Long Thrumming Poems
Long Thrumming Poems. Below are the most popular long Thrumming by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Thrumming poems by poem length and keyword.
Jolly chances t'turn fickle frowns
Upside from the downward depression of soundless stars
Starved of their beating heart
Durdum thumps thrumming with the du-dum do falleth down
As my farced and fickle faced frown
Shall merely chow
Shall swallow
Shall discover delving downward doom
T'dally days destined t'devour
Food formed from my sickened haze
For i shall swoon to the song of suicidal serendipity
In the very case i were to gain and brew bottomless baths of bile from my two-toned two-finger fallacy
Pacing and purging
And racing
And awaiting the silent serendipity of suicide
And to slip th'seams of self sabotage
So to take this heart f'momentary might
And lower this lease upon my lonely life.
Time shall tie untimely truths to th'other
Upon my final night.
28//9//25
"I believe through any trial
there is always a way"
Such profound belief
in powers of love
is hard for my hands
to honestly sing
and not shyly wave away
With integrity of my final
truthful say
But, still
I do silently believe
as polyvagal Health Theorists
systematically play
Through any win/lose
or lose/lose trauma trial
we always do our best
in a more resonant
win/win therapeutic
co-arising way
To both sing and standing dance
our most resiliently harmonic day
To withstand a more resistant
wounded child's lack of nurtured
healthy nature spirited way
to robustly pray
In this
our cooperative
co-invested circle
of soulful gospel
sacred spacetime stay
I believe through alarming
Othering trauma
of disabling marginalization,
criminalization,
commodification,
AnthroSupremacist colonization
Nonviolent multicultural compassion
is always our healthiest
act of win/win co-invested action
loving our wealthiest resonation
Drumming indigenously wise
thrumming interdependent nations
restoring our humming
resilient
EarthJustice folkway.
I’m Back
I’m back to the hotel in Springfield, Illinois.
Safe travels and great
Time on the I-55 time machine.
Old friends came along with me,
Smells of hot
Rubber, and gasoline.
New sights, some in burning
Memory, some
Schmeered across the
Windscreen of my mind.
Felt my daddy’s calm
Fall upon me somewhere
Between the wheel and
The leather.
How he loves to drive
Sitting within me as
We dream and remember
Dreaming.
Somewhere on this road
Is a place of peace
And power -
A place where skin
Meets
Turning tarmac.
‘Round the corner and
Over the Earth’s curve
Horses to hand-holds
White lines to guide
Us.
Thrumming rhythms of
Expanding gas
Reverberate within our
Chest…
And time stands still
While our spirits
Fly
Together
Out into the cooling
Flows of the rivers
Of time.
His calming spirit
Is always smiling.
His love of life
Is joy within me.
Only for a second,
And chased after for
Hours,
Visions of his beaming
Smile and crooked
Teeth fill me with
Exploding love, pushing
Out the fear and pain.
Only the harmonies of
Throaty pipes and tires’ humming
The Zen of life behind
The wheel with my
Dad.
I know I can tell you
This….
He loves my connection
To the cars we have chosen.
They are only machines
Like me, strong and
Powerful and free,
But destined to
Failure and sweet memory.
A hemi – a chassis,
A tranny quick and sure.
Boom, roar! Off
We go into the
Slip stream of time
Again.
Reality is coming.
Don't you hear its wings, a-thrumming?
When prosperity smiled
on the people of the Nile
and there was bread and onions
no Calvins, Luthers, Bunyans
could disrupt the daily toil
to sell them snake oil,
but the workers in crisis
are sure to turn to Isis.
totem poles, Superbowls, Beyonce Knowles
cellphones ring tones Alex Jones
will-they-fire-us, Covid virus, Miley Cyrus
How long can you keep
them walking in their sleep?
In the watches of the night,
don't you sometimes take fright
when you think how it will end,
the day they comprehend?
Rand Paul, Fawn Hall, Rollerball
go-fasters, phony pastors, US Masters
shock jocks, Redsox, Amanda Knox
During the investors' meeting,
don't you hear those wings, a-beating?
how many years I lived
without knowing the decision space in front of me
didn’t depend on the stingy calculus
of a lover’s whimsy.
I can’t believe—
how many times I mistook silence
for verdict, god’s understudy,
how many times I called a locked door just,
as if my wanting were felony,
my body a crime scene.
I called it love—
letting all other appetites eat first.
I called it love—
when I folded my desire, my voice
into a paper crane,
set it alight,
then apologized
for the smoke.
But freedom—
freedom isn’t a hand-me-down.
It cannot be conferred, is not a ribbon tied
to someone else’s mercy.
It’s my pulse still thrumming,
a window they swore was nailed shut
splintering, opening, opening.
Freedom is sky without edges,
my mind a kite unwound from every fist,
kissing my own lips,
striking my name like the last match on earth,
calling it holy—
to breathe without permission.
I am faceless
Tattered by actuality
Heart thrumming in my ears
Blind to prospects
Voiceless ... soundless
Yet I scream, mute
Face to the sky, I wail like a fiend
Hailing the heavens like a forsaken angel
Above, the sucking expanse
A mocking roar of silence that drips, somber
And bleaches my bones black ... indelible.
