Long Smoldered Poems
Long Smoldered Poems. Below are the most popular long Smoldered by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Smoldered poems by poem length and keyword.
My life... my life is here,
But my life isn't clear.
So many different paths,
But when I pick one, everyone laughs.
I choose and pick, but nothing sticks.
And the light for the right path never glows.
The route I choose shuts away and never shows.
I try to run, run for my life again and again.
But sometimes it feels like a knife..
Deep in my heart like an aching pain,
It feels like an overbearing chain.
To my life, and to my path
It hurts and burns with wrath.
Other people try to control,
But they simply eat my dreams whole.
No one asks what I want.
They just take and they taunt.
My old dreams haunt...
They haunt me and my choices.
All of the sounds and all the voices
Telling me nothing is right..
And maybe they might be right in sight
They look over my shoulder
And of course my feelings get smoldered.
No one cares what I think,
And their thoughts overflow my dreams in a blink.
No one cares about me, just what I grow up to be.
My life was never mine
And it never. will be
Certainly November is lovely
beyond our intuition and expectation...
as it paves the empty roadways
with auburn foilage;
and the gently hissing wind
creates its own cheerful melody,
because frickle imagination
provides the words of a memorable song!
The tireless and wild stallions,
with their astounding presence,
follow the bridlepath though verdant hills...
leading them to a quite pinegrove,
where they can refresh themselves
into a clear, sparkling waterfall!
The familiar sluggishness of an Autmn's day
seems to have the same monotony
of weary streams scurring away
with someone's dreamy mind....
elevating itself to the superb Creation;
as the lonesome writer stages his play
in a tranquil landscape of a hidden town
still untouched by civilization!
Like those massive herds
of butchbirds and scissortails,at dawn
oozing off on rough branches ,
before taking flight to southerns' borders....
to escape winter's smoldered freedom,
not trusting the untrustworthy sky above
when the loudest thunder strikes again!
Beyond the closed window,.
the tearful and lonely widow
will surely die of boredom...
without feeding the yellow canary
that tapped on her open window:
how happy she felt to see him...
his presence diluted her sorrow,
because all she wanted was his company!
You’d think a dog named Lucky,
Would lead a decent life.
But Lucky had his troubles,
And they followed day and night.
One day Lucky ran away
In search of greener pastures
Just to find a field ablaze,
Thus the start of his disasters.
Although Lucky didn’t die that day
And no limbs or parts were broken,
Lucky smelled of smoldered hair
And you’d swear he kept on smokin!
And Lucky liked to chase the cars,
Till the day he lost his nerve
When Lucky met a big ‘ol bus
That couldn’t stop or swerve.
I’m not sure just how it hit him
Or how he’s here today.
But he’s never walked straight since,
And one eye veers away.
My Lucky always clashed with cats
And was leery of their paws.
Until a “Tom” of forty pounds
Let Lucky feel his jaws.
Hair and fur balls filled the air
Like Cottonwoods a bloomin.
Poor ‘ol Lucky lost an ear,
And now looks twice as stupid.
I confess, I named him wrong
And why he stays, I’ll never know.
I guess that I’m the lucky one,
To have Lucky here at home.
Just how long does a steaming lobster sob?
How terribly do boiling limbs and guts
burn? Like a million simultaneous cuts?
When does its sweltering heart cease to throb?
On who’s authority do humans rob
that creature of its life? Have we the rights?
—the rights to cook a living being? Nights,
(countless), have I questioned this brutish job.—
Yet, even still, I meet no day when not
a hungry shopper comes to claim a kill.
And for the taste of murdered, smoldered meat,
—(we sear our ethics inside that same pot)—
they beg me: “I can’t bear do it, but will
you?”. — — I’m sorry, truly, crustacean…”treat”.
Residue
Wrapped in cellophane and ribbon
mocking burned down evergreens
Screaming at the shadowed walls
as nightmares spurn your toxic dreams
Lurking near the bottles filled with
endless empty molten fears
Dampening the diapers as a
mother cries her countless tears
Broken weave of tattered sleeve behind the darkness to believe
That midnight forms what we conceive in moments cast to only grieve
We’ll go dancing nightly
in the attic
while the moon is rising
in the sky
If I’m too drunk tell me,
I’m so scared your little
head will come off
in my hands
What the heck did you expect for just a speck, a tiny fleck
Now hit the deck you wretched wreck as long ago we did suspect
Counting money residue on
blackened smoldered fingernails
As billion dollar babies sing
in toothless whining rancid wails
Toddlers of the devil’s creed wear
shiny plastic floating eyes
Now staring at you while you sleep
these monsters gather in disguise
This poem was inspired by one of my favorite songs,
Alice Cooper’s “Billion Dollar Babies”
The italicized lines are lyrics from that song. Here is a link to the song: https://youtu.be/6sD8sO0B97I
And in case you didn’t know, the other voice you’ll hear singing on the song is Donovan (Mellow Yellow)
The Fire's Flame
The fire's flames, so wild and free,
just as some say our spirit should be.
Often compared to love and desire
but mostly it's passion, the flames of the fire.
Watch them, how graceful they silently dance,
enjoying each moment like lingered romance.
Fuel them and see how they take on a roar
consuming it's source, growing desperate for more.
