Long Stupor Poems
Long Stupor Poems. Below are the most popular long Stupor by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stupor poems by poem length and keyword.
In the desolate temple of the soul, flesh weaves over bone a silent epitaph,
Spirits lock thought within the ark of thought, and sometimes, a divine spark,
And women in furies pour vessels into fragments of petrified walls,
While men submerge self in the deluge of the endless bitter draught,
No one unravels another's enigma—and yet we wander, undeterred in our search,
A feast of pain among the shroud of other silent dreams.
Flesh beside bone, and flesh calling for more than earthly caresses.
There’s not a sliver of luck to emerge,
We are prisoners of the same unanimous fatality.
No one ever rediscovers that lost half.
The refuges of cities gorge on their refuse,
And windows of pain become filled,
Madhouses come alive,
Hospitals spread their beds,
And cemeteries weep for the dead.
And yet nothing else fills the voids.
On this unanointed altar of the body cloaking the skeleton,
Minds wrap their writhings in flesh paper,
And now and then, a wisp of soul persists,
Queens shatter the jugs of pretentious pledged barriers,
Thirsty men sink their being into seas of deceitful wine,
And no heart finds its sunset in another's dawn,
Despite the journey, we lay amongst the pale napkins of other's dreams.
Carnal tissue embracing the bone—and the tissue chasing after more than dusty sensuality.
Not a thread of hope becomes visible in this stupor,
We are captives in one piercing prescription of destiny.
No soul ever uncovers that forever misplaced love.
The city's debris open their nostrils to plenty,
And the material world perfects its imprint,
Asylums echo with a chorus of commotion,
Hospitals interlace sufferings,
And cemeteries crowd their silence.
No other space finds a cure to fill the vast emptiness.
I play a requiem
The notes follow
The path of my tears
Down my stricken face
A requiem
For what I carry in my heart
Passion that has died
Leaving no hope for revival
Now to be enshrouded
In layer upon layer
Of misplaced trust
Deceitful dreams
And infertile words
I mourn, I weep
I rend my clothes
And keep
A vigil in this empty chamber
Of my heart
Guarding the dead
Beating my chest
In time with the requiem
That plays incessantly in my head
As I walk along the bier
Refusing burial rights
Hoping for a miracle of light
The requiem plays on
And I sit in a stupor
Exhausted...spent
Tears soaking my gown of mourning
Unable to make sense of it all
What will I do now?
How will I go on?
Without the beat of my heart
Without my little words
Without my passion
I play a requiem
embellishing each measure
with note memories and tears
A requiem for the dead
The impetus for me
To live on....
Eileen Manassian Ghali
He came into the barnyard and looked around
Choosing a mate, who squawked and went underground
Okay, he said. I’ll take that one, her sister.
She screeched and fluttered, not happy with this mister.
It’s a cockatrice, her cousins whispered among themselves.
They had heard of such a creature, dreaded by young elves.
He flew off with his prize, she was struggling against his wing.
Little did they know, she was secretly a willing little thing.
She had been with him before, and she knew he was gallant and brave.
They had a bunch of little Cocktrices – Danny, Dougie and Drave.
They came back to the barnyard to collect their wives among the flock.
A farmer came out to stop them. There was soon a giant deadlock.
With one look from the cocktrices, the farmer fell into a stupor quick.
He was paralyzed instantly as they gave him the eye, so thick.
Why did you paralyze him? Their mama asked, flying in to roost.
Weasel came by, and they scattered, afraid of him, if you want to know the truth.
Swaddled in frozen silence
In a weather so dolorous and damp
The pores of her mind sweat painful memories
Which take a headlong flight
Faster than the beams of light
At times shaking their fearful manes
As unbridled steeds, they come
Raising dust behind
Making all sanity blurred.
