Long Spectacle Poems
Long Spectacle Poems. Below are the most popular long Spectacle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Spectacle poems by poem length and keyword.
EARLY IMPRESSIONS
floating down
pictures
in
shifts
of
encouraging
shape
remain
stretch
the
visual
world
overlooking
the
inevitable
alignment
of
vivid
happenings
shades
of
mood & seasons
can
evoke
conflicting
&
changing
self-image
deepened
to
coincide
with
notions of beauty
an
animated
spectacle
so profound
drifts
&
floats
to
project
&
display
the
changed
facade
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
A bizarre light show streaked across the sky.
The blinding lightning seemed to explode and electrify.
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Vivid flashes of color to the clouds and everything under.
Striking blasts of illumination floodlit the night.
In total awe we eagerly witnessed this amazing sight.
Breaking the silence, more crashes of thunder came booming down.
Deafening the unsuspecting residence of our Sydney town.
A mind boggling spectacle was being played out.
Unable to hear ourselves think, we couldn't even shout.
A memorable night, never happened before, maybe never again.
Now along with the thunder, comes torrents of rain.
I feel amused by the sentiment of homegoing
And yet still have not arrived to the understanding
What it all meant, going home and not coming
Though to come may allude return to one’s source…
The nuance of the verbiage, though discreet, is deliberate
For the naked youth whose cry dare shatter the continuum of space itself
And yet need not rupture the now theoretical cord
Brought forth by miracle of life as mother nourishes babe
Is it treason perhaps, relinquishing ration that home is the fertile nest
Knowing not to retreat to womb but invited to exist in unison
With murmuring which echoed outside as much as from within,
The chords of the calling tone, pray, come here, do not go
Though, home I go, at death no longer guided to the place of birth
For home was never branded in her but a fire lit still for us
Was not predestined by seed but planted in ear by love’s embracing whisper
Home I go, not to remind me of where it all began but where I yet grow
For if to home I come by reverse memory in this way
We know not if it dare invite us in, nor bear fruit this day at all
If home lived in the peripheral lens where the soul was informed
Of its sentience, then to come home defies the law of pursuing only the uncharted.
Pray I recall that no such spectacle signifies the homecoming
A memory I may revisit but not relive promises no longevity
No prosperity within the oracle of time beyond, and thus
I shall go home to the familiar tune I have yet heard from outside the bound.
TWO AVENGER'S BOXING BOUT
Midst rings of thunder and a vibrant haze,
Two titans clash, in a gladiatorial gaze.
Their presence makes the cosmos sing.
Immortal meets might in a mortal boxing ring.4
Thor, the Asgardian, with punches as hammer aflame,
And Hulk, the green goliath with fury untamed:
The gloves collide, like thunderbolts from the sky,
As sparks ignite, reaching heights so high.8
Thor's hammered punches swings, a celestial might,
Hulk absorbs the blow, his resistance a sight.
Blow for blow, they trade their might,
Each punch sparkles a flicker & bright light.¹²
Wow... what a spectacle never seen,
Amidst their battle, fierce and keen.
Thor swings Mjolnir, its arc lightning-laced,
Its thunderous clash in the arena, swiftly traced.¹6
Unyielding, Hulk roars, his fists like crashing stones,
Each strike break bones & shatter mountains.
The battle rages with raw power & untamed fury,
A test of gods & monsters, judge and jury.²°
Then, in a moment charged with destiny's call,
Thor gathers the storm, his might enthralling all.
He aims for the head, with precision and grace,
But Hulk's defenses shatter, leaving no trace.²4
With a roar of thunder, his blow, a comet's fiery tail,
Striking the Hulk forcefully, rending the very veil.
Hulk stumbles then falls, a silent hush descends.
The mighty god of thunder, on whom Asgard depends²8
Stands victorious, his foe vanquished forevermore
As the crowd erupts in a thunderous roar.
Yet, in Thor's eyes, respect shines clear as day,
For the fierce opponent, who in the ring, did lay.³²
In the clash of avengers, the Asgardian prevailed,
His might and strategy, the tale unveiled.³4
____________
VICK MANUEL POETRY
{VMP}
FORM: Rhymes
Copyright ©?15th April 2024.
I was driving to my grannies country home after the end of a dinner invite with friends in town, about 40 miles away.
There was news of the oddity prior to my first visual contact, that entertained my youthful glassless eyes for the near full length of this drive and that thing be an unobstructed view.
I'm talking about Comet Kohoutek, of 1973. Admittedly, the spectacle looked like a toy when the tail drops a bit then ups a bit.
The comet appeared blunted, like some dream, or like a string on a kite but cut severely short.
On the opposite end, being my left-side drivers window, directly is the moon over the ocean, and the comet more left of my driver's window, heading towards town that I had just left.
The moon fronts my drivers window, the comet in my rear window, wondered with that comet out there--where is everybody?
