Long Thrusted Poems
Long Thrusted Poems. Below are the most popular long Thrusted by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Thrusted poems by poem length and keyword.
The beast swallows your school
of dull, towering fish
You are pushed grasped thrusted by their scales, The light ushers you, Keep Going, through the, raw melodic rough noise
The light, hugs, loves,
Gives
Pets the tiered soothed piglet
You stay in the spotlight
Of your very own Sun
Sun
Warm papery, softly, touches your shoulder.
The cold humid whiff catches your nose
Your puffy coat pokes fun at my walking,
pulling and pushing every step you take
You see Sarah, and Carrie
Your Happy, you run
Forget
Forget all your languages, your Learnings
As one blinks without thought or knowing
Forget everything but,
but pure embrace, Mind and soul as one, Becoming no more than Joy
A plump pig happy and content,
A soul to enjoy, and no soul for worry
You frolic in the snow
You happily play
It,
Hard gaze,
Tears into my soul
Screams, bleeds with the blood of disbelief
Tidal waves crash, Thundering my mind blind
Burning, a thousand burning needles piercing my heart
Scorching cauterizing my nerves blind
Burning, bittering my eyes, my bleeding rationale
you stood carried on,
Floating, not feeling
numbed
enveloped
by, the spirit
taunted, its words danced to the music
Tapping in to all pain offers
The cracks of your shell
Bleeding with tormenting
Human pearl
Of your reality
Blinded from a world, one reality forward
Hugging my restless mind searching its world for reason and truth
Yet blinded to none
Only afraid
For both of us
United by invisible recognition
I met you
Saw you
Became You
I saw you in fresh clear lenses
Vulnerable, Weak, Unique, and Human
I pried your shell, off
Your tender, beautiful flesh
Exposed and glistening,
For me to respect and wonder
A sea of light cast upon you
I’m no longer afraid
As a child is in the dark
To cross my reality,
To yours
Where have all the poets gone?
eight months’ time passing and counting.
Seems long time ago, as we were thrusted
and stuck in a labyrinth waiting to exhale.
Poets, like me, went to Poetry Open
held in book stores, book fairs, café
lounge in restaurants or room in libraries;
where poets and poetesses got together
to read and listen to our own poems.
Sometimes we went to Open Microphone,
mixed with musicians, who played and sang
songs of different bands or groups or singers
or their own music or songs in different genres.
That was so amazing, seeing creativity
as well as artistry in motion, in action.
Poetry and Music together, beautiful!
I penned a poem “Music” and I sang the first
verse of “With A Little Help From My Friend”,
that I reworded, as introduction to my poem.
All these places I remember and recall.
At this time, these places are closed.
Where do we poets go now?
as the passion to write does not stop.
Now, I listen to music when I’m reaching
for my free spirit to write groovy,
funky, cool and whimsical poems.
I search for my soul when I write
deep, sensitive and soulful poems.
Poets are creative and find ways to figure
out what will inspire to write, pen, scribble
those poetic words or imagery we see.
Or what our imagination reveal or unveil
to stir up or get going to conjure a poem.
Where do we poets go at this time?
In our home, in our backyard,
in neighboring surroundings, where we see nature
for our imagination has no bounds.
11/27/20 Silent One Where Do We Poets Go? Poetry
Years had passed by..
The inner child in me had grown
I often reminisce...
Growing pains along the way..
Troubled by mistakes..
Dominated by fear..
Feeling like a burden to others..
Painful guilt ..
A baggage full of guilt
Traveled with me..
I tried to remove it..
A frustrated baggage full of guilt..
I would run..
Baggage would follow..
Trials and errors along the way..
Remorseful from the ghosts of the past..
The ghosts of the past
Haunting..
One must escape from it all..
I often run..
It often returns
Makes its grand entrance..
I exist the back door..
I must make amends with myself..
I will travel to a place where peace and love reside..
I shall forgive..
Forgivness shall wipe away the pain I have thrusted upon myself..
Peace, love and forgiveness is my salvation..
An antidote that must consume me..
My consumption is obvious..
My salvation is near..
I visited my inner child..
My inner child welcomed me
I had traveled back in time..
Glancing into the eyes of my inner child..
I feel serene..
