Long Spasm Poems
Long Spasm Poems. Below are the most popular long Spasm by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Spasm poems by poem length and keyword.
Realm of deep peace subtler than space,
where bliss mists rise, borne by God’s grace,
in staid stillness transcending time,
is our soul’s preferred resting place.
God’s pulsations divine sublime,
playfully conjure a love rhyme,
giving rise to magnetic heat,
birthing within form, a bliss chime.
With all nodes within us upbeat,
our vibrant presence feels complete,
simply watching bliss beats renew,
as polarities meet and greet.
Each rapture spasm we feel is new
and as we sip bliss nectar’s dew,
with love and light as our mainstay,
from ego cravings we unglue.
Remaining thus day after day,
by granting peace the right of way,
fullness in emptiness the norm,
each breath receives a bliss bouquet.
You've endured pain
I cannot fathom
Your heart stained
Gut wrenching spasm
For once, I admit
I have no words
Nothing to spit
But useless curd
The anger has oozed
In my direction
I should have snoozed
Gave back affection
These words have meaning
The knife runs deeper
My pride, I'm cleaning
But I'm not a sleeper
Heart on sleeve
Pleading for praise
My fans leave
Self worth is hazed
Obvious, the question
The answer is clear
No need for election
I'll dry your tear
Who am I
If I can't forgive
If I don't try
Why should I live
God built me better
I'm not here for me
We can do this together
No apologies
We are all aware of the season
Politicians give us good reason
To be happy we still have choices
And bark in our hunting dog voices
This year is like the rest
All from different nests
Somewhat similar attacks
Groupie pundits pushin' the pack
Donning my helpful glasses
Suddenly nothing but asses
In their eyes they see perfection
"I'm stoked about this election!"
"The Donald,"what can you say
A billionaire's ass on display
He eats with a golden spoon
While immigrants clean his room
"Let's put up a wall"
Charge admittance to my shopping mall
Take a part of the gate
And be richer when I skate
On the trail of old Ted Cruz
A poet's first thought is lose
But things from Texas grow bigger
Including the size of their chiggers
I digress, I'll drop the sarcasm
Before my bowels have a spasm
Ol poemdog says this trails cold
He's under 30% in the polls
A synonym of donkey is ass
Below Hillary's I see brass
Most likely a federal criminal
Wearing pant suits is so seminal
But ol Bill is her advisor
Which makes her none the wiser
Ol poemdog just won't tell
Exactly what he smells
Now ol Bernie he smells fresh
But honestly he won't mesh
If I follow the trail of this scent
I can live off of the government
If I wanted to live socialistic
I'd give the realm another statistic
I guess fresh would be the right word
Ol Bernie smells like a turd
Well Ol poemdog loves a chase
And I'm at the tail of this race
The smells affecting my vision
Another crappy decision
an original poem by the "Poemdog"
How many suns have I seen?
I hope I see thousands more.
But I don't want to lie awake,
begging for sleep, for puzzle-piece dreams,
crossed wires beneath my skin.
They spark and spasm down my side.
The tingling hurts, the cold converts
the numbness into pain.
I need more time to write, to rhyme.
I need more time to love.
I need more time to watch the sea
while sunsets bleed
and rain clouds weep
upon me from above.
Where's my unchained melody?
Where's my time to shine?
Don't cheat me out of time with him,
Don't rip me from his side.
Have you ever tasted metallic fear?
It feels heavy on my tongue.
I crave today
as I hear them say:
But, how...? She's so young.
Simple Pretense
Shut up!
My God. Can’t you say anything positive?
Can’t you say anything that will sweep this darkness away.
Away from the corneas of my soul?
I know where the light switch is. Do you?
I know where the dog has buried its bone. Do you?
I know what lurks past your knees.
Crazy gravitational forces will have the final word.
Burning breathless whispers at midnight
Will tell of the final spasm.
Of the final heartbreak,
Of the final flat tire,
And of the final kiss.
Here, take this smooth stone.
I found it in the turtle garden with the cacti.
And with the black droppings of reptilian pretense.
Go ahead.
Say something now.
Cat got your tongue?
Never mind.
It’s all been said before.
The mad earth continues to turn like a dumb dog
Chasing its tail before the melting mush is served.
He was sure he'd put his cylopedia on his chair.
His wife's photo had been over the stair.
But his book was in the tub, gave him a spasm
The photo was torn, and the book open to "org!!!".
His best friend wouldn't answer his calls.
He tried to ask why, found invisible walls.
There were rumors online, rumors in the street
He suspected a flame behind the heat.
After Deutschland unified, Stasi files confirmed.
It had been a plot, the whole story he learned.
Rumors were spread, and objects rearranged
The problem hadn't been that he was deranged.
This also happens when criminals extorted
the victim not exaggerating, no matter what reported.
deliveries vanished, vandals, broken windows
not just bad luck, not just the way it goes.
Small acts get less attention than major crime.
Victims learn not to report every time.
There's no point when perps can plausibly deny
And if you can't get help, why bother to try?
You might be sure you didn't park on the curb
You might be nervous, after your fifth dead bird.
You might interpret all sorts of things in your path
When skeptics quite rightly, give a scornful laugh.
But then again, we know it has happened before
That the victim knows what's happening, but others ignore.
