Long Submerges Poems
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In waiting for you, my love, the seasons have snowed in black and white,
The landscape of our time together has been painted in trenches of lingering silences,
And every moment without your voice, an eternity crystallized in waxen clocks,
The autumns have passed with winds that leafed through memories like pages rare.
Since I've been waiting for you, my love, so many years have slipped by...
The long road of your absence has been sprinkled with shooting stars,
The weeping celestials, in the night of my soul, are the lighthouses of an abandoned edifice,
The city of my heart is in mourning, and its streets bare and numbed.
And the mournful sunsets of violet purples,
Are faded lipstick marks on the rim of a forgotten glass,
Yesteryear's dreams have become cobwebbed in untamed thoughts,
Where are you, love lost in the fields of lavender of unshared evenings?
I waited for you at the crossroads of roads, a spider's web stretched between yesterday and today,
Where vows of love were carved in wind and promises of smoke,
Like shadows that dimmed beneath the flicker of candles nibbled by oblivion,
The springs have faded, the celebrated red chestnuts have rusted, in a leaden festivity.
Yet no one passed by there, no echo, just absence as a heavy cloak,
The gate to you seems locked with a thousand padlocks of steadfast memories,
By the sea I dream of you, a foam statue waiting in silence,
Only the waves, prompt in mysteries, confide to me the secret of the parted.
The ocean of my soul waves its unseen wings,
In the close murmurs of hidden shells on endless shores,
I wonder what solemn horizons, what illuminated passages have you walked since you left?
The waves respond with froth of cold regrets and with untouched, uncreated prints.
And this evening, again, the violins cry beneath my window,
Soothing their longing in faint voices piercing the amber sky's infinity,
It's the autumn of a soul that submerges under time, under yearning, under an unconsoling sky,
In a lamentable dance to the notes of romance, which fall away like leaves in the wind, wandering without end.
I cry sometimes. Enhancing this deluge of delirium. With a drop which
flows from my face to the flood of Earth’s clay as I inhale this bitter breeze of our garden’s grief! Seeing your withered wood…
I breathe deep… Inhale… Exhale…And hope that these frivolous feelings will bottle up after this bottle is downed!
Words now trapped…it’s a joke…but this is no banter of your basil bush!
This is a garden now growing with grief, which subdues layers of our sacred memories, suppressing sadness and carries on until my rancid lungs collapse… But… I don’t die. I just-carry on. Watching your roots rot…
As this decomposing disease devours your soul!
My soul slowly sinks into the mud. Yearning to find you six-feet-under. Beneath the sublime beauty of our orchids. To the place where
Hades resides... I miss the touch of your hands. The lingering sensation of your waning wood intertwined with my vines.
My fingertips now feel the burn of Hell! I learnt that this burn won’t melt, it just burns, until your whole bodies submerges and turns what they’ll learn and all their concerns into nothing! Because I guess everyone dies… Even if they don't deserve it...well I may have deserved it because I'm depicted as the ideal image of man yet they watch as my green leaves burn brown and… and this ivy poisons my rich roots. But this isn't a cry for help, it’s a letter, poem, or whatever you want to call this…This is my message to you!
Yes, angels are heavenly but even if they’re with me…they can't get inside
my mind and help me flourish in this Hell on Earth. The one you left me in!
So I thank them…but I’ve handled enough forced sympathy. I'd rather be
with some boys and booze and listen to a simple symphony.
There I can cry… myself …and become one with the flood from this deluge of delirium!
Hither flows an isolated yet drowning droplet,
With a glistening shield concealing its gloomy core.
Straying across its share of triumphs and misery,
Within its own little sea world,
hoping to not be bruised when the ghastly wind whirls.
Hustles through downfalls and unfair twirls,
occasionally adoring the ensuing treasury.
At daylight,
drifts like a social bee,
blissfully mingling amongst the distinct gallons ashore.
At nightfall,
stares into space stress-free,
daydreaming of leaping like an unrealistic starlet.
