Long Sundered Poems
Long Sundered Poems. Below are the most popular long Sundered by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sundered poems by poem length and keyword.
Our love—a tattered tapestry in twilight torn,
Blood-stained vows, I ne’er should have sworn.
Yet still, I grasp the ghost of hope long dead,
Whilst my heart lies trapped in love’s unraveling thread.
Our past—a patchwork of promises loosely sewn,
A mosaic of miseries, lies I shouldst have known.
Colors once radiant now washed and bled,
As sorrow’s heavy tears soak each tender thread.
Our vows—etched upon withered parchment thin,
Sealed my fate with sorrow’s sanguine pen.
With futile needle I sought to mend,
The pale, torn veil of love’s forsaken end.
Our souls—once spun upon seraphim loom,
Star-crossed lovers ‘neath empyrean moon.
As fate’s spindle spins tenebrous threads taut and thin,
O’ how I yearn to weave us whole again.
But thou—unwind the tethered twine,
That once bound thy haunted heart to mine.
Where art thou now my false Valentine?
Lost in the warp where truth and treachery entwine.
And though thou hast sundered our seams apart,
Thy name shall ever remain stitched in mine heart.
—Edward
This chair has chipped paint.
Its shadow gangly
in the light spilling through
the window. A deep
buttercup bisque steeps.
Through this stream, ember
motility of curdled
cream seeps into pores.
The seat embraces. Blood
colors sugar soft.
Fragments of dust waver
around the chair. Like
the suspended stars, or
the pixel points on
an LCD screen. Crumbs.
Feathers stick to the cheeks,
to be brushed off,
puff into the heavens.
Egg -white tinctured coat
wilts within the humid
air. Like the jaundiced
skin you wished to shed
when you first sundered
the sheets this morning.
This chair rocked my great
grandmother and her
children, and mother. Creaks
like an anchored boat.
Exposed grey brown wood
perishes, stabs the skin.
Like the chilled sea tinted
eyes: an ingress tears
the hushed air- a summons:
her son. Long ago
an apollyon. Starless.
The chair will be kindle
in September, sand-
peach colors imbued,
flushed like the candied
burn of Fall. Her flames.
Relive the fire
in the sky; salt waters
plum green, oily.
tauten red orange arms.
War in the distance-
better. The rose portrait,
diabolus shades stain
a cimmeran- tinted
loss, wound. Chalk inhaled.
And the blaze of two black
holes colliding. Wraiths.
The winter of her life,
within which a lurid
spirit-thin webbed cross
bleeds ash. Freezes; clots.
Line of inquiry:
“a heartbeat pulsating as living light
free from each and every limitation
I Am that dwelling in unbound delight
the source wherefrom arises creation”
Before the first discrimination sundered dark
from radiance, I was the fathomless antecedent
within which difference germinated—wherein
unbegotten Being first suffered form, and form
awoke, astonished, to its own transience.
I was anterior to utterance, yet not silence—
for silence is already the vestige of a voice;
anterior to pulse, yet not stillness, for stillness
presupposes motion—and time itself, that great
hallucination of succession, unfurls beneath
my indivisible infinitude.
No star contains me; each is a hieroglyph
of Being momentarily incandescent; no sea
encompasses me; its abyssal blue is merely
the mnemonic shadow of an unplumbed profundity
through which manifestation issues, as though
the visible were Being's self-disclosure.
Creation stands not exterior to me—
it is the eidolon of my withdrawal, the luminous
residue of an effacement through which the nameless
becomes innumerable. Then comes the sovereign fiction
called myself, armoured in memory, and says: I am.
But who has spoken?
When the asker itself is annulled within the question,
and question, answer, speaker relinquish separateness,
nothing remains for consciousness to apprehend—
only that primordial knowing before knowing, too,
acquired a name, and called itself I.
Some sense it
a tipping point being tilted.
You step back
into your mind's eye,
survey the present climate
sensing a dire change,
a new darker wind
stirs your thoughts.
Something went wrong,
something got too damaged.
In the stateless moment
where we were once unified
by the same dream
there is now a lack,
a narrowing of opportunities
for peace and harmony.
What you once loved and honored
is being dismantled,
its parts being carried away
by political gremlins.
The Great Divide is here
it rumbles under our feet
it pollutes the very air we share.
You want to run to the nearest hilltop
and shout:
"broken arrow, broken arrow!"