Often, they rise from their indulgent stupor
And spill over, submerging all extant thoughts
They never care to stand in queue
Jostling each other with no manners
They bump on one another, breaking all decorum
Like an unruly mob on impatient wait
Caught in the vortex of a whirling current
Her poor body begins to lose its equilibrium
And she plunges into the bottomless depth
To be choked there in whirling gloom!
I welcome
the grogginess.
That dulling of my senses.
Until the walls turn to hazy grey.
My hand coming in and out of focus.
Another two fingers of whiskey
swirling in my glass.
“Bottoms up”
making short work of a Fifth.
“99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer!”
No one around to stop the madness.
Booze and beer bottles litter this dingy motel room.
Mr. Peanut, staring at me
from the side of a Planters peanut can.
It’s worth the extra buck fifty for a classy snack.
A bag of pretzels on the dresser as back up.
How many trips to the liquor mart on Fourth?
Shuffling, shuffling, no need to drive.
I chose my motel well,
one block south, lean to the left and voila!
Fifteen minutes later back to the room.
No need to fumble with the lock
it’s easier to leave the door open.
The ”Do not disturb” hanger is still on the door knob.
Three days 5 hours, one less room for the maid to clean.
She probably got to go home a half hour early.
No bargain though, it might take 3 days to catch up.
“Three bottles of beer on the wall, if one of those bottles should happen to fall” Oh crap, I piss myself again.
Too numb, to shuffle to the can. The smell of piss and vomit doesn’t even register. I fall forward like a tree that has been chopped down. There is a cracking sound as my nose breaks but no pain. I’m now in a dreamless land.
Thirteen hours later the Motel Manager is shaking me hard.
“Hey man, wake up. If you don’t get out of here I’m calling the police.” Meanwhile I hear the clink of glass bottles as the maid fills a garbage bag with my empties.
The smell of vomit, piss and blood permeates my broken nose. Thoughts flood my mind, I want that numbness again. I don’t care if it doesn’t solve my problems.
It makes them bearable.
(Dedication: For Michael Zachary, my son)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sense this knowing: can the blind see?
Homer still sings fond tragedy.
Troy was a thought where siege was laid,
A war well fought as heroes paid.
Love and hate doomed to mortal rage,
Ten years once groomed that fatal stage.
Such fine faces like Archilles,
Hector traces with Odysseus.
Proud Agamemnon did hoard the sands,
Trojans beyond the high walls grand.
King Priam spied Greeks' battle scream,
Aegean waves plied the battle scene.
The rise and fall of heroes there,
The bitter gall of curse and swear.
Both sides pitted to furious fights,
Even witted, no end in sight.
Clever tactics at Troy did sway,
Loss most drastic for each did stay.
So many years the battle raged,
Proud lives and tears on either page.
Weary battles and bloody mess,
Souls now brittle with sure duress.
So many dead in bloodied sand,
The feud most great in defiant stand.
Now crafty thought brought idea grand,
Odysseus's plot to win war's end.
A hollow horse as token gift,
A rousing toss for Troy's uplift.
Greek ships slipped round to hide away,
Vanished fleet found with deceit's play.
This cunning ruse worked with sure craft,
Troy seemed amused with hoarding draft.
Dragged the wood crypt within the walls,
Stupor and script tell of Troy's fall.
In dead of night when sleep wrought themes,
Greeks murdered fight in Trojan dreams.
Homer the blind brought us grand sights,
For here we find our saving light.
Now we can see the fight go on,
Harsh as can be here and beyond.
Wars and battles reveal who's slain,
Man's not gentle who lives harsh gain.
We think and speak to weave fashion,
Give in to streaks of ambition.
The hunter hunts the chase until,
The victim grunts to turn and kill.
Troy and her days remind us still,
Live truce that pays in wise goodwill.
What of Helen who is part myth?
Fond beauty turns a timely drift.
A lovely tale of human gore,
To now assail that love lives more.
Thus all the world remembers well:
Dear heroes swirl just where we dwell!
Leon Enriquez
19 November 2014
Singapore
The night's ebon before sunrise,
In stillness, the stars lie awake,
New moon is hidden, black sky sighs,
Who will terminate this dark ache?