Of those most dear, I brood
Ever-near, in my visceralities
The joy and regard that but their mention imbues
Sings through my blood like a brand
And buoys my spirit, steadfast.
They ARE my heart, after all
My essence ... my worth
Is this longing, then, but folly?
Should it NOT be the spur of my marrow
To hope for a shard's requital ... in love?
In tender, affectionate intent?
Or even in, dare say, (desperate) ... pity?
Even that, I'd surely embrace ...
Oh, yes ... even that.
* SECOND PLACE in the "Any Poem Won In A Contest In November" Poetry Contest, Laura Loo, Sponsor. *
* FIRST PLACE in the "Contest Number 355" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Sponsor. **
And we measure the action of the animal by various sticks..
And trees change over time, growing tall exerting their force in a time all it's own
Branches snap and fall and become sagging, soggy moist fodder for microcosmic universes,
and the maple burns itself away
Come to their demise decompose and become the forest floor debris
Now which magnificent 'birds of prey' soar over and swoop down into,
to clutch their prey
Wings thrumming like a heart beat 'lub-dub' as their talons send the tree debris flying
stirring motes of dust that scintillate in random sunbeams that illuminate grey shafts of sunlight in bar-codes across the forest...
Dry silence is broken by the sound of a soul when it's over stricken with awe
And in the wilderness, beast tear apart their prey leaving only bits of evidence of their existence
And time means nothing to to this terrestrial drama.
Can you hear it?
The rhythms beating,
pulsing upon the ground
boots trampling dirt as
they march towards war.
Can you feel it?
The innocents cry for blood
bloodlust for the enemy thrumming
in each and every chest
as they shout for war!
Do you fear it?
Watching your father march
to the rhythms of his comrades
with no time for a goodbye
while your mother holds you
back against the rhythms
drawing you towards the sword.
Do you miss it?
The thrum of violence
Beating wildly upon
Your chest. The pulse
of drums now a whisper
replaced by the distant screams
of the damned.
Melancholic notes of a lone flute brush past my ears,
the night yet to settle but the sun long gone,
only a rosy pink glow shimmering behind depthless clouds.
A drizzle of rain falls gently,
ricocheting off of the wooden roofs,
running off its slanted edge,
thrumming harmonically on the stone slabs below.
How many springs has it been since you left,
I wonder as I think about us.
The rights and wrongs of our past have already begone,
yet how can I leave it all behind?
Your golden eyes, your radiant smile,
the starry love I once wished to be.
I gaze deep into my cup
watching it fill with rain,
drop by drop; inch by inch
mirroring the tears gathering in my eyes
and the growing pain.
Bittersweet memories circle me like a fire,
unable to escape.
Full of people is the world,
yet none like you will ever return.
I always tell myself that it is better to let you go,
maybe I pretend it was all a dream,
but I keep coming back,
Back to the place where we belong together.
I picture how you used to sit here,
the rays of sunlight diving through the pine trees,
picture them illuminating you as you played the flute so elegantly.
The laughs we shared, the tears we shed,
that's all gone now; memories are my everything.
So many evenings I have sat here,
losing myself in history,
reminiscing in the tunes you used to play
and in those melodies I find solace,
somewhere where the pain is not so great,
somewhere where the grief won't rip canyons in my heart.
So as I pick up your flute and begin to blow,
the first shaky notes of Dance of the Blessed Souls
rings across the countryside.
Four legs quiver
like clumsy cabrioles
striking smooth gray rivers
of zig-zag sidewalk barrios
in rhythm with happy shivers
syncopated on a muffled drum
as we talk and stroll
On our way
hand-in-hand
we persuade and pretend
this day away
taunting and cajoling to demand
laughing “hide and seeking”
chasing and skedaddling
poking and peeking
like cuddly pandas
or canoodling otters
splashing and clambering
We roll and meander
impetuously twiddling all the way
atop gregarious green promenades
we pause in slight delay
as we prattle and prance
as we dance to the Crickets singing
nodding to their fiddling
frolicking with all the jiggling
Serendipitous stalks
of snickering flowers pop
to dazzle and razzle our wits
we glide in stripes of candy bits
of rainbows bright
Purple painted paisley
fragrantly flairs in pairs
of scented lavender sweetness
among black-eyed daisies
dusting the woozy air
in a meadow’s billowing bloom
sunflowers sunbathe in costume
We giddily tarry
as we carry
a feast of fancies and treats
artsy bits of charmed delicacies
filled with a peck of upcoming kisses
enticing fantasies that wink
Snuggling shenanigans lead us astray
as we find our rootie-tootie hideaway
hugs as we shy away
from tomfoolery jesting
to lay down and swoon
looking up at the soon to be stars
lingering for the coming of the moon
Murmurs of Starlings
gaggle their harmonies
of chirps
in cheeks and broadened beaks
thrumming tiny melodies.
Swallows sweep and woo
fixated on this unabashed swain
through songbird strains
announcing a shrilling review
broadening in sweet refrains
“I love you…I love you”
Fingerpainting the Monet sky
puffy white cotton words appear
from clouds passing by
while tiny violins spin in the air
piccolos peep
pigeon-toed Doves coo and weep
their contentedness to appease
trailing off the pleasant breeze
I fall upon my knees
My words explode to strew
like a thousand storms set free
“I love you…I love you…I love you”