Long Surveys Poems
Long Surveys Poems. Below are the most popular long Surveys by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Surveys poems by poem length and keyword.
And who would find fault
with the perfect way
she clearly hid herself
in plain panavision view...
Not a hair out of place.
The small shield held up
at just the right angle,
to give her elbow room-
just enough freedom
in a safe space bubble
of her own making...
Her mental panoply
fine tunes private placement.
Her eyes pan the room...
Peripheral view,
not a rear view mirror,
points to an exit.
Touched, she moves forward,
nudged towards creation.
Art beckons come hither,
immerse your mind in thought...
What will she discover?
Slow, curious search
sees art's pointed viewpoint
all too familiar.
She looks in that mirror,
worried about makeup
on a stoic mask...
She knows art is life's pane.
To live life is an art.
Aqua Marine.
Posted: 02/12/2024.
(Anamorphic Art: a distorted view of an image.)
Hidden track.
Long legged visitor
Surveys the scene upsidedown
Disappears at dawn.
Aqua Marine:Haiku. 02/12/2024.
(Rain spiders are shy, harmless creatures.)
.
After: "Letter of Mithridates to Phraates, King of Parthia"
Historiae VI by Sallust
*****************************
I am a man more poisoned against than poisoning.
That’s my version anyhow, and I’m sticking to it.
Don’t blame me for having survived a few meals
Which others, less fortunate, could not.
All that doesn’t help me now with Pompey at my throat.
Pompey, plunderer and bully, who has enough wit
Only to command a Materialschlacht,
But that is child’s play with Rome’s support.
Rome! Scourge of cities, tribes, peoples, nations, all mankind,
Were not the Pillars of Hercules, the western shores
Sufficient for your ravenous appetite
That your eagle eyes scan my realm?
O Phraates, King of Parthia still unvanquished,
Had you but lent your ear to me when together we
Might have rid the East of this ill-begotten son
Of Mars. Small the credit, so great the loss!
For Rome, unchallenged, bestrides the Great Sea. Eastwards
He surveys my mountains and your rivers, groves and plains,
No doubt beyond. Remember Alexander,
Who sacked glorious Persepolis.
You vainly sue for peace, like credulous Philipp once
When fondly strung along with Rome’s promises of “pax”.
And what of Carthage? Where now her wealth of gold
And purple? Barren her poisoned lands!
Mind you, I’m not well-placed on a high moral pedestal
When it comes to poisoning, but limits I respect.
A few enemies now and then, I admit,
Died at my table. The ham was off!
But the earth is sacrosanct. I never salted fields,
For Rome’s venom is stronger than aught I ever brewed.
Where shall this end? Shall Rome vanquish all nations?
Shall all cower to his bloody sword?
But Rome! With surfeiting the eaten, not the eater,
Prevails. The whole world is, even for iron digestions,
Strong meat. It is the sun, not Romulus, whom
East and West obey. Helios rules.
With Rome to east and Rome to west, then two Romes are there,
And I do fear for man and earth. The approach of death
Lends men insight. I fought, I won, I lost in war.
My spirit is still king. Sirs, your health.
The last round! Like Carthage we lose to Rome the third round.
Once more is the Gordian knot in twain. Quirites,
The gods look down. Remember Alexander,
Who died of fever in Babylon!
Pulse and impulse
Silence screams;
No one hears
~~~~~~~~~
Rainy charades
Wet window panes;
Blurry outlook
~~~~~~~~~
Heavenly delights
Somnolent siesta;
Slumber grooms well
~~~~~~~~~
Cat on ledge
Surveys territory;
Keen watchfulness
~~~~~~~~~
Midnight noises
Street commotion;
Traffic dispute
~~~~~~~~~
Blur movement
Darkness draws near;
Nightmare horror
~~~~~~~~~
Simple wonder
Curiosity shows;
Bargain hunting
~~~~~~~~~
Bazaar stalls
Wares tempt;
Buying spree
~~~~~~~~~
Joyride here
To nowhere far;
Simple road tour
~~~~~~~~~
Stroll home
Takeaway dinner fest;
Gastric juices ooze
~~~~~~~~~
Poetry at 2:35am
Fragments inch;
Stray thoughts roll
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
23 May 2015
Singapore
The hallow husk of his once dear friend, turns its bird-like head, dark eyes intentionally resting just below his own blue-green eyes, as if it were impossible for a ghoul such as this to gaze upon anything true and alive without recognizing its own emptiness, and briefly surveys its old friend as if in judgement from a high perch; Its forked, corrosive tongue cuts through the air like poisonous darts seeking soft tissue: "You're too emotional. It's pathetic. Why are you so weak now? Nobody cares about your pain. You think too much. Just enjoy yourself."
And this thing before him, this thing that wears the skin of his old mate—that beloved friend who once had real human blood rushing through his heart, mind, and soul, that precious life water that tethers you to the great and vital river vein called Humanity—now gives a dry and short series of gasps intended to mimic a mocking laugh, full of hatred and resentment both meant to tactfully conceal jealousy and shame, but do not quite cover the lie, which only quickens its face turning away to join the others who were also dead before their time; All with the same expensively shampooed hair sleek and wet in the smokey haze of neon bar lights, sweat-stained designer clothes hiding their starving ribcages, and earrings, necklaces, chains, watches, and countless finger rings, all much to gaudy to be real, but nonetheless are what they traded away their empathy and compassion for, and so they lavish these meaningless possessions that adorn their gaunt frames.
