Long Speckle Poems
Long Speckle Poems. Below are the most popular long Speckle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Speckle poems by poem length and keyword.
“Another game?”
“Yes, I think so but let’s change
the rules. What if we create some
holes in the game, three or four
perhaps with parallel endings?”
“Yes, I think that would be fun.”
Who predetermines the rules?
What if you step over a crack in the sidewalk,
And the rules become inverted
Finding you are younger than when
You walked out the door in the morning?.
Unable to remember exactly where you are
At this moment. Unnerving. Like a giant
Pinball game, worlds flicker from one
Universe to another, bouncing off
Each other into the vast chaos
Of empty space-time. A troubling thought
When everything has to be so ordered.
Measured to an infinite set of
Rational equations that spin themselves
Out to the edges of galaxies seen from a million
Light years. Stretched taut across the sky, and
Still we expand the search.
What if there are monsters and jesters sulking
About the universe? Existing on parallel planes
Where we play out endings for their
Amusement. They move us like chess pieces
On a game board, further into the
Blackened heavens, expanding outwards and
Beyond to what we comprehend as our
Very existence. Game pieces moved
Against a clock as we wander the
Night sky to the back streets of the universe
Asking is there anyone out there?
Always the same questions,
Always with different answers.
How far is far enough? Perhaps we are
Moving on a river, afloat in endless space.
Travelers searching for the shoreline
And a place that seems vaguely familiar, trying to
Recall where we were a few moments ago.
Anything is possible. What if the journey
Takes forever? And we find ourselves standing
At the abyss of space being sucked into
One of the game’s black holes,
Able to view our beginning in our end.
A tiny speckle of an atom floating alone
In nothingness. All we have ever known
Is reconstituted in the spinning hole,
Billions of thoughts wallpapered; nothing
Ever lost. We speculate, conjuring up theories
With eloquent additions and subtractions, and all
We can do is hope for the best. A game played
Over and over, with no rules, no winner.
Hawking’s Paradox.
Let me be clear with no fear
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Taste the ink
that runs from my veins,
through my pen,
staining this page
as I set
my endarkened imprint on society,
the signature
of a melancholy soul.
I spread my mists of verse
across this parchment
to tickle the emotions
of the masses,
awakening them
from the doldrums of routine,
encroaching
their own hidden thought
like I had clawed them
out of their heads.
Those destructive intentions,
severing flesh,
splattering blood
and little morsels of meat,
creating impressionistic art
on the walls
of their safe little dwellings.
Hellonic landscapes,
reddish smoke
seeping from fissures
in a volatile ground,
twisted trees
barely seven feet tall
hanging on
like a gnarled old man
on life support
sparsely scattered
about the sandstone bluffs,
spiraling dust devils
dancing about
spitting dirt
in the air
as if it offended them,
leaving dull tan voids
in the sky
distorting the crimson hue
that clings above
the deteriorating,
jagged spikes
that scratch
at heaven’s gates,
holding back
the water laden clouds
that have been trying to cry
on this parched earth
for eons.
The instigation
of my imagination
is a mere speckle
in the nuances of the night,
a slight glitter
that my cataclysmic mind
(a)
preys upon.
These stanzas
have been developing
since time itself,
I just snatch them out of the air
like an Archer fish
launching a stream of water
to score my next meal,
laying them to bed
as I see fit,
tucking them in with punctuation
and my unexplainable determination
to release expression.
Taste what flows
from my quill,
it might entice you
to be the next scribe.
I was born a rock
On some nondescript plateau,
The sort of stone that just blends in
With the mountain’s scenic pose.
They taught me how to follow
What nature brings my way,
And life as a rock was boring
Because it repeated every day.
Inside my little pebble brain
I heard a daring voice,
That told me how I lead my life
Is really all my choice
It told me I had splendor
That resided deep within me,
And if only I’d discover it
I’d be a shining beauty.
I still lived with the rocks
To the world, one tiny speckle.
But in my heart of hearts
I knew that I was special.
I was living for a purpose
That one day I would discover,
For such beauty would not be bestowed
With no chance to uncover.
On the day a tall man took me
Anticipation filled my stone,
For maybe he would help me
Make my inner beauty known.
With this mindset in my head
I did not fill with fear,
When he produced a set of tools
And held me in the air.
Finally a chance to prove
What I’ve been guarding all my life!
But I let out a small gasp
When he chose his chisel knife.
A knife is sharp, the blade is cruel
How would I survive?
While he chiseled at my body,
Would I cope and stay alive?
I made a strong decision
Through this torture I would stand,
I’d be proud to see the end results
And prove it to this man.
The chiseling was painful
But I accepted without questions
For I knew this all was necessary
In my ultimate progression.
And from my little rock-self
Once just a speckle in the soil,
With carving and precision
Came a diamond for the royal.
