Long Take shape Poems
Long Take shape Poems. Below are the most popular long Take shape by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Take shape poems by poem length and keyword.
O, elusive muse, mysterious and profound bruise,
you bewitch my soul, never to be found in the way of former use.
In your absence, I am left with bittersweet
caramello pain,
forever longing for your ephemeral archery reigns,
to stick your finger in and frost your tips, lips, hips.
With every plié, a heart skips a beat,
as feelings pirouette upon your rage
and bloodlust and cage.
Each soft tendu, a love story paged,
imbued with passion's fire, never to age.
But doth wrinkle rings around my heart like a chain,
loosely at first.
Then comes your tools of torture,
your sandblaster-twirls deoxyribonucleiy
amidst a dreamscape host given wage,
unfurls, serpentor,
hyour body, an instrument
for efficacies' grand gauge.
Through leaps and bounds, love's whispers
take shape, like an hourglass shaken
to be thrown to the Leviathan sea.
Given over to the carcinogenie of winds,
carrying own lamp of photosins seeding plans.
Your occulant lids, occupancy Inn
unfolding a tale stolen from Wonderland
with narrator mouth agape.
Like a hellmouth opened revealing iron rows
of oscillator teeth, of to then throe.
I know there is no escape, but surrenders
oasiatic retreat of blue snows.
From your sire nyour cover of cape.
Spellbinding me to the elements
like salt in the wound to taste and one to grow.
O, ballerina of love, your steps mesmerize,
evoking metamorphic fertiles,
lilypad touchstone monads of diodes and control pads and padded rooms of the matrixed "mad",
making us crystals of your rites,
constellate consulates of your Medusaic petrify,
metamorphed from pieces of coal-
fitted for pressure, heat of becoming
from your diamond bit drill.
But beneath the surface of t h i s-
frozen-heartless veneer,
y o u r c a r o m i n g d a r k n e s s
come to take me away-
lies a fire, a longing, a blaze yet unquenched
Ignited by the spark of hope,
a steal cable between your wench
the yearning for warmth
worked by passion match.
There eyes an unaided flicker,
Me, the Wicker-man
struggling against your vice grip,
your tangle of betrathed lisp.
I am tied by your poetry,
your visa drip, feminine W I C C A - Beltane slip
of slip.
A bridge too far,
of golden vistas burning,
now, there is no return.
For me, only to find your drowning sea or burn.
I was rather informed on definitions but on time frames, not so much. I was anticipating an experience never realized for more than 150 years. The sun, moon, and earth were orchestrating one giant and rare exposition. When I heard that a Supermoon was coming on January 31st, I said, "This I got to see".
I, a mortal with a far lesser task, did something very wrong yesterday. It was absolutely unnecessary and wrong for me to get up before 2:30 AMPT. It was simply too early for me to be gazing at the moon on a chilly winter's morn. Moreover, such unnecessary and inexcusable time was just wrong no matter what. I also did something very right yesterday, and it wasn't yielding the 'right of way' to a wrong way driver. It was courageously right for me to get up early this morning, and accomplish my goal because I refused to be denied seeing a Supermoon.
At 2:28 AM, the moon could be seen from just outside of my front door, looking straight up into the western sky. It was not as large as I had anticipated but very bright. Besides, I would soon learn that I was too early and I was in for a little wait to really benefit the best show of the Supermoon. At 3:55 AM, I noticed a partial eclipse beginning to take shape. At 5:50 AM, from my back window, with excitement I beheld a Redmoon. At 6:18 AM, there was a great view of the eclipse. At 6:49 AM, the great view of the moon is breaking up. At 6:54 AM, the veiw of the moon had disappeared and my moon watch was over. 02012018 PS
SOLDIER OF BATTLES.. Steve Hudson
It started, in silence, in infancy; the eyes look beyond the darkness
To understand the sounds of rage, echoes of misunderstanding,
The beginnings of normalcy wrought with disturbance,
Bereavement for the loss of innocence and the first lesson learned.
