Long Swallow Poems
Long Swallow Poems. Below are the most popular long Swallow by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Swallow poems by poem length and keyword.
What did I do, what Karma is this
Where is the power, the glory, the bliss,
I didn't sign up for this constant pain,
I'm losing my mojo, going insane.
I gave up a bunch, my whole pampered life,
The glittering lights, a model for wife,
A media in love, fans all around,
Success beyond words to truly astound.
The Don was the man, the king of the heap,
The world's superstars in my presence would steep,
Invites and connections too many to count,
Politicians included my patronage tantamount.
My wealth and prestige more radiant than gold,
Everyone buying whatever I sold,
From Casinos to Pageants, Hotels by the score,
Anything Trump they just wanted more.
And now what is this my world full of grind,
My presence and words despised and maligned,
Melania so mad I tiptoe at night,
To then sleep alone, a truly sad sight.
But what my recourse, I've little to say
What I would do, what would I pay
To rewind the clock, swallow my pride,
Stick to my golf and from politics hide.
Too late for all that, I'm in to my neck
Just hoping and praying to avert a train wreck,
History's blunt it favors the winners,
No pity or quarter for ambitious beginners.
So here's the game plan, my only real shot
To well clear my name and wipe out this blot,
Another four years that's what I so need
For me to yet prove that I truly can lead.
And lead I sure will despite that grim bunch,
I'll use my fine guile peppered with hunch
To ram home the point beyond any doubt,
That I am the one with God-given clout.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“There is a kindness that dwells deep down in things; it presides everywhere, often in the places we least expect.”John O’Donohue
Underneath the burnt oak,
a beetle tends her emerald brood.
The wind, though it howls,
parts just enough to spare them~
an unasked mercy.
The gutter hums with yesterday’s rain,
where a sparrow drinks
from the cupped hands of rust.
Even the alley’s cracked concrete
offers up a dandelion, gold as a pardon.
The drunkard’s shadow,
long and unsteady at midnight,
is caught by the streetlamp’s glow~
not to shame him, but to say:
Here, I’ve lit the way home.
The silt-heavy river, weary,
still bears the moon's reflection.
hat is this benevolence
that stitches the world’s wounds
with invisible thread?
Look closely:
it’s the way the sidewalk
doesn’t swallow the ant~
the way the winter sky,
filled with clouds,
still lets the sun through.
Under the brass sky of Iashy city, our steps dance in the night,
Through dusty streets where old buildings hide forgotten stories,
With beer mugs like ephemeral treasures in hands that tremble,
Between reality and dream, between stage and whispers of the gentle wind.
We justify ourselves with a single sonnet floating among the lit stars,
With sweet madness sparking flames in hearts and pride that burns,
While the world retreats into the dark nests of routines,
And the plasticine uniforms melt under cardboard gazes.
You, lovers of frozen statues, hidden in your homes at evening's hour,
We walk dreaming among gas lamps trembling in the wind,
In a night full of secrets, with toy revolvers that twitch,
Embracing the darkness that holds us with arms of smoke.
What justifies our madness? Perhaps only the fact that at dawn,
With awakened souls full of stars, we will face mornings without return,
Promising only memories sculpted in the light of a sunrise,
That will swallow us without leaving traces in the flowing sand of time.
Friends and foes are just faces in a passing game of fate,
The flag waves like a story told at the edge of eternity,
And so it has always been, and so it will remain, in the eternity of a dance,
For you are those who watch from the balcony of life, contemplating.
And we are those silhouettes that fade at the edge of vibrant dawns,
Dancing against the backdrop of a sky painted in hues of a reddened sunset,
And thus, our story ends and begins anew,
In an endless dance of life and dreams, in the city of Iashy.
Snakes sneak slow, spiral :
Startling !
Slender slim snake
slips showing small shiny scales.
Serpents stare sharp stern,
simply swallow sometimes
Sudden stunt !
Species are reptiles
Scorpions , so scary
showing strong sting
slip slide swift
shaking segmented tail :
Surprisingly scorpions
give birth to live young
and carry it on back
till it feeds itself on its own.
Special style.