Diamonds aren’t born
They don’t merely just grow,
They’re a product of hard work
And pain from the chisel’s blow.
There’s beauty in each one of us
A potential to unlock,
Remember that a diamond’s worth
More than a peaceful rock.
Banished for years
I found myself wandering around on a sacred land
away from my normal life
I found sanctuary and peace in a unknown place
the stiff pacification allowed me to hear the
second hand stroke on the clock
everyday as the calignosity approached I would feel
a alacritous breeze on my right shoulder blade
without indecisiveness I continued to enjoy myself
turbulent and exasperated paying little attention to
the paranormal activity surrounding me
until a horde of banshees swarmed me
I had no idea what commenced this fright
my legs and feet were benumbed
I started to believe I didn’t belong in this place anymore
After being forthrightly besieged
almost sure that these incorporeal beings
wouldn’t understand my chronic vagabondage
It was time to migrate I was typhlotic to the fact
that it was an invisible mansion
where a shipwreck caused their souls to be buried their some even alive
I can hear the never ending snivelling in the dead of the night
penetrateing their voices into my ears
trying to abscond I became convulsed
the strange breeze brushed my shoulder blade again
only this time it stayed “what do you want?”
I asked the strange cadaverous speckle flash
it flashed at the entry walk way showing me an invisible door
that I had walked into a haunted invisible mansion
and could not get out until they released me
my eyes instantly became blood shot red
furious and rampageous I tried to run away but was pushed
to and fro by an unseen force was I indeed trapped in another dimension
I asked myself without skepticism I was ambushed
I remember standing with my feet in the laughing waters of the lake
Watching a feather float on by
Slowly down the shoreline it went
As if I was meant to follow it and so I did just that
I followed the feather
With its black tip and two stripes
Splashing along after it
In the cold waters
With the sands between my toes
The sun shinning brightly above me through speckle clouded sky
Where a cooling breeze whispered in across the waters
To soothe my skin and breathe upon my face
Lightly run its fingers through my hair
And there on the lakeshore I came upon her
Beautiful with her black hair
Like the daylight shooting stars cascading through the sky above us
White dress and smile . . .
A smile such that it held fast my breath
Across her eyes it fell sweetly, tenderly in her lips and cheeks
Sheathed by her hair swaying in the wind’s soft touch
She held the feather in her hand
Her eyes met mine and there in the early morning light of summer’s sighing
I did speak to she . . .
“That’s my feather,” my voice it whispered hardly more than a breath
“It’s beautiful,” said she with a soft voice and shy smile
And still when she smiled I remembered everything
I remembered her
I remember you
As my little fingers with the fullness of life yawning before them
Tied the feather into your hair
I remembered in a wash of tears streaming down my soul,
I do, I do, I did and I will again . . .
“My name’s Navriss,” I sighed and though I could not see through these tears
“Hi,” I heard you say. “My name is Rhane.”
And I remembered then . . .
A smile
For years she had slowly slid from well cared for home
to musky boxes and rugs.
Sitting in a chair, watching old movies,
pretending the devastation around her had not occurred.
Her senses deadened, she neither saw the clutter
nor smelt the molding curtains and blackened sheets.
She had no thoughts or energy for family, friends or foe,
much less her beloved art molding in a box.
Every once in a while, a quicksilver dream
would pop its head above the murkiness
that surrounded her core,
only to dissolve in lack of interest.
The life blood of her inner landscape
dripped and pooled around her veneer,
as with agony her soul dies again.
Her eyes turn inward at the cry of death
and she sees the carnage that has been created.
She asks the ageless questions,
What is untrue,
What do I know and wish I didn’t,
What rotted corpse have I let lie within me?
What, natural to her being, kills each bud she tries to raise?
At attention now, she looks at what she cannot bear to see.
Awakening from the winter, she rises stronger,
more furiously determined, realizing she has slowly starved
to the point of a gun to the head.
The questions have been raised,
now she must root out the answers,
before the land is barren, no spark of life remaining.
The small speckle of light must blossom
and fill all her horizons
within the darkened cavities of her soul.
The wise woman seeks the power
that comes from the deep dusky gloom.
Even when the bones appear quite cold,
Still they can to vibrancy return.
She slowly sings them back to life.
