide and seek.
She has singled me out to double since before the beginning of Time
and this pervading trouble she holds aloft.
I feel like ten feet thick lead,
laden with the now,
and quickened like an inertial flow
in which we trough.
In her presents -
she is leading with carrot to know, for sure,
That I will love her forever.
Then, she will show,
her smile reuknighted
to my soul's oath of capture.
One’s Own Slipstream
by Odin Roark
Movement frozen
Knows of risks in waiting.
Three lanes,
Seven lanes,
Life’s autobahn,
Always beckoning,
Seduction to follow.
Isn't that what it's all about?
Starting way back…
A grade school playground,
Force takes power.
To stay on side lines,
Failure.
The longing to steer into the "follow" lane,
Surge to the power's fast lane,
Grab the pull,
The bully in front,
Breaking resistance,
Its girth of momentum unstoppable.
You glimpse for the first time…Free rides,
No risk,
Cocooned safety.
School yards,
I-Hop revisits,
GPA encroachment,
Graduation,
Freedom,
Pedal to the metal.
"The World is a Vampire"
You know not,
Not yet.
The interview
The job
The greater pull,
Fast lane in view,
Entrance ramp available.
Quintessential speed…yes.
Follow the leader,
Rise to the top,
Meet the power,
Meet the future spouse,
Ah,
The speed,
The even greater pull,
The free ride really looks free.
Perpetual hang-overs follow…
The grind,
The history,
The babies,
The promotions,
The divorces,
The...
The...
Finally the peace…
The return,
The dirt roads,
The two wheeled bike,
The ruts,
The flats,
The...
The...
Discovering one’s own slipstream,
Nirvana.
Chiseled bone fibre silences white noise water
Shiv splits through throat, jugular scissored
Flung spray fusillade's lain flat slaughter
Bluster bullseye stabs canvas concave
Albatross follow our sharp slipstream
Wind vane spins blur invisible
Dolphin pod adjacent symbol
Ludicrous becomes our lucid dream
Green glaze wake calms crazed waves
Plunge smashes panic, pindrop pools surface
Instinctive dive into icy effervescence
Jolts flailing heart buoyed purpose
Castaways tack to breeze's best advantage
Seahorse spawns, cloud coral hammock
Hull pointed toward demand
Relentless racing hour hand
Gathered globe gauges chances gigantic
Skippers puncture tides, shark agile voyage
20th February
Triumphant Felicity
He flops at rest stops
hid by other sleeping truckers.
He likes the loneliness
as the cab windows gradually mist over
with smokey stars.
Rolling on,
cities of light flare upwards
and beneath them
are the unseen, the dead eyed
that hide under a metro-glare.
Amarillo, Detroit, Tacoma, Richmond,
places packed and stacked
with broken dreams and loose ends.
Just driving; hauling and honking.
No one looking.
Launderettes and liquor stores,
five finger fandangos in the back,
chicken wings and Jack D.
Atlantic City, Apalachicola,
soaking in the slipstream
while America looks somewhere else.
What are you watching America?
Sometimes he thinks
only the coyotes are paying attention.
Roads thread through his fingers.
The Great Lakes shimmer,
Rockies rear-up and ripple,
all those dust painted
played-out rural towns,
the roads are his tunnel
through both beauty and depredation.
Old men on roadside benches
stare unphased by his air horn blare'
as if he himself were an 18-wheeled
rolling exhibit of America itself,
yet no one looks long enough
to care.
Expanses are tomorrow's territory
Horizons amplified by my wing span
Strength developed in feather tapestry
Shifting locale afforded with agile plan
Ocean's edge sends mayhem forceful
Detected slipstream among punishment
Aids spread winged hunt for salty morsels
Harmony on coast's cantankerous currents
Silver seaside high tide grasses kindly submit
Myriad of scurried meals by beak sting stilled
Sharp penetration permits energy replenished
Distant destination found rewards strong will
Emitted persistence, rhythmic ritual circle
Swirled arcs shrill remarks of dominance
Prevailing patient weathered fellow eagles
Declare stubborn intentions of prominance
Gathered sighting innately demands I pitch in
Tightly packed muscles drive flight equipment
Evolution necessitates expiring weak specimen
Keen eyed females favour winners' enrichment
Tormenting mountain draws crazed tenacious
Rugged random avalanche presents no threat
Closer to our Maker, my meditation spacious
Challenge breeds sage old age can't forget
Hundred mile distant haven spied by astute
Richer realms' conquer deem fear redundant
Headed to adventure, potential not obscured
Tough trend upwards, spiralling triumphant
Written: July 14, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Daniel Henry Rodgers
****************************
I've locked this dark, borrowed shore, Flee this acid-clogged floor.