Ah, that's the answer, it's driving out to the country, with the length of a beach one side, the moon in front, comet rear, and that is why nobody's here.
... and not because it's two in the morning.
Men weren't taught how to cry, so I will teach.
Any mere person would run away if they knew
the devils my brain shelters.
I feed my monsters with my thoughts
and entertain them with crime stories.
I love the taste of my blood—
the tint it leaves behind,
that perfect shade of red once it dries.
I’m the one who drives past the howling dogs,
rolls down the window in the middle of the night,
watches horror movies
like I’m preparing for a battle that hasn't happened yet.
I collect every way there is
to track, to hunt, to kill.
I live for the moment
I stop being prey
and become the predator.
I’m a lover, not a hater—
but nobody ever mentions
"gore cinephile".
Every movie becomes a spectacle
when red is its main color palette.
Coming back to men—
the most boring topic in this entire journal—
would he savor the violence on screen the way I do,
or curl into my arms instead?
Honestly, I’d love both.
As long as he’d let me taste his blood.
Let me be clear—
I’m not a serial killer,
not a sadist.
…I’m just a girl.
An assemblage of stones and grass
poses to reveal a canopy of clouds
trailing like petioles of luster beneath
my head, air-stroked by eve's approach.
I feel the hours passing wretchedly unhurried
as nimbus fog breathes of radiance,
not partly dim but like a tiara
warmly shimmering, glossing over its cape
in daring pink...transforming in a blink;
flare of haze bursting in the air.
Wondering if I should turn away from this dazzling
spectacle of colored skyfoam ,
I watch my body writhe in disgust, this soul raked
with discontent where the burden of beauty grates this skin :
Till cloudscape evanesces, reminding me of past anger
unfinished --which mirrors my autumnal haze,
lingering ... still.
Here I stand on the front lawn for all gawking passersby to see;
A convenient spectacle on which neighborhood dogs choose to pee!
I try to keep my cool (so to speak) as people make sport of me,
With carrot nose, silly hat, arms formed from branches of a tree!
A corncob pipe clamped between charcoal teeth shapes my face;
I feel so ridiculous lounging here staring off into distant space.
Its those little household terrors who made me who I am,
Then they leave me to thaw in the sun not giving a tinkers damn!
I would just as soon have remained anonymous in a snow drift by the fence,
But if I may say so, I'm a handsome dude - that said in my own defense!
Politically correct jerks call me a 'snow person' upsetting me so!
Dang it! I'm a SNOWMAN and have been from generations ago!
Its cold out here but I reckon they dare not light a flame, lest,
It would hasten my doom which is so very tenuous at best!
So passersby, enjoy me whilst you can before my certain demise,
As I slowly sink to the ground liquefying right before your eyes!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
In the universe that only I know, stellar moments weave themselves,
Lost in space, beyond time and essence, like crystal dreams,
Planets turn, stars shine in the cosmic silence,
Just like my heart beating rhythmically under the sapphire blue sky.
Sapphire dreams and violet desires, under the fabric of a starry sky,
In the Milky Way, the light of breath gently blows,
Like the desert wind on an endless wild summer day,
I soar higher than eagles, venturing straight into the galaxy.
I hear the echoes of silence resounding and I smile, for in this paradise,
Only angels seem to exist, dancing on the keys of a silent piano,
I slowly sip ruby-red wine, the April moments of life,
And when December comes, I will float through the universe like a wondrous snowflake.
Falling, falling, falling into His eternal love and grace,
Silence kisses me and suddenly I become more than my years,
Less than the stars and the moon that watch the eternal spectacle,
I wait in the ether of my being, love grows and flows through my veins,
No one knows, only I, only I know this secret universe,
Where paradoxes intertwine like fireflies in the deep night,
And in this profound silence, I become part of a whole,
Less than the stars, but more than the ephemeral moment.
On a rope woven from ancestral nightmares and the greed of shadow monsters,
I step with bare feet, while my thoughts dance chaotically in a penumbra,
Between dream and reality, between sky and earth, between here and beyond myself,
I float suspended in the cold air, and the city below reveals its posthumous secrets.
They always whispered not to look down, but my rebellious eyes refuse to listen,
Contemplating the macabre spectacle of black flames engulfing the hidden streets,
I am the pyromaniac of dreams, the incendiary of outdated and dull reality,
As the wind whistles through my bones at ten thousand meters high, in cascades.
Perhaps I am caught in a dream that dreams another dream which in turn dreams,
And this rope is just an illusion balancing between precarious worlds,
Should I turn back to monotonous safety or risk it all in a single moment?
But the question melts into the void, for the time of decision already precipitates...
The black flames now rise towards me like serpents hungry for infinity,
While the poet in me dances on the border between present and myth,
It's too late to choose a path, for the choice was made long ago in silence,
When I lit the first match of transformation, knowing reality would perish.