Long Submersion Poems
Long Submersion Poems. Below are the most popular long Submersion by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Submersion poems by poem length and keyword.
Submersion Connections
The water heaved and sighed with the gathering force of self while
the tug positioned to push, pull, hold.
The mammoth engineering marvel,
rose like the Phoenix with the grace of Shamu,
antenna first
then bridge
finally the deck
The round port hole unwinds.
On the dock are,
two women and a man
The women she,
confuses, flusters and amazes the man,
In a glorious way!
Completing his being and upsetting his,
reality impressions.
The reality he always thought was true and only,
their emotional, physical, spiritual and,
historical selves are dynamic like the name of the ship USS Dynamic.
A composite of every:
• Girl
• Women
• Mother
• Lover
• Goddess
• Witch
• Vamp
• Teacher
• Whore
From brunette to blond.
From redhead to auburn.
From Cindy O to Patty S.
Christine C to Tanya R.
And back,
from forth
? Plump
? Skinny
The Anima essence reflections intoxicate him
But consistently calm
A feeling tone of
Peace resolved
With facets like diamonds
The mission is to,
reconnect!
Without a connect all,
Energy is gone
Relationships gone,
Fellowship gone,
The pain of hunger gone,
Anticipation of love gone,
The release of laughter gone,
Mortal reassurance of pain gone,
Knowledge of being gone.
The water is deep and dangerous,
just below,
our fears swim with our own self hatred.
But the wires are severed and that’s where they lie as,
deep in our subconscious,
a dangerous place for anyone to try.
You enter the vessel,
Cleansed and baptized from,
eons of anticipation and preparation and,
the sub supplies safety and comfort,
for the process of healing
Connections are made:
o Soldered
o Tested
o Insulated
The three souls are merged, mixed, consolidated and rectified,
beyond recognition and memory.
One Archetype where,
the power flows,
the meter spins where,
balanced achieved and,
calmness reigns,
once again.
At last!
While rambling like a vagabond in a seraphic poetic submersion, in a remote region, witnessed the most captivated sight ever,
a sleeping valley rippled in wild blooms, as sparkling in mystical celestial beam, in the mesas of the clouds, the Dzukou Valley,
a remote dale at the border of Nagaland and Manipur,
in the untrodden tableland of India's Northeast!
The picturesque landscape was ringing with the
once in a lifetime scene of emerald shades of hillocks
paving the way for azure mountaintops,
luminous flowers waving in the winds amongst the tall grasses!
The vale was tweeting and twirling amidst the virgin vegetations enriched with the spectacular sights of verdant forests,
exquisite flora and fauna,
serpentine streams, myriads of panoramic pink
and white wild blooms that dot
the vast caldera of the valley and its' verdant meadows,
alongside the meandering rivers of Dzukou and Japfu,
appeared as the absolute paragon of serenity and tranquility!
Surrounded by the whispering platonic hills,
with numerous colorful flying creatures,
the valley seemed as smuggled over
the dewdrops' fragrant feral fruits,
Oak and Rhododendron forests are a feast to the eyes!
Half way up and any signs of tracks disappear,
and one is just left with wheezing enigmatic bamboo thickets!
Botanists' delight, trackers' paradise, seraph's psyche,
rovers' riddle, is reclining placidly ,
the untrodden earth's lulling lullaby,
in the abode of the divine Lily's
anomalous nature's absolute pamphlet,
a rich biodiversity hotspots
of endemic species, the Dzoku Valley;
an uninhabited unsullied phosphorus valley
Note:
The Dzüko Valley is located at the borders of the states of Nagaland and Manipur in Northeast India. The valley is known for its extremely rich biodiversity, seasonal flowers and flora & fauna. It is situated at an altitude of 2452 m above sea level.
© Silpika Kalita
Danielle my love, my sweet
What’s happening to me?
This slow knife your pushing into my chest
Wearing your shades in the pool
Hair down, post-full submersion
You make me wanna cry and scream…
You are 22 and I am 28
You speak with a Long Island accent
And I speak snarkily, blandly, minimally
You don’t even know I write these poems
Or how I feel about you
And I know nothing at all now
The torment erases everything…
You are my soul’s howling storm
Your simple, bulky walk
Like a slightly boastful child
And the easy laughing manner
An early spring eternal
Let me jump into your garden!
And your 8 million soft and subtle expressions of joy
Are enough to map over my entire desirous being from my
3rd grade first crush to my future’s final kiss,
That ghostly woman-to-be, in the soft sweet grays beyond,
Far forward, within the hour of my death…
All this, my Wonder, my New Purpose,
In attempt to write you out of my mind
And move on, though I fear I’m merely watering love plants
And watering on, I set out to jog
I will pound along the pavement,
My fists glistening in the dying sun
My mind reaching for yours
Rushing! Rushing for your spirit
Somewhere the sprawling summer city.
Here comes the fool: running, rushing in.
They say love conquers all, I can attest that is not true
For my heart lies broken, terribly battered and blue
I loved him with all my heart but it wasn't enough
Letting go of my hopes and dreams is extremely tough
I realize now he did not love me in quite the same way
Without trust and understanding, it was destined to fray
I fought to keep our love afloat, while his intent was to drown
Creating waves and whirlpools, he turned my smile into a frown
I refused to go under, live in dark murky waters of despair
To drag my positive outlook into negativity is utterly unfair
I need the happiness of sunshine to warm my heart and soul
Not the cold turbulent waters that never relinquish control
I want to sail on top of the water, untroubled and secure
With a gentle breeze on my back with no attacks to endure
Luckily I had the strength, submersion would have been my end
An eternity of torment and distress I would of had to spend
I will sail into the sunset and let my tender heart begin to heal
Taking only the good memories, the most healthiest ideal
I'll always have a piece of his heart, and he a piece of mine
I wish him health and happiness, but I know I'll be just fine.
