Long Slowly Poems
Long Slowly Poems. Below are the most popular long Slowly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slowly poems by poem length and keyword.
The wine taste on his lips
effects my brain fibers,
transmitting unclear to messages
my heart.
My body captivated without resisting
I surrender like a rolling locomotive
switching to a safer track
My soul drifted slowly.
Beautify this solace feeling
sometimes a kiss is not just a kiss
my heart beat so fast, enticing the moment
I knew would not last forever,
A testimonial of confession,
my sporadically heart endures,
Merely a test, it fades
leaving the soul confused
with extremed rage.
To give, however never to keep
only and sweet and sour
was his gift of love,
The wine taste still linger
Man and his dog
He awoke under the bed; it had been his birthday
drinking champagne, eating Danish pastry, and smoking Havana cigars
He walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out
a beer, which he thirstily drank while wondering why
Everything was so quiet
The maid had been in when he slept, and everything was in order. When did the guests leave, or had he been partying with his teddy bear, lonely since his dog died?
Looking out of the window, he saw many cars; they had
No drivers and some had open doors as abandoned in haste, but what had happened?
In a bakery/cafe, he had a sandwich of cheese and tomatoes, which he made himself since the lady who owned
The cafe was not there.
It dawned on him that he was alone in the world, everything
He didn't need to share his good fortune with anyone, except for the cur outside who ran away and barked when seeing him
He tried the Rolls-Royce that belonged to the mayor, yes
The ride was smooth, distracted by thoughts, he hit a lamp-post, but never mind, there were other cars around
At an expensive restaurant where he had once dined, he made himself a hamburger with hot fries
drunk with the most expensive red wine possible.
The dog that had growled at him looked at him through the window, wagging its tail; it knew he was the only one left to feed it
Months went by, and the window, his life was getting a bit onerous, just him
and the dog following him around, getting fat from his overfeeding.
He stopped shaving and showering, and wore the same pants
Since the day was endless anyway, why bother with personal hygiene when there was no pressure to conform
Deeply depressed, he jumped from the top-floor flat of
a tall building to end it all.
No such luck! He descended, slowly broke down, and cried freely as the dog was the only witness to his sadness.
Doomed to live forever, he lay under the bed.
But before falling into Nirvana's arms, he got up again; someone had to feed the dog.
("A Migration of Ghosts", 2023, original encaustic)
In the morning I lay in the bath
Slowly waking with a cup
My mind drifts half asleep.
Eventually I start to count
All the people I have met and known
Close and distant
Who are gone.
At first it’s an easy couple of handfuls
But then the longer I soak
The more the numbers add up.
Eventually several dozen names and faces
Have marched across my memory
Each one smiling for an instant
Caught in a moment of what I knew them for.
A parade of sorts, young and old
Which once opened to won’t seem to stop.
It’s not like I’m merely an observer either
Safe in the warmth of my bath,
Like them I’m moving inexorably from here
To there
A parade of sorts, each with our own allotted light
Candles big and small, dull or bright
But in the end nothing but a memory
In memoriam we erect in honor
Without a site.
(5/15/26)
*ODE TO MY GARDENING GLOVES
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Alas, beautiful gardening gloves, I knew you well. I remember that early March morn; I opened your package and slipped you onto my hands. At first you were a bit stiff and uncomfortable. Over time you softened and became my weekly companion, pulling weeds, cutting flowers, and guiding the nozzle on the water hose allowing our foliage to flourish even during the hot summer months.
You've faded, though, from our days together in the sun. Your bubble grippers are worn, and your fingers are tattered and torn, worse for the wear. I will surely miss you as I will miss the warm, languid summer days we shared together.
Soon, I'll cover my hands with woolen mittens or furry gloves. But you'll hold a special place in my heart as I stand on my front porch shivering and yearning for next spring's arrival. Inside my desk drawer I've placed my new pair of gardening gloves, already purchased for next spring.
