Long Smooth Poems
Long Smooth Poems. Below are the most popular long Smooth by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Smooth poems by poem length and keyword.
Life is
Life is never easy
everyone will say it’s true
Especially if the palette
is a dismal shade of blue
More than one can handle
when the weight is far too much
Loneliness and sorrow
and some other things and such
Life is not an object
you can put upon a shelf
Toss into a dresser drawer
to keep it from yourself
Paint it with a magic pen
that’s filled with promised ink
Hide behind a photograph
no matter what you think
Life is not a carpet
you can vacuum day and night
Gathering the fragments
that have hidden there from sight
Mix it in a blender
till its creamy satin smooth
Pack up in a cardboard box
when you decide to move
Life is not a fantasy
with castles and their kings
Paisley painted paragraphs
or any written things
Butterflies and daffodils
along the garden wall
Nor a day in springtime
or an evening in the fall
Life, though if you look at it
can be so many things
If you just turn in the past
for what tomorrow brings
For it can change, I know it can
A beautiful display
That’s why I’ve written down these words
So to you I can say
Life is what you make of it
each morning you arise
If you wear a smile
as you open up your eyes
You’ll find a world that’s beautiful
out there for you to see
So come on now, its waiting there
see what your life can be
Ok, not one of my best. But I hope you like it.
Tapestry of textures, rough and smooth entwined,
Interlacing suffering and joy,
Satin strands of blessing lovingly designed
Tangled knots attempting to destroy.
Paths are set before us, history unfurled,
Warnings and instruction to be heard,
Faith and hope encouraged in a fickle world,
Treasure to unlock within the word.
25.04.20
Krish R poetry anthology contest.
Two stanzas only in rhyme to match the first stanza that is given below
Woven are these pages in poetic verse,
With bare threads of our deepest feelings,
You will find laughter, tears and remorse,
and words of wisdom, prayer and healings.
.................................................
I saw a man stark naked there unexpectedly,
who in his masculine fashion, though not apprehensively,
went gliding (or was he striding?)
down the center of the hall.
He did not glimpse me at all
as my gut called out, What gall!
So brazen, so reckless this peculiar entity
appearing as if from nowhere to step in front of me,
not elegant or slim as I’m fond of men to be;
but neither corpulent nor stocky -that cocky buck he
with a smooth protruding rump, rather like a girl’s,
yet by his gait betokened “straight” with nary a frill unfurled.
Frozen to the floor, gawking all the while,
I tried to surmise what could prompt in one
such imprudent, impudent style.
Was he merely meandering in some somnambulism state
as his simple sex is wont to do even while awake?
Or maybe this curious man had behind his head an eye
from which, though facing forward, did enable him to spy
the stupefied stranger staring at his rounded bare behind.
For he seemed to be parading his rear assets just for me,
which I deemed, as I beheld them, excelled in simplicity!
Though nothing was exceptional, I smiled begrudgingly
at a finely curved back with firm legs attached
in resplendent nudity!
11/11/16 for the Naked Contest of Anthony Slausen
Come, O sorrows and be my waking call,
Be to my life of joys a bit of blight,
Upon a hard day's work a short respite,
Be pleasant autumn before barren fall.
Come with dark clouds of rain with silver line,
Soften my joys, set me for looming pain,
Show Buddha smile with subtle smirk so fine
That takes mid-path hailing both sun and rain.
Life’s no undiluted desert of grey grief
Devoid of any a cool breeze of joy,
If too smooth gets ride to a far off cliff,
Thrills get short like a child’s joy of new toy.
Come O sorrows, come as my surprise treat,
An unknown thrill there’s in getting way-lost,
Let even reaching right come at some cost,
After sour taste water tastes somewhat sweet.
Come that my cup of joy fills up a full,
He that hath felt no grief feeleth no joy,
Come to make my joys and sorrows equal,
Be my welcome guest, shy nor ever coy.
And O Sorrows, not just that ye visit,
Dig unto me deeper carves that would last,
So that when joys come more of them can fit,
Capacities have I for both so vast.
And O thou, I well know: in this dual world,
The dancing duals dance in such a way,
They become two balanced wings of a bird,
Twain of life like dark and light, night and day.
Come, waver not; help me sail through life’s sea,
Let waves of joy and sorrow therein clash,
Let it but one seamless continuum be,
As twain thou hast but one soul, dual flesh.
Come to complete my lifelong melody,
Make one whole my truncated joy and bliss,
And conclude my unfinished symphony,
Come to give me a life-sustaining kiss.
