Long Spired Poems
Long Spired Poems. Below are the most popular long Spired by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Spired poems by poem length and keyword.
Upon the ridge, where summer winds blow free,
A spired procession wakes in shades of blue,
To paint the landscape in a pastel sea,
And bathe the hillside in an azure hue.
They stand as sentinels of amethyst,
With velvet leaves that reach toward the sun,
Adorned in dewdrops, by the morning kissed,
Before the heat of midday has begun.
Though named for wolves, they bring the soil no harm,
But yield their nitrogen to barren ground,
A wild, untamed, and vibrant floral charm,
Where beauty in the desolate is found.
So stands the lupine, resolute and fair,
A breathless wonder in the summer air.
To all those fence riders
To all the Gospel chiders
Aspire to the Spire
To all those who besmirch
To all within Satan’s lurch
Aspire to the Spire
To all those fake fossil fans
To all those who don’t give a damn
Aspire to the Spire
To all those in quagmire
To all with a spurious ire
Aspire to the Spire
To those who have not been hopin’
To those headed for the gate wide open
Aspire to the Spire
To those first reading The Word
Don’t let your mind call it absurd
Aspire to the Spire
To all interests that (by The Holy Ghost) have been piqued
To all: take heed don’t let your seed become weed
Aspire to the Spire
To all who fall on the rocky, thorny or along the well beaten path
To all who act a fool for the king of Gath
Aspire to the Spire
To the prisoners and their lives
To those not putting up a fight
Aspire to the Spire
Resolution:
Why the spire (if it is true)?
Because it is pointing us to
(Here’s a clue for all in the convocations)
To be in[spired] by The Desire of the nations
When lost in the woods
one wanders lugubriously directionless
in the weeds vines and branches
obstructing the altogether magnificent world
that abounds and surrounds
the muddled mind of the soul-filled seeker:
Truth traveler and mystical unraveller
plodding ahead confused in dread
of what lies beyond
the not-so-distant tree line
drifting dreamlike in a cloud
of misty-eyed fog looming in the air
just over there next to nowhere
like a serpent ready to strike...
Where forward momentum becomes a battle
against God Gravity and Nature as One
finds fear inviting and darkness enticing
as shadows on the moon walking
freely as a butterfly wafting
into a new dimension in space-time
before discerning the profundity of the scene
as nothing more than the ageless
Mad Magician whispering dismally sweet nothings
into the minds and ears of all good people
throughout our tear-filled years...
("Follow me," says he, "to the tasty apple on the tree.")
Until the soul seeking, scintillating Sun-Light appears
awakening the dumbfounded lost in the woodlands
to an inviting winding path leading toward
higher elevations in the farthest reaches
yearnings and palpitations of the universe
and the unfathomable intangible that binds
and sustains all matter and life reverberating
in every heartbeat and breath of fresh air in-spired
for the searching of the perennial
everlasting and Wholly desired:
Love-Beauty-Truth-Freedom-Forgiveness-Grace
and all that we long for and imagine to be Good
at the end of the long winding path
through weeds vines and branches
when lost in the woods.
(okay, yukon axe me whatsapp pinning,
though beep pre spired, cuz mess sigh key
threads experience didst rub burr raw
as if spun as a micro spindle.)
Woolworth (Penneys on
the Dollar Store) Sears electronic,
dynamic and atomic weight
cumulative decades of suppressed
crackle, snap,
and pop, triggering
psychotic sans tete a tete
legal tender visa vis
bit coin block
chain payback daily
quotidian fits and starts
trigger torrential spate
impinging ability to relish potential
existential joie de vivre
finding me (I rate)
analogous to suffocating
unbearable pressure, yours truly
doth eek quate
to Metallica Mega-death
accessing, hammering, and pinpointing
(excel lent lee powerfully)
every square inch
of mine pate
strewing, sparking fiery
fingerhut sized explosions,
and slamming incessant
psychological torture akin to
a pernicious hidebound mate
and as of this date
November 20th two thousand eight
scored entrenched occupation
of my fifty plus
shades of gray matter
becoming more agonizing of late,
where suicidal ideation,
where repressed self hate
sprung from cumulative
(albeit cloudy with
a chance of at least one
meatball i.e. me) psyche subject
to verbal whipping (yours truly),
the gloating mean
bullies didst denigrate,
without doubt half life of
Matthew Scott Harris
aint at all great,
yet to some degree, this saturated
scorpion poisoned, mauled
and jackknifed fate
in some measure
duet hoo war ton internalized
emotions griffins
hound, feast, and delight
(more so ravenously
throve) on Hawaii,
and seamy to Maui
didst successfully, (particularly
throughout earlier decades)
emasculate, under estimate,
now (in retrospect) execrate
at invisible monster
on par with beastie boy
Doctor Frankenstein didst create
only upon death doom
he part wretchedness
will hoop fully abate.