Each morning during the seemingly endless dreary winter months, I’ll open my desk drawer and slip them onto my hands, embracing the hope they symbolize.
oh! frost in the air
mist is on the nearby hills
plant dead, ugly bulbs
once bulbs are planted
they slumber peacefully while
faithfully waiting
in silent darkness
locked in winter's frozen sleep
secretly they grow
bulbs work mystery
some morning soon in springtime
pale, green tips appear
soon scarlet blossoms
slowly emerge, gracefully
beauty to behold
Sleep deprived,
Feeling all the raindrops set off by the slightest
Welcome to bad weather
This thing called my life
Never been one to contemplate suicide
But damn if it doesnt feel like i live a lie
Let me tell you a story
One supposed to come with glory
But inside me is this....hall of stories
That echoes with pain
An existence of mine caught blain
I try to play it off
Some think i stole this identity
But i myself found mine stolen on that day
It was awesome...
But now my failure in everything
seems to wash that away
Cant walk on water
Can't heal the blind
This life does not feel like mine
Im beginning to loathe it
Hate it
Because you would think all my attempts wouldnt be in vain
No matter how much strength i gain
It feels like its never enough
Because after all you cant force love
Another depressed left hander maybe..
Like Kurt cobain with courtney love
Trapped inside a hell of my own failure
Stuck in this dungeons layer
The more i hide it the more it screams inside bit by bit
Inner strength falters
Feeling weary now, cant fight it
Tears of fire burn inside my souls eyes hot and wet
If this is the end of days then maybe im meant to feel nothing but pain....
I dont deny emptiness is filling me
A king without a throne
Or one to share my name
Story of the century
Burried with the height of my adventure
That i guess ended long ago just the same
With the other me's death and descent into hell
Here those 3 days are stretched maybe
Please somene set an alarm for me to hear
Chime the bell
Im dying slowly if you cant tell
Please someone
Wake me from my prison cell
Form:
At the first sign of light, I can hear incantation
slowly ascending, from the depths of the canyons
Windward it's calling to get my attention
while my eyes search the sunrise, to look into heaven
Gliding with ease is the shape of an eagle
swooping on wings that have lifted my soul
Reverently regal, the rare golden eagle
flies overhead while leaving its shadow
Scouting the timber for one special tree
it circles the forest, so high, in the pines
Far in the branches, limbs cradle her nest
She'll pause for a rest, where her fledglings will feed
safe from the bite, of the darkest of night
Deep from abyss of the narrowest canyons,
she'll soar like a plane to the clouds in the sky
I close tight my eyes, and will dream I'm beside her
Far above treetops......I wish I could fly.
I'd look at the world, in the softness of dawn
and wish for such peace, until my tears overcome
__________________________________________
10/2/15
Written for "Golden Eagle Contest"
Sponsored by Shadow Hamilton
A pleasant fall day
out for a drive
a few errands to run
in warm afternoon
traffic was light
and the weather was good
and I thought that
everything was going good
then with my ear
I heard a strange sound
wasn't sure what was
like someone hitting a pan
as my speed it did change
so did the beating pan
had louder it slowly grew
till much too loud
carefully I drove
to a dealer where
the service man said
my engine was dead
nine thousand dollars
for a new one
my truck was worth three
when should they begin
I could not believe
what they did say
I could buy three
in stead of fixing one
my day which was so nice
had took a bad change
suddenly it was not
such a nice day
to salesman I did talk
told them of my woe
and they told me that
they had just thing
a much newer truck
in effervescent pearl
black leather seats
it included everything
a backup camera
a GPS
a big V-6
like in a Camaro
zero to sixty
in seven seconds flat
gets nineteen miles
to a gallon of gas
the radio needs
as subscription
so do the controls
if to work fine
don't forget insurance
tires and oil
it all does add up
to quite a bill
but fun it is
when I punch the gas
and the engine suddenly roars
at all the people I pass
it may be
a all wheel drive
but seven inches high
no off-roading
I do miss
my transfer box
my low gear
and being so high
I guess I can live
in a equinox
with a Camaro's V-6
in effervescent pearl
No petal knows the flower it helps become.
