Long Tonight Poems
Long Tonight Poems. Below are the most popular long Tonight by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tonight poems by poem length and keyword.
I still follow
the blinking spells
of the rose wine sunsets
before surging sandstorms,
believing in the euphoric breeze
floating across the
shivering skyline,
echoing vermilion voices,
lost in the limestone grains,
as questions of change
interrogate the empathy
encrypted within
my inhibited intuition,
like spices of kismet flames,
swirling to the fluid fluency
of sentimental keys
in saxophone tunes…
But in the midst of moving monsoons,
I feel the eagle feathers of Zeus
rain upon the crystalline swing,
crooning songs of tameless time~
wrapped in the crescent cocoon
of silent splendor,
as I rise, dressed in steel and silver.
I hear the bluebird dream
in symphonies of the karmic sea,
streaming with specters
of star-struck ghosts…
O majestic marine jewel,
change is a promised ocean.
It’s sprouting coral blues
from reefs of ambergris embers,
awaiting floods of onyx tears
and jagged thistles,
like a tsunami of smeared streaks
reflecting the smoke
and swollen stains of the red sun.
Tonight, I erase the last mistake;
a scribbled imitation
of my aching past,
for I could not veil the scars,
failing to seize the
splitting clusters of
slate and garnets,
burning between
sleepless lakes,
drenched in midnight terrors,
as satanic waves
blur the turquoise surfing
through the limitless twilight.
Yet, I hear the mermaid moon
call my name in magical refrains,
steering my iridescent silhouette
to an ivory shore
where ebony hints of ink
would home the hermit castles,
where you and I can breathe~
as soulmates destined
to draw neon lifelines from
bioluminescent sparkles…
So let the bluebird drift into an orchid dream
where karma is the poet~
draped in deep violet,
writing elegies
to the eclipsed eyes of the red sun
that stole the silk and sage
of summer sighs…
And change is more than just a mere rhyme,
it is the ultimate essence
to rearrange
whimsical words
woven within wind
from honey and gold
of a
dulcet
dawn.
A nearly full bag of fries in a trash bin
is a little tempting to one not having eaten all day!
Somewhere is a single mom scrubbing floors
so her kids can eat a PB sandwich
smeared with a little jelly,
or maybe
she will leave them with generic macaroni,
a Kraft substitute easy for kids to fix alone -
but no big juicy red apples because
those would cost twice as much
as packaged macaroni for several kids.
At least cheese in little packets is calcium for bones.
Or is it?
When it’s the season to be jolly,
potatoes are rather cheap and versatile.
You can boil, fry, bake or microwave them.
You can buy them flaked
for cafeteria style mashed potatoes.
But there is something special about salted French fries
put into red containers bought at McDonald’s although
they get tossed out barely eaten with half-drunk cokes
in the same way that people throw money out the door
almost any time they go out to eat.
Eating out! That is such a luxury for someone who is poor.
I’m ok; my belly has its fair share of fat.
Folks like me can always last till we get home.
But tonight while it is cold and dark,
I hope someone will find those fries I spy
sitting at the top of this garbage heap.
I know they’d be a treat for someone truly starving,
and they’d appreciate them more than he
who was eating them when they were nice and hot.
Even better, of course, I hope all those in need
can find a way to feed their families and always have
a place to lay their head down for the night.
For the Garbage Poetry Contest of Anthony Slausen
Sitting there on the wet cold pavement
Here is warm solace from a cold bottle
Preaching the gospel of the destitute
Exploring the vanity of my self defeats
Anger leads to harmonious frustrations
I’m lying to friends that I don’t really like
These strangers who randomly joined me
To share confidences and profane insight
Tonight there are stories I want to tell you
But no one hears my words, silent they are
Dreams I once felt, they lightened my heart
Now thoughts that pierce with anxiousness
Times were so different then today’s now
Now was never what I believed would be
A path I thought to take went to somewhere
Not imagined, leading astray, winding away
Quaff the rum and feel the heat in my limbs
Numb my ranting and close my blind eyes
Silence the mute people who talk of nothing
But of failures they embraced to themselves
Should I continue to fight for a pyrrhic victory?
Own the end of the struggle, defined by the road
Or talk about beginnings to start the ending of all
Leaving on this trail, is there another path to take
These Kinetic forces that define my movements
Dancing to fates that hate the songs being sung
Music of remorse, harmony of horn’s cacophony
The orchestra that’s directed by a fickly conductor
Are these choices made ago, set by today’s reality
Or can the things that I do now be fixed in the past
Is it now time to do the things I want to do tomorrow
Can I stop what was begun by not ending the game?
The remorse of love not taken, not made, not tried
The safety of shelter when nothing is done or risked
Words that aren’t said to people who weren’t listening
So what is worse, not being who you were not to be?
