Long Spectre Poems
Long Spectre Poems. Below are the most popular long Spectre by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Spectre poems by poem length and keyword.
She gazed at the looking glass, but the mirror refused to grant her a preview of what might happen, a clear picture of where she had been and if she existed at all, the spectre of the moment seemed to be disguised from inspection. Coming to terms with having absorbed and condensed too many of society’s norms and demands had seemingly been her duty and the prism of requests on her image of beauty had failed her inner Self. She drooled onto the spitting image of nothingness and the slobber ran down to the frame that upheld phlegm and contempt before it trickled down onto the baseless floor founded on hardcore delusion. Diet pills and dark shades had not relieved her from a succession of errors of reason and emotion and when she had blindfolded herself, the blinkers tore deep into her misrepresentation of surrender and cosmetic denial.
scanned in revulsion
vacant echoes burst the sight –
shards of glass splintered
So many fragments pierced into her eyes, that dry tears covered the pulverized viewing and heart-blood sprayed all over her soul. A point of no return, because if she failed to stem the flow and bandage the wounds, gangrene would set it soon and salving the lacerations would only speed up infection and purulent grime. The wall in front of her blurred out of proportion and there was nothing she could do about it other than retrieving bristles and paint from the storeroom and gloss over the shiny remnants of disrepair. And therefore, she entered into a journey of the unknown, drew rose petals and thorns onto broken canvas. Before she knew it, she decoupaged disintegration and fractures, glued a mosaic of imagination to mirror what should have been there in the first place. Sweat dripped from her forehead and smudged aquarelle shades which reassembled self-worth and confronted demons and abuse. An inner voice shouted, ‘all you need is a mantra to caption the artwork which you truly are.’ That is when she wrote her first poem and became free of doubts, oppression and cynical critique.
blame discredit reproach
failed to appease me in vain –
reflections can change
26th March 2021
My mind wanders down empty hallways
Looking to find the land of slumber
Sleep elusive there is no gateway
There are no sheep for me to number
My mind is trapped in gooey darkness
Looking to find the land of slumber
The clock ticks as a quiet witness
It's wretched hands torturing my brain
My mind trapped in gooey darkness
Random thoughts fall on me like the rain
The past a spectre grabs for my throat
It's wretched hands torturing my brain
Sleep was once pleasant like a sweet note
Future was filled with possibility
The past a spectre grabs for my throat
Sleepless is my new reality
My mind wanders down empty hallways
Future was filled with possibility
Sleep elusive there is no gateway
Originally written for
Contest by Leonora Galinta
"Sleepless Nights"
Decided to enter free verse version instead.
Our Final Dance with Death
One way or another in this life each of us shall end up,
In that final dance of our life—that dance with Death.
Some shall experience this dance routine earlier in life,
Whilst others shall follow later in the course of a life’s run.
Hope, faith, courage, and a spirit of love may help each of us
To cope with the expected final eventualities from this dance.
It’s oft easier to wax philosophically about someone else’s
Circumstances with Death’s spectre rather than our very own.
Ultimately, one’s faith in Almighty God is the eternal power
Far beyond our death that beckons all of us to His Kingdom.
And so, this final dance with Death is our transition from the
Mortal Coil as our souls ascend skyward into God’s Kingdom.
Deus est qui regit omnia—and we are one with Him in the end.
Deus miseratur, Deus vobiscum—Amen! Amen! Amen! Amen!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 12, 2018 (Couplet)
‘It’s about time you grew up!’
She heard her complain
As her head started thumping
And she threw up again
‘That’s three times this week
You’ve been out on the town
Don’t you think that at your age
You should calm yourself down?’
Concealed under covers
She tried to ignore
The judgmental spectre
That stood at the door
‘Oh please go away,
You’re hurting my head
Can’t you see that I’m dying?
Just leave me in bed!’
But the censure continued
‘You look a right state
It serves your self right
For staying out late
And drinking ‘til all hours
You need to desist
You’ll ruin your liver
If you keep getting pissed
I don’t suppose for one minute
You’ll get up today
Just as well you’re not working
That’s all I can say!’
‘And I really do think
It’s about time you oughta
Set a better example
To me, as your daughter!’
Beneath, weeping willow you lie supine
lamenting, veneration, muse divine
weakness of mind, love is my illusion
incidental rendezvous, delusion?
my dear, recall our ten idyllic hours
smelt the perfumed air of country flowers
bright your aura, impulsed a dark desire
breathtaking, you captivate and inspire
empath, know me, from marrow to the bone
blue bells hear the daisies whisper, atone
solemn moon, rheumy eyes, opalescent
spectre do tarry with me, you present?
extinguished, I blew out your mortal flame
my unnatural desires were to blame
sleep beauty, keeper of secrets, divine
beneath, weeping willow you lie supine
Placed First with thanks
Dated: 31/07/2019
Theme: My dear
Sponsor: Lu Loo
10 Words: weeping willow, supine, lamenting, veneration, weakness, ten, idyllic, aura, empath, incidental
Kite Less String
Written: by Tom Wright
1/15/2014
Days of youthfulness are as flowing nectar,
And a clock’s alteration indeed methodical;
With twain of days come its own spectre,
Not instantly but apparent and periodical.