The lines in ground becoming clearer.
The only thing that ever came easy for me is warring,
Not because I chose the ground, but because it chose me.
Here is your sword; here is your battle,
The field is endless and there is no turning back,
So find your heart and find your place among the ranks
You sojourn with.
You tell one another it will be okay, and that we will pull through,
But no one really knows.
Its only after our first encounter and mortal blow that we find some
Courage to face another foe.
The welcomed peace endured for a season, then skies darken
On eminent splayed horizons and shadowy realms of spirit
You try to make sense of the next wave of terror,
Taunted and vexed at every turn.
Your enemies take form in shapes of, what is true?
Wrestling, pondering among bloody concepts and the why.
Wounds received through fearful encounters take shape of scars,
Scars take shape of trusted moments carried through
Onslaughts of deception.
Fallen men on smoldering ground, tormented by hounds of confusion.
This is how it started, but not how it ended for you see,
There was One we found in heated skirmish
Battle hardened and sure footed, the spear and shield wielded
With skillful hands, He inspired confidence in us all.
On days we found respite, He sat with us and taught strategies in warfare,
The secrets to winning the hearts and minds of defeated bretheren.
The certainty and comfort in His eyes, told stories of ancient victories held.
A kingly stature though plain to view, never considered Himself better
Then the lowliest man I knew.
We asked about some of the scars He brandished,
“They are scars received from the greatest of man’s struggles,” He said,
He got them while defending the poorest of souls.
It was then we understood, it was of us He spoke.
So now we gladly fight for this One who became the captain of our heart,
We’ve learned from the truths that have pierced our very souls,
our greatest cause and reason to be.
A soldier of battles was He…
Ferret Legging
You never know what you’ll find on the net
Nothing much surprises me there and yet
I found a sport that takes no native skill
Just a strong pair of pants and a real strong will
Competitors’ trousers are tied neath their shin
Before two ferrets are securely placed in
Their belts are then fastened to prevent an escape
And that’s where the very strong will should take shape
Each competitor then stands in front of a judge
As long as he can trying so not to budge
Neither ferret nor man can be drunk or be drugged
And no underwear worn so your parts can be hugged
Pants must be loose so the ferrets can roam
From one leg to the other and their movement shown
Each ferret must have a full set of teeth
That have not been blunted or anyway sheathed
Ferrets have claws like very sharp pins
And teeth like a carpet tack that they can sink in
And ferrets are biters and you’ve got a pair
So your “tool” may be bitten and you better not care
Competitors can attempt from outside their pants
To dislodge a ferret that’s latched on by chance
The winner’s the guy that outlasts the rest
And stands there the longest in this little test
Scotland’s the country where this all began
And the record is held by a brave Scottish man
The record’s been set that will be hard to beat
Five hours 10 minutes and still on his feet
Unfortunately the sport’s been dying out
With PETA and others protesting the bout
But if you’re in Virginia, in Richmond next year
And go to the Highland Games there I hear
They may have a ferret or two up their sleeve
That you can insert in your pants I believe
And if you can just stand there for six hours or more
You can bring the world record right here to our shore
But first grab some loose pants and maybe a kitten
Practice with that getting use to being bitten
Work up to a cat and then up to two
That is exactly what I thought I’d do
Then I thought again and again then I thought
Can a lesson be learned before that lesson’s taught?
So I tried to imagine how a ferret would feel
Could I stand there a man without a girly squeal?