Alluring by nature, fierce and so bold,
as born of a dragon with fury untold.
Awakening passion that's fueled by desire
exposes the heart to the flames of the fire.
Only a spark starts a heat so intense,
it's felt from afar like a kindred soul sense.
The heat of the flames are the warmth of the burn,
as heat of our passion is warmth from our yearn.
Someone special comes along and suddenly you're aware
That there's a fire inside your soul
that's always smoldered there.
A flame is sparked, you feel the heat
and nothing is the same.
Life becomes an endless pursuit
after the fire's flame.
- Jeannie Minor
An ember sparked will softly glow,
and fed by fuel, will grow and grow.
I once was cinder, sparked by you,
first timid. . . till the flames then grew.
And so our start was touch of dawn,
with amber hue, for I was drawn
to eyes so welcoming and warm
I never guessed you’d do me harm.
Like morning glory, love in June
the rapture of mid-afternoon,
romance of which the ancients wrote,
our passion had no antidote.
And with the dusk, though scarlet tinged,
our love began to come unhinged,
for clouds arrived, which filled your eyes,
extinguishing bright twilight skies.
With cold of night came shadows’ pall,
and I could not tear down your wall.
By midnight’s hour, the fire was dead.
Mere ashes smoldered in its stead.
You left, and should you reappear,
I’ve vowed to shun you. Now I fear
the very thing for which I yearn -
one touch. . . and then again - to burn.
Mild weather greeted the week late November
as mid sixty temps held steady.
The sun so bright and warm
draped cloudless skies of deep dark blue.
Leaves floated wistfully, gliding gentle and soft
waltz dancing on the air.
Strewn across the grass a palette of bladed color leaves
I raked them tenaciously into piles.
Resting momentarily more fell from the naked trees
while they still exuded shade.
The cool crispness settled in
as I gathered broken branches for the fire.
Stacked them methodically to sear the fire pit
and I set the fires ablaze.
It smoldered smoky gray ashen at first
from the mix of dry brown leaves and small twigs.
Then burning hot and warm with rising flames
it warmed the stones and ignited the heat.
The momentary break beckoned me
to linger hovering to stay warm.
I watched the flames burn orange and red
licking the wood and lapping its moisture.
As evening set and the fire died,
wind found its way
Oncoming clouds and gusts darkened the sky
dropping temperatures ten, twenty, thirty degrees.
Rapidly a north west storm blew in
dressed in thunder and lightning streaks
A mix of rain and snow settled in
slipping in loud, fast and cold
announcing winter’s sudden arrival.
Light fades from their eyes
As flames light up the skies
Heavy smoke clung they could not breathe
As the fire took trees grass and seeds
Embers burned and fell like volcano ash
Raining down on top of the city streets
Daylight became like the darkness of night
All became smoky and hidden from sight
It crackled, it sizzled it burned
a wall of fire as it churned
Destroying like a destroyer
Nothing stood in its path
It consumed left nothing untouched
It smoldered and then grew hot
It reached for things it could reap
Anything that was within its reach
It lept, it jumped could not be contained
A immense wall of heat and flames
It left a path devastation
while forcing a huge migration
While the fire burns on.
06/05/16
Acid reflux ~ 7:00 post meridiem September 24th, 2019
Ah... nothing more enjoyable than acidic gastric fluid flowing backward into esophagus, resulting in heartburn, disrupting pleasant dreams, nor unsure how successful literary endeavor crafting poem regarding aforementioned will yield.
While deeply asleep
during late afternoon siesta
above name named date/time,
yours truly immediately awoke
with a start, at strong violent
urge to upheap
I made little or no bowed peep,
but sat bolt upright stock still
tear ducts activated eyes
as if ready to weep.
Sadness less pervasive than fright
since reverse peristalsis uncommon
within body electric regarding plight,
which analogous volcanic eruption
albeit bubbling magmatic flow slight
reverse peristalsis found yours truly
on par with fire breathing dragon ar
goo ably momentarily nonplussed -
while dry cough minus gushing lava
gratefully only smoldered before sim
ring upper gastrointestinal tract did
allow, enable, and provide mouths
full of distilled water quench sudden
unquenchable thirst relieved result
ant unpleasant aftertaste (no pun
intended), yet distilling humor helps
me weather, manage, cope... with
unexpected physiological fee nom
mina - shot straight up within digest
heave tract, and did lament this rick
hitty packet of muscle and bone aft
times susceptible to disheartening
woebegone news afflicting this non
Norwegian bachelor farmer, whom
if the missus cooking triggered bout
unleashing bit torrent of unsavory
plate tectonics, perhaps indicative
of continental drift shrunk down to
miniature, where fault in thee stars
must be held in contempt of court
if for no other reason, I just wanted
to incorporate said phrase, tip here
me got some legal lear'n, when truth
Philly admits he seems to know less,
the he learns, which prompts me to
posit emphatically that ignorance iz
equivalent to bliss, thus presenting
quandary how kin this pronouncedly
reasonably intelligent garden variety
*****sapiens unfetter himself with
cumulative knowledge without reek
horse to invasive surgery such as...
prefrontal lobotomy, or te deum down
smarts some unknown cyber surfer(s)
could easily misconstrue as vainness,
smugness, quintessential pomposity?