Long Stinging Poems
Long Stinging Poems. Below are the most popular long Stinging by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stinging poems by poem length and keyword.
A day, so many years ago, we traveled up to see the stars
from high upon a rising spire,
not knowing then, what we know now
We stood in voiceless, transfixed gaze, where once two towers pierced the sky
But now the fog of stinging tears grips the throat and swallows years
How fragile life will bend and curve,
and take away in one brief day, the voice of reason, never heard
Now back again, and through the haze, we read the names, now carved like graves
Where water streams three thousand tears, and years can't wash away the pain
Where bitter comes the taste of rain
Yet, reverently, the voice is clear
of hope and pride, where life begins
Raw photographs have not been blurred, in spite of where my heart was plunged,
into the darkest dungeon known
And still the blackest smoke has turned
into amazement, where I've grown
to treasure good before it's gone...
________________________________________________________________
For Contest Sponsored By FJ Thomas "My Spirit"
Sweet dreams...
But don't try masking the seasons
in gold.
You never needed to,
but thought so
because what we call love cuts us
like a crashing chandelier,
stinging all the more for how pretty
it used to be...
And to know
what it feels like
watching years accumulate that itchy mold
is harder still. Because we never knew
what we were looking for,
even after we pick ourselves up
from our dusty rooms
to walk the same lines.
At least we're braver than we know,
but doomed to fail
if we play by rules we're urged to swallow-
A cosmic joke.
Now let me tell you how to win..
Choose the lion on the carousel,
steal him away while you run out laughing.
Kiss your lovers,
hold your friends to their words.
Don't fear your reflection
when you've let those hands
leave their mark,
and don't know why you're aching.
We're all a part of the circus,
start a new act.
Don't give in to the darkness
all for show-
Light a candle and roar.
"My Eyes"
Green glass
broken and polished
washed in on a storm
from a tempestuous Ocean
briny and
stinging
deep deep deep
as a journey
has ever been
cool to the touch
transparency
contained
within the smooth jagged
worn by icy tides and
buried in burning passages of jade
Reflection,
their sea eyes
your seas
green calamities
on straight lines
your words
strung and
slipped
around their sees
through the eyes
of a sharp needle
Sewing stories
in the
Short Slipstream
patchworks
for a blanket of
Love
ocean forests
closing clams
gathering pearls up
watching
through windows
other souls write
sage Delphi oracles
green shamrocks
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
Tell Them What You See
Proverbs 25:11 KJV
There once lived a son who at the age of 30, telephoned his 58 year old father.
The son was distraught, dismayed, and depressed. He was unhappy, unable, and unsure.
He said to his father, “Dad, this world is an awful place and so messed up”. He was figuratively seeing dark clouds through dark glasses, and was surely disenchanted and disillusioned.
As he was describing to his father how he felt, and what he saw from where he sat, his father said to him, in a manner to offer a little hope, “That’s not what I’m seeing”.
In figurative terms, what was it that the father saw that the son could not see? The father continued to give him comfort and advice. After they were off the phone, these words came to the father:
“I see rain falling in season, filling all available reservoirs.
I see snow capped mountains, retaining snow in Winter, to be released in Spring, sending water to all”.
The father knew that he could not always rescue his son from bad decisions made, nor even shield him from life’s stinging bees. But he could always be there providing, a “fitly spoken word”, just to tell him “what he sees”.
The father was then refreshed with the understanding, that when a father has done all that he can do to help his sons and his daughters, and there is little else or anything left that he can do, he can always “tell them what he sees”.
022608
Silk wading thru wistfully warm sea waters,
my dreaming fingers have lingered to potter
with ocean surface, sun sparkled glitters.
My poetic pieces have gone full twitter
in charmed waters of crystal clear rarity
where I felt God's love soothe life's severity.
Slowly easing into ocean powered waves,
my playful moods have seriously caved
from forceful, salt stinging, brutal wave smacks.
My body has ached sea bruised, blue and black.
Rough seas crudely taught me joy may survive
despite waves of fright that savagely arrive.
Now, reaching the end planks on my journey's pier
and viewing my twilight's approach so clear,
it's past sunshine glitters that most sustain
these concluding sea views for my earthly gain.
Yet, I know without crass waves that abused,
wading joys would not have peaked this enthused.
Springtime is more than just flowers and sun.
April is drenched, and bees will have much fun.
Swarming insects frighten with bites and harm.
A staining sludge swamp and stinky silt farm.
Sneeze and hay heat-stinging eyes are a curse.
Lands that loom like orbs, yet deceits are worse.
Yet, we must not squander sight of quaintness
with the rigors that spring brings or faintness.
Berth booms boost pollination burden rood.
Spring is spasmodic, apart from the mood.
White snow morphs into mushy rolling hills.
And sprinkle down verve up till the dale spills,
Flowers rising from snowfall restore hope.
Were we blithe beyond the zenith and slope?
3rd place contest winner
Written: February 05, 2023
Spring Is Not All Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Michelle Faulkner
("Noh" is an ancient Japanese style of
drama, broadly similar to Elizabethan
tragedy. "The Wind in the Pines" is
my version of a well-known Noh play.)