I guard the vault of my pain, I'm the phantom at your pane.
Cold starlight marks a sharp track, Break from this blind void of black!
I smash the chalice of shame. Escape this specter of blame!
This pristine sanctum stands tall, Smite this driftwood into drawl.
Warped in a speedball slipstream, before this shape-shifting dream.
No liquid spirit shall steal. My eternal cosmic seal.
I steer through galaxies deep, wake from this deceptive sleep!
I smash the siren's black crown. Cast this madness to the drown!
I chart the comets of truth, Reclaim my stolen, raw youth!
The silver slivers weave fate. Rip the fabric of this hate!
A fearless breach clears the sky. Healing wrecked space could imply.
I break from all grips of woe, and leave the strap chains below,
I cast out the shroud of shame, to chase the comet's hot flame.
Trials spur my spirit higher, to chisel out my doused fire,
I weave my nerve through the night, the advent from darkness-light.
I carve paths the stars design, stride their fire on threads divine,
I rise to meet stars above, crown my path with graceful love.
I slip back into the coma,
In the catacombs of my darkest thought's,
I feel the demon's probe inside my mind,
Picking away with sharp claw's,
Searching for a memory,
From as far back as yesterday,
Oh,
The damage it can do,
When your wasted in a melancholy muse.
So dark are my visions,
That swim through my lifeless eye's trying to break-
The surface for a breath of fresh air,
Fighting so hard to survive somewhere,
There's a dream,
It's caught up in the slipstream,
The backward turbulence of everything iv'e been through,
The violent remain's of a melancholy muse.
A deep, deep fear,
It seem's the whole world's out to get me,
No one understand's the pain i feel,
I can't break the shackles,
Or cut myself loose from the inverted thought's,
My mind keep's trying to abort,
The non-sensual madness that is feeding off my mood,
Deep within the shadow's of a melancholy muse.
I vaguely remember a smile,
That once crossed my face,
A long time ago,
When i was still so beautiful,
Before the torment blackened my soul,
So where did that person go?
I don't know who i am anymore,
Each time i look in to the mirror to take a good look at myself,
I don't recognize the person staring back at me,
So i slip back into the coma of a melancholy muse.
The store has an otherworldly glow
in a starless lot.
The few parked cars
have leagues of loneliness between them.
No one comes or goes, they merely slipstream
through a personal invisibility.
Beyond the electric slide of glass doors
the anchorless roam
between the high stacked
and glitter wrapped.
Anyone that matters in the daylight
is not here.
At the check-out he sees her,
dark moons slung from each ear,
she with the dragon tattoo arm sleeve,
her small, half-cupped breasts
daring anyone to be kind.
He wants to be near to her,
yet he is only an itinerant broker of bad news.
The few that are here will leave separately
to tunnel into more makeshift hours,
and he must drive far enough away
to be some distance from himself.
I flop at truck stops
hid by other sleeping truckers.
I like the loneliness.
Amarillo, Detroit, Tacoma, Richmond,
places packed and stacked
with the bad and the good.
I scoot by paying no heed,
to features, just forms,
how bodies once glimpsed
sometimes return inside of me.
Cities of light, death-heads hidden
no one is looking.
I’m not looking either — just driving through,
hauling and honking.
No one looking.
Launderettes and liquor stores;
five finger fandangos in the back,
chicken wings and Jack D.
Atlantic City, Apalachicola,
soaking in the slipstream
while America looks somewhere else.
What are you watching America?
Sometimes I think
only the coyotes are paying attention.
Roads thread through my fingers.
The Great Lakes shimmer,
Rockies rear-up and ripple.
Moving along not looking,
just driving.
Old men on benches stare
as I hammer on by, and blare,
as if I were an 18-wheeled rolling exhibit
of America itself.