Yet every edge contributes to its net sum.
What petals cannot see, the bloom makes whole.
Each separate curve completing one shared soul.
A boundary gives every petal, grace and form.
Its edges hold through sunlight, rain, and storm.
We cannot grow by leaving limits far behind.
We grow between the lines that shape within the mind.
Perhaps transcendence isn't traveling so far away,
But opening wider to what's within today.
The bud becomes what folded silence knew,
By letting what was hidden freely move through.
So nothing leaves the pattern we pass through.
Bud, petal, bloom keep coming into our view.
Transcendence is to become, not to enclose.
Beyond the petal, yet within the waiting rose.
No petal knows the flower it will help create.
Each keeps its edge, yet joins a larger state.
What petals cannot see, the flower makes one.
The whole emerges as all the parts are spun.
Beauty needs boundaries; edges give each its place.
Petal beside petal slowly shapes the flower's face.
We need not break the borders that limits define,
But meet between and through them, to yours and mine.
Becoming, opening, flowering as we grow,
Participles trip wherever changing currents flow.
No finished noun can truly tell us who we are.
We're verbs still blooming, reaching past the bar.
So nothing truly leaves, and nothing stands alone.
Each petal joins a pattern never fully known.
Transcendence isn't escaping, what we yearn to be—
It's opening just enough to find, what we can't see.
To get Greenland Trump would dither
The least, ‘one way or the other’,
When so rogue devils win,
It leads to greater sin,
World would get carved up together.
_________________________
Happenings | 36.01.2026 | political, USA, world, limerick
Note: In 2019, Trump’s wish to buy Greenland was greeted by gales of laughter. Today the mood has turned sombre. Predators always advance slowly and deliberately. He’s serious today, and emboldened no less after what he did to Venezuela. The frozen white land of Greenland seems to have turned red hot. And it would be no surprise if he gets it, ‘one way or the other’, as he’s wont to say. And what about other big sharks of the world? Would not their appetite get whetted more?
I think I'm happy...
Introvert at heart I was exhausted but enjoying myself like a good day at the gym
I had been participating in some verbal jogging when the jargon interrupted the depth of my thoughts
I wanted to go deeper, but the question brought me back to the surface
You know, that over used, over played, over copied, get out of jail free question
So, how did you feel?
A mental sigh fogs my mind, as I wait for the dust to settle, I try to paint what can't be replicated in any art
My response a cliche of my own just to joust back
In case we're keeping score
I'm deadly competitive to a fault, laughing to myself touché
Oh, my reply, I almost forgot
The cliche runs from my mouth: the words to describe it are lost but if found it would be something like watching the American Day Dream on the big screen except you're the main character
When your mood matches the brightness within the sunrise of your eyes and you’re by no means even a little bit of an early bird
You hear the sound of vinyl recorded melodies on repeat as you brush your teeth
The dust slowly undresses as I then get dressed
Looking for the perfect outfit is comparable to searching for these words
And don't even get me started on shoes
The right pair will have everyone on their heels and can capture the eyes to the soul
That day my soul sang solo after the shower rained down cleansing compliments
Chanting for an encore
The volume of the claps is turned down
The dust has finally kissed the ground
And for the reveal my reflection sees a familiar memory
As my mouth curves like a rose into a shape it hasn't felt in awhile
I've been chasing this flowery feeling like the butterfly tasting the flight of bliss
I grab as fast as I can, gripping the steering wheel headed to the destination
Shouting I'm never letting go
As my opposite palm holds her hand
I want to stop to picture frame this memory
I have to stop and picture frame this memory
We stop at the red light, and she asks: can I borrow a forehead kiss
I respond: as long as you come back again
p.s. this is happiness, it was something like that...