Tonight, I am going to get drunk and explore my faults
Laugh at those jokes not told and cry from pains not felt
Dream of success not earned and defeats I am proud of
Try to be the man I was before I was a man full grown
Moon is still behind glum clouds
Sullen is the garb of a silent sky
So much like how he feels tonight
Anxious in the night laden in dark
Stars are opaquely hanging listless
Like the glimmer of her grieved vibes
Dimming in saddened teary eyes
Refusing to proffer a happy smile
A chatter heard from birds’ nest
Breaks their muffled silence
Quivering pulse of anguished feelings
Rattling summer’s lavender dreams
Drifting away in coral winds
From fragrant garden’s ruby appeal
A lone bird now leaves its abode
And sits close by, staring at him
Ambivalent of travails it heard
Unsure to yield, unwilling to leave
Bawl of strife’s persistent despair
Slowly fades in decaying night
As moon is starting to pierce dark,
So are the twinkles of distant stars
Waning in purple of rising dawn
Glinting on blush of the tinted arc
Seeing the lone bird sprinting above
Spanning wings in blazing speed
Fleeing emptiness of vacant scene
Much like him… way ahead of him
July 12, 2020
July Na Or Hm Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Hm received in contest judged on 7/14/2020
Contest Name: Completely New (9) Any Form Any Theme
Sandstorm churning in my mind tonight,
driven by the wind of change,
and I know… it’s not that easy.
Drove a million miles and it is all the same,
spinning through the circles of my mind,
and it’s cold… it’s not that easy.
But there’s a feeling unlike any other thing I know -
on the deserts of New Mexico,
I see forever but it’s not… not as far as I can see.
Yeah, there’s a feeling unlike any other thing I know -
on the deserts of New Mexico.
I see forever but it’s not… not as far as I can see
Sandstorm churning in my mind tonight,
thunder rolling out across the plain,
and I know… it’s not that easy.
Felt it wash away as all the rain came down,
wash away the memories from my mind.
Let it flow… it’s not that easy.
Cuz there’s a feeling unlike any other thing I know -
on the deserts of New Mexico
I see forever but it’s not…
not as far as I can see.
Yeah, there’s a feeling unlike any other thing I know -
on the deserts of New Mexico
I see forever but it’s not…
not as far as I can see.
I see forever but it’s not…
not as far as I can see.
Just make love to me, in the morning light
as my tears fall down, then I'll be alright.
Let the warmth of you, melt my long cold night
and I'll hold you near, yeah, we'll be alright.
When the sun appears and we're lying there,
its OK to lie. Oh please tell me Dear,
please just one more time, that you love me babe,
wipe these tears I cry, as you say goodbye.
Then just leave me here, all alone again
and I'll try to find just one reason why
I should stay alive, because now your gone
but I know this time, you'll come back to me.
So I'll wait for you, as the day goes by
til you're here again, and back by my side
then I'll hold your hand, and I'll touch your skin
and I'll kiss your lips in the evening time.
As the day moves on, in the fading light
I'll make love to you, if you want me to.
I will hold you tight, keep you warm tonight,
and then you and I, we'll try one more time.
We'll lie side by side when the morning comes
Oh, please, please don't go, I just can't survive
one more night alone, if you walk away
I will surely die, if you say goodbye
We don't have to end, we can share our lives
'Til the bitter end I will stay with you
and we'll share our smiles and your shining eyes
through each lonely day and each lonely night.
No don't close the door, we have just begun
Can't we please just try, maybe one more time
It would be a crime to just let us die
you can trust me babe I won't let you go.
Just make love with me, in the morning light
as my tears come down, and I'll be alright.
Let the warmth of you, melt this long cold night
as you hold me tight. Yeah, we'll be alright.
Just make love with me, just make love with me
Oh I need you so, just make love to me.
04/13/16
(The conflict resolved: "Dynamic Quality" reveals Loves unmistakable translation from 'Heart to Hand'; from 'Ideal To Real'; from the artist's conception to its manifestation in material form."¹ - Author - x25).
( For Robert Pirsig & The Crew @ MOQ.ORG ~ )
. . . or is it that "Truth" Rises?
Mangling metaphors . . . it's a start
He's the only modern man ever to have seen a Lion . . . the lion seeing too / re·COG·itate
/ ask: what is the progenitor of Good or in other words- did god have a birthday and was it a good one
he taught us to take care of our Goodness not bad for a life's work ( . . . but what good's the good anyway?) what's new is always more attractive ( . . . like maybe The Fountain of Youth?)
Gilded or no; "Good" is what we're made of. . . not so hard to understand "A Rational Morality" ~ A Spiritual D.N.A.
It's only hard to push the post-millennial hard-asses away So...