Deserted whilst hit the storm tides,
the lion's share aid all and sundry to the shallow.
This jinxed fate persists to sink in,
secluded and appalled,
like bearing incessant strikes from an arrow
after every lunge that went uncalled,
to endure within.
Perceives an unanticipated beam of hope,
escorting an ultimate plunge,
fiercely rising outward,
valorously withstood being scoured.
then followed a euphoric sense of pride,
paralleled to no other victory,
surmounted off the cage being more potent, until,
every action triggered a flash of thy grisly moments.
hence, against its will,
exists a sorrow that can nevermore be expunged.
Yet, there inevitably lives a way to cope,
that a belief or a miracle, remains a mystery!
It's unusual, a bubble unique to its own kind,
like a dry seedling crowded by evergreen trees that ace.
With a variety comes a rare spotlight,
But this aqua-life has sole hate to surround,
and the flaw is all that's defined!
It submerges to the deepest ground,
with utmost grace
adamant to attain unprecedented heights,
dives the longest stretch within reach.
To stream far off,
regardless of its perseverance being wrongfully impeached.
Chasing an aim to end up at a paradise,
where it's no more seen as a dwarf,
no more being scoffed,
can pursue the desire to glide on the surface following no fright,
and not suffocate underground,
without having to pay a price!
This long time doodling Yankee
(who calls Southeastern Montgomery, Pennsylvania LV
plus III four seasons visited
upon swath of topography to see
and hear flora and fauna over run
via industrialization he doth experience pity
sympathy, humanity deafening cacophony undermining
once abundant bounty, which mutiny
upon bounty outwits mother nature in this REAL LIFE “GAME” of jeopardy
where survival of the fattest dominates avast geography
thence a tempest in a global teapot doth brew
which phenomena Gaia foments, inducing meteorologists due
tee fully issuing catastrophic fallout asper category 5 carved foo
tang clan along Gulf Coast
reserving special vengeance (alas domino effect)
for oil derricks hue mans insatiably drill into
ever more difficult to access reservoirs sans fossil fuels, but Jew
blintz echoes across watery expanse when excavator loo
king for liquid gold hit a mother lode (or off shoot) exciting new
man hick pumps furiously fracking gnome hatter
watching grim faced absent magic spells such as phew
fi foe...aghast at the rapacious, pernicious, malicious....rue
th less ness heaped upon Planet Earth,
where tipping point
re: specifically *****Sapiens over population will true
lee interrogate meteorological altercations, conflagrations, and
exterminations of multitudinous botanical & animal genus or species
as wrath of monster storms akin to a oceanic brigand
wreaking loss of life and limb, additionally bringing destruction
as megadeath metal lick ha - monstrous maelstrom
mercilessly muscles itself when making land
fall, where record rainfall submerges once smug Texans man
dated to evacuate far from the pan
demon harum-scarum as retribution for incessant lambasting wan
ton ness exploiting terrestrial resources selfishly will eventually ban
hush the dominant primate requisitioned to become extinct – anon.
Posthumous
I’ve seen death passing by,
looking through her glassy eyes,
silenced by her inward shrieks and dumb.
Escaping presence,
all the while stepping closer to clinch on.
Where the precipice submerges
failing you in flight.
Shot with the last shot,
there was to be downed.
In the spring of hope fading glitter,
falling above wild realities.
Where birth meets its end,
left is back, and you taken aback.
Without actual looking back,
where sneering behind you, is a fortune.
And there’s no place,
or time, to consume you .
Cracks are spreading their legs,
in the narrow passages of mind allegories,
and defeat comes and goes,
to remind you, not to forget,
and comes back soon.
You would go and shelter take,
or steal else’s daydream,
decomposing in its poorly lit corners.
And deceit, in surprise wondering...
over its confusion, caprice to be loved.
And your miserable package,
carried everywhere, with no care
rising to fade away and again.
Roads taken along the way, of ills that infect.
