Long Threshold Poems
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Why me father/daughter relationship
important to this papa
Fourteen and a half years
since death of mother (mine),
nary one iota of communication
in general and compassion
in particular while
she lived, now wears
heavy and yokes
mantle fostering tears
indirectly sabotaging rapport
with eldest daughter
futility doth arise uttering
feeble secular prayers,
cuz interaction with mother,
whose vehemence more
deafening than banshee killdeers
exceeding threshold of
decibels tolerable these ears.
Now comeuppance came
full family circle, yes
that's her within picture frame,
when young, innocent, and beautiful,
decades before terminal
illness rendered her
incapacitated and lame.
Her second of
three born offspring,
and yours truly
that singular boy
figuratively tethered himself
to her apron strings,
which near omnipotent
biochemical bond her
rancor would destroy,
when lonesome son
failed to employ
purported adult responsibilities
solitary without any
even one homeboy
never knowing how
to maximize potential
rather totally tubular at loss
advantageously to deploy
supposed ducks in a row
always imp pond
durable feeling cast ahoy
shore lee within alien nation,
whereby village people
observe an exceptionally
unresponsive immovable
lad - qua zee decoy
analogous to stonewall,
albeit socially withdrawn
emotionally, physically,
and socially retracting
exhibiting no joy,
nor any audible,
tactile or visible life
stockstill like an
abandoned broken toy.
Silence spoke volumes mainly
I don't wanna be alive
antithetical to that basic
instinct to survive
protestations arose deliberately
minus figurative parachute,
I took kamikaze nosedive
a couple years after two times five
orbitz astride planet Earth
ne'er did amity, comity,
fraternity ever jive,
nope not even pleasant hello
would fake deaf/mute contrive
interaction between kith and kin
affection toward parents
and siblings (two sisters,
not twisted) I did deprive,
whence fast forward decades later,
a metaphorical wedge would drive
roughshod o'er kinship,
when fatherhood did arrive
though "star student" did connive
him (me) to test discomfort zones,
yet more often than not inclusive
integration abandoned among
linkedin with kindling explosive
smoldering volcano found
wicked volatility expressive.
The shifting of many corporeal hands move across this dead cell,
A vacuums vortex, a psychic sponge, charging this battery of
Energy called the spirit board.
Paranormal phenomenon striking plate to enter realities plane
Of existence, for the ethereal challenged in crisis, seeking the
Threshold for spontaneous release, unto our spiritual realm.
Witchery’s board of trickery left in a polarized stance it
So entices the living with its tempting whispering of lies,
Incantations gate keepers wait on the other side of evils
Door way.
Memorizing the human sensory functions into a false
Sense of harmless mystery of the unexplained, it lures
These victims ever closer to weaving its spell of the demonic.
These capture being lost unto the hypnotic effects are
Transfixed unable to hit their override switch that controls
Their mental powers of persuasion, disabled is there strength
Of will power, they belong to the Ouija now.
Clasping do all for sides of the curtain of reality, times
Displacement begins in earnest, without hesitations
Momentary loll this dead cell bursts to life.
Black magic key has been inserted within the wooden
Door way’s heart and soul, a bizarre power bank draws
Forth the energy of the spiritual lost, swinging hells
Kept wide open.
The pancetta spins out of control, smashing against
The barriers of humanity, darkened ebony light shines
Through this doorway of evil and the flickering candle
Turns to a shades greenish blue wavering in the odious
Breeze.
The voice of a thousand screams echo in sheer delight,
We have been freed at last, broken is the trance, the boards
Hypnotic effects are dashed by the light of the dawn.
Dazed in bewilderment the voyeurs are chilled to their
Very inward bones, shaking, staring in awes amazement,
Wondering if these events really happened at all.
Then within these tented walls a voice responds to their
Questioning, laughing, as if a jackal at a fresh kill site!
Foolish mortals you know not what you have done, this
Night, but I promise thee this, laughing once again,
In a demonic under tone, none shall leave this domicile
Alive.
