Long Specked Poems
Long Specked Poems. Below are the most popular long Specked by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Specked poems by poem length and keyword.
Let’s go on the mother load road trip across continents skip
Even the hip can’t snip or pip the lip fillip of each sip or dip
A sybaritic not a critic’s tour to explore why more is more
Streets of beats galore & locavore treats an epicurean drip
In the Argentine bravado larder of course the empanada
From their mercado source with fine wine could try harder
Top of the poll Asado's charcoal soul to the song of cicada
Austrian fold in the past caught for foodies some sort of sport
They’ve fought over which Sacher torte does bewitch hold court
Or flattered the dish that mattered plattered crumbed & battered
Viennese wheeze a subpoena tease for a leaner schnitzel wiener
Lazing ease & grazing please on amazing spice isles in pyjamas
Laid back smiles made crack conch rice & peas in the Bahamas
Don’t give a damn about Claude Van Dam give me real mussels
Garlic specked not muscle flecked fraud whenever in Brussels
Snaffle waffles abroad should be crisp gooey as Belgians know
Elite frites oh and their stonker bonkers Wonka flair cocoa show
Brazil’s fill me to the gills thrill is still & always will be Feijoada
Even those in a posh off roader chose this nosh meat's Pagoda
Top of the steeple of food of the people a homegrown Skoda
Adore for any course a tour de Force encore honed toned Yoda
Canadian hardy foie gras machine a mardi gras that’s Arcadian
In the stirrup chirrup quaffing absurd maple syrup is Palladian
Nerds with their curds scoffing mean poutine almost Circadian
For rookies ducks pluck shells shuck bones suck cookies for luck
Opiner cuisine not in history stuck a mean memory mystery miner
Hymn of whim cough overcome by swim in broth Szechuan numb
Yummy unctuous darlings scrumptious diddly umptious dim sum
Ho hum no scrum finer all day diner always did come from China
Imagine a black velvet curtain
Pinholed to allow specked light
Now imagine that same curtain
Endlessly stretching out of sight
And there you have the immense
Velvet blackness of outer space
In which I hang and float seeing
That speckled velvet any way I face
I suppose I am that lucky man
To know the exact second he will die
No single second longer possible
No matter how or what I try
For the oxygen of life is finite
In my cocooned fragile suit of death
I can rest here calm and unmoving
And so harvest every single breath
Or I can thresh and move and panic
Burn up my allowance fast
Never quite sure which breath
May be the next to last
I am speaking my thoughts slowly
There is so much I want to say
And I hope oh how I hope
I will be found some day
And maybe then just maybe
Some descendant may know
How much I loved life
And how I loved her so
I am that one lucky man
Of our ship crew of five
The only one still here
The only one still alive
Routine maintenance inspection
Left me suited spaceside and in luck
The only one to survive the hit
When that unknown object struck
My thoughts are now recorded
I am reconciled and at peace
I shall open this seam soon to cold cold space
And so choose my own moment of release
Cruel fate is perhaps
Really a considerate friend
Allowing me the means
To make my own end
In that black velvet curtain
Pinholed to allow specked light
That same black velvet curtain
Endlessly stretching out of sight
A frame in the hall
scans every face it passes;
backed with silver skin
nothing lingers long enough
to show, what's best forgotten.
A transparent film
holds a blue wren on a wire,
clouds over a hill,
a view of reality
sharp, stark, crisp, and suspended.
Mist gathers as drips
specked on cold surfaces,
for fingers to trace
the dots of obscurity
into pathways through the blur.
Rain pitter-pats, splats
to streak, slowly down as tears
running through the pane,
each scene being rearranged
drop by drop, one at a time.
Panes defamed as stained
are brightened with light's spectrum,
revealing colors
ruby, green, gold and amber
spilled as shimmers on the floor.
A mirrored ball spins,
shedding bright colored spots,
on smiling faces,
dazzling bright in crowd eyes
with stars that can't forget why.
Beyond the breakers
one white sail slips from the day
into folded haze
an old brass tube gathers
what the horizon lets loose.
A fortune-teller
with a crystal sphere held tight
in hands cupped with hope-
watches as misty clouds swirl
to penny farthing fortunes.