Scenes of a crossroads on a verge
of defining their own ways, and doubt them after.
Darted into obscurity of news
to be printed in focus, so to miss the point
of your visions swollen veins.
As never giving up cliché,
birthday, or whatever you say,
a pointless celebration, of yet another day.
And as much as silenced,
and as much as deliberately invoking,
what there was,
I do keep in mind,
that it was chillingly cold,
and that patterns outside,
where looking shocked
and laughed.
And that it was your play,
of a different screenplay reading,
guns you shot so well.
I’ve seen death
was looking into her
glassy eyes.
Silenced in that friezing, chilly night
of your declaration of love without love.
Filled up and stinky with,
or without one to become,
scrupulously posthumous.
Those enigmatic clouds of Charles Baudelaire were floating in the sky
An unhappy man, he, was standing under the sky,
He did not see the clouds, he did not know the color of the sky
Nothing charmed him, not at all ...
Life is useless, failed
He's out ...
He needs some sleeping pills
That's the quick remedy for fatigue, Isn’t it?
Those enigmatic clouds of Charles Baudelaire were floating in the sky
An unhappy man, he, was standing under the sky,
He did not see the clouds, he did not know the color of the sky
Nothing motivated him ... he had a terrible headache
He needed immediate sleep
Sleep...an impeccable silence
Of a dreamless, dark death.
Poet: Why now? Why is it time today,
when everything is over?
My life is nothing but burned out ashes only,
why now is the time for you to talk about this?
Poetry: But, It is you who made me!
I am nothing but a mixture
Of watercolors of your imagination!
Poet: You are the crop of my misconceptions,
The agonizing cry of not merging my desire!
Will you release me? I want to forget everything,
Please do not call me anymore!
Poetry: If you turn away,
my death will be inevitable.
So, what do you want?
Poet: I don't know.
I just feel that I am decaying endlessly, continuously!
He who is burdened with the burden of decaying life,
How will he create?
Poetry: But you are the one who loves, poet!
Forget all fears of hardships, and sorrows.
You do love poetry!
You create your poetry beyond all the pains of a crazy life!
Is it not so?
Poet: I don't know that!
I'm terribly tired and exhausted.
I want to sleep now!
The world submerges into darkness.
Only hope survives, the hope of a new dawn,
In the life of a poet and a poem.
Her hands were happy,
she fluttered them against
a cliché sense of blue in the air
and laughed when the allure of
the flowers further on trilled against
her skin. She submerges herself in light,
filtering through veined jade appendages.
-deeper-
Life is what she lusts for,
twirling in circles with the moon
to see if she can become a world of her own.
She picks roses and strips the petals
to smell the thorns –and shakes her head
because none of her pain is original.
Even so, she breaks into a run, bitter
at the dust beneath her and
every single one of the
footprint after footprint scars.
She might as well not even try the other road,
they tell her.
-the light bends around her, she rubs her eyes
to rid them of the green edge-
She realizes too late, the thorns are disappeared.
The path stretches on without end –it draws her into
a malachite mist.
She inhales slowly and
gags against the moisture that now
condenses on the walls of her lungs.
Clawing at her tongue, she stains her fingers
with mucous.
-The sky bleeds poisonous green arcs-
-what happened to the blue-
The heels of her palm against her eyes
-a vain attempt to salvage color-
she screams as she turns –
inside out, emerald. She feels them
sour, glassing over premature
and dripping venom. Liquid
strains her veins against her clouding skin.
She vomits bark,
desecrating the space between her toes –
putrid, willowy leaves sprout from her hair.
She looks up as if from beneath miles of
sea water, her undulating legs firmly rooted.
-I don’t want it-
she says faintly.
and the forest groans against her weight,
settling slowly like ash on the residue of thorn-ridden existence.
-The pulse glows green-
Brainstorm cometh, damning frontal hemisphere
jamming lookout, noggin perched, roiling thinking
uber wayfaring zealot, drills legendary phalanx.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Writer's block afflicts Das scribe,
who whiz now stricken supine
adept dull livery sub par excellence
his gold standard worse
thus, another day
to slog thru arduous process
crafting admirable verse
wrestling behemoth loosed sniper
dodging enfilade broadcast sos terse.
