Long Songless Poems
Long Songless Poems. Below are the most popular long Songless by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Songless poems by poem length and keyword.
You,
Veiled in the mysteries of light
black cutting off the white
unmasked in the cotillion
of life
no debutanted call
you said left, I was right
patience holding close
an eerie songless night
but the melody played for hours
in the breeze, the gentle tease
and the tide
washing upon the night
in wrinkled sheets
you the nun, I the knight
if only for tonight
I will be with you
in grave and in height
stripping of the shroud
soaring up the stares
abreast
undressed
spotted eyes owl in wonder
halos glow at midnight
transfixed, we merge
and emerge
breathing/gasping/grasping
chocked but contented
fully fulfilled
as air fills your lungs
gorgeous as that may be
FRAGILE
I watched my mother
Beautiful, petite, smart
Widowed at 28 with three small children
And people said, "Be extra good, your mother is fragile."
A blonde Jackie Kennedy,
Right down to the pill-box hat
The early 60s when women were pretty, songless birds
Protected in their husbands' split-level cages.
Remarry was the only way, "they" said
As she ran for public office, favored to win.
But he wouldn't have a wife that worked
Unless ironing his shorts three times to get it "right."
Glass is fragile. I found that out
As I heard him smashing it when he beat her at night.
Bones are fragile. I found that out
When mommy had broken fingers and toes after loud nights.
My mother was many things.
A victim. A woman. But fragile?
Mommy bird sang a song of invincibility
As she escaped her cage with five children in tow.
I have two girls of my own. Smart.
Beautiful. Compassionate. I am proud.
They know that fragile means breakable
And that women in our family are more steel than glass.
Fragile is for collectibles we buy and sell.
My mother taught me we cannot be owned.
Fragile is for birds without a voice.
But my mother sang, even if in a different key.
My mother was the strongest woman I ever knew.
I hope she looks down on her female descendants
And sees that one Jackie-like woman in a pill box hat
Inspired generations of decidedly non-fragile women.
January 26, 2017
My First Love :
I picked the pen in my hand and move back in my past.
Sunsets gathers clouds to the horizons.
But the sky Above
is clear
And cold
The stars a songless scattering.
The brimming moon’s a platter of white jade.
It could not be more present;
This night
This place
This lit up rim.
But time’s already turning on its curve-
Next year bright moon is hidden in its shade.
You will Always love your First love .
They will Always be in Your Heart.
Now that’s a promise of Always and Forever.
No matter how badly they hurt you .
No matter how much pain and tears they put you through.
You will always love them
If you donot care for them
It means they were not your first love.
Em not broken,alone,damaged and melancholic.
I am tried of always being an option.
I deserve to be someone’s first choice,not second best.
Only my saying is that ‘’choose me or lose me”
I am not a backup plan and definitely not a second choice.
My first love gave me hope,love ,care, true respect,sincerity &
trust with in my own deep personality that maintain my dignity
And give power to my pure heart and soul.
By Aliza Kashmala Kiran
Crumpled Wings That Fly
I hold close your crumpled wings,
Trebling fear that traps your flight
Quivering in the grip of songless things
Night crushing pinions swallowing delight.
Your caged heart beats wildly next to mine
Wrapped in brokenness - numb to soft caresses
Dazed in listless trances - faint lassitude entwines
With suspended starlight longing to refresh.
Nestle your broken parts in this healing downy nest
Fold your wings in layers of respite sleep
Swaddled here - swathed in love's sweet arrest
Stir to stretch for your new blessings keep.
With arms wide, released to the new sky,
Expand diamond studded wings to fly.
5-13-21
Contest: Embrace and Release
I feel for gentle hearts in this loud world,
Ever suspect, dismissed and derided,
For long has been the shy a songless bird,
That Darwin dismissed as ‘odd state of head’,
Jane Austin gave shyness a broader scope,
Calling it a ‘moral, mental disease’,
And Freud, his fame fending for men no rope,
With sub-conscious cladding, a twist of his
That smelt of ‘displaced love of self-scored goals’,
A simple disposition framed as law,
Oh poking fun and scoring birdie holes,
In matters straight, cobwebs of gauze he saw,
And sensitive violets were on blame,
Poor things, shrunk with self-deprecating shame.
Violets shrunk with disparaging shame,
And shyness drawn from society’s unease,
Scarce unto standard mould can ever squeeze,
O get condemned— a jade that could be gem.
Though sensitive nigh to a gawking gaze,
Here am I basking still in benign bliss—
A shy soul, they say, more inventive is,
And tolerant the more to worldly ways
That mistake plane shyness as being cold,
Aloof, and worse still, somewhat arrogant,
And value those that be loud, neddless bold,
I’m happy now that they were ignorant.
Let critics bask under ill-informed bliss,
I marvel, how creative this bird is.
Creative, this touch-me-not kind of bird,
Or call it a flower called violet,
An introvert of an easy mind-set,
One blessed with fecund skills, a bit absurd—
Skills lacked by too talkatively inclined,
While some greats confess to ‘fainting with fears’
Ere giving speech to some so-called speakers,
Some loners lack the skills called social kind.
I know, shyness has no one ever hurt,
But self that feels cosy under own skin.
Let shyness stay forever verdant green,
Let it never make me an extrovert,
That I live in my own solitude proud,
Innovative, gentle in world so loud.
_________________________________
Two recent books set my thinking bird brooding over bashfulness: The Man who mistook his Wife for a Hat, by Oliver Sacks; and Shrinking Violets: The Secret Life of Shyness, by Joe Moran. These books advocate that the shy should get a better deal, for they tend to be more creative. Here is the why: musing over, these three sonnets (crown of…) materialized that made me feel a bit elated.
Crown of Sonnets | 01.03.2017 |