Owls are clever, nocturnal,
drowsy, tipsy in the morning,
to sleep sound in day
and wake up in evening.
Shrill whistle to call each other
is the secret signal.
Expert to rotate neck completely on back :
Specific skill to possess !
Easy approach to catch poor prey
or spot hidden invader .
White owl : beautiful.
Pretty profile.
My ladylike mother, raising a blue-jeans daughter
No dresses for my back-to-school shopping-
After school shortcut with Amy, my friend
Grassy flowered path, trees and birds
For my autumn birthday, I give myself
the new Black Stallion book from the library
So eager to take it home, fall into the pages
Still, at the final bell, I wait for Amy
Best friends are supposed to wait...
But minutes lag as the yard empties
I am alone, as I leave
Our shortcut is deserted, silent
The birds do not sing today
A footstep crunches behind, then
A stranger, tall to my short self
His junior high days long over,
With a sour smell, a greasy smile
Immobilized, I feel my pulse beat
In my throat, clutching my Black Stallion book
"Hey, what's your name, baby?," he slurs
With drunken breath and crawling eyes,
Then his arm slides around my
almost-fourteen-year old waist, and his foul stink
Whispers in my ear, "Oh baby, what a body"
I don't think, don't plan
I just run
But he is there, pushing me down as his hands
grope my almost-fourteen-year-old breasts
From somewhere deep rises rage-
HIT HIM! HIT HIM! in giant flashing red letters
My fists, smashing into his arm, my voice, unlocked,
"Go away, GO!"
And he does suddenly go; my saving grace,
Being unladylike-
When I make it home, on shaking legs, my mother
scolds me for the tears in the knees of my new bluejeans
Which cost so much money! I say nothing
And my Black Stallion book is gone.
The next day, from school, I take the long way
The concrete streets of populated protection
I can't tell Amy why I won't take our shortcut
I can't tell even my own mother
So she finds other friends to walk home with
When the book comes overdue, the librarian chastises me
For my lack of caregiving and responsibility
I swallow salty-hot tears, and borrow money
To pay the fine, for I can not return
what is lost.
9/23/18
HUMBLE HEART
Fragrance and flavor of frolic friendship flowed.
Ray of genuine friendship gladly glowed.
Attention on each other’s needs achieved.
Great companionship on dependence received.
Impulsive ideology of love on your side developed.
Longing for you neither I felt nor asked for your love.
Embarrassed, but broke your heart over and above.
I left you and ran away.
Hot happy heart of mine turned foolish and helpless.
Earnest Emotional involvement with someone else.
Admiration, adoration oozing from fountain of my passion.
Refusal from my beloved I received, not reciprocation.
The humble hearts of two friends broke to weep with willow.
Sonata of two souls sung in symphony with sad swallow.
If I stayed with patience trying to realise you
Might a happy ending adorned me.
10/22/16
Re edited on 11/02/22
I chose to run, but had I stayed, things would have been like..
Contest by Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Brighter than the most powerful star
At this time of the clone of the day --
The night in which children want to play
On streets where nothing would ever mar
The excitement in patintero*.
Your borrowed light keeps them stop and go.
Your being's mystified all the world
Since humans began to ask questions.
They each had contrasting conclusions
About what you are made of and hold:
For a blurry eye, you were a star;
Curiosity sees plainly the far.
'Til some laws speak of you and the tide,
The amount of bleeding of a wound,
The Earth's sun-centered merry-go-round,
An all the principles you abide.
Silent are they in the woman's womb
And about how the hill's spring could climb.
Dexterity let the rockets fly
And told them to land on your surface,
Leaving footprints nothing can erase
But the wind of doubt and rain of lie.
They should have carried a long, long strand
And left the one end where I stand.
Your shape is malleable to sunlight
And the place in the path that you take --
New, quarters, full for calendar's sake.
Your absence is a meaningless night
For an artist wanting your crescent
In his oeuvre with a black content.
At times you affront the Sun you owe
The magnificence you have at night;
At solar eclipse you seem to fight
Or, like a large serpent, to swallow
The burning and benevolent Sun.
A pagan would loudly beat his drum.**
I am afraid that you will be lost.
Our children will never play at night.