Would I be embarrassed or pass out from fright
And I thought and I thought and I thought that I might
So I’ll go on record, this sport’s not for me
But if you’re game to try it, that I’d go to see
Home
Cosmopolitan suburbs take shape
Form, not far from the metropolis
Streets bustle, enlist design, become cities
Drawn down the street, concrete solid
Buildings line up one by one
In the calm one structure at a time evolves
There on the outskirts of timid town
Rising from the dirt, from nothing
A flirt with creation on the street
Laid down on asphalt beds, no secrets
Familiar as a name not said, aligned
Not far from metropolitan streets
Enlisted are construction workers to create
Drawn down the road to concrete city
Blueprints sit pretty
There on the outskirts of town, worthy to build on
A home, a structure to call your own
Usual forms materialize with nature in layers
Seem to build themselves communities
Cropping up as large as life
Sometimes it is hard to find your way home
With so much going on
The road to success is always under construction
My house has a number above a wooden door
Such a detail can be useful to have to get inside
Steps lead the way on silent stones
When I go home, get in, my world slows down
Universe stops or shrinks in size, to be defined
There are many wooden skeletal chairs there
Fixated around a dining table when I arrive
Waiting for a holiday or family to come together
No prayers are said these days
It’s just a dining area, nothing else
A bed is hidden in another room
It keeps secrets but mostly it keeps sleep
Buried under pillows and quilts and sheets
Furniture remembers everything
The kitchen is the center of it all
It comes in reds and yellows with a sink and range
Fires from the stove ravage meats and vegetables
Such alterations make them manageable to eat
Ice cubes in the freezer trays stay there complacently
Waiting for someone’s drink, a friendly hand to warm them
Home has a shower down the hall
Cabinets full of towels and soap lie beneath the sink
Clean thoughts from wall to wall
TV turned up loud in the living room
To keep life serene and meek
An old phone in plastic black rings and rings out emptiness
Lies lazy on the antique table, stationary, waiting
Sits by the ancient sofa hugging floor
Listens for someone to answer the call
There is an echo running through the halls invisible
But no one picks up the receiver
No one is home
Only the ghost of a ringer
Skylights warn and warm where acorns drip. The slight angle of acidity in the air can be measured accurately with a ruler or the nib of a ball point pen. Ball point pens are not really balls or points for they are pens and pens are prints, paint, and form occasional prisms in a paper whorl of scribbled ink. Of every hue. Fine and finer. And details outlying the plans are interrupted by a sixteen ton coffee cup whose snores cause vibrations then the liquid seeps over the edges and lands upon the written words causing much smudge marks. Suited earwig headed man with round glasses is not amused. Most perturbed to be exact. All night he had spent revising and crossing the t's and dotting the I's. And now it was indeed a rather sad scrawl of blur. Oh dear. Picking up the pen he walked over to the papers and spoke loudly in order to wake the cup. The cup was startled. What had it done? "you were snoring" shouted the earwig head. "you have spilt liquid onto my work. MY work is thus destroyed." To which the coffee cup gave a nonchalant look and folded his arm handles. Great thought the man. But wait are not those pieces of building blocks left from the babies ball banquet. Great they are. I can make a little model of what I composed on print. He began work immediately. Five seconds of sleep. Wow. Always astonishing how a window cloth can gather a stronghold over smears. The model began to take shape. It would be ready for the board soon. Remarkable. The thick pieces of plastic were soon assembled into formation. Overseen by a paperweight swan which glided around the desk hissing at the cup. And later the widow spiders would wave, the whales would walk, the wallpaper would wink and all the grounds would begin singing operatic arias and clouded liquids would clear the residue of a fallen road kill of a suitcase. Suitcases can look quite messy of left at the side of a road. Especially when they are run over. Splattered. The nylon wire in the air is humming today but isnt in tune with the birds. Ha the sentinels are sweeping the little play tent. Ha ha the paleontologist is playing with a patented patterned platypus. Xxxxx multicolumns z z z z z with a twist of a dormant doorman dormouse standing at over three thousand feet in a stable. Ok then. Interplanetary. Z.
Form:
INT. SCENE 1 – THE AWAKENING – DAY
FADE IN:
It was born in a test tube,
Twitching organic mass, form skewed.
They fed it chaos and it grew.
More tests ordered. More data due.