If people equate thee with a dark cloud,
Worry not, for I know: there’s no rainbow
Without clouds, discard that guilt-covered shroud,
Soon as a storm subsides, peace does follow.
Two hearts that come together in sorrows
Stay united for long with stronger ties,
And love cleansed with mutual tears farther goes,
Joy and sorrows are no adversaries.
Joy and grief birds be roosting on same tree,
And never known to get separated,
I know, when one wishes to visit me,
The other’s just asleep right in my bed.
________________________________________
Musings | 15.10.15 | ode
Title: "Alone (The Diss)"
Yo, you’re just a ghost in this love song, no cost—
Starving for attention like a broke man at a loss,
You’re texting like a siren, but your signals are lost—
I’m the storm, you’re the flicker, you’ll never hold me, kid.
Your “slow night” is a joke, I’m out here resettin’,
Sippin’ on success while you’re still overspending—
You’re a whisper behind a door, I’m the kick-in’ it—
“Get to know you”? Nah, I’d rather just quit it.
(Hook: Pop Swagger)
How do you get me alone?
You’re the ghost, I’m the throne—
Pop the tag, but I own this zone,
You’re the night, I’m the dawn…
You’re a landline, dead line, stuck in the past—
I’m the Wi-Fi, the future, you’re just a crash.
Your love’s a bad mixtape, I’m the platinum press—
Now beg for a feature? Girl, that’s a waste.
(Hook: Pop Swagger)
How do you get me alone?
You’re the ghost, I’m the throne—
Pop the tag, but I own this zone,
You’re the night, I’m the dawn…
[Outro Zinger]
Now check your texts—still no ring, no reply—
Guess you’ll rot in your “alone,” kid. I’m gone.
Style Notes: Combines Mac Miller’s smooth wit with battle rap ferocity, using tech metaphors and flipped hooks for that "All Year" pop swagger. The diss pivots from pity to power, turning vulnerability into a punchline.
There is a sudden crowd inside the ribs,
a heavy shifting of weight,
like old furniture dragging across a hardwood floor.
It is the nervous, rhythmic friction
of a thumb tracing the rough seam of your jeans,
over and over,
trying to anchor a body that feels too light.
You stand bare under a noon sun
with nowhere to tuck your hands,
the throat closing up like a dry pipe
around words that refuse to be smooth.
It tastes like the bitter, metallic burn of morning coffee
scalded against the top of your tongue,
the physical evidence of rushing into the day.
Then the floor drops away,
that sudden, terrifying lurch in the gut
when your foot encounters only empty air
on a dark staircase you thought you knew by heart.
The silence follows, heavy as a wet wool coat,
settling into the quiet hallway upstairs
where the floorboards stop creaking,
and you realize the house has gone entirely still.
But the lungs remember how to expand.
A laugh breaks out, unrehearsed, ugly, and loud,
the kind that jolts the shoulders
and leaves you blinking at the sudden light.
It is the cold, sharp shock of air
filling the chest right after the crying stops,
tasting faintly of ozone and salt.
We are of a fragile, clumsy construction.
We bruise against the corners of tables;
we stitch ourselves back up with mismatched thread.
To be alive is just to leave the front door unlatched,
inviting the weather to wreck the kitchen,
and standing there in the debris—
bruised, exposed,
and entirely glad to have felt the storm.
We are happy to have a good mother,
she's the only one who has taught us
to take a path where stumbling stones are many
and they'll make us wiser learning about life.
We are lucky to have a good mother
who watches the spectacle of stars above
and explains with simple words who created them,
and if her tears fall on our cheeks: it's simply faith.
We are grateful to have a good mother
who has paved the way for us for a smooth walk,
unless we disregard her advice and fall from grace
as angels did losing God's favor and forgiveness.
We are delighted to have a good mother
and if disobedience make us go astray,
she will explain to us the cost we will pay;
and without hesitance, she welcomes us back.
We are honored to have a good mother
who has nurtured our minds and hearts since birth;
I've seen an orphans' misery seeking a motherly embrace,
that embrace that was denied from the time he was born.
We are privileged to have a good mother
who ingrains in us values of respect and compassion;
and furthermore, her strength will make us soldiers of faith...
showing the courage and fortitude that'll make us grow.
We are able to smile because we have a good mother,
and in these smiles, we see her lovely and tender image:
it's that shining sun reflecting its image in the clearest waters,
it's that resplendent moon mirroring itself upon gleaming waves.
We are fortunate to have a good mother,
because she's that lighthouse flooding us with light and guiding us
when our ship battles the unexpected storm that wants to avoid a wreck;
we'll feel safe as her protective and tight arms form an impenetrable shield.