Cecilia Macfarlane
4/17/2015
Quadrilateral parallelograms of a Universe that never breathes
we are brainwashed by a scientific box that never sleeps.
Having been cloned with insipid performance and abhorrence
we have become A I s targets of the future, we are brainwashed.
Frantic antic Dopamine released to the mind,
putting us into a bullet sleep, they are robbing us blind.
Like sheep with autoimmune disease, we're chained to reaction
from a mechanical machine that is beginning to think for itself.
The body follows the tilt of the head and the soul wilts,
as we give away our ability to make decisions for ourselves.
Living in a docile state of euphemisms we are stilted, living and
giving A I s permission to mother and father us, without consent.
Reprogrammed slowly we become the robots of the next Century
5D tempered glass, submersion diversion, humanistic and playful
insisting on a monotone experience, lost, lost, lost * (in space)
Ghosting our families, friends and lovers we are having an affair
with technology, a long lasting affair that is costing us ourselves.
Like Phil Collins once stated in a song, " Think Twice"
before you give away your cheese, to the "Ambidextrous Mice. "
We shared glittered eyes in flowering leaves, sauntering about the country side like vagrants without pretenses, sharing a bottle of wine that slowly ran dry, our spirits became fountains pouring into an idle time, and when lunch time arrived I nursed your shoulders like an exquisite tapestry.
We soaked in leisurely talks from insensible dreams to confessions of fear, we casted spells into the sky and built a bonfire bound by morning papers, burning our poetry in the laces of a hot afternoon.
We committed the atrocity of enjoying a whimsical stream, our pockets flooded from our clothed submersion, then we continued on in no particular direction.
At dusk, distant demons began howling as we rested in a wheat field. Suddenly you felt a spider crawl across your cheek, and I sacrificed its body to your comfort. You smiled as I tried secretly setting it free by a nearby tree, pretending to be none the wiser.
As the stars came out quivering and bleeding on us, we were exhausted and beautiful, rubbing our toes in midnight dew. The tameness of our sleep delighted us in the morning, we brushed ourselves off and sauntered off, heading in home's direction.
It's too early for the dawn to know my name,
to pull my pillow off my eyes and contemplate my still sleep.
The dawn is off pulling carts in other nations,
dragging mud on wheels and letting an orange glow
glaze already hard at work hands
She is too busy with the backs of whales,
slicking their skin to shine at the surface
in the middle of a morning water spout
She too has to tend to sleepy flowers,
strengthened of stem from a good night's sleep,
ready to shed their diamond dew dust
and breathe into sunlight again.
So, who am I that the dawn should know?
Unless she realizes my need to see you~
catching your peace with the light in my hand
to wishes yet dreamed, unfulfilled
Perhaps she knows that the start of the day
is the first cast into a still pond,
the first bite of communication between the bustle,
with what's underneath in currents, always moving,
always on the verge of submersion,
just waiting to be caught.
Perhaps if I move the hair from your eyes,
kiss the tip of your perfect kissing nose,
the dawn will know us both,
and break the waning night to an orange
we can taste, and breathe and walk into
awake.
Has God accepted
your burning
white flesh
yet?
As the blood seeps into the ground
nourishing the land
that was advanced by civilization.
The raped White carcasses
of White farmers
residents
and their ancestors
made them equal:
To the Black death of the dark continent.
Civilizations' fall
despite the gospel given --
that said love your enemy.
The pagan and tribal era has returned
--to dance upon the White carcass--
of autonomy.
If the savage had not been baptized
in Christ's name;
if he had not been clothed in civilization.
If tribe and chief had not been
absolved for sovereign man
--White man--
would not be supreme.
On the reservation is the tradition
of the primitive; still living their ghost.
Farther South they gather in the jungle...
Are they clothed? Have they heard you Lord?
Among the farthest East --they heard you-- and made you one of them.
Running wild in the streets untamed, the heathen rapes and robs in the name of social justice.
Saying your clothes do not fit and your baptism was not full submersion.
© S. Wesley Mcgranor
I murmur like a rivulet through the
hitch of your hands, where the canyons
carve their parched longing into your fingers—
where silences sublimate like cera,
pooling beneath your glissando touch.
Your tremolo breath convulses rough and low
like sibilant submersion in water—
spilling, sinking, staining everything it meets.
I watch the estuary of your gaze split my horizon—
watch you hush abysmal eyes into
celestially arched surrender.
There is no stillness between starlight,
only the pull of mighty magnitudes,
fuses lit beneath the ribs,
pulses and throbs teaching the air
how to cleave—how to…
sforzando!
Love, here, is neither reserved nor reticent—
it is lightning bottled in glass—
hellfire burning beneath the tide—
language that deconstructs
even as it is uttered.
I step forward—some faltering cadence,
some submitting ascension—placing my hands into your fire,
not to be consumed, but to remember
how stars revel and rain.
The excursion to inner self inspires the
ire of many,
for it exposes them to themselves as mirrors
reflect
My well of emotions are still waters, & a ton of
respect is to be paid to introspection
for that's as deep as it gets
Submersion will test & cause panic as you
struggle with breathing,
but getting acquainted with inner self is a
wonderful feeling
These feelings deeper than oceans inspire
many floods of emotions,
so disruptive they sparked a change to my
external notions
The flame on the surface was out of control
driving the ego to ground
where it was burned up at the core, remains
never were found
Losing yourself within the self is the way
to be found,
as all that's left is your reflection staring
not making a sound
We're bound to the all, there's no escaping
the curve & the ties,
even if granted a Genies wishes &
infinite trys
Life is a role the soul plays on a loop for
reprise,
as everything is a circle of 360 bent on
illusions demise