2. The Beach, After Dark
The coast has drowned in the gloomy night,
but the moon shines. Two women in white
come along the shore - Matsukaze,
with her sister Murasame.
They seem to float like smoke, in dresses
with long, wide sleeves, their hair in tresses.
MATSUKAZE
The sad waves lap on our feet,
then slide back. Like hope, they meet
us running, then dissipate. Once spent,
they slink off, ashamed, but can't prevent
falling down to the cold sea.
This is how it must always be.
MURASAME
When the tide relinquishes its assault on land
and drains away, it is sure to strand
small pools among the boulders, strewn
along the beach. And, all too soon,
the life in these tiny oceans, forlorn,
will fade, like you and I, before the dawn.
MATSUKAZE
The moon can't cast any light through the pine.
Our lovely sleeves, weighted down with brine,
will tire us quickly. Crabs without shells,
we are women who have no lover. Smell
the sea fog, sister! Like a clammy dress,
it clings to us, like our loneliness.
MURASAME
Salt in everything. In our hair, our skin.
It sucks out our essence, leaves us thin
and pale. Our only company, the moon ...
and she will weaken and flounder, soon
enough. She stirs the ocean, churning
chill water, exciting in us a hopeless yearning.
MATSUKAZE
I hear the fishermen out on the sea,
and I want there to be a man for me.
They call, one to another. Out there.
I smell smoke stinging the air,
but no woodsman sees my boxwood comb.
They cut fresh reeds, not for my home.
MURASAME
Look, sister! The moon's in my pail!
And in yours, too. But there it sails,
up in the sky, singular, not two.
These little moons are like me and you,
illusions that can never truly be,
two facets of one destiny.
Depriving me of the guidance I needed to grow up, father's departure was the closest that death came to me. Ten years later, he came and took away my grandmother, the absolute dearest to my heart, but death never cared. He was ruthless, terrorizing, never ceasing to wreck and ruin, and although death ceased for a twenty-five year period, he came again, squizzing life out of my loving mother. O dark and mysterious one, you delight in the gloom. O stinging monster, have you no pause, rest, or stillness? O despiser of tranquility, your eternal doom shall surely come.
01152019PoSoupContest, 10 Lines, 10 Words, Free Verse, Lu Loo Theme: Death
As I walk this graveyard somber
Of a country shorn of life
Its gravestone reads, in the distance yonder
Stabbed by debt’s dagger knife
Our Founding Fathers, like demigods
Of a past enlightened age
Founded this nation, with musket rods
And writings on a page
We the people, it was writ
Must perfect a union young
With stinging wit, this daring script
Was a rock at Britain slung
A golden republic, been thrown at our feet
They challenged us to keep
From democracy’s thieves, from subtle deceit
From apathy, and ignorant sleep
Have we kept our gold? No! It was packaged and sold!
By politicians - absentee dads!
How would our Fathers feel, if they could be told
That their children lost what they had?
Our Fathers would be, trifle a doubt
A hallowed kin troubled by din
Troubled by noise, the screams and the shouts
Of a country dying from within
With ethics abandoned, a sickness has crept
A plundering, gluttonous sin
These pitiful states, with mountains of debt
Belong in no handbook of hymn
Youth, why slave for a wage
To be took by taxation’s rake?
Why seek to be caught, in misery’s cage
For worthless currency’s sake?
Prepare instead, for the coming collapse
When Liberty staggers, stumbles and hurls
This nation, struck by a venomous asp
Expires, in agonied curls
A competitive path,
society v individual,
to retributive justice
is measured in accountability
of the individual
to respect
the imposed police and court
and prison system.
More cooperative polypaths,
individual Me AND social We,
to restoring Ego/EcoJustice
are measured in collective integrity
reducing trauma
isolation
intimidation
and chronic stress triggers
Polymorphically designing
and polynomially balancing
and polytheistically engaging
healthy positive energy relationships
slow-growing resilient plants
with people
with one regenerative
living
restorative
resilient planet
Throughout co-operative
space AND time communion now
past AND future timeless
health AND safety gifted presence
natural AND spiritual blessings
physical AND mental meta-integral
regenerations of
Cooperative polypaths
destined to restore Ego/EcoJustice
co-mediating secular/sacred
trans-binary new age dawning
old school cisbinary fawning
creolizing 1/0
bolt/nut
pole/hole
binomial integrity
Is definitely not
colonizing
ostracizing
and punishing.
Resilient peace
is not achieved
through dissociative punishing sticks,
with no hope for fresh round carrots.
Traumatic isolating accountability events
do not have therapeutic outcomes
measured in Earth's emergent integrity,
wounds seeking impressive healing;
not more oppressive hurting
Because,
as any gang
or tribe member
or resilient community knows,
trauma of past victimization
does not predict
a future of multiculturally
polyculturally inclusive
therapy
Because pathological governance
from predators above
and outside
is not resilient health
for those preyed upon
praying for natural
nurturing
nutritional compassion
below dispirited feelings
and inside tragic souls
Because patriarchal systemic trauma
power-over
is not ecofeminist therapeutic
power-with-and-within
Because stinging red pathology
is not soothing green health
or integrally learned
integrity woke
polychromatic wealth.