Long Smoothed Poems
Long Smoothed Poems. Below are the most popular long Smoothed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Smoothed poems by poem length and keyword.
contemporary Persian ancient
blending intro-imagery with peach
vulnerability
identity a Khoisan outpouring on fields of Skukuza healings
whilst township dancers make their rites
to bite presence on platform sites
so will Gen Z’s make their
vibrant scratches on our rock walls
for Galactics to visit tall
courage was torn with rosemary bushes like
biltong shreds
¥
he pierced her teenage framework newly
smoothed with rosemary
galaxies watched in horror
scratched her legs with longing paws
Gen Z’s roared their rage across
the continent
she bit her presence into his poverty
townships waited in mourning
her virginity ripped
identity equals Acturian
vulnerability is paintbrush memories
seven shadowy children
are to arrive crystal
not through her uterus
The mountains rise like white haired ancient gods.
The wolves howl their age old forgotten runes.
In the blue sky birds perform their glissades
As they fill the air with their joyful tunes.
There are desolate, untrodden valleys,
Where the wild wind speaks its deepest myst’ries,
From which the list’ning moon each night sallies.
The northern lights burn their deliveries.
The world seems on fire as they dance ablaze
And wonders at their colorful displays.
I am safe and warm before my small fire
Wrapped in a large mug of hot chocolate.
I built my cabin from my own desire
And I am more grateful because of that.
I hewed and smoothed the logs by my own hand
And stacked them neatly and in fine order.
My cabin seems like a part of the land
And about it there is no disorder.
I sip my cup and think it mighty fine
That all of this is comfortably mine.
The day will come when they will find my bones
With none to mourn they’ll lay me in the clay.
Over me they will pile a cairn of stones
To mark the place where my dead body lay.
But don’t you dare shed any tears for me
And you can have my cabin when I’m gone.
I’m headed onwards by divine decree
And will trod upon a more verdant lawn.
I will dwell in a cabin in new lands
That was constructed for me without hands.
Water cascading over stairs of stone
Quietly thundering whoosh of glistening blur
Cool and sweet, giddy and dizzy, falling free
Tumbling, swirling, whirling in the warm sunlight
Plunging, splashing, crashing, spiraling downward
Over roughly smoothed rocks of time…
Exploding at bottom; a shower of white, color and light, joy and ecstasy
Settling to flow; swiftly slow, calmly crazy stream
Rolling over rocks, under trees, through day and night
‘Round bends, twisting and turning
Flowing ever onward to eternity and beyond…
Two souls, two spirits, mated, intertwined, awash in each other
Joined forever, mingled together, shaken and stirred
Blithely dancing, blissfully chancing, romancing
Surging rush of passion pulsing, body trembling
Wildly beating heart jumping, spinning head thumping
Two eyes; warm dark pools, soft and sweet – inviting…
S P L A S H, over the falls!
I fell in, submerged in total beauty
I fell in love
Daybreak's beauty at its peek
Gentle warm breeze whispered softly through the trees
a lure to the unknown, down a winding path
sweet bouquet, wildflowers and berries
tease at the nostrils of hunger
Silence was swallowed by the force of rushing water
roaring energetically... but meditatively soothing
hypnotizing beauty, rippled carved ridges
smoothed patterns of time from ancient days
below...black jagged slate cut through a swirl of rapids
a testament of change to the stones of old
gushes of cool water slapped the walls
spitting out foamy white bubbles
racing droplets joined to form one body of strength
dropping...to a funnel below
capturing... a piece of daring driftwood
dragging it down under, it escaped bobbing free
then taken to a secret hide-a-way
a natural wonder...gratitude, beauty, demanding respect
the power of creation
all within life's perceptions
You might look at me
with your blushed pink face
Your hard pimpled complexion
But above it all I know
that your sharp edged
square attitude is all a bluff
For/Four cornered
we can all see that you really are
two faced so double the math still
just a slab
standing the test of time
waiting to be cracked through age
when your crevices may be filled
smoothed over
to tidy your appearance
and make seem renewed
a little younger cosmetically
by the touch of skilled hands
steady in their chosen profession
Yet at the end of the day
everyone knows
you are just going to get walked over
You are beside me. I am beside you.
None else is seen around, besides us two.
Cessation, by ceaselessness, is erased.
Unknowingly, are our hearts now replaced?
These streams of fresh water that flow around
These song-filled swaying reeds that make no sound
These tiny lovebirds that chirp our murmurs
Aren't these springtime nature's play performers?
As rains soothe the earth with love, let's be soothed.
Ups and downs of our hearts' cores are smoothed.
Ships in our seas of bliss make merry trips
Should even by slip kisses slip the lips?
We've got more to give; why should we give less?
Should, when filled with love, souls feel any stress?
Drinking from the wells of God-consciousness
Shouldn't our souls be raised to Blessedness?
The Keeper of Secrets
I sit in a congenial café pulling the morning around me;
sipping a single shot of silked smoothed cappuccino,
two shots would browbeat me!
Different people drift in and out.. differently.
I analyse them…. then wait
for the next biscuit in the packet to arrive.
I’ve learnt that people have secrets
which they think are secret
but they leave clues behind;
in my line of work, it helps if you can read them!
The door swings open; a man prowls in.
A big man, no bigger than a runaway fire engine,
red-faced, straining with pitbull tendencies.