The entry doors lock without the human touch, the
Curtain windows pull closed, a momentary stilled
Scream, then all is silent, what remains is left up
To my readers to visualize, as the final candle
Blows out!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
At the edge of twilight, where logic fades,
and the labyrinthine corridors of thought stretch endlessly,
I find myself wandering on the shoreless sea of imagination,
where poetry breaks the chains of reason,
and everything is equally possible and impossible.
In this boundless realm, I sculpt my verses from dreams,
each line a thread spun from the depths of the subconscious,
where fantastic waves caress the sands of reality,
erasing the boundaries between what is and what could be.
Here, I conjure castles in the air,
each tower a testament to the freedom of the mind,
unfettered by the constraints of logic.
The relentless waves of imagination
wash over my creations, shaping them
into ever-changing forms of wonder and melancholy.
In the silent solitude of this mental expanse,
I wander through fields of metaphors,
where thoughts bloom like ethereal flowers,
their petals whispering secrets of the unseen.
Each step I take unveils a new story,
a tapestry woven from the threads of possibility,
where every path leads to a different horizon.
In this dance of words and visions,
philosophy becomes an art of unraveling,
shattering the continuity of argument,
and guiding the soul towards the edge of the infinite.
Here, in the twilight between thought and dream,
I find a sanctuary where the heart speaks its truth,
unbounded by the limits of reason.
I dream of a future painted in shades of joy and sorrow,
where the ephemeral nature of happiness
is both a gift and a curse,
a fleeting moment captured in the lines of a poem.
In the deepest corners of my longing,
I seek a partner in this journey,
a soul steadfast and true,
but the cruel irony of fate decrees that this search
is a path I must walk alone.
My heart, fractured by the weight of this truth,
seeks solace in the quiet of resignation,
promising that somewhere, happiness awaits.
And in this endless sea of imagination,
I find a strange comfort,
knowing that in the realm of the fantastic,
everything is equally possible and impossible.
Thus, I stand at the threshold of the infinite,
a poet adrift on the waves of creativity,
my verses a testament to the boundless possibilities
that lie beyond the shores of logic,
a reminder that in the world of poetry,
the magic of melancholy flows like a river,
carrying us to places where dreams and reality intertwine.
A hiding place, a warm and darkened room,
A lit doorway, bright against the dark,
Cold against the warmth, a frame for odd
Assorted stranger-forms whose faces loom
As quarrels over (what?) convulse and rend them,
Leering laughter giving in to vicious
Sneers, bared fangs, silent snarls
Of wretched, clutching, atavistic mayhem,
A terror once removed. Inside that hole
Distant from the proximal horrid window
Where twisted evil shadow-puppets fight
Peculiar faint amusement seems to roll
Like waves around the cave, detached and born
Of safety via distance, of certainty
That out would never be in, that warmth was safe,
That war above, so far away, forlorn,
Could be watched as from a languid seat
Far recessed in a darkened empty theater,
Nestled snugly, listening to the voice
Which comments on the raging battle heat.
From somewhere up, behind, not left nor right,
But from the center, voice and fight both
Directly sensed, as if they each occurred
In a vacuum, touch and smell, sound and sight
Being interchangeable and void.
The fighters jab and poke, madly gouge,
And neither gains advantage, being justly
Matched, as both are faceless, the man
At left pitted fair against the shrewish
Plot of his opponent, evil woman.
Both in turn appeal for judgment, turning
Away from fighting to glare and wave and hiss
Silently for a verdict on the ghastly driven
Feud which now has stopped, as it began,
Abruptly, and receiving none, for in
The silence no answer can be given
(Besides which, being taken by surprise
And overcome by sudden fear, aware
Of change in circumstance) the watcher is mute,
The murderous woman lunges at his very eyes
In deadly assault, bent on maiming, killing,
Groping fiercely at his open throat
For no apparent reason; and the comfort
Of the soothing voice utterly halts.
Words without sound fly like spears between them
Accusatory fingers gesture madly
And spittle from their half-crazed livid mouths
Wings through air in visual acid anthem
To this grisly deadly tandem fight
That seems the worse being set in relief
By the rectangular hole that serves as both
Window and door, divider of dark and light,
No protection, as threshold battle threatens
Him within, as blind hatred rages
In deft slashes of lengthy fingernails
While foe from foe extracts macabre debt.