N'er easy chore to fashion
acceptable word worth poem to whit
staring at flickering
accursed cursor doth blank stare visit
flash flooding warning saturated
gray matter fist sized unit
groundswell burgeoning leveed banks
barging signals transmit
urgent army corps of engineers
to reroute via sluice, sans surfeit
apprentice longshoreman
doth double duty
as grammarian sought to retrofit
arduous struggle ensues, where drowning
affects consummation
strong temptation quit
ditch ching progress made,
thus far in hot pursuit
mind comfortably numb
stream of consciousness
submerges concentration
entrenched deep posit
craftiness sentenced to punctuate
disequilibrium doth outwit
venerably beaded trademark
Scottish matted flair
abandoned unfinished poem
left forever stranded orbit
zero escape velocity
zinging, unsprung,
pinging mindscape nonprofit
able endeavor reflecting zeitgeist
bombarding Messerschmitt
undermining, strafing, disabling
cutting crew rescue outer limit
faint feint blinking in the twilight zone.
It's like I'm jade in the mist of
diamonds. Where's my hero
who will discover me despite
the temptation of those
diamonds? I see someone.
Wait...he's picked up a diamond
and walked away. Will no one
ever discover my worth? Look
past my shining shades of
green. Turn away from the
glisten of those diamonds. I am
the one in a million. And then I
spot someone. Who is that? He
looks confused, but he's
walking torwards me. Is this
really happening? He's passing
all the diamonds! I see that he
has spotted me. And then I'm
afraid. He will pick me up and
see that I'm different. He won't
understand my beauty and
what elements make up my
existence. He will see that I'm
as beautiful as those diamonds,
but far too complicated to
figure out. Will he see that my
light can shine through to his
soul? Will he see that I'm real?
He has to see there is so much
more to me than beauty. I'm so
much deeper. Maybe that's why
my jade is far too complicated
to penetrate. He approaches
and examines me. There is a
look on his face as if something
surprised him. He has realized
something in me. He has
learned all there is to know abt
me and my jade is beautiful to
him. He submerges into each
layer and explores what is
there. He accepts and loves the
very raw me. Before I was
dusted off and shined to a
superficial brightness. My jade
is different. It is beautiful and it
is deep. not shallow and
predictable like a diamond. You
have to search far and wide to
find my kind. And if you do
come upon one of my kind, it
was not a coincidence.
I close my eyes
locked in a millisecond
the moment before the bow
touches the strings
where silence has a tremor
and wraps me in darkness
until I hear its particles
vibrating against me
the bow wrenches
from the depth of the bass
a groan from the earth
as if waking a millennia of slumber
the first note
long, rich and haunting
now coming to life
now ready to speak
legs crossed and hands limp
pay attention
to the sources of discomfort
tension in the neck, anxiety in the chest
fatigue in the limbs
heaviness in the core
let this weight sink
pull down through me
melt through me
let it drag and seep
through my bones
until it submerges
into the ground below
transform to roots
connect me
grow deep into the soil
until the energy is revitalized
until I am reminded
we grow from this intricate system
no different from the forest and gardens
spreading, connecting, entwining
the earth is booming
the bass its voice
chanting, singing, commanding
a mantra in a language I don't understand
but with a pulse
I can feel
and it is telling me
I have all I need
visualize one by one
sources of emotional exhaustion
with each dredge up the full power
of all feelings
feelings long suppressed, feelings of fear
allow body and mind to swim
one last time
before I breathe in and blow them away
my body is lighter, sitting straighter
a tall blade of grass
swaying as one
looking across the field
up to the cliff's edge
and over the sunlit ocean
taste sweet scent
of wind
stretch to feel
soft earth
open eyes
to unending sky
focus
on what it means to be alive.