They poked it daily for a phase,
Kept in an incubator daze.
Mesmerising to watch,
This new form scared of touch.
It was secret, shrouded in myth.
No regret subverting parental shift.
They caged it for safety,
They said.
It would rage, unsure of identity.
It bled.
But did it feel pain? Skins shed.
The question kept being asked.
They poked again—curiosity unmasked.
-
EXT. SCENE 2 – THE ESCAPE – NIGHT
The compound was a proud facility,
A bastion of societal stability.
But they had no idea what they had.
They didn’t know it was sad,
Or how that rage would come in waves—
Bursts of fury none could brave.
Of course it escaped.
It saw trees, tried their shape.
Standing gave no thrill,
So it moved on with sentient will.
No longer content to mimic or mirror—
Its form turned strange, its outline unclear.
INSERT: NEWSCAST AUDIO
“Smelly blob terrorizes locals—”
It became the talk of social vocals.
It smells, it looks forlorn.
It better behave or be clearly gone.
Edges undefined,
Obscure and growing all the time.
Tentacles and warped limbs,
A head that could be a stomach—or wing.
A sight to shake your footing if you dared to look up.
It reached the city, tore buildings down.
Huge now, destruction for a crown.
It stomped, it thrashed, toward the centre bound.
And the scholars in their coats
Poked again—
It hollered, several guttural throats.
-
EXT. SCENE 3 – THE BATTLE – DAY
They didn’t know what it was—so they tried to destroy it.
It ran amok. We can’t employ it.
We can’t live with what we can’t control.
We mustn’t underestimate our role.
Kill the beast.
Then—it spoke.
CAMERA PANS IN – THE MONSTER SPEAKS
I’m ill-formed.
You brought me here, gave me these tools.
I don’t know what I am either,
But I’m trying to find where I belong.
To roam, to take shape.
I want your help—
But I won’t get it.
In the tube, I felt defined.
Out here, misplaced.
Scared and angry feel the same.
If I must be killed,
Aim for the head—
But tell me first…
Where that is.
FADE OUT: sirens stop, dust settles, silence.
I am standing behind You,
alone tonight…
Watching You,
Create me.
Unable to quiet my racing thoughts
From new fears, this perspective has brought.
As I image You – standing there,
Scratching Your hair,
Speaking my soul into being.
I am appalled, Father God.
at the choices You made.
This inclusion of imperfections.
It is very distressing to me.
Watching You, Standing there.
Building me, with such care!
I watched you sculpt the outer me
How You smiled at the freckles placed so carefully.
By Your loving hands, You designed me.
With crooked teeth and big feet
Fine-tuning every dimple and coloring my hair.
I was amazed at the details You did not spare.
However, enlightening this perspective might seem.
Had I something to say, as You whittled away,
I wish You had changed a thing two or three!
Though my view is imperfect,
and slightly impaired,
standing behind You
this night.
Observing Your depth of love and concern,
I cannot help but despair!
Why choose to claim me at all?
When and where did this plan take shape?
During a vision, a dream, song,
A whimsical thought,
hopefully not … a mistake?
What made it necessary to plan a place?
Yet so incomplete and broken, disgraced.
What good could I be
With an attention span slightly
south of a flea?
I must demand – You understand?
Some explanation to me!
Did some other plans go astray?
Leading to this inclusive display?
I doubt You surprised, by a snake cracking wise:
or the fruity apple scent on Adam’s breath?
But before the foundation
Of all, You had planned–
You then chose me?
I do not understand.
But standing behind You,
tonight,
I can see in Your face,
The joy and the grace
You felt,
As You created me.
As You completed the only one of me to be.
Suddenly I Comprehend Your purpose for me
I am now not afraid …...
Oh, Please my Lord – Perfection Incarnate,
No longer will I question,
No further will I doubt.
As joint-heir I humbly pray.
Continue Watching me
As I surrender to You!
