Long Staleness Poems
Long Staleness Poems. Below are the most popular long Staleness by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Staleness poems by poem length and keyword.
I run to clear my mind
Of life’s extremely stressful day
Freeing my thoughts of all
Negativity and the clogging of my brains
I run to cleanse my soul
Sweating out all toxins and impurities
Rejuvenating my body’s energy
Taking it to new heights
I run to clear away all confusion
That’s deep in my thoughts
An replace them with positivity
So, the good energy will soak inside
I run to feel the breeze upon my face
And feel the whispers of the wind
Stroking my body as if
It was coming from someone’s touch
Heat, sweat or cold cradles me as
I pick up my running pace
According to the seasons
While I smell the freshness or
Staleness of the air’s divine
With each step I take
I begin to pound out my fears
And disappointments
As I run, I take control of
Each breath I take
To survive each path I take
In life, as I run
Some bits and pieces. Stoleness doesn't empower one to
gain material goods, financial and emotional leverages some
are disloyal—possession over someone Stoleness.
Abducted along with one's self-confidence and innermost thoughts
and deepest sentiments will be revealed for safekeeping.
Demoralized and staleness broken trust in addition to anything
so on and on, and so forth Stoleness has causes and effects,
lessons learned? intuitive conception, and conclusion that Stoleness
is forbidden.
I dream of a great and distant place
It is mine, only I hold the key
There are many fears I have to face
Meadow, temple, goddess of grace
Wending brook, glittering tree
I dream of a great and distant place
It becomes vague, it is now a trace
So very far, so very hard to see
There are many fears I have to face
Falling into my city's warm embrace
Take me away, hear my plea
I dream of a great and distance place
To these enchanted thoughts I race
From the staleness of now I flee
There are many fears I have to face
With a breath it will vanish, in a second erase
Once more I feel a cold pull inside me
I dream of a great and distant place
There are many fears I have to face
Flame trees flicker on way into town
but nothing kindles their flames to excite
the sleepy town set in its dampened, dank frown.
All the folks lie barricaded behind trenches
of never to be forgotten fights and campaigns
about, noise, litter, dogs and fences.
'Smile and wave' the response to encounters.
Gossip and tattle-tail endless behind closed doors,
for everyone knows everything, and about everyone blabbers.
Nothing changes, nothing excites, change on timeout.
The town heart's pace is fixed on 'set in ones ways'.
Everything in its place, nothing to catch fire, the pilot snuffed out.
The flame trees bloom anew each spring
blinding weary drivers entering the town,
sparing them the sight of sameness, staleness, tedium within.
As we walked along this summer day we could see the sun's passion etched within the peaks of small cottony clouds, it bled a scarlet ecstasy across the day's dealt skies. The air was scented with the fresh aroma of lilacs and roses from the houses nearby, yet a staleness lingered beneath its cover as we walked through grass less thick than the air. There were benches to our left, tucked in slight shade of an old oak. they seemed weathered in time, but still had yesterday's news draped atop the seats. We continued on our way and could see through thirsty fields along our path wheat as it danced to the wind's soft lullaby, we paused to watch nature's melody...
as wind brushes over
fields of wheat pull back covers
deer hidden within
We continued on our way down the windy road, our feet kept beat with the chatter of chipmunks as we kicked up dust from the once cobblestone path. The haze behind us lifted silently towards the sky, momentarily tucking the sun behind its shadows. Our ears could hear a rumble, almost as if angry skies were upon us, when we saw the river ahead of us...
over tops of stones
fast river stumbles along
in its wake fish jump
09/17/2013
I cast these concepts
I cast these kernels
Kernels in my hand
Kernels in the clay
Clay of loam
Clay of words
Words to describe
Words packed
Packed with exegesis
Packed with strength
Strength of scavenging
Strength of crowd
Crowd of swarms
Crowd of staleness
Staleness with enthusiasm
Staleness with bluntness
Bluntness of prediction
Bluntness of demeanor
Demeanor with smile
Demeanor of delight
Delight in adventure
Delight of writing
Writing of nursery stories
Writing of poetry
Poetry from heart
Poetry for show
Show of pride
Show of faith
Faith in progression
Faith in aestheticism
Aestheticism in connoisseurship
Aestheticism of spirit
Spirit to convince
Spirit with zoanthropy
Zoanthropy from hysteria
Zoanthropy of diabolical
Diabolical in a cave
Diabolical of power
Power to rule
Power to deceive
Deceive with attempt
Deceive to mislead
Mislead unfair impression
Mislead into thinking
Thinking about calm
Thinking about success
Success isn't happiness
Success isn't wealth
Wealth
Happiness
The air is foetid and breathing is so difficult.
