Long Torrential Poems
Long Torrential Poems. Below are the most popular long Torrential by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Torrential poems by poem length and keyword.
Placed 1st in Contest
rain shine so divine
sprinkle blessings kissings wet ~
feet in leather boots
~~~~~~
Rain-shine sound patter
mad hatter
Alice lost in whimper drops
coatless with Rabbi Rabbit
ruling
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////||||||||,,,,,
///////.////////||||||||||||~~the r
Ain in
sPain f
Alls mostly
on the //////~~_____?•
plain rain is my gain drip
to refrain D
from disdain r
O
Keep p dripping
Ing
everyone
SANE planting \\// \\// grain …..
::::::::::
torrential rain potential
Puddle H
Ubble Oo00orainnoshame
huddle close
s
H
O * * *
wers for blue flowers | | |
so they cower
in ROYAL tower /////|||||||::::::://///\\\\\\
///\\\\ a shimmering sleet
of rain glimmering
on street
rainbow sheet covering
a fleet of SHIPs
2 dip so neat
sweet
RAIN AGAIN bleat bleat
SODDEN EARTH
joyful mirth
|||||\/\/::::::::||||||•••girth birth water
w a t e r FILTER b
R
OK
en
G. R. A. T. E. F. U. L 4. RAINDROPS
buckets of rain
there’s a hole in my bucket
rain s
E
e
P
s
sneaking
holy r A i N
Rain S. h. I. N. e. ••xx
ON ••
_______\\\\________
INSPIRED BY “SCENTED LEAVES” CONTEST SPONSPORED BY KIM RODRIGUES
Aromatic avenues with the scent of your perfume
Lingering on each leaf you grace with your presence
Those delicate feet treading the petalled pathways of his heart
Enticing a new spring in the Autumn of his life
Autumn
A cold bleak reminder of the rains that are still yet to fall
And yet, he sees the smile that your soul wears just for him
And the seeds are sown in the depths of his heart
A heart that he thought no longer beat
A heart that he no longer wanted to beat
Because a beating heart can bleed
Faster
Harder
Making him weak
He is a man
He cannot afford to be weak
He must be strong
He must prepare for torrential downpours
He must retain his shelter
His armour
He must not wear a smile for you
“He will not!” he tells himself.
Yet somehow those scented leaves make him forget himself
And it’s Spring again
And he dons a secret smile
You intoxicate his senses and he wants to indulge in you more
He needs you. Craves you.
He loves it
He hates it
He no longer knows what to feel
Trapped
His tortured pragmatic mind
Wrestling with a drunken heart
Wanting to be loved
Afraid of what will become of him
If love walks away
So, he aspires to become love
That way he gets to be the one to walk away
He will love you a little
And discard of you a lot
He will maintain control
Control of himself
Control of his fears
At least
That is what he thinks
YOU
With the look of adventure in your crystal blue eyes
And your aromatic fragrance of freedom
Wafting, as you inhabit all who inhale your inner beauty
It’s a scent that lingers
You are that scent
The smell of what could have been
He will forever wear it
Carry it in his heart
Or his mind –
Whichever wins at the end of each dreary day
Now Autumn is not just a reminder of death
Of life
It is a reminder of death
Of love
Still those aromatic avenues are filled with the scent of your perfume
Lingering on each leaf you once graced with your presence
Those indelicate feet trampling the putrid pathways of his hardened heart
Enticing a new harsher winter in the awful Autumn of his lonely life
Midnight Aurora
November 12th 2019
“i’m only happy when it rains,”
moans shirley manson when she’s backed by
butch vig & an orchestra of overdubbed
distorted guitars enhanced by sythensizers
a la trent reznor
the genius who is credited in garbage’s first album---
one doesn’t have to be a meteorologist to
think that she & her crew may be on to
something---
for the rain washes all the dirt away
the rain replenishes the earth so that it can sustain another day
when damaged endlessly by the
cruel
sun
scorching its surface & all the living things upon it
(during the spring and summer months especially, when all the idiots are
running round with nothing on & with no sunscreen, etc. to fend off
melanoma)---
the rain is what those unconventional people who
dwell in the shadows
feast on---
and who are these people?
they are the ones that choose not to smile when
everyone else does---
they are the ones that are not easily
amused---
they/we
are the ones that run out in the rainstorm &
dance naked in the cold wetness---
whipping our hair around in a rhythmic gesture
a middle finger in the air to any kind of
“creator”
that would shine its face down upon us all and
communicate
destruction with the poker face of
peace---
give us the rain when it comes
give us the floods
the hurricanes
the torrential downpour that accompanies it all
so that on the days that we aren’t struggling to swim
& struggling to float amidst the chaos
we understand how fortunate we are
to even be breathing---
so that our ever-complaining selves
die with the remnants of the wash-away
& you & i can wave goodbye to the old
selves
who thrived only for sun &
smiles
not understanding that in this pubic hair of a moment in which each of us
spend
together
on this beautiful planet
avec all the other plants & creatures who dwell with us,
that
we must savor every second
be it in sun or rain
and let it be known that the rain does so much for us
and yet is always pelted with insults & “evil” metaphor---
rain,
my friends,
is getting the bad rap---
and i don’t think i stand alone on the sideline campaigning---
there are thousands, albeit it
millions
marching for the rain to come
and keep our civilization
quenched---
news flash: without good ol’ h20 we are all dead as
doornails---
so stop worshipping the sun
&
give it up for the
rain.
This is three separate poems, that when put together (and read left to right ) make one.
1. 2. 3.
Once upon My fairytale There began
a time when my heart and his nightmare, dreadful and horrid,
was carefree and gay sailing together a journey, sailing
sweet and innocent on different ships through a crystal mist
Life was good and for a while two souls drifted on
lifting in song a story spun full of promise
a fantasy that fell sugary ripe and whole and
was dripping from my lips succulent
like honey. When stormy days In torrential rains
Then he sailed in on broken sails clinging to life
and stole my