We impact each milepost as we progress,
Visually searching for some future mound;
Our primary resolve is to become a success,
Abruptly finding our days have browned.
Now the lesson in these thoughts I bring,
Enjoy each day whether laboring or leisure.
For shortly years equate to a kite less string,
Remaining is memory, make that a treasure.
Oft times God blesses
Us in spite of ourselves;
larks begin their social day
before dawn, in the early morning darkness.
They’re wired for it
So am I.
I’m a short-sleeper - it’s genetic
I’m talking about my DEC2, ADRB1, mGluR1 and NPSR1 genes. If I average 4 or 5 hours of sleep, for weeks and weeks, I’m good to go.
This works well for school, but back in the COVID lockdown days - it was crazy. I’d be up at all hours - long after the reasonable world closed its eyes. I’d walk the halls, seemingly everywhere, like Shakespeare’s eleven ghosts.
That’s a poetic queue if I ever heard one..
She shuns her weary bed
in the darkened hush of midnight
when slumber should rule
Her pale brow needs no rest,
so she wraith-like roams her parent’s home.
Fey and fleet, her footsteps falling soft
in shadows thick as underworld
She’s the grinning ghost
in the game room - a sleepless phantasm
moving to dance-dance-revolution’s beat
in seeming revelry wild.
She’s the gliding spirit in the endless, well-lit pool,
slicing effortlessly through the glass-slick turquoise
a selkie-sleek mermaid in a loop of back and forth
who makes pitch-night, an otter's roam.
To the kitchen then, this lissome spectre paces,
restlessness and moonlight walks compel cravings
she’s not seeking the company of other restless souls
- she’s searching for yummy Totino's Pizza Rolls.
.
.
Songs for this:
Time and Love by Laura Nyro
Late Night Talking by Harry Styles
A tree carved into the brazen edges of light
is the color of dark and cloaked with virgin snow.
Its fingers clasp an afternoon moon
in the chilled blue of the sky.
The color of the milk that squirts from the teat
every dawn, dripping frugally at the end.
Tin drops slide off these faded black branches,
melting under this sun. A yellow- tailed finch,
its wings soft as the peeling paint
of our 1800s home, grips the spectre-like arms
of the tree, its shape a yellow glare.
It is tucked into its breast.
A red berry is in its beak.
It is a ruby gleaming within the Winter's
sleepy, milled land as lush as its feathers.
.
This poetic attempt an abbreviation
how biological insemination
(minus in vitro fertilization)
seeds latent *****sapiens reproduction
possibly since moment of conception,
whereby inchoate progeny
impossible to sustain
fantastic, holistic, terrific... weatherization
against prejudicial germs
that elude uterine infiltration
entering womb thru fallopian tube,
or courtesy external drive
re: environmental perturbation
microscopically initiating
biological emancipation
thank you prick llama chin
please withhold ovation
setting in cellular division motion
begetting August poetic
jejune chain reaction
triggering anonymous
reader to yawn nonstop - definite indication
that yours truly induces excitation
in short shrift inducing
somniferous maximization,
yet for those readers
still awake lemme thank
your much ado about
nothing voluntary solicitation
to decrypt poetic
explanation, explication, exploration...
not asking concordance or agreement (ha)
without being redundant, nor repetitive
with my matted trademark communication
detailing mine opinion
courtesy quasi succinct elaboration
i.e. during the process
of in utero gestation
the embryo/fetus absorbs influences -
sorry no summation
in sight, not even
at anticipated parturition
cuz effects upon psyche of unborn
(unknown even by the twelfth night)
even after birth manifestation
within mind of next generation
heavily impacted courtesy
infernal contribution
despite most commendable
effort at postnatal
efforts to chaperone
son/daughter insulation
against prejudice virtually
impossible mission
(even spectre Tack Cuéllar,
viz ghost of Peter Graves
unable to succeed at extirpation
unfavorable antisemitism, bigotry, cruelty...
I concur religious,
racial, nationality... integration,
could certainly help deescalation
hmm... boot perhaps...
maybe not total elimination...,
yet such salient measure
could help offset blatant
outright, pervasive, queasy...
lifelong societal and personal ramification,
this targeted token
"scapegoat" closes his wordy attestation.
Marbles rolling among gasses.
through the black passes;
dynamic wormhole universal flight;
etheric ghosts ride to the light.
Soul in a dream state,
spectre awaiting checkmate.
Fall into the lion’s mouth,
slide on down south.
Animals to guide you through,
abyss of many colored hues;
revealed secrets hiding deep,
within recesses, up they creep.
Deep within the glass revealed,
answers await a calling peal.
Lighting candles pierce the black;
revealing secrets in greenbacks.
When bells are tolled, all’s said and done,
beneath an orange and mocking sun;
truths no longer hidden lie;
within all-seeing, glassy eye.
1-26-2022
A STRAND (1060) Poetry Contest
Brian Strand