I've been there, and I've felt the pain
It takes background, to be able to explain.
I drank unsuspecting, drink had an aphrodisiac
I staggered through the streets, couldn't prove the attack
I was desperate for sleep, a stimulant in my brain
Couldn't knock on a random door, no shelter from this rain.
I claim I don't have a paranoid mind
I do jump to conclusions, but can leave them behind
When science is perverted, gaslighting gets a boost
And bad guys have another tool to rule the roost.
But how can any victim know when this is true?
Sometimes is just sheer volume, that breaks through
Sometimes no witnesses, sometimes effects are inside,
So between the victim and his audience an impassible divide.
Frantic pedantic Premier protects her precious state
Hides behind tree at New South border, sniper style
Midst of thriving twin city metropolis many populate
Her Highness surmises business will just 'rest a while'.
Interstate disallow brings collapse of tourism, fragile
Anxious Anastasia clutches her gun-like gate shut weapon
Nerve spasm tazer cocked in canteen lady arms, equipped
Rule of fair rationale departed with contagious 'Mexicans'
State edge clamp sees 'diseased' south folk promptly shipped
Nonchalance prevents her from acknowledging huge rift
Election year safety enforcer steps with extreme precaution
Teachers' halted work in next suburb, sense must warrant
Continuity, rather than months stuck behind rock hard border
Any Aussie citizen from outside QLD seen as fetid, foreign
Palache tazer flailer holds harsh defence stance abhorrant
16th August 2020
- I understand AP's stance, it's a tragic sickness, dire situation
Premiers are continually unwilling to consider shifting border
check- point approximately 100 kilometres further south
to a far more sparsely populated area, still 600km (320miles)
from Sydney, only place virus exists, in barely double digit infections each day.
In my special child’s room, delightfully cozy
There watches Smidgeburner, his ape stuffed toy, cuddly fuzzy
Alongside prettisome guru, chimpanzee Betzy
Donning a hat declaring “God does not bless the lazy!”
Then Smidgeburner, a.k.a Smidge becomes busy
Tidying the bed-zoo against being messy
Guru Betzy supervises, never bossy
Smiling, she commends, “Wow; room’s not lousy!”
While cleaning, Smidge feels tired and dizzy
Turning jovial mood into a sickening frenzy...
Betzy counsels, “Working well never makes one crazy”
So she hums a tune that invites good air, soothingly breezy.
As Smidgeburner rests in their secured haven, warmly grassy
Betzy, the loving lovely guardian, is not anymore uneasy.
Concluding the monkey-tale, I hug my boy who’s now drowsy
Thanking God* for pacifying his spasm epilepsy.
*2Chronicles 5:13 …praising and thanking the LORD; …For he is good; for his mercy endureth for ever.
March 13, 2019
1st place, "The Smidget Puggily and Her Prettisome Guru" Poetry Contest Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger; judged on 3/27/2019.
ping.
transitory hysteria—
just a check in
automated, fabricated,
robotic inhuman software
conscripted to, destitute
of mortal empathy.
nevermore your communication
yet condemned to hope.
reticence prolonged anew—
boundless, asystolic display,
pulseless heart
undesired, inconspicuous.
isochronous laxness stemmed
inconcurrent pure affection.
adoration inequitable,
hanging time itself
costing soul and morals
for your gratification.
ping.
amperages of delirium,
spasm of pleasure, cardiovert
mechanical thumping afresh
owing to invariable closure.
retina regulated to contact—
titillations unparalleled
abstract surpassing acumen.
ingenious mayday, wholly
for schooled minds,
lapses to neglect by all.
ablution, deterring loathing
of own stupidity, yet
detrimenting tranquil sanity.
personal beguilement, reiteratively,
“I love you,” an utterance
seldom transcribed from them,
devoid of inevitability.
edge pressed to tissue,
unseamed cephalic vessel
surges sanguine fluid
cruelly ironic, amassing atop
the very accessory
of inconversable love.
anaemically ascertaining
for anguishes and sorrows,
saline flaps flutter in irrevocability.
cadaverous repose,
unfettered.
ping.
ping.
ping.
ping.
ping.
For the maneuvered inducement
of the compulsive being,
defined by the transmuting tenet of titular uniqueness,
configuring the personified convoluted identity,
changes in the self-devised palette of color mélange,
while the conjured chameleon furtively cocooned,
paints the shifting façade of disparaging deception.
In the ostensible enactment
of the prompted life’s incredible drama,
performance perfected in illusory one-act play,
and with the obsession of passion ostensible,
gilding the consequence crafted covertly
by metamorphic alchemic endeavor,
the surreptitious shift from one actor to another,
is an axiomatic designed drive of ambiguity.
Out of the limelight, the clandestine colors fade away
on the visage of degenerating virtual makeup,
the pallid original face morphs mystically into
the veracity mirror of fragile actuality,
replicating the real rendering of the sublime shape,
painted with the radiance of primal hue
of the unaltered distinctive disposition,
it personified once in the reflected image.
The spasm of contrived perception splits the mirror,
the shapeless shards of shattered reality
scatter as discarded debris blown away by wily air.
Metamorphosis creates the deluding creature,
an alien in its own transformed domain,
completes with the lattice of self-deceit
the contrasting paradigm of illusive shape shift.