Long Tapered Poems
Long Tapered Poems. Below are the most popular long Tapered by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tapered poems by poem length and keyword.
In the archaic anchorage
of the wayward mind,
isolated from the righteous roots
of transcendental inviolability
by the dislodging drive
of the deriding desires,
untamed instincts shroud
the entranced senses in disdain abyss.
Under the surface of sensual subterfuge
of corporeal discernment,
the tapered thoughts transitorily profile
on the ephemeral screen,
the shifting shape of intrinsic images
of sprouting awareness
within the unique quintessence of divinity.
The ill-conceived venture
of the errant mind
finds the gloomy dead end
in the introspection path,
that’s when I see the door
of the inner sanctum open,
where the lotus blooms
with the omnipresent aurora of God,
flood my possessed essence
for an evanescent moment
when the soul shines with astral brilliance
of thousand suns
within my deep spiritual space
with the timeless intrepid radiance
of sequined devotion.
The stimulant inner portals,
letting in the enlightenment vista
with the motivation sunshine
of impetuous actuality,
exudes the impulsive impression
of my awakened psyche,
enhances the defining strength
of the cathartic spirit,
I don’t want to lose.
As the immanent timorous emotions
unfurl in the space of spontaneity,
the soul contained latent so long
in the cauldron of vacuity,
finds freedom in heavenly inspiration,
as I try to assimilate in piety
what suffuses the consciousness layers
with the divine aura of bliss
in the realm of the absolute supreme.
“Yes, I affirm, I have seen God
But He appeared and then disappeared
This knowing that transcends mind, left me awed
But until what’s imbibed is assimilated, by fears I’m seared”.
Quote by the sponsor
Spiral carved spheres on long green stems
brimming with redness
Fiery egos afloat in spring air
Layered petal enclosures, soft cups,
paper thin,
Leaves tapered upward in brisk solidarity
Beneath the sun, unapologetic and fierce
Rebel flowers, masters of attention
Bulbs cradled in mottled ground
To set the spring in motion,
when sight is subdued by a stage of blooms
escape hatch from burdens worldly
from whatever drags us into bleakness
Unblemished red tulips, clumped together,
a shrine
the ruddiness of momentary
that moves your soul
when you are silent
AWAKENING
Sleep and slumber, dreams of wonder... weaving,
morning’s vacuum broke the spell
Pitted pillow, note of parting... leaving,
“from your friend, a fond farewell”
Sunrise throbbing, twilight aching... grieving,
daydreams, flashbacks, nightmares knell
Pale phantasms, visions sneaking... thieving,
plot to fill the empty shell
12 DELIRIA
1st Delirium: Collapses
Fractured sky bolts, billows bursting... rumbling,
heavens tighten, turn the vise
Horsemen saddle shafts of lightning... tumbling,
jagged highways must suffice
Ruptured skyways, hailstones crackling... crumbling,
naked pearls of paradise
Toxic tongues of laughter stinging... stumbling,
ocean buckets choked with ice
Droplets drumming, thunder muzzled... mumbling,
washed out whispers pay the price
Smothered blazes, cinders smoking... humbling,
ashes shaped in sacrifice
2nd Delirium: Descents
Asphalt alleys, ashen faces... frowning,
blowing bubbles, chewing gum
Drinking ale from tavern tankards... downing,
moonlit beads of painted rum
Stony stars and sea misshapen... drowning,
humble rivers’ rhythms hum
Apparitions aspirating... clowning,
diamonds dying , minstrels strum
Incandescent candles conquered... crowning,
vacant vapours, cold and numb
3rd Delirium: Fates
Tempest turmoil, tapered turrets... holding,
dungeons, dragons, chains and racks
Wheels of fortune, Tarot temptress... molding,
Hangmen, Towers, One Eyed Jacks
Sand dune castles, cryptic candles... folding,
warping walls of liquid wax
Idols colder, combed and coddled... scolding,
hide in fissures, peek through cracks
continued in part 2
Join me inside the noise
Dark, sleek, cool gestures
Exascerbating the tales of whoa
Incinerating wisdom
As the embers and ashes fly
Float, crash land in displays of
Rudimentary insolence, let go
The sense freed
Of their solemn platitudes
Taking favors, sipping gently
Sparse deliberate crowds
Tip their hat
And everyone else's
The signal strength is mine to
The blue power
And all the (dazzling), (luscious)
Shades that wave the pointed wand
To the brilliant, buoyant
Unhindered hip
Chatting their teeth
On the nearest
Piece of flesh
Seasoned to their liking
My eyes view the foreign scene
My ears see light
Drawn out hypnotic beats
And Marley-flavored taunting mood
Is deprived, (destined), tapered
To plaudits
Given by the spurned wonder kids
Sowing their grains
And slandered ineptitude
Deep, swallowed
Diluted into sublime mantras
They beg to take their turn
On felonious stages
Scream, yelp
Exhaust the violent yearn and rage
Deny emblematic sieges that
Fire at will, their will
To bottle this tangy elixir
Closet bulging from exceeding capacity
But room for you to taste
Just pass baton
Mind to mind
Wistful pleasure hates it
When you cage it even
A moment too long.
(6/27/05)
If it lasts it must be good or is it just a bagatelle?
Mountain tops inspiring cryptic lines that vanish in some moth infested haze,
Boulevards beloved of budding artists whose mocha fueled creations stray off point,
Mother Earth obsessives as they press their rosy vision
into silver clay mosaics,
tune smiths in a dither over windy forest musings without rhyme,
the rising tide of booker listed penmen cramped by their own inflated style,
heady tales that stretch across horizons as muggy moonlight antics tapered off, bag and baggage endlessly recycled and repackaged, needing to be told or so we’re told
Swords speak brittle metal thrusts
singing a song in the wind by touch and lost trust;
blade upon blade clanging the swish of empty points
deeply cut for glory and honor now disjoint.
