Long Tingled Poems
Long Tingled Poems. Below are the most popular long Tingled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tingled poems by poem length and keyword.
I heard it again.
The music I enjoyed
kept me at it
reading studying
rhythm and throb
and melody for company.
Associations tingled back:
my social life
emotions pulsing
carried from bar to bar
as I lived it afresh
enthused once more
fully attending.
This time I also saw it
performed:
the intricacies of the instruments
beautifully crafted
the coming together
of musicians intensed
with the soloist
orchestrated.
The conductor calling each
drawing me in
focused to feel part
of a new performance
thrilling how I felt
all those years ago
listening to those spools of tape
as I struggled to learn and to grow.
A lost part of me
in that half hour awoke.
One morning the door was knocked
I glanced at my watch briefly as the latch was unlocked
There in a box made of wood balanced on the brick wall
Was a tiny man laying quite still trying not to fall
It wasn’t a coffin as he was still alive and breathing
He didn’t have any clothes on he was nude as if bathing
But then as my arm tingled from sleep, the dream
dumped me coldly on a damp cobbled stone street
I glanced again at my watch it now had no hands
Its numbers had moved around, their order inverted
I noticed a child with far away eyes crying, it had stolen
the watch face, the tocks came before the ticks, they
escaped in a stream along my tingling wrist and arm
down into a field where colours smelt of Pine,
a bird caught some of the tocks, and devoured them all
It made a nest in the wooden box balanced on the brick wall
I glanced once again at my watch on my wrist
deep inside i viewed an interesting sight, a moon shone full
In another skies night.
An isolating darkness looms:
A numb yet tingled skin;
And residues of twilight's gloom,
As walls unseen close in.
This place feels sharp, yet vague and stale;
The clash stirs strife within.
My fingers click and spread—a snap!
So faint—I fear I'm dead.
Insipid airs invade my lungs:
The voices haunt my ears;
Adrift in dreamlike black, undone,
Alone, still lacking fear.
Commanded, guided, commandeered
My soul is tugged then shoved;
My anger swells, for loss so sheer,
No helm, no sense, bereft.
To think, therefore to be—I blare!
The real is mine to snatch;
I’ll walk into the tunnel’s flare,
My exit door unlatched.
With the sunlight on my face,
All the walls surrounding me; opaque,
The outside world completely efface,
I found myself, now awake.
The fortress of my captivity,
Keeping me alive but still,
The fortress of my incompetency,
The last of me it killed.
The pleasure it tingled,
Cannot be replaced,
Still I wish to run away,
To the land outside these gates,
All the gold I have,
Is nothing but metal,
All the joy I need,
Is not for what I’ve settled,
This fortress of my solitude,
Forever screaming the pains it felt,
This fortress of my extinction.
With me, dying many deaths.
Curtains in this room,
Stopped speaking now,
Left their bodies here,
And heart outside the realm, astound.
It’s marvellous how miserable I am,
With all the wonders at my foot,
The jewels, the pleasures,
Even so,
I’d love to take all my plans and scram.
The palace of illusion,
I am living in,
Has given me more than I ever deserved,
Yet the feeling of me belonging in the field,
Is something I’ve always preserved .
The fortress of my hopelessness,
Falling down now,
With the reign of my lord changing,
In front of an unknown king we bow,
Thrown out of this boundary,
Helplessness prevails,
But the joy it brought me,
I set a new sail.
For life has always been,
Catastrophic,
Dreadful it seemed,
It felt worthwhile now,
Alas! It is just a dream.
I could never tell reality from dreams,
so palpable, oil on canvas seems,
and while in both realms, I now dwell,
must I say to one, farewell?
or go on living in Hell?
On a long spring day one hopeful May,
my imagination would display
violet poplars and undergrowth of green,
where emerged a woman, so serene -
magically, from nature, unforeseen.
She spoke to me and I could feel
that she must certainly be real,
but she told me she wasn't there.
I said I didn't care -
she was the answer to my prayer.
As dappled light on my skin, tingled,
reality and dreams commingled,
and this lady fine and fair,
that I swore I saw standing there,
disappeared slowly in the air.