The Mirror
I looked into a mirror
and wondered what I had seen
it was a tiny child
I don’t know where she’d be
She was no more than 3 or 4
No plight upon her face
No frets, no worry
An unbridled flurry
of simple endless grace
I said dear girl don’t you doubt
the world is hard to figure out
You’ll find your steps will soon be drawn
in lines along the sand
In good time it will all unwind
your mysteries at hand
I looked into a mirror
and there beside a chair
there stood this youthful woman
with baby’s breath amidst her hair
Look at you the old and new
a speckle of baby blue
A life of dreams sewn in the seams
of that pure and perfect garb
I said dear woman don’t you worry
and most of all please no hurry
Beset the fullness of that smile
all along the spotlight aisles
yet before your feet
In every fork upon the branch
this tree has yet to give
A life set down upon a frown
is not a friends reprieve
I looked into a mirror
and there held in your arms
a quiet squirming ever yearning
blossom of your tree
Beset upon your face
I see that hard held smile
You’ve carried those words ever true
for this your grandest aisle
I looked into a mirror
a star filled sky of times
The quest to all
the worlds
wonders, whats and whys
It’s in this mirror I have seen
each cloud of doubt pass by...
None were there for long enough
I am sure I know just why
It’s in that mirror always there
at the corner of each view
A recalled tiny child
The child I call you
Soft flows the ripples near days end, so calm and vast.
Gentle and smooth is your skin, unbroken, untouched
Dancing in hills and valleys to the music of the tender dusk wind.
Deep under the top life does thrive.
Shallow to the human eye yet unfathomable in meaning.
Like liquid silk to even the rough ones touch.
Descends upon your face the magnificent setting sun,
The ball of fire; yellow, orange, violet and red,
Reflected off you to match the splendor of the image fed.
Twinkle and sparkle one last time does your pride,
Illuminating your beauty 10 fold of the sun,
Jealous does get even the magnificent one.
Hiding behind trees, and the ground
Disappears does the mighty sun ashamed of defeat, behind the horizon.
Your downy bright attitude and twinkling snow-white,
Engulfed in a cloak, that dreaded night.
Mysterious and dark or so you seem,
But that same magnificent beauty, even behind your cloak, you do redeem.
Act as a mirror, do you, to the intoxicating goddess of night,
Full and proud she does shine.
Her followers, small but bright speckle your dark cloak with light.
Long became the shadows made by trees upon your skin,
Cold became your flesh like blood of ones who sin.
That eerie silence you now hold broken by a wolf’s howl.
You, mistress of darkness, den of sea serpents past; queens of mystery, and all
else follows.
You, the mysterious enlightened one, with faces two and many more, each within
its own beauty.
To praise thee incompetent am I, I look upon thee, “oh beauty”, I say with a sigh.
NO FEAR OF MR EXCESSIVE FORCE PRAWLING THE CITY FOR VIOLENT FEMALE OFFENDERS MEETUPS IN THE MOST NONSUSPECTING PLACES HIS FAVORITE MEXICAN MAN DIE HE PAYS HER FOR PERSONAL FAVORS WITH DRUGS IRONICALLY SENDING HER TO COMMIT HOME INVASIONS WHILE SHE'S AN HABITUAL REPEAT VIOLENT OFFENDER HARD DRUGS MANUFACTURER FRAUD IDENTITY THEFT MR EXCESSIVE FORCE PROVIDES A REVOLING PRISON DOOR FOR ALL HER CRIMES FEEDING HER COCAINE HEROIN AND MARIJUANA FROM POLICE LOCKERS SHE THEN GIVE FALSE STATEMENTS TO FRAME ENTRAP INNOCENT PERSONS BECAUSE SHE'S JEALOUS SHE ACTUALLY HAD RELATIONS WITH MY EX ABUSER HE ATTACKED HIS FAMILY ON CHRISTMAS EVE MAN DIE BRUTALLY BEAT HER OWN CRIPPLED UNDOCUMENTED MOTHER WITH HER CRUTCHES AS HE GATHER MORE FEMALE VIOLENT OFFENDERS FOR HIS TWISTED CAUSE HE STOMPS AND ON THE STREET HE IS LABELED THE SPECKLE PIG MEETING MAN DIE IN SECURE PLACES WHERE HE SHOULD BE PROVIDING SAFETY SECURITY GUARDED BUT HE CAN'T BECAUSE HE IS BUSY WITH CONJUGAL VISITS ON ELEVATTORS HALLWAYS BATHROOMS IN LOCAL BUSINESSES MAN DIE BRAGGS ABOUT HER POWER WITH MR EXCESSIVE FORCE ALLOWING HER TO CONTROL THE LOCAL FEMALE STREET GANG AS QUEEN PIN OVER MORE REPEAT FEMALE VIOLENT OFFENDERS FINALLY GIVING HER A NOTHER EARLY RELEASE FOR GIVING FALSE STATEMENTS AND COMMITING ONGOING HABITUAL REPEAT VIOLENT CRIMES NO FEAR OF YOUR SCUM SPAT SPAT TRULY SAD ABUSE OF POWER HAVING CONJUGAL VISITS ACROSS THE TOWN ON THE ELEVATOR IN LIBRARIES HOSPITALS YMCA TRAIN STATIONS APARTMENT BUILDINGS
GOD BLESS AMERICA