These twain eyes of glass
show fragments of perception
none are wholly true-
yet, we reach for our glasses
to reshape our perspective.
Straining to see stars
we bring a dark tube to eyes
between bare branches
to reveal some more of what,
the glass wants to give, our way.
Enroling you a worm (cumbersome and)
hairy, you- scimitar of leaves
Knows the pain ,writhing pupae
Abandoned and convicted
Constricted hanging straightjacket
Squirming like a jackrabbit
Gagged nocturnally - blindfold humility
Rejected by those mocking moths
and jealously believing left the key
Both found our grace on bended knees
..left there dangling from a tree..
Unhinge now those spinakers of glory
Pretty - flaky- flinder
Streaked in splatters paint
Dust of the fairies
Gaze at me with criss-cross eyes
Innocent beauty oh ye butterfly
Spiny antennae, stretching out transmitters
Taking flight so easily
Flitting off with no goodbyes
To a newer afternoon over there
Dashing in the sun
Kneeding and gouging all those zinnias
Joy! Slurping up the nectar
Whisky! Tequila! Brandy and Champagne!
Swops them for a chorus of pansies
Dancing blooming flowers
Crazy blessed colours
Bouncing delight.- erratic in flight
Dodging in between the bees
O enchanted mystic butterfly
Only pausing for a while
Hold me in your spell
For you walked that crooked mile
Linger in this dream
So seldom comes to see
Just as you, my timepiece too
Is coiled in spring
A dustpuff within the wind
Specked all over pollen confetti
Envied now by every moth
Suicidal circle - one kamikaze candle
Seared and singed and slowly fried
Getting what theyre vetted for
But the sun his laughing in his sky
Beseeching all the yet to open flowers
Awake !Awake!
An angel is coming by
The lights at night
have much to say
a different story
than the day
They shine and glisten
here and there
in coolness of
the evening air
The street lamps glow
to light the way
as flashing neon
colors play
White ones come
and red ones go
as tiny cars
drive to and fro
Greens and yellows
reds and blues
from different houses
many hues
White beams flicker
dim to bright
from tv sets
turned on tonight
People moving
all about
as lights turn on
and then go out
In one house
a red shade glows
while further on
a blue one shows
On the distant
hills around
tiny flashing
dots abound
A dimly glowing
alleyway
night time secrets
kept from day
A lamp post lights
a walkway to
a red front door
that welcomes you
There's something special
in the sight
of cozy darkness
specked in white
Up above, the moon
does glow
and dazzling stars
put on a show
Life continues
through the night
a glittering, sparkling,
wondrous sight
In the earth
and sky above
the spectacle
I truly love
While on a hillside
looking down,
are the night lights
of my town
In dust-laden silence, past the reach of day,
The mansion's library whispered of forgotten tales,
Its heartbeat echoed in the books arrayed.
Time's soft touch graced each spine and page,
Among them, Dickens stood with solemn grace,
Austen's wit lingered, untouched by age.
Balzac's illusions, faded, not effaced,
Eliot's Floss, its flow stilled in place,
Whitman’s grass, in tranquil state embraced.
Whitaker's knowledge, a temporal space,
Housed where the light through curtain's veil,
Spoke volumes of a world so interlaced.
The round table, center of this literary grail,
Vase barren of bloom, yet filled with long-gone blooms,
Oxford's rust, a testament to detail.
The Davenport, proud despite its failing,
A chair's broken leg, strength still prevailing,
In the corner, history's desk, inviting, waiting.
The hearth, with ash of fires long quelled,
Storied reminders of warmth once felt,
Stone and log, in quiet remembrance dwelled.
Adventures found in the stillness of decay,
An exploration of souls in silent ballet,
An inexplicable reunion with an unknown yesterday.
Here, in this grand sepulcher of intellect,
A young explorer's heart would intersect
With times gone, yet alive, in dust-specked respect.
My Mothers' Hutch
Finely polished, of carved wood it still stands,
With a glass gleaming door and crossed, copper bands
Inside, items treasured and truly lovely.
The Dresden women, dressed in delicate finery.