The plane landed
The wind was high
There was excitement in the air…
New people, new country, new life
Leaving loved ones behind
I had come-----
With tears in my eyes
The sun was high
The sky clear
My skin tingled of the unknown
For he was not there
The sky is dull….
The rain is pouring
The station is quiet and smoky
I saw him there
Like a breath of fresh air
A ray of golden sunshine
Brightening up my life
But the moment passed
All to quickly
And he was gone
Leaving behind the long days
And cold weary nights….
In a new country
With new people
And tears still shining in my eyes……….
THE SCULPTURE
Dream girl carved by Pygmalion: Sculpture.
He framed her face with charm of bright Moon light
His painful passion brought pearly luster
glistening on her wide eyes in delight.
Superfine cut by chisel with skilled stroke
designed curves of body on perfection.
On each point emerald emotion broke.
Elegant statue stood on completion.
Sculptor desired the statue as his wife.
His yearning tingled on earnest prayer.
How could the statue be blessed by life!
Her eyes blinked, she smiled at her creator.
Statue turned Galatia in rapture.
Dream girl carved by Pygmalion: Sculpture.
05/18/22
Orphan sonnet
Contest by Emile Pinet
~
A lilac endeavor
of promised importance
came strolling along
on a path in the sun
Its fragrance unfurling
this side of September
when springtime was singing
for winter was done
With meadowlarks chatting
in off color language
while watching the roses
now bloom by the wall
She fancied a smile
in lace covered cotton
with hair gold and windy,
the belle of the ball
I stood there a’ staring,
my eyes hardly leaving
the shape of her world
filled with raspberry dreams
Along an old footpath
with grass patches growing
and banks touching lilies,
all lining the streams
My heart felt a tremor,
like mountaintops falling
in piles of pebbles
and granite like things
Her beauty a fashion,
none other was wearing,
a fine velvet cloth stitched
in apricot strings
She looks my direction
with eyes colored passion
and lips made of honey
as sweet as the bees
Now watching her fingers
collecting the samples
of Ginkgo leaves floating
the back of the breeze
She laughed in the open,
a bright sun was shining
midst butterflies tinting
their wings greenish blue
I followed her northward,
my hand in my pocket,
then pulled out a poem
said, “This is for you”
An unfolded whisper
‘tween petals of daisies
now telling a story
of love or of not
Her glance towards the paper
was finding her grinning,
her painted toes tingled,
her breath just forgot
I melted like butter
on sidewalks in August
when feeling her smile
pressed tightly to mine
I guess in the verses
with lines penned in rhythm
she knew of my joy,
I had told her in rhyme
So now we just wander
directions that beckon
when autumn is sleeping
and summer awakes
Picking up branches,
like sculpting a sunset
or bridging a pasture,
whatever it takes
With overall blue jeans
and knees wet and muddy,
we tend to the gardens
the earth it does claim
While sharing our wine
with a cat and a moon bean,
enjoying each other,
now who could complain
I remember love
it doesn't seem so long ago
that it greeted me
and went unrecognized at first.
It took me in its confidence
and touched my very soul
with unfamiliar needs and wants
that tingled every fiber of my being.
I remember love
it took my very breath away
and pounded the heart beat in my breast
with just a look, a simple touch.
It sapped me of all my strength
stealing away all but its presence
that breached the gap of self and other
burning hot with unquenchable desires.
I remember love
how its feelings and emotions rose
in palpable touches and caresses
satiated only by the one.
It remains a questioned wonder
as to how and why it fades over time
gets lost and pushed aside by the daily grind
and gives in to lesser needs.
I remember love
as if it were yesterday
when two hearts held each other
unconditionally bound as one.
It is the emptiness that follows I dislike
the heartache, tears and loneliness
that comes from its loss in forgetting
the moments that gave it birth.
i have kissed beneath summer’s sweltering
fragrance your array of spackled decay
in lovely gardens; sweet roses weltering
plundered and plucked; an incidental lay
beneath your satin I have run my fingers,
trembled as famished breasts groped my
own; your mellow poetry still lingers
imperviously enriching - and when i try
to kiss another i feel your haunting roots
encroaching my tingled thighs and i shake
beleaguered by your lavender; heat shoots
through laboring reeds sprouted mistakes
pale panhandlers passionately proposed
then by your tender
i’m awaiting... (so you suppose)
4/8/17