As we stand on the threshold of a new era and the passing of the torch from a cloaked
government and into the hands of a fresh new one that does speak a promises that change
has come to the Whitehouse, let not your eyes or ears nor mind depart from the harsh
realities that the most honest of intentions have strayed into the weakness of humanness
and the very greed of ones heart…Humanness which can and does make us all sometimes
falter into the very innocents of ignorance which can make anyone slip from the very path
on which they may have intended to have gone.
It is at times like this when a single mans strength is tested and that a fort in the midst of a
battle does realize that not one solider will be left standing, if just one solider turns and runs…
As they battle to defend the gates or it’s walls. Surely…One man can cry to, “Defend until the
last man does falls!” but it is the combination of the strength of all those who stand together
to defend her gates and walls that will determine if a fort shall still be standing or weather it
shall fall.
My friends this is the deciding factor of who has won or lost. We as people have been called
upon to defend our very own walls and gates, but it is not one’s mans cry to battle…that shall
lead us, but it is the strength of a people united as one! God shall be our shield and Jesus
who was sacrifice is our flaming arrow that will find our enemies weakness in his fortified
armored suit! Our fort shall be protected and its gates and walls unharmed. No not even a
one single scratch to her gates or walls… For no one lioness will hunt alone.
All claim to have come seeking peace, but instead found war. For mankind the bell has rung!
Now put on your gloves, the fight is on! No, the war that I spoke of is not real...only the exit
of a failed government and the birth of a new one is true. But there is a battle that rages
unseen...it is a for lost souls. A war between both good and evil that began, when Eve and
Adam ate from the tree of knowledge. God’s children, do you not hear me? A bell has rung…
You are in the biggest war that has ever been declared, it’s a fight for the immortality of each
and every one of our souls and the bell has been rung. Come out fighting...because the bell
for this fight has started ringing for everyone!
One day—
The sea will be my backyard
Every morning, standing upon the deck
Of the one called Going Numb
A “Greatest Dad” mug in one hand
My last vice burning orange in the other
I will watch the sun rise like the formidable Phoenix
Warming the blue green sea with her touch
As tender fingers of a salty breeze
Run through my silvery hair
A time worn wharf will serve as my threshold
Warped planks and crusted pilings
Proffering a story of victories against the storms of sea
Aromas of fish and diesel oil
Making promises of resilience yet seen
Seagulls as nameless neighbors
Charmingly silent until beckoned
By day old bread and salty crackers
Perched upon the strakes of the Going Numb
Black eyes praising me as they wait
To devour the next gratis morsel
A galley will greet any wingless visitors
Who happen by
Barstools for three, plus me
Wait obediently before the coffee-stained counter
A toaster and tea kettle from yesteryear
A hidden bottle of rum
Is all this old man will need
With but a few steps, travel with me astern
Over the worn colorless carpet
Past the curtain of puka shells
Hung by stranger before I knew her
A sturdy cot with too many pillows
Serves as my nighttime rest
Where the sea’s gentle waves
Lull away loneliness
And Adele whispers love songs to my soul
Between the galley and my humble nest
A room where I attempt to do my best
A small writing table with pad and pencil
A beige shaded lamp provides the rest
Nostalgic bookshelves of cinder blocks and planks
Against the portside wall
A stage for those who have inspired—
Hemingway, Atwood, Tolkien, and Plath
King James and Lewis as bookends
Hold it all together
Three windows each, port and starboard
To look out
Or in
One with an untold story
I will never know
Or tell
A stained-glass pane
Cracked and old
Beauty in a way
That will never be told
By prose or poem or
By me
One day—
A new chapter in my life will come
Closing the pages of before
My purpose complete
Children grown
Now with ones to call their own
Having moved from a time of needing
To the days of occasionally calling
The old man on the sea
One day—
I will stand alone
On the deck
Of my new home
With seagulls as chaperones
And briny air in my lungs
I will watch the sunset
Through stained-glass pain
Your Elysian Killing Fields-
Your soul, my Love,
is the pristine gilded white,
that cascades down from Heaven's summit.