Some small islands will be out of sight.
The unborn will choose to be a ghost.
The Earth of life will miss its best friend,
Walking the path with chaotic trend.
* Patintero is a local team game in the Philippines.
** According to some folks, the Sun is being swallowed by a large serpent during the solar eclipse.
sitting in front of the toilet throwing up
everything is spinning
everything is throbbing
when i get up, i feel like my body has bricks instead of bones
i go to lay down, but the pain, the nausea, and the dizziness has me all messed up
i begin to convulse again
i then jump up and zoom back to the bathroom
i made it just in time
this time the contents are all clear
this too is not good
i buckle down and drive to the emergency room
i find out that i have some type of contagious stomach bug
it all has me wanting to swallow a flyswatter
instead i head home and follow the doctor's orders
it is a good thing that i am off for the next three days
my bed is gonna be my bestest friend
my phone will be resting right along with me
all curtains will be closed
all knocks on my door will be intentionally ignored
i am determined to get my rest to wellness
A FIGHT THAT NEVER ENDS (me and my soul)
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life or joy,
Who am I, you ask?
I painfully cry, no grand illusions,
No place to go, Destined to stay here
I’m a rollercoaster of emotions
As you walk down in your life
Oceans of tears falling down in heavy droplets
The mouth of the earth can’t wait to swallow more of your tears
You stopped and looked for a way
Although your salty tears are laced with rage and heartache,
Let that experience break you open and rock the inside
Shaking, trembling, yet full of life
Be aware of your own strength, Soul
Do not put your healing on hold any longer, my sweet soul
Stop indulging in pain,
Feeding yourself with the agony of another soul’s lack of love
The scattered pieces of your heart will heal
And your enclosing love will again seep the corners of your soul
How can I see the rain bow when it’s dark all around?
Tell me, How can I just stop and interpret these feelings?
Inside I’m crying, Outside I’m smiling
No one even notices,
It’s hard for me to control all the battles in me
When you see me walk by
It doesn’t look like it, but grand illusions only
Because crying is all I can do
The sensation of pain is all I can feel
When even the dearest that I loved the best
Are now strangers, forsake me like a lost memory
I’m a hater of ignorant people and liars
I’m- yet what I am no one cares or knows
I’m a lost soul, a naïve soul
I’m one who has felt and had enough
Why do things always happen this way?
Why doesn’t my heart choose to stay closed?
Why can’t you feel my pain?
This is all I ask, Soul
Help me walk through
Yes, you are right
People in life, come and go, even the beloved
Life flies away by night before your eyes
People live you to fight alone
You lock up your heart and throw the key
To see if there will be who bothers to pick them, none
Through it all, you wouldn’t change a thing
Transform your pain into creativity sitting dormant in your bones
Be tender and gentle with your experience,
Acknowledge every emotion,
And refuse to diminish this delicate, beautiful Soul
Haunted.
Maybe that’s an articulation grave enough to complete the enigmatic shed of my skin.
Maybe that’s an articulation grave enough to morph into the holes of my heart.
Maybe that’s an articulation grave enough to bless my bones with the wonderous glory of my eternal rage.
I find myself bathing in the security of my tomb.
Its gravelly, grey walls are scarred with the calamity of my name.
Each piece of rubble rains down on me, a wary desire to drown in the beauty of my dearth, as if the void were the very answer to all the cries of inexorable solitude.
Each making of atom questions the horrid recalling of their parturition from the detrimental violence of my intestines, as if the food I forget to eat reminisces the metallic tang of fear that follows with every swallow.
Each continuous fade of my body morphs into a pathetic attempt to forget the corners my limbs were pushed into, as if the oxygen in my lungs understand the significance of a survival sustained to own the capacity of an exhale.
The bloodline of my making stares back at me; I wonder if it’s possible to extract the despair of their DNA.
The hatred of my bones stare back at me; I wonder if it’s possible to outgrow the isolation of my warren.
The residues of my ruins stare back at me; I wonder if it’s possible to dive into the destruction of its voices.
And as my shoulders slump in defeat, the only thing that lingers is the pondering wonder if I will ever be blessed with the tedious bore of normality.