Gold specked wine glasses, imported from Germany.
Demitasse cups, stunning, with gold etchings.
Marble music boxes play waltzes, so heavenly.
Ceramic angels with smiles, so demure and divine.
Colorful birds gaze from music boxes.
Family pictures in antiqued, cherished, frames.
The first soft shoes of her poetess daughter.
Prayer books and rosaries bearing her meme.
June 25, 2020
8pm PST
Edited
Poem # 1, 312
Inside an archaic framework
she fetches a pail from the fields,
the bucket on her hip is full of
broken eagles.
Wind turbines churn in the distance.
He takes the mangled birds
plucks them,
puts their heads on poles
loads them onto a flatbed.
His dour darling fixes fixings
with a rusting air-fryer;
plaits her hair with chicken wire.
Drones mourn like doves in the evening.
Rattling pods spread
their dry seeds over abandoned crops.
Bald feathers flap on
a black-booted scarecrow.
A morbid factotum arrives
deposits clods of earth
from out the back of
of a fly-specked hearse.
Horse heads turn
on a squeaking wind vane.
Inside a slow burning barn
Unstrung fiddles lay at rest
in their open coffins.
Written: November 22, 2024 For Contest, Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
____________________________
Line of inquiry:
“on an as is where is basis we choose
descent of consciousness into the gross
then we rise again following heart’s muse
higher than where stood, bearing love’s cross”
____________________________
Through the daily cycles of life, we tread.
Nectar drips from branches wide and tall
An elixir for the heart, as darkness spread.
In specked light where mumbled tales are told.
We gulp the liquid sun between the trees.
Each drop depicts a swirl of the spin of time.
Each breath yields a pulse to rile the breeze.
We widen our limbs and chase the wild rhyme.
Stand up in awe, and let the chimes ring.
To ascend the peak where owls flight.
Several paths converge on a hazy swing.
Walk across fields where gloom turns to light.
In folds of golden dreams and greens, clean.
The ground and sky meet in a striking ballet.
Our spirit drawings sprang out of the scene.
Transmuting hardships into brighter days.
These stones indicate the path of the trip.
Love's sturdy hand pushed back a wall of fear.
Our inner strength improves with each wisp
Ascend together, emotions ready to appear.
The obstacles we confront ebb and flow.
But, in face of adversity, spirit starts to rise.
Each setback carries an insight veiled in a glow.
Binding affection across space and ritzy size.
Thus let us tackle our path with wide eyes.
For every challenge, find an audible prayer.
The ascent appeals to us from under the skies.
Where greater consciousness seeks our care.
As light and shade mingle in obedient dance.
Our existence, as a stream, turns and flows.
Relishing each moment and grabbing a chance.
Our lives come together through many shows.
In this way, love leads us to come clean
Here on this looping road, we are home
We ascend as one, and no one is obscene.
On our trips, we are often itching to roam.
Imagine a black velvet curtain
Pinholed to allow specked light
Now imagine that same curtain
Endlessly stretching out of sight
And there you have the immense
Velvet blackness of outer space
In which I hang and float seeing
That speckled velvet any way I face
I suppose I am that lucky man
To know the exact second he will die
No single second longer possible
No matter how or what I try
For the oxygen of life is finite
In my cocooned fragile suit of death
I can rest here calm and unmoving
And so harvest every single breath
Or I can thresh and move and panic
Burn up my allowance fast
Never quite sure which breath
May be the next to last
I am speaking my thoughts slowly
There is so much I want to say
And I hope oh how I hope
I will be found some day
And maybe then just maybe
Some descendant may know
How much I loved life
And how I loved her so
I am that one lucky man
Of our ship crew of five
The only one still here
The only one still alive
Routine maintenance inspection
Left me suited spaceside and in luck
The only one to survive the hit
When that unknown object struck
My thoughts are now recorded
I am reconciled and at peace
I shall open this seam soon to cold cold space
And so choose my own moment of release
Cruel fate is perhaps a considerate friend
Allowing me the when to make my own end
Imagine a black velvet curtain
Pinholed to allow specked light
Now imagine that same curtain
Endlessly stretching out of sight