Long Spin Poems
Long Spin Poems. Below are the most popular long Spin by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Spin poems by poem length and keyword.
I write. That is what I do day and night,
write write write but I like to do it outside the lines,
the curve and the shape and the pattern,
to go against the rules of all poetry!
I let my words fly like the birds above. Free and swirling.
All the twirling words in my head I send whirling . . .
Saying no to metaphors. And all devices that poetry is suppose to need!
I say NO NO and NO . . .
I need to be free to spin and fling my poems.
Here and there. Let them be what they want to be.
Not be chained to a form. To a Rule. To convention.
To not be restrained by meter or syllables or lineage.
Yes, to just be.
Joy is to twist, deform, reverse, go verse crazy and way too long
I will destroy what should be . . . into what I want it to be
_________________________
October 16, 2018
Poetry/Verse/Contra To The Strictness of Form
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1071-794-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Contra
sponsor, Jesse Rowe
Third Place
Lust and greed overwhelm our desires,
We struggle in life, desires unfulfilled,
Yet, the heart is searching for peace and serenity,
Only consciousness will deliver it one day.
Consciousness evokes the world around us,
Selfless service and help to the needy inspire us,
Donate with kindness, uplift the broken hearts, mission it takes,
Love and respect for everyone are the goals kept in mind.
With each breath, I feel life flow,
Awake to all that fades and grows.
The world hums low, a whispered sound,
As earth and spirit spin unbound.
No rush for future, past release,
Just here—this pulse, this quiet peace.
Each moment fresh, a seed to sow,
In light of love, I watch it grow.
On the south-western side of the old mission school,
near the corner of First Street, where blackberries grew
a field claimed by youngsters was crosshatched with tracks.
It was riddled by gophers and, nettled with fox-tails
and the children's bare feet had constructed thin trails,
cupping deep paths that were littered with smiles,
deep in the amber of tall weeds and dry grass.
It wasn't too far from the patched wire fence
that hemmed the backyard of my Grandmother's house.
Westerly whirlwinds would rattle the ragweed,
while seeds of the bull-thorns, that prickled our toes,
would spread with the tumbleweeds, now tossed into rows
like last winter's snowmen, worn to the bone
There were traces of honeysuckle mixed with wild rose
from Grandma's old arbor, that loomed in the distance
A rusty old weather vane like a merry-go round
would spin like a top that might never stop
The ivy was overgrown, and a sleepy old hound
would snooze by the clothesline, in shade he had found
But, deep in the field, was a land of our own
A place we called 'Neverland', a loft in this poem
In the yoke of one tree, with the help of our dad
was a fort built of scrap wood, from piles by the shed.
And by hook or by crook, I would take all commands
While my brother's brewed brainstorms, and his black plastic hook,
assigned him the Captain, while I was the crew
of a ramshackle galleon, brought to life from our books
While I dangled in air, from a tired old swing
"Tinker", my name...in this masculine game..
I would push off, while he pulled me, right up to the sky
and into the branches, with leaves in my eyes......
I would fly to the depth's of a steel gray-blue sky
I would grovel, and shovel, to have his approval........
for he was much older, much wiser than me
I would play like a tomboy,.....shove doll-drums away
Such sweet summer days,......while bright splintered rays
of hot summer sun, would spotlight our play.
We would stay until twilight, to watch the sun die
Defying all gravity.......I could see to eternity
Tootsie Pops clung to the tip of our tongues
while the sun of the twilight, dipped over the dunes
and the call of our mother, slipped over the moon
____________________________________________________________
In the beginning was a quince
And a lady named Eve, where was her prince?
When she was in need, Satan got to Eve
“Did God really say?” was Satan’s foray
Why has the apple’s name been sullied, and bullied
Is the argument valid (in this word salad)?
The confusion of transgender, was put in a blender
(It was not Adam and Steve, or Madam and Eve)
And what came out, was quince-essential doubt
It’s a blender schism, to mix transgenderism
And what fell on Newton’s head, begs the question instead
At the end of the path of math, is the numerical aftermath
Just because the numbers fall into line, doesn’t prove that a theory is right
The numbers can so easily comport, with the globe or flat sort
The gravity of this situation, is we need The Original Consideration
In a flat and free fall spin there is a sense of it all within
Am I bad mouthing the apple with which I grapple?
I have a right to be heard, even if I say “that’s absurd”
(This tug-of-war we tussle with
Negative, affirmative (and back and forth we go
EI EI O)
On God’s farm he has some terms
EI EI O
And on this farm, we have to learn
EI EI O
Tangents and terms, numbers and words
EI EI O
And the schoolhouse rocks down the path of math
EI EI O
Which theory do we need query
EI EI O
And to me and you (and the Berean gumshoe)
EI EI O
Embrace the task and we must ask, “What did God really say?”
It seems I just cannot win,
For my life is in a constant spin.
Not one person can I please,
Nor does it seem I can appease.
My children refuse to confide in me,
Telling me to let them be.
They expect me always to be around,
Yet when needed, they cannot be found.
My Family expects me to just be there,
But no thought my way do they spare.
Their moods I am always to understand,
And be there to lend a needed hand.
When I am feeling bad or subdued,
I am told I am just too rude.
When I am in a rush,
I am still expected to hush.
Who said it was ever ok
For me NOT to have a bad day?