The open window allows floating debris,
To spread its pungent staleness over all.
It’s a difficult struggle for sunlight to shine
Through the clouded fog we must inhale.
I see more pallid faces of people at the portal.
Where I read trees and flowers once grew,
Is now an industrial slum with a thick oil slick,
Oozing across the land, dead trees pillaged.
A cemetery for what once was, a thing called beauty.
Nothing that can be described that way still exists.
Farms had to die in the regal name of progress.
Oceans of fish polluted and poisoned, whales extinct.
No sand left on our beaches, Coral reefs destroyed.
Shorelines stinking and black, streams contaminated.
Waters have risen and islands sunk into the seas.
A novelty to see one of the remaining birds,
Concrete replaced something they used to call grass.
Praise the pharmaceutical manufacturers
Producing pills with vitamins to feed us and keep us alive.
He was happy
Finally
He had made a clean break
A Clean
BREAK
He could start over
With the past behind him
Free
He inhaled deeply
The air was fresh
The sky was clear
Everything seemed in focus
Bright
A new start
New adventures waited
New dreams
New people to meet
A new love
Ah…..
What could compare
To the freshness
The excitement
The burning desire
The consuming craving to taste
A new love
Yes, he’d made a clean break
Euphoric
Somewhere
In a room entombed
With the staleness of yesterday
Still lingering
Was a woman
With a clean break
From the top of her heart
Right down to the bottom
Clean
No perhaps and what if's
Clean
No hopes or promises
Clean
No remembrances or dreams
A clean break
A heart broken
From top to bottom
Two broken halves
One broken soul
A clean break
He had made a clean break
Of her heart….
Eileen Manassian Ghali
My long sleep wasn't disturbed by a Mallard,
no visions of wars but of absolute serenity...
giving this body a vital boost of energy;
flowing was the blood, sound was the mind!
The green-winged Teal seemed too hungry,
and munching on a piece of bread, hurriedly
glanced and drastically feared the rangy vagrant
with a face so pale that even startled a big cat!
Opening my window to the cool breeze of March
takes the whiff of staleness out of the dim room;
observe the yellow begonias cherishing its caress...
'though perturbed by the smell of the forest Larch!
Flowers don't feel pain, neither they show gloom:
tend to them and they will display their loveliness!
I grab my pen and start composing another lyric
to describe this wonderful season that delights;
I'm glad that winter has put an end its snowy days!
Do poets choose their words according to images,
or they pop into their heads and write ditty verses
diverging from the norm of poetry that's too intrinsic?
Opening my window to the cool breeze of March...
oh, sonorous spring has arrived ending my confinement
to a glass desk with a Dell computer to find a replacement!
Does artificial intelligence offer some enlightenment?
Not all cope with loneliness: dramatic was the fate of Lach;
how many of us have used extreme measures to stay afloat?
Silence………A solemn hush
except
for
insects
running
amongst the jade green grass
and the large invasive vines.
Large cypress trees,
stately and tall,
throw shadows around me
as I wend my way
along the lonely lanes
of moss-covered, musty-smelling tombs
careful not to touch the poison ivy
or admire the wisteria vines.
People do visit here,
for look, bunches of flowers
adorn the place,
emitting scents to try and nullify
the staleness of the resting place.
Headstones obliterated by the wind,
makes me wonder who lies beneath.
Was she beautiful and tall?
Ugly and short?
What does it matter now?
For all I care she could have been
beautiful and short.
But some things do matter
in our personal short earthly time.
All that matters is
what we do with our life.
Death holds no sting, really.
But
don’t
touch
the poison ivy.