He snarls at me through sharpened shoulders
while his teeth turn sideways and growl.
The arms of my chair tighten around me
while my fortitude hides between my toes
and refuses to come out and play.
He moves towards me in a menacing manner;
experience nestles me, offering a weather warning.
I feel the room shift and shiver
then shrink in size… or perhaps that is me?
I can't speak, I can't even squeak!
My voice appears hospitalized,
recovering from a ……tracheotomy?
But as the man thrusts towards me
a crumbled crumb of an idea cruises by.
I have knowledge of a secret
this man is not enamoured about.
However, no need to be such a concerned citizen
after all, I’m known as The Keeper of Secret,
well I would be if I let anyone know!!
Pitbull mistakes me for a cobweb,
swiping me clean out of my chair
while barking at me in a subterranean rumble,
“Now listen carefully to what I say, mate,
then stir it, understand it and drink it down.”
I was definitely listening, both ears stretched out.
He now offered me a dislocated smile
while continuing in his persuasive manner
“E’er, sometimes the quietest, nicest day,
holds the darkest, sharkest secret
never to be shared, never to be told
unless you want to take it to the… grave?”
I thought he’d bounce me on my head,
spin me round the roundabout
and walk out without even asking me for a dance!
Instead he stomped off brazenly, bristles bristling
in search of another problem to fire fight.
Now, at this point, I could sense
my fortitude was rebel rousing
as I vowed that next time we met
I’d frighten him with a funny look
perhaps even a kick up the pants
…when he wasn’t looking!
But that’s another secret
and yet another poem.
Ian Souter
Yours truly borrows a phrase
courtesy the great bard
also known as
William Shakespeare's Hamlet:
"For 'tis the sport ...
Hoist by one's own petard
meaning "victimized or hurt
by one's own scheme”.
The aforementioned excerpt
hopefully describes the fate
to befall president of Russia.
Nevertheless, unseen
talon sharp claws...
dig deep into mine
psyche soft underbelly
piercing bedrock of
core (puss) being
akin to butter knife
slicing thru peanut
butter and jelly
unable to preserve
an iota of calm
while stuck in said
emotional jarring state,
which eruption of cataclysmic
agitation analogous to a bomb
going off inside my head,
where a mishmash
of frenzied discombobulated
brainstorming angst doth glom,
whereat the "little boy"
inside this man
called for his mom,
who when this aging
"baby boomer" chap
just a kid and experienced
devastating, jarring,
and paralyzing tom
malt chew hiss in dom
mitt able inexplicable fear,
though NO obvious
danger threatened, NOR
warning signaled "BEWARE,"
nonetheless adrenaline
coursed from head
to toe as if clear
and present harm
lurked quite near,
inducing a host of
physiological fallout symptoms
darkly freighting this
sole son with nightmarish scare,
whereat no escape,
nor exit no matter
how fast a sprinting tear
found me running
mile a minute only
to end up nowhere,
except smackdab right
in the same place
in relation to despair,
which translates to mean...
yours truly could not
run and hide,
as quickly made clear
to me then, and now,
though at present
scores years older, the balm
courtesy of prescription
medication popped inside
mouth from palm
olive smoothed hands,
as if this teetotaler
betook himself prom
men aiding albeit
with tumblerful of liquor
getting feigning noggin all a jam
aware that nothing amiss,
would be evident,
sans lower gastrointestinal exam,
nonetheless diet
restricted to graham
crackers and broth
distilled from ham
hock, once again thwarting
vegetarian ambitions damn!
I learned the art of sulking in my mid-teens,
and told to get off my fat **** by all means,
It was the best time on Earth in my twenties,
parents released strings and no longer sentries.
Maturity started to ease me in the thirties,
someone said that all men were bastards,
traits, imperfections smoothed out in forties,
advised to watch out for incoming penalties.
The involuntary half-way was the fifties,
when you by-passed sex and stupid infidelities,
suddenly you were younger reaching sixties,
and dreamed of twenties, ********, more not less.
Eyebrows raised when a young wife greeted seventies,
but you may take a lifetime to find the right qualities.
The Thing I never Said
I practiced it in the car,
words folded small in my
palm like a prayer,
smoothed at the edges until
they shined.
"I see you. I've always seen you."
Friday came in white coats
and clipboard,
and I became quiet.
Professional.
A daughter with questions
about care
not a woman with a heart
beating too loud.
I watched your eyes go flat,
like a door closing soft so
no one hears it.
No handshake.
No name.
Just the air between us
doing all the talking.
Inside, I was screaming.
_Look at me. Just once.
Not as a case. Not as a
problem.
As me._
But I swallowed it.
Swallowed it with the
chapel chime still ringing in
my chest,
swallowed it with the letters
I never sent,
swallowed it with the hope
that tasted like copper.
At the end you looked.
Really looked.
"Caring eyes," you called
them,
and asked, "Any
questions?"
And my mouth said no
while my heart said a
thousand.
The thing I never said is
this:
I love you in the waiting
room and in the silence.
I loved you when you were
cold and when you were
kind.
I loved you enough to let
you go,
so I wouldn't disappear
trying to be chosen.
So I'm saying it now,
to the empty chair, to God,
to me:
I was here.
I was real.
And I am learning how to
Love myself
with the same fierceness
I gave to you.