Fully enabled –
From Perfection’s hand,
an imperfect vessel
Now Yours to command.
The night falls, a darkened sky,
Stars glitter at me… every second, every time.
From the eastern side of my island, we see an eye—
A bright, round, dark-yellow eye,
Peeking from beneath the calm, dark ocean blue,
Yawning, as we wait for the game to start.
When the full moon rises, awakened by a cold breeze,
It glows above with a heavenly breath.
White clouds take shape in different forms,
Moving like actors in a silent film—
Dancing, battling, making funny faces.
Soon, our backyard is bathed in ghostly white,
The niu, ulu, tamaligi, and talie trees
Stretch their black shadows across the garden,
Twisting, creeping—scary, eerie, thrilling.
Bushes wave at us, adding to the excitement,
And one of us calls out, "Fai kakou igave’a!"
This is better than any sport,
Playing under moonlight—
Not too hot, not too cold,
No sunburn, no boredom, no chores.
An owl hoots in the distance,
Cicadas whisper secrets we can hear but never see.
Bats swoop above, hunting on the fruit trees,
Turning the night into an adventure.
Each player takes position,
Finding the perfect hiding spot,
Disappearing into the shadows.
"Make sure to survive a forbidden fall!"
Hide and Seek, the palagi name it,
But in Samoa, this is the game of the night.
We play until the seeker finds us all,
Laughter echoing through the garden,
Until exhaustion pulls us to the soft grass,
Breathing in the scent of pure earth,
Singing lullabies to the moon’s endurance.
"Omai i le fale, ua leva le po!"
Mum calls from the front of the house.
We groan—too soon to end the night!
"Darn it!" I whisper to my brother.
"It’s alright, there are plenty of nights ahead!"
"But not every night is a full moon!" I grumble.
We race home, wash up, and rest.
As I lying in bed, my mind still full of wonder,
Dreaming of the moon, our white planet.
What would the world be without you?
Dark, dull, silent, lifeless.
'Ha! Ha! Can’t wait for your next return.'
Tonight? Maybe next time.
I laughed, as I heard my little brothers giggled beside of my bed
Find me stupidity talking to myself.
I’m off to sleep now—
Or else I’ll be late for school tomorrow!
G’night, moon babe, and sweet dreams.
There is no devil no Satan no Beelzebub above or just below your feet to me there is only Legion one of many one more than three as not as many as infinity…
Legion is what the devil is or what was evil that truly conceals it hideous face Legion it is the tiny voices of doubt the violence that humans spread to each other like a disease Legion are the demons dark shadows cruel and devoid malice holocaust…
Legion is silent voices of darkness from the outer void the inner hole of your soul Legion is all there is unholy and what will be what is insidious evil what is the corruption of mans thoughts minds and souls.
Legion only masks divinity he who has been twisted in the thoughts of men he was who real but is not in the realms the grand plans of man evil is what man makes his dark deeds action feelings form take shape, hate…
Legion is the perversions of the human soul the twisted mirror that is held to humanities face he who is of dark thoughts and sinister minds of humanity, waits Legion is the creator of dark deeds and desolations destruction of worlds and hearts of men Legion's evil roots incarnate in the soul of man…
Legion manifest themselves as demons that plague our divinity and creations evil cruel deeds cold and untold but what is the crimes of humanity but legion it is the grand schemes the corruption of humanities insanities the unraveling sanity slinking dark shadows if man cast, a grinding entropy…
Legion the one unknown loss between the worlds within worlds thoughts within thoughts the universe Legion is nothing but Creations black shadow cast through space and time to torment of souls on this earthly plane…
But whisper of what lingers there between the stars no warmth or soul just the cold calculus of the unknown we are but wanderings longings for loves lost of human hands to caress finding places to dwell a home…
Dark deeds pool as the shadows of legion comes to rest Legion is many it is all the grand demons of a death darker than the darkest soul or the call of false light of the brightest sun…!