A peaceful sensation
To my beautiful inner child
I forgive you..
I love you..
Unconditionally...
My inner child and I..
had embraced..
We weeped..
We shared our tears
Instantly I felt a rush ..
Suddenly .
The many years of pain..
Had vanished..
Guilt exited through the back door..
A massive load of baggage had been lifted..
My inner child is free..
I am free..
(Revised and changed)
O victim of time's rage,
Of today's ill times and age,
Victim of nurtured false image!
O ye much-eulogized Goddess,
Deemed powerful and loving no less,
Few care if ye do or not bless.
If ladles and the like ye wield,
Home-making thrusted as your field,
Ye know, as field it fails to yield.
What power can wield your pots and pans?
Still, ye wield ah what techno yen!
In varied fields ye vie with ken.
And yet, nor are ye much empowered,
Nor yet with due fair respect heard,
Society hast your equity soured.
With a million things to meddle,
Tireless upon a sad saddle,
With what vigour ye still juggle.
O ye Home-maker so handsome,
Look at still your hubby’s ho-hum:
He says: she! She just stays at home!
________________________________
This ode addresses the plight of women at large as so-called home-makers. The last line highlights this. A man, when asked as to what his wife was doing, says, 'she just stays at home! Alas, times change and still stay stagnant!
Ode | 19.12.2019 |
The darkness settles in at 1400 and it is crying
It has deal with pain in a manner that is becoming burdensome
It is tired of all the disappoints and is still crying
Physical pain would be less burdensome
The connection of souls does not come to the lips
HOPE is lost and not in any universe
The constant disappointment has constantly from the soul taken sips
The possible love they had is only viewed as an unsuccessful verse
The constant and unpromising smiles
Have now become a sword thrusted into his heart
The pain has become constant Biles
The words and actions from your lips have failed to cause his heart to start
Once he falls asleep he’ll die
His heart is broken while you life goes bye.
Peering through a starless veil,
A pallid eye—above the din
Spies furious shapes of tooth and nail,
Neath creaking giants with cracking limbs
A ghastly fiend with nary an eye,
Gaping maw and slithering tongue
Stretches taut a leathery hide,
To beat upon a tethered drum
Motley creatures with vicious bite,
Crooked spine and bony spurs
Caper 'round a flickering light,
In mottled skins and ragged furs
A supine figure amid the row,
Kissed by visage in shrouded garb—
One hand reassures a trembling brow,
The other, holds firm an ornate barb
An incantation from a gnarled crone,
Her fingers outstretched—snatch the moon
Thrusted steel through breast and bone,
Herald forth an inexorable doom
The suffering flesh—a siren song,
To The Horror lurking yon The Pine
Spawned in The Void of the Cosmic Throng,
Of shape and form that breaks the mind
————————
Piercing through the flickering veil,
A carnal gaze that churns within
Eyes curious shapes that bow and wail,
Repays in kind with a charnel wind
An eldritch tongue—like scoured sword,
Smites the menagerie on its knees
Withers the vine and sours the gourd,
Parts bird and bark from the trees
Sinewy beings with leathery wings,
Borne from the flame—flit to-and-fro
Pluck lifeless things like violin strings,
To marionette a puppet show
Neath weeping giants with blackened limb,
Infernal corpses, made to parade
The crone crows a hymn through hideous grin,
Sour on the wind, a sweet serenade
————————
In the cold, cruel dark—an icy refrain,
The soft, pallid glow—now scarlet red
The crone props her bones upon crooked cane,
And ventures forth with her army of the dead
Loves' open shore
On a sea of dreams
Hold me like you've done before
Then finally all can be what it seems
We both have waited and longed for, in our lives, something more
Kiss me tender and passionately in and out of the dancing moonlight beams
Take me to all your temptations let me in your hearts' door
You can't scare me with any of your darkness I'll still be here where the love light gleams
Don't walk away from me like others have leaving me stranded laying on my velvet thrusted
upon the floor
I promise not to leave you by any means
Here I am from you begging for more
Listen closely hear my screams
Getting lost in you eyes is something to which I very much adore
You pushing me away again would be going to our past I was hoping we had gotten away
from all those drastic extremes
Would loving me, for you, be all that much of a chore
Let me sail with you by your side in that sea of dreams
Let us be with the other on the glorious waters of loves' open shore
Everything was so spontaneous
and beautiful in my younger years;
a young heart reaching out to adventurous dreams,
making them as real as his imagined schemes!