Resolved:
Someone once meant to own someone else- ( . . . maybe you! ) and what a sail it's been too; the lie no longer covered; exposing 'Terra Cognito', (. . . an unfamiliar, familiar place? ). We know, because we "See" and 'Believing is Seeing' after all, even as oblivion seeks his own.
The gods are restless tonight (a too familiar sound).
Pray they never wake again.
_____
Notes:
1. What’s exciting is that I have revealed the Objective Existence of “Quality” and the scientists will love it, because it’s a measuring tool and just as important is the understanding that that "ineffable" Quality in the object is what we meant by The Object’s Quality in the first place!
I barely know how you bear it, I said to the grapefruit
Of course, true to form, she tried to smooth everything out.
I was irked because no words arrived to sooth me.
Which made her easier to eat, actually – more palpable.
Masticating my cereal is never easy these days,
especially when the news is on, so I shut that puppy down.
If it is not good news, I do not need it, especially in the morning.
There was a wreck at 17th and Lamar, as usual.
I see one there almost every morning,
Yet I continue driving this same exact route.
And me, the woman who loathes routine,
Actually living one now. Is it my age, do you suppose?
The car radio is on some 1970’s music but not folk music.
The one channel I had on before my husband drove
And ruined things by changing my channel.
He is going to be eating mothballs for supper tonight.
My girlfriend calls to yack about her dead husband again.
I wish he was still alive so I could beat his ass, she says.
I have heard it about sixty-nine times, still it never gets old
Especially this morning as listen to the wrong freaking station.
Dusk brings a primal knowing into my soul, I can smell the nearness of the watching ones. Animal is here, I have no idea if it be bear, panther, deer, quail or mouse, but I feel it watching me. It waits for me to still myself or leave; my choice. My keen dog hearing listens for the snap of a twig or a crunching hoof print in the spongy leaves. I hear nothing. It is as silent as death in the timber tonight.
birds have disappeared
a cattail moves gently
shadows get darker
Sit as still as I dare, staring into the surrounding forest, trying not to think about whatever is crawling up my left knee. Spider? Chigger? Wood tick? I dare not smack it, not wanting to scare the animal away. I sense something ethereal and wonderful is going to happen at this pond, surrounded by giant oaks.
tree turns into fawn
shes followed by her mother
buck takes breath away
They enter the pond in a majestic sort of way. Pond parts as they glide into it, turning themselves into it as if they have been gently stirred by a giant hand. Words have not been invented to describe my feelings as I stare at these mesmerizing creatures. They do not see me, but one may sense I am here. There is a hoarse cough. They still themselves. Stand as statues. Ears raised. Is it my smell? They continue drinking.
fireflies flit by
adding magic to the night
i stay forever
Written 8-29-2020
Contest: Let the Pens Flow Haibun Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Jenish Somadas
It’s a dark and cold night. Looking back and up, the moon
was a thin and useless crescent, barely visible.
‘What a wasted moon,’ I thought.
“A stupid moon,” I mumbled to myself as if to finish a conversation.
It looked deflated, artificial, soulless, and cold. Not poetic at all.
I’m coping with tough decisions
a victory and perhaps one martini too many.
Peter (my bf) called, when I was at Toads (a local bar).
We usually talk on Tuesdays at about 11.
It was noisy in there
I was a little tipsy
while he was a little irritated.
It didn’t go well.
Martinis and authority don’t mix.
I handed my thesis in today, 80 days early.
I've been working on it obsessively.
finger to lips, like a secret I can be obsessive.
It’s a 60 page ‘first draft,’ theoretically.
“Can I turn in a first draft for your review?”
He looked surprised, “Sure.” I handed it over, and that’s that.
Every ‘first draft’ I’ve ever handed in has gotten an A.
“You’re CrAzY,” Sunny chuckled, “We gotta celebrate!”
“Please don’t hold the door open,” the librarian said.
I jumped, I hadn’t seen her sneaking up on me.
How long had I been standing there?
I’d been lost in thought.
I focused on her now.
She was 50 maybe, or a hundred—who knew?
Her face needed moisturizing badly,
her wrinkles were like cracks in marble.
She looked frowny.
Why is everyone frowny tonight?
“Sure,” I said, facetiously, throwing my arm up like the door was hot.
The door was now free to close.
And the world was a better place.
Once I’d turned and stepped into the library,
I decided It was too bright and too hot there.
So I left.
The second I was outside, in the refreshing cold, Sunny appeared.
“There you are,” she said, like she had lost something.
“You walk too fast,” and the girl with her laughed.
Sunny can always pick up a girl—it’s like she’s magnetic.
"Let's go home,” she added, “we’re going to pay for this tomorrow.”
She hooked my arm in hers and we followed the path,
the three of us, like the yellow brick road.
.
.
A song for this:
Drunk On Love by Basia
Data & Picard by Pogo