We are overjoyed to have a good mother
who has stood by us and sheltered us from dangers...
ready to give up her life for us and fulfill our given fate
that'll take us to the unknown, to those horizons with rainbows.
We are thrilled to have a good mother,
whoever asks what her mission in life is hasn't understood the enormity
of a mother's dedication in whose veins pumps the blood of immense love;
never allow youth to steal your innocence protected by her endurance,
never allow time to speed up and miss the joys that may become regrets,
never refuse to listen or heed the words spoken with an infallible prediction.
Let truth be guide to set me free.
I'm disciplined and righteous.
Always truthful : None can blame me.
Though not so -called religious .
Meeting challenges at each step.
Let truth be guide to set me free.
Problems ! I don’t want to escape.
I will overcome, not to flee.
I’m bold, future never to see.
Progressing on self confidence.
Let truth be guide to set me free.
twined with diligence and patience.
Path of life is not smooth but rough.
My courage always gets entry,
though progress runs really tough.
Let truth be guide to set me free.
She is a wonderful baker…with magical baking skills she is endowed…
being able to make the perfect cookie has always made her proud.
If you ask her friends and family…as a baker they’d shay she’s a 10…
but even a perfect baker has an off day now and then.
She was making snow globe cookies for her church to be served on Christmas night…
but when it came to the last cookie…she couldn’t get the decorations right.
“His hat is wrong.” She lamented. “His eyes are too big and his nose has gone south…
His body isn’t smooth enough…and don’t get me started on his mouth.”
“Is that a scarf or a lobster claw? His arms are much too small…
This cookie,” she said dejectedly, “cannot be served at all.”
But she promised the church two dozen cookies and even thought it was not her best…
she didn’t have time to bake another…so she hid it under the rest.
She watched as children ate her cookies but as was to be her fate…
her ugly snow globe cookie was the last one on the plate.
As a mother handed this cookie to her daughter…the cookie she had botched…
the baker turned away…she was too embarrassed to watch.
“Thank you for the perfect cookie.” The mother told the baker…
The baker smiled thinking she was being kind…
until she saw the little girl with a crumb-filled smile sanding in front of her…
and realized…she was blind.
“Your cookie was delicious.” The young girl said as against her mother’s leg she leaned.
“It was the most beautiful cookie my hands have ever seen.
“His hat, his eyes…his nose…his scarf…his mouth…I could feel them all…
I love how you kept his body rough…did you mean to make his arms so small?”
I’m not sure how or why, you did it….the girl said enthusiastically
but it was as if that perfect cookie…you created just for me…
Now the baker always brings two batches of perfect cookies with her
and everyone understands
one half are for those who see them with their eyes…
The other half…for those who see them with their hands.
What is a promise
in proximity to life prime,
can a vow vanquish the purity
of love Present,
how will the Future figure fire
stronger than inspiration now,
shall the Past procreate original heat
from the ghost of a kiss,
to be alive with you here,
is to be forever with you...
Tears of onyx drip,
slip and splash
onto ivory fine hush,
a heart speaks with skips...
You sing your asking
like a song questing,
washing away the wastings
of What's and Why's
with a winter's water
of clear wise waking,
so you give Life what It needs most,
your absolute abandon
of apprehensive submission,
you are no longer timid
in the thunder of truth,
you are now the reason
for the Question's sweat,
and you are also the sanguine mercy
of the Answer as to why
we must first be lost
before we can lead,
for faith is only real
in the unknown...
There is a quest in every question
that comes from the heart,
which delivers us to an edge of soul
where love and truth speak to each other
like light dancing through the crimson diamond
of a dream breathing boldly
in our only heartbeat...
Let's run smart
into the checkered smile
of a riddle that has no answer
beyond the love of our treasured play,
we run as sparks
into the midnight of pure poetry...
Love once told the Heart,
I am your bloom into life divine,
Heart replied redly,
and I am the instrument
of your innocence become invincible...
In the penumbra of a noir love
that stalks opportunity from the ache
of an appetite that burns in the dark,
we realize that the speed of light
and the speed of darkness breathe together,
that there is a depth and breadth
to the magic of our poetry's prism
where we play with the spectrum
of heartbeat anthems that celebrate
the chase and touch of destiny...
You were found upon an alter
of soft blue ice,
smooth as breathing alabaster
of young rose hue,
your eyes open to love with no regret,
veins of still, pale violet lightning
in suspense through your undead skin,
Desire alive in you warmly,
rising into wakeful devotion...
J.A.B.