Climbing a grassy hill,
pushing forward to reach mountains,
and discover hidden treasures
that lay in darkness for centuries;
frescos of saints in spacious caves,
a statue of an Archangel
guarding the dusty altar
as he thrusted His long spear
into the woeful Devil!!
Spring was a stunning sight of fireflies,
so incrediblly cheerful and thrilling,
when the impetuous wind
scattered the small white flowers
of a clustered viburnum
over the acient town of Baianum...
where I spent my younger years,
cherishing the liveliness of adolescence!
Coming down steep cliffs
towards early evening...
when the sunset was ablaze,
serenity was never felt so deeply;
and as weary as the canary's song would be,
it prompted me to sing!
In my younger years,
all those days weren't a passage through brevity...
they lingered on like they were enraptured by eternity;
If I had foreseen the misery of my misfortunes...
I wouldn't enunciate the loss of their affinity,
or the vitality of my unrelenting footsteps:
when I crossed,so unhastly,
that magnificent land called, " Italy! "
Long ago, in the land of Kangleipak ( present day Manipur)
lived a demoness called Lai Khutshangbi
( means the deity with long hands).
Fierce in form, a most feared being in Meitei Mythology,
her mouth gaped wide, her tung hung long,
hands dragged below, with fingers sharp as talons.
This demoness besides stealing livestock,
would slip her hands through cracks in bamboo walls
snatching away young children from afar.
There was a man and woman with their only child
called Shasi (or Naocha ) living in an isolated house near a forest
where Lai Khutshangbi dwelled.
That fierce demoness longed to seize the child,
yet feared the father-fierce and bold.
But when Shasi's father was away her chance came.
Then one night she came and asked the mother
voice deep, " Is Shasi's father home tonight ? "
Frightened the mother whispered, "Yes he is here awoke."
Night after night the demoness came and left deceived.
The father at last returned.
Hearing from his wife what happened a trap he set
his blade in hand to cut the cursed hand that plagued the land.
Again the demoness came-crafty close,and sly.
her voice a hiss she asked, "Tell me, is Shasi's father gone ?"
The mother as planned replied, "Yes, he has gone."
Happy, the demoness thrusted her hand through the earthen wall.
Swift as lightening the father's sword chopped her hand.
The demoness wailed and rain through the fields.
"Shasi's mother you liar, you cheat ! " she screamed in terror
as she fled, her other hand dragged through the soil
of the darkened land.
The father followed,blade held tight and with one swift strike
the other hand gone.
Screamed she in pain, her blood raining down the cane.
So red patches on it timeless still remains,
the sugarcane still bearing the mark.
After that in Kangleipak children played fearless day and night.
I am The Artiste.
I draws lines by cutting carcasses, among other things.
I am the crazed dancer, down pouring a diaspora of red essence and entrails as I sporadically spin.
I am the antagonist; the anti-hero jester with a ricin covered knife.
It’s poisoned point thrusted through regal robes; to rest in the fief, flesh and fealty of the king and his knights.
Making a mosaic of the martyred by combat and tactical subterfuge; again and again enacting battles of attrition.
Each successive version of ourselves adjacent to the next, compartmentalized in seclusive panoramic positions held together by Gravitons.
Vacuumed by a stretched string in infinite dimensions; making an Omni-vector to temper the fool.
Ah but I am the axiom of chaotic-kinetic dynamism; I distort lattices and break symmetry.
I am the Goldstone boson & Majorana fermion, I am the Tachyon.
I command my Pions to intersect and form a Rho.
Regimented in units, they leer over fortified Dirac and Neumann boundaries.
A coalition of rebellious Quasi-patrons; under siege by Gauge Synchronicities and Eigenstates.
But I am still my own worst enemy; myself and my anti-self.
When living in a world reborn on God’s Sword & Shield, many of us are left on edge and apprehensive; but we will always die in God’s heart.
From there after our remains are gestated; by the womb of empty space & silence, the true Matriarch Mother of skies.