Alas ears are now blocked
and hearts sundered.
The rocking scale is off kilter
and a torn veil has fallen
from our eyes.
I'M a DEFENDER in the NAME of LOVE
Forlorn flavored winds speech of my love strokes
the welcoming distance of eastern dawn
where the somber colored night has withdrawn
and pearls of hope; glitter clear like yolks,
my fevered heart is bursting as I spoke
seeing immaculate hues I foregone--
unto blossoms swelling red I hold on,
while I await to resign slow my yoke.
Why are we torn when just lips start to kiss
and two sundered paths light one perfect bond?
In changeless clamor, will we surrender?
The purpose singing hard to gain, --- and missed.
To troubled waves, no desolate respond,
I'll be forever here, your defender.
________________________________________________
*** abba abba cde cde rhymes
6:10 pm, October 27, 2015
III.
Another hard reality
that we should teach our boys,
unconditional love is not
something the world employs,
Unless it is your own parents
you never well get it,
the world will not offer you this,
it does not care a bit.
You will not find it is your friends,
they will live their own lives,
and honestly, as an adult,
they’ll have such little time.
You’ll never find it in your work,
they’ll fire you quickly
if they think it benefits them,
business is for money.
And sadly, even your own wife,
for all she may give you,
must put conditions of her love,
I’m sorry, but it’s true.
Be unemployed for months on end,
see how her mood does change,
if love was unconditional
then it would stay the same.
But most men in that position
are left by those they love,
most women need the provision,
they’re craving that income.
Again, it’s evolution's fault,
the design of their mind,
if they’re pregnant, or raising kids,
they have little free time.
They weren’t hunting, or fighting foes,
are not designed for that,
survival depended on what
their men killed and brought back.
Not all the wokeness in the world
can alter DNA,
despite romantic fantasies
we’re still programmed this way.
And the tragic thing about it,
when speaking of most males,
when they find truly special ones,
and all their reason fails,
they do love unconditional,
they do lose all good sense,
and fantasize their partner must
love the same way as men.
How many fortunes were sundered
by men stuck in this trap,
falling completely for a girl
Who couldn’t love that way back?
Think of the slurs for jobless men,
said by society,
realize pure love cannot exist,
chose intelligently.
oh chant to me those ancient runes
brimmed lands lost, long, to ices
soft, sorrowed songs of gilded tombs
their freeze and ventured vices
those sainted souls that gods left doomed
drowned deep midst their devices
and I'll recall with tenderness
the sapphire skies of home ...
oh whisper me of petals, crushed
with Spring's too eager melting
the careful creep of hoarfrost, hushed
by wise blooms' wint'ry welting
and bounties of a bosom, blushed
with May's weep, sprightly pelting
and I'll recall with tenderness
the greening grass of home …
oh breathe a song upon the breeze
of adventures, plucked and dreamed
brave sailors sundered to the seas
or grand galleons, gold and gleamed
the tallest tales one fool could tease
from a moon, festooned and beamed
and I'll recall with tenderness
the golden shores of home
oh hearken, should the wind resound
with sweet songs none have heard
that tell of hearts and fates, so found
through the darkness, undeterred
sad music of those glory-bound
that we've grieved without a word
and I'll recall with tenderness
the beautied cheek of home ...
the sapphire, greening
golden, preening
beautied cheek …
of home.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, September 23, 2022
Alternately titled: Get out of my head mister chatterbox!
While inside me noggin legions
of monstrous demons abhor
protest being force fed
arcane and obscure
assaying into religious dogma
hence mind chatter goes full bore
thus crafting poem quite a difficult chore,
one lightweight bag of bones
basketcase weave gotta deplore,
nevertheless mine tincup rattled
courtesy garden variety eyesore
athwart slip stream
of space/time continuum
twenty two minus
seven years and fourscore
orbitz around black hole sun
scattering cremains galore
camouflage ashes colored like hoar.