The sword speaks forged in metallic shields
shaped and tapered to steeled pricking yields;
sword smith tamahagane billets delivery
quenched in fire and tempered chivalry.
Swords speak sharp yet to the death
the very depths and blood letting breaths
for love, for country, brothers of courage, fear and fires
fighting for Gods and goddesses, rulers and empires.
It is the brothers, fathers and sons slipping out of place
bound to stand bold and listen to the forgotten embrace
of time when men were free to let the swords speak bold
no longer so but may yet be as they grow gray and old.
Free people are all brothers
at the very start
then in some discorded word
find swords will resolve the hatred spark.
Deep the wounds cut and slicing
but words are no longer vocalized politely
only the sharpness and the glint
of the sword that hears and feels its bloodstained tint.
"The tongue devises mischiefs
like a sharp razor, working deceitfully." Psalm 52:2
Telling that gotesque humanid shape ( i know it was humanoid but i love the sound of humanid)
concaved on the lid of the toilet bin
tapered on the rim
I hate you
then i realised i'm not him
trapped within
Jokered grin
death can't surprise me
cause i don't care
ready anywhere
life was a chore i skipped
when no one watches
danced beneath the undressed trees
cried for crying sake
given what i took
taking the edges of the universe
and ripping it a partly invisible in daylight
Moulded by the contours of the seas of the moon
Licked by every wind
Spoke to
Sooner
Couldn't care to be angry
just a bare pool table
no felt no feel
Psychopath by choice
was was that an echo
or you reading my voice
There are those effulgent as jewels in our lives,
Upheld deep within, even broken or in captives,
Their worth remains unaltered as the rising of the sun;
Etched in the palms of our hands as our days run.
When you step into our space, treading our lanes,
Resent nothing or converse in ways that invoke banes,
For we cherish things unsought yet within our hands:
Thus roots of our pride, the joy on which we stand.
Shall I forget the hands that held me when I was limping?
And led me to settle in kinder paths without skimping,
And shaped me into what you came to resent -my state,
A worth no passing years nor treasures can equate.
So watching a peeking dawn again, I’m drawn to embrace;
What those gritty hands and voice stamped upon my face:
That I, not cursed nor doomed was shaped by love refined,
The victor whose bravery is not tapered but defined…
Yet you seek to debase my happy state with your regard,
To break the faith that made me stand - O coward heart!
Though I still stand unbowed, resolute to guard my state;
You still relent not, plotting against my standing with hate.
So, cherishing some than others, it’s not hate but regard;
O ill painters, keep your brushes from my guarded yard.
The calling gull leaves her nest
her wild magic cleaves the nimbus.
An avian aerialist suspended aloft
she sails on tapered feathers of cirrus silk,
ruffled sea breeze ironed ‘neath her lustrous wings.
A wind witch, she defies and defines the w-i-n-d…
a weaver of worlds, knotting strings of stories as one wampum belt
in union with the sea’s connection to land and air.
She steals the sough from the surf and the sigh from my sinew;
my guide to a mindful haven. This nurture-maven
glides among bouquets of pink-peony-cumulus.
She; my blue-sky-muse in celebration!
She; my compass rose, mediates my meditation.
I unfurl fresh wings, a night-to-day tern, and claim my turn with the wind
no longer a granite stone asleep on sand. I soar
from the glacial-age strand and lift through fog.. brief my tryst
with mist. Eyes blessed by the crest of a humpback’s breach.
I distill myself, my will; a droplet, tear, a sphere free of guise.
An ascendant of moon-magnet tides yet a descendant
from stratus to stratum, I settle upon the cliffs along the coast
in union with my soul’s connection to body and breath.
In the cup of my hands I hold the sun and drink its yolk,
white-cap breakers below chant a soluble sonnet.
From my inner dark, a flint-spark flares as I find what I lost.
My heart, a wild cranberry, reborn from the womb of dawn.
I inhale the moment. Red clay cliffs, lifeblood, fire-skies merge.
Windswept pitch pines croon as I grow roots for my tabernacle,
cosmic beams stream through stained-glass-eyes.
The calling gull rests. A distant, silent witness to my quest.
My pulse a psalm as I emerge; a cathedral lit by sunrise.
BETWEEN THEN AND NOW
””””””``````````”””””””
Let's find eternity in a day
it's here, right here in this fluid moment ,
an hour, a day, a week, a month
ignore all these intervals
for they're really all just a heartbeat long.
They say,
so often now that it must be a cliché,
how hard is it to love and lose
not just him, but a part of the self as well?
But hope is a powerful potion
and when the same betrayal happens
in different ways multiple times,
it eats into the soul leaving me but to wonder:
Am I broken?
Perhaps, I can shake the wounds and click my heels
and still dare...
I'll nod, smile, and agree with the stars
that while my popped veins are screaming,
there is still a charmed chance whispered to me
once broken, twice broken,
pray tell, why should I try for a third time?
For hope is indeed a powerful potion
though fear may be stronger,
as pierced memories are knives embedded far deeper
snaking their way into the depths of wilted flower beds,
of a look, a smile, a question on a dance floor…
that pause between then and now.
Just flow, let’s find eternity in a day
time means nothing when hours turn to seconds,
an hour, a day, a week, a month ,
ignore all these intervals
for when my fingers become tapered candles …
Life becomes wrapped up into one ball of wax.
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Michael Falotico's " Close Your Eyes and Click Your Heels"
By: nette onclaud