Crystal twinkles wink and partake
in Aurora's sparkling surprise,
A cock crows thrice, the Lord will break
the night's ebon before sunrise,
Nothing escapes the Maker's eyes,
He knows night's anguish and will shake
her dull stupor, placate her cries;
In stillness, the stars lie awake,
Time, nocturnal gloom, to forsake,
The heavenly bodies devise
a silent spell until daybreak -
New moon is hidden, black sky sighs,
This nightly daze is a disguise
to hide that cavernous mistake
of heeding her tenebrous lies,
Who will terminate this dark ache?
The sun steps in for sad night's sake,
Glows gold in the glorious skies,
Brightens the day, ends her heartache,
Thus, the dazzling dawn of hope dyes
the night's ebon.
14th March 2023
After the party, I found in a stupor, my old bed
getting tired of lasting confinement, decided to fly out.
On wings of the bed-sheet turning into a soaring swan
it started to flutter away before I could even doubt…
Could a bed really become a flying bird?
I clutched in fear the flapping wings lest I fall.
Through my bemused eyes I looked up to the sky,
saw the stars beckon me as they shined in splendor.
The bed flew to a tropical island beyond the horizon,
where the scarlet sun was stuck mellow in silken sky.
The flying bed got wrapped up in a colorful royal robe,
landed softly in a crimson valley of flushing flowers.
The sunburst horizon of the rising dawn dripped
with the chromatic charisma on the sequined sea.
On the rhapsody of waves the golden garlands glowed,
the beguiled bird in me soared on the wind of ecstasy,
On the blue hills at the edge of sculpted verdant island,
the embrace of the tinged cloud made twilight filigree.
The murmur of the sparkling stream tuned my joy,
flowed with rapture, resonating with enticing melody.
Rain-drenched crystal sky greeted the emerald valley
with the hued touch of the cosmic beauty of rainbow.
The land exhaled the petrichor of the drenched earth,
my senses suffused the mind with the scent of euphoria.
I experienced entranced the lure of pristine nature’s beauty,
wanted to stay on in the tranquil tropical island forever.
Come home with us, the bar fly girls implored.
I do not want to be an imposition, I said.
But I was having a terrific time with them,
So I finally wandered to their apartment in the city.
It was too late to wake my folks, and I did not want to drive.
So it seemed like a great idea at two-twenty-two a.m.
There were other women there; too many to mention.
On couches, the floor, under the furniture.
I know because after finding three deeply snoring female
in the only bedroom with an unlocked door,
I looked under this bed and found two more women.
Flatulence was happening all over this apartment.
A male locker room smelled cleaner than this place.
Desperate, I found a bathtub, but alas, one of the girls
had beat me to it. “Sorry she said.” I think she had found the
last pillow too. In desperation, I fought a stranger over the mildewing
clothes pile in the laundry room. In our stupor, we finally agreed to share.
I took a couple of old towels, and rolled them under my head.
In the morning I knew why she looked familiar.
She was actually my reflection in a mirror.
He sat on an empty room with only his thoughts for company
Array of thoughts all negative hit his brain from all sides
He felt miserable
Thoughts continued to bombard him
He no longer wanted to live
Took a rope tied it to the fan
But fear gripped him
What will happen after death
If life after death was worse than this ...
Let me endure it all saying so he went out for a walk
His eyes fell on a poster which read "don't be a puppet in hands of mind"
It hit him hard as if waking him up from a stupor
He thought how can I allow my mind to take me for a ride.
I will think positive
I have food clothing and shelter
Healthy body and lot more to be happy about
Suddenly he felt the loving caress of cool breeze
Flowers were smiling at him.
He felt the love of God and resolved never to be swayed by what his mind says
He is the boss of his mind and will decide what thoughts it would entertain.
He experienced immense peace and joy
Thanking God he went back home humming a happy song.