A society of the shallow and empty, every member once came to that crossroads in life, each taking fire to burn their kindness, empathy, and compassion, out of their souls one flick of a butane lighter at a time, making the evil smiles of the already-initiated glow orange through the black glass. By night, they prey upon the good and the kind, not just to steal their life force, but to spread their hatred until the world is just as bleak and empty as them.
Those who choose to sever themselves from their humanity disdain all light, as it only serves to remind them of their own weakness and of the priceless thing they gave up for it. Something nearly lost to their memories, as now their memories begin themselves to fade away. They know only that your goodness offends their eyes, behind which, you may learn lies an endless cruelty.
A stormy, cold scraped winter sight,
quiet song birds forsake flight,
down fluffed on pale limbs lucite,
a fantasy landscape, pearl blue.
In grey tone wrap, mist frozen dew,
her smooth complexion, silver hued,
Luna surveys earth's wild retinue
in closed dens of hibernate sleep.
Snow drifts creep the mountain steeps
and cuddle velvet valleys, deep,
where black streamlets forget to leap,
their summer memories iced still.
Winter plys her voluminous skill,
snow sculpting on each vale and hill;
queen portrait of a glass toned will
mirrored in each hardened lake.
She cherishes a world opaque,
makes the sun his warmth forsake;
the seasonal round's numb heartache,
a stormy, cold scraped winter sight.
December 5, 2017
Faye Lanham Gibson
Spider on Vase
Poor teetering thing that leeched the rim
To poise and watch the world from summit
It hiked the slope and scaled with ease
Its several legs had gained momentum
Triumphant conqueror of the peak
The hero now surveys the giants
With peripheral eyes to view
The gaping hole of one such hulk
From which was issued a thunderous sound
That made the crawly start to quake
Its fate secured within their reach
The proximal limb ready to pulp
And dash the crawly to its death
Lithe movement in its spiny legs
Takes it down the crater route
Into the vases obscure hollow
And deftly rappels the precipice
With actioned spinneret
Scarce light below that thwarts its fear
Away from gaping noisy giants
At peace to spin and weave a web
Of symmetry that knows no bounds
This is the real world
expressed in the form of several days
worth or ghost writing.
Kowloon: The Walled City of Imagination; cosmetic dentistry;
REASONS TO STOP THUMB SUCKING;
New York's most iconic photograph; container shipping;
How are pets handled in divorce?
Medical cannabis and kids; plumbing and drainage inspections;
immigration counseling lawyer in Chicago;
Metal fabrication in Chuckey, Tenessee; How home security alarm monitoring works; How to make an HDR Photograph;
toxic torts; audiologists; plumbing and drainage inspections;
Tenth Edition, Calculus Early Transcendentals;
ISEE test preparation in los angeles;
vinyl windows in Beltsville; great printers for Mac computers;
orthopedic doctors in Herndon, Virginia;
container shipping; public adjusters in philadelphia; custom order fulfillment in Golden Valley; Minnesota; land surveys. Ghost writers know the real world better than poets.
He surveys his kingdom each day,
from Iron Gate to Wooden Wall.
Each leaf that falls and blade that sways,
his loyal subjects one and all.
The cattle grazing in the field,
the kittens nestled in the shed.
He knows each puddle and haystack,
where he can drink or make a bed.
With Snowball, the grand Pyrenees,
Seargeant, his faithful Shephard knight.
His trusty human on his leash,
he will sniff everything in sight.
Squirrels that frolic in the oaks,
rabbits that scurry through the grass.
Each know King George is at the helm,
and would stop to stare as he’d pass.
When to his castle he returns,
knowing all’s well within his land.
He’ll settle beside his master,
getting pets from his caring hand.
The silk clock melts on the horizon’s crest,
As shadows aim their arrows at the sun,
A marble eye surveys the tangled sequence,
Before the silver journey has begun.
The target is a mirror made of breath,
It shatters into singing hummingbirds,
To dance across the emerald fields of light,
Without a single, cold, acoustic word.
A telescope looks backward through the void,
Where vision aims to catch the quiet fire,
The geometry of space is now transformed,
To fulfill the spirit’s waking, slow desire.
Now rests the focus in the palm of sand,
A feather weight upon a heavy tide,
It waits to bloom upon the seeker’s point,
Where aim and destination coincide.
God, Knows Our Tracks
By: Tom Wright
1/4/02
Since Adam and Eve,
tracks, man has placed down.
While some we leave are happy,
others, give occasion to frown.
Tracks, that we as men,
might some time wish to erase.
But only God can remove,
man can only retrace.
These footprints of our lives,
eventually in History you'll find.
Whether satisfactory or atrocious,
they're what we'll leave behind.
As these tracks God surveys,
He'll sway not, nor will He bend.
But render appropriate judgment,
on where eternity we'll spend.
God, is a discerner of tracks,
so from life's trail we can't hide.
But through Grace He made a way,
that in His tracks we can abide.