Upon prima facie first blush
me mind's eye all atwitter,
sans long forgotten
"FAKE" sexual exploits
set mum (chrysos anthem) all aglitter,
boot like short order cook I hapt tubby
quickly realized trumpeting collusion,
a near fatal collision course
with Matthew Scott's antimatter
caw zing friggin insomnia
finding ma noggin scrambled
likesome lithesome cockamamie critter
whipped into frenzy
like battered butter
holy grits, alm manned in fight of ma life
cause I haint acquitter
baa (jaw edge), ah woe cup feeling
hedged hog extremely bushed 'n bitter,
this raging red bull inside me mind,
now body wheeling wickety wack,
lichen to moss elf gut seasonal litter
bitta asthma - insides
got balled into wah racket
like quietly rioting unfetter
herd plain tennis (see) hens,
gone south tub bespatter
ear rilly jawboning jabberwocky
reducing gray matter,
and all flesh sundered
into meaty platter
to pulverized, irradiated,
cremated... faux fluffernutter batter
analogous tummy Aunt
Jemima's famous flapjacks,
she fantastically fashioned better
than Betty Crocker
tossing spatulated glommed
gook suitable as bonesetter
high as the Taj Mahal,
while she merrily jabbered,
her native patois singsong blatter
all this inaudible clatter
muffled 10,000 maniacs mad as a hatter
madly clangorous dinner cowbells
aroused bacchanalian sybaritic skitter
ring jitterbugging fantasies
of barenaked ladies doth splutter
as bedraggled, frazzled, grizzled...poetry
like cocky rooster that did stutter!
To the Circuit of Energy permeating the garden, sustaining the canopy permeate
Washing through with waterfalls, cascading rivers, and upwelling springs the fermement
Was magically darkened when Eve took her classes at Satan’s grove
Where one tree (or gate or pedestal) stood, and the devil appeared like hand in glove
To capture her attention, draw her away from her programmed obligations
Little did she know that the devils deal would lead to abnegation
Of her rightful role as a helpmate, swquaw and poets wife
To rule as co-creators, in innocence, with her husband – Adam – and without strife
Although the invitation to new knowledge might have raised her curiosity peaked
‘Perhaps’, she thought, ‘only to have this new experience’ would raise her from meek
Humility. And give her new insight into helping her man: new insight new skills
How was she to know that the tree of good and evil would not fulfill
Any decent role in sustaining the garden, or giving of strength
Had she known that she would be banned from paradise, and removed a full length
From the easeof leisure, the peac of pleasure, which passes all understanding
What a tragedy then, when she engaged the devil without comprehending
The consequence of taking that fatal action, to partake
In the fruit and lust of the wicked tree: when after she began to fake
The full collapse of her station to assist the 1st Man, her original matrimony
She had, perhaps unwittingly disrupted her union with man, and sundered its harmony
With the role of Adam as a spokesman and poet was now broken
The life from before, when he merelyspoke and observed had become a token
Memory. Speech itself a vestige of what life had been when it was perfect
For Eve had introduced vast new knowledge through her dalliance when the devil depicted
A fuller knowledge of all the trees of the garden once fecund
Now all that once gave life in full, a mere second
To Eves infinite question; to probe the everlasting and to question
From what source, and what deep came the gall of God’s order not to mention
The mercurial things that she had seen in Eden, the sweet lull and whisper
And perhaps her fall, the devils gambit settled the mist-in-her
Crying
Fix the damn house
She done
Paid to me
Ain’t gonna happen
When rent come?
Please don’t drag the pope across the
Carpet irish boy
Nana
He lying
Born military
Gonna die military?
Email a senator
Rejected by electricity
Suffer disgust
While Americans die
In poverty
Free speech from there
Doesn’t eclipse
Guarantee of unapproachable
Red tape
She’s sold
In the molded
Masochists lens
Her told
Isn’t the curious benign
On the frame
Her busty leers
Can she blame
Back inside her encyclopedia of
Money
The costly renting
Community
Centers far out
Over abandon
She’s reliant
Got abbreviate
No fun in the front
Haunts of runt onions
Inside of heartless women
These is a newsless people
Know vermin
How about out loud
The bystanders
Leaving her in predicament
Bonds
Plagered still fun
Nothing but notice paper
Sequestered another time mommy
Machine
Holstering significant beauty
Bandidas
Local feline populations
Is constantly strangled
In upholstery lining
All remaining astrological
Assemblies of alter girls
Tend to skip and bounce
Neander region
One and all
On board salute
Farewell Misspelling is horrid
Out of hindsight
The meaningless
Plummet
Un find the meaning
We’ll not
Lose another
I have
Sundered the cause
Lept the harps
Disgraced against
The masters
Creating
Abominations stains
Here
I
Leave you
To unlearn
What?
This is you best