Why is it ok when I am under the gun
For everyone else to have fun?
Yet, again I come up short,
Just as I am given a kick for sport.
Just another day to be,
In the life of being...me.
© Kristy De La Keur Scoville
Did you spin the rope?
Pull it tighter
To reign me in
Did u feel the resistance?
Of my temperament
Could you feel the strength of my willpower?
I am not going back there
I prefer it here
In the light
Where worries don’t seem so insurmountable
I have a better handle on things
I feel human again
Please leave me
Let me remain
In this highlighted space
Where I know my weak state
Will not be daunting
Because I know when I cry out
The angels will come running
The difference now is
I know they are fighting just as hard as me
They know my worth
My Father made sure of that
So here it is as gently as I can state it
Leave me be
Or my Father might have to
Deal with you on His terms
I will not be moved,
I will not be shaken
I know my worth
Maybe it’s time
You see it too
*Have no idea what inspired this piece”
©133522082013
JOYFUL JONES DIVORCES THE SEA
Tenacity of oceanic roar,
Davy Jones hammers each chord.
Embryonic fish, fracture in exploding bubbles.
Opulence anchors heavy, on seabed chest with ill afford.
Whales spew foam from nettled lips,
Throwing tail - haphazardly splashing.
Blubber of sperms bleed precious oil whilst
Knotted nets with jigsaw teeth - recklessly hashing.
~
Lighthouse green and placid starlight blue,
Gentle sun warms the skin with clouded sin.
Jones plugs up the bottomless pit with fingertips
And takes this island of caribbean water out for a spin.
~
The magician’s fish feast pulls at the banquet’s cover.
The velocity of vortex lashes kit and kin with vertigo,
And salts and peppers this treat with staring eyes.
What more can this torrential downpour bestow?
The finger of God tastes the bitter sea…
He writes his name on a wall of water.
Spoiled stink, of seafood bait wades -
As the Lord Hushes up his son and daughter.
Kim Rodrigues © 2016
Highways stretch into the aftermath.
Lunar ascends...
Grins sinisterly
A cry rises with the currents
Carried on shadowed wings
into vacant, violent, violet skies.
Night runs from golden rays
Like streaks from shooting stars
Falling. Air raid!
Thermals detonate resonates obliterates
Splash stone, sands, lands crimson,
a thousand years.
Flesh transparent as a specters.
Of ancient rites, incendiary nights
As winds cut like a raven cry. Lock vectors.
Razored spines.
Holocaustic...rights.
Host.
A falcon soars. Blind!
Soars on thermals
Forgotten spirits scatter, shatter
flutter into the icy hurricanes void.
Back into the Blackend Earth
ashen embers, with scarlet hearts
Spin, spiral on windswept promenades...
A Highway stretching into twilight.
And to the future, I dream, damnation!
I pray may never ever come, thoughts cascades…
I dance with the ghost of ancient man.
I dwell in the forgotten, forbidden, forsaken lands
As the tyrannical dawn comes...
What does it mean to witness suffering and feel it burn inside you,
not as gentle empathy, but as a deep-rooted and screaming indictment?
There is a boy who carries cement as I carry metaphors — without question, without choice,
without allowing himself the luxury of another option, only with a resignation sculpted in silence.
He is not a symbol, not a story woven from words, but a breathing being,
a master of the mathematics of hunger, who has learned the philosophy of small joys,
in a world that never stops for his pain, that doesn't listen to his silence,
an entire universe that continues to spin, ignoring the burden he carries.
I see him, and my soul splits in two — one part mourning, the other marveling,
for what is humanity if not a living contradiction, a dance of paradoxes?
How can joy exist in the exact place where injustice flourishes and grows,
how can a smile be so sincere where pain has made its home?
He speaks of dinner with the grace of a saint, smiles as if he has made peace
with things I still wage war against in my mind, a prisoner of my own battles,
and I want to believe he is a glitch in a cruel system, but perhaps he is the truth,
and I am the illusion, a shadow of privilege that cannot see clearly through the veil of perception.
Perhaps we are not divided by privilege as much as by perceptions and illusions,
perhaps the question is not why he is content, but why I cannot be,
why my heart cannot find peace where he has made peace with destiny,
and in this reflection, I wonder if the truth is deeper than my beliefs.
I was trying to hesitate
From going on a blind date
But my friends took the lead
Saying it's just what I need
My love life's been in a spin
My heart always pulling in
When I saw someone was getting
Way too close I was not letting
My emotions run too wild
I became so weak and mild
Since my life has always been
A trampoline for all the men
That's been bouncing in and out
True love I knew nothing about
Every time I tried to feel
Something so precious and real
They would go and not come back
My heart always felt the smack
Of another door slammed shut
Never knowing why or what
I keep repelling them away
Why can't just one of them stay
Longer than a month or so
With no reason they must go
So when my friends said they knew
Someone faithful and so true
It was hard believing such
A man would not hurt me as much
Like everyone else has done
Always being on the run
My courage and faith was thin
Trying to find love again
But I sat down so politely
But my heart was treading lightly
Hours of talking went by
I was trying not to cry
Hearing him tell tales of
Being left by those he loved
It was like he was my clone
Left so stranded and alone
We just stared and couldn't speak
As tears rolled down both our cheeks
Knowing it was destiny
For both of us here to be
Fixed up with another heart
That's been broken all apart