A river that fills me, a dry riverbed,
with your milk and honey.
Your current carrying me along,
to your eternity.
Eternally, flowing along,
your emotional streams,
towards your heart's tributary.
A maelstrom of passion,
pulling me down into your pools,
solitary actions.
In solitary enormity, destiny-adjoining.
You are my clandestine pulse-
that regulates my being,
with sacred verse.
You are the specter in my blood.
The scepter of my throne,
With you I can believe, in anything,
except for being alone.
Anything, everything you do.
Winds around me as a grapevine, entertwining.
The seduction to drink from your cup.
The ambrosial wine, your overflowing,
flowing into me.
Your passionate canvas calls to me,
to sculpt in its delicate flowering.
In hungered heaves,
when your rib cage expands.
Anticipating,
your Dove's-wanting to be freed.
Only, by my hand.
Free as the flame's flare,
the burning, consuming.
As I stare into you,
feeling your Crimson Fires, there.
Feeling as though, stalked prey.
In your Elysian Killing Fields.
Euphoria in sway,
atop your succubant meal.
My fate's threshold, crossed and sealed.
Helpless to your Impish ways.
I remain held, by your captivating allure.
The intoxicating poison of your capture.
Poison of your angelic tainting,
that runs through me,
clouding evermore.
The Conductor of the chemicals within me.
You entrench, your surrounding,
that abounds around me.
The Ballerina of the Little Death.
In sourcery, comes,
seduction's breath-The dance- of the seven veils.
Perpetual, into hunger's ballet,
which permeates, the skin,
burroughing its ethereal entrails.
You're always a puzzle,
a timeless wonder,
always to be.
The first of my needs.
If you turned to be the Devil's Daughter.
I fear he would have me, indeed.
My Love, the other part of me.
With this dream-
I pledge my Love to thee.
Yes, you are the ghost within my wings.
I am a phoenix rising from the sea.
Bring me out into your spring.
where I will drown,
in your farthest reaches.
Life to me, you will endlessly be instrumental in, as the Lords revival brings.
The Elite warrioress from Elysia to
Elate me, inflate me to Life from my dreams.
* A bit of sci-fi what-if?, about a lone man on Ganymede, witnessing the destruction of Io by the natural forces of Jupiter *
~
I knelt amidst the mountain's rise
beneath the weeping opal skies
there to measure Io's swoon
the envy of each lesser moon
trembling like a gold doubloon
(heaven's tinged and gilded prize)
great Jupiter, the Lord of All
filled the sky with amber pall
one reddened eye to consecrate
the anguish of dear Io's fate
years too soon, but eons late
shaking with a haggard wrawl
Io, once resigned its doom
yet, an orb of ravished bloom
(spurned as Zeus' paramour)
shuddered to its carnal core
wept, to mark Europa's door
the threshold to its fiery tomb
I, stood lone on Ganymede
minding Io's breaching bleed
as fissures split its relic face
a mocking veil of Guipure lace
ceding ripe, its fall from grace
author of such caustic screed
Europa, in her jealous bend
paid scant mind to Io's rend
jaundiced of Callisto's bough
negligent, would disavow
keen to hide her withered brow
skirting Jove to thus attend
in their haste to swift, depart
sundered Io's weary heart
forces much too fierce to shun
imploring mercy, gaining none
confident her time was done
rattled death, then broke apart
as mine, the only sentient eyes
attesting Io's bright demise
not in want of tears to shed
spirit harrowed deep with dread
felt some tribute should be said
but managed only muted cries
it wrought such horrid irony
that Io's witness fell to me
a spurious and tragic fate
for I, at best, was second-rate
at physics AND as potentate
and seemed such grand calamity
and yet ...
blessed was I by honor, deep
that my eyes were there to weep
thus, I vowed in prayer to write
the awful beauty of that sight
Io's death throes, bursting bright!
Lord Zeus' lover ... laid to sleep.
(the promise that ... I hereby keep)
( photograph of Jupiter, Io and Ganymede by Marco Lorenzi, August 25, 2020 )
Who Am I?
An answer so simple, yet so complex,
Not the reaction one normally expects.
“I am Jason”, but what does that mean?
To truly understand, I must go behind the scenes.
I was 10 years old and becoming obese,
It was then that my confidence would decrease.
Day upon day, suffering from verbal attacks,
My inner peace would melt away, like candlelit wax.
I had reached my threshold; I could take no more,
It was my self-respect I set out to restore.
I was 13 years old and ultimately lost this weight,
At last, all the harassment would finally abate!
But I was wrong, and the attacks would soon begin,
Now at opposite ends of the spectrum, I was too thin.
I just couldn’t win; I felt that I was inferior,
I hated whom I was out on the exterior.
I was 16 years old and confused who I was,
Associating with gang members from the “Bloodz.”
I had found my acceptance amongst a life of crime,
But many were being arrested, forced to serve time.
Desiring a better life, I was in need of correction,
I surrendered my acceptance to gain a new direction.
I was 18 years old and lost with despair,
The journey thus far proved to be unfair.
Others knew what they wanted and went to college,
Without the slightest clue, I became envious of their knowledge.
I couldn’t foresee my future when I didn’t know who I was,
My hope began to dissipate as my life was at this pause.
I was 19 years old and my life began to change course,
It was at this point that I enlisted in the Air Force.
A new man emerged with pride and camaraderie,
With purpose and meaning, my future was no longer a worry.
The military was my family, raising me to be an adult,
My self-confidence was regained as a direct result.
I was 24 years old with a new “me” in vision,
Ambitious for college, I had made my decision.
Mentally prepared and stronger than ever,
I have committed myself to this newfound endeavor.
Having strong potential I refuse to let go to waste,
My ability for intelligence I strongly embrace.
I am 25 years old and continue to evolve,
But the answer to my question I still cannot solve.
Who I am will forever remain incomplete,
With each day passing is a part of me obsolete.
Like a waterfall, always subjected to new water flowing,
The flow of my experiences will forever keep me growing.
Form:
(A lone old male voice whispers to his loyal dog)
She came at midnight
Last night
You know
As the fireflies outside in our winter garden
Glowed
In a red dress of moving red lips that whispered of new dreams
Knocking like a reborn Anne Rice
Lestat
At my heart's window
Pleading with my soul
To cross the threshold and be let in
But I the stone warrior
Whose dear love had already departed
Turned and walked back into the darkness of my loneliness
Broken-hearted
For when true love once calls
In your lifetime
And is then suddenly recalled like a severe blow
To the amygdala
All one can do
Is wallow in limbo
For true love is like the holiest of dreams
One of The Universe's best documentaries
Memories
Forged by Brigid to endure
To be kissed
And be revisited
Filled with lovers and even enemies
And consumed in any rare moment
Like expensive Hennessey
Bright white candlelights
Providing light
In a new darkness
And a holy flame to warm any soul
On any given night
As it clings on to memories of all the people you once loved
And all the things you used to do
To ride through and hold back any new storms
Or midnight visitors like that succubus last night
It's why I put my faith in true love and Jesus Christ
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Anne Rice Lestat:
A famous vampire in a novel by Anne Rice.
Amygdala:
Your amygdala is a small part of your brain, but it has a big job. It's a major processing center for emotions. It also links your emotions to many other brain abilities, also links your emotions to many other brain abilities, especially memories, learning and your senses.
Source: Google
Brigid:
She is associated with wisdom, poetry, healing, protection, smithing and domesticated animals.
Cormac's Glossary, written in the 9th century by Christian monks, says that Brigid was "the goddess whom poets adored" and that she had two sisters:
Brigid the healer and Brigid the smith.
This suggests she may have been a triple deity.
She is also thought to have some relation to the British Celtic goddess Brigantia.
Source: Google
A succubus (pl.: succubi) is a female demon or supernatural entity in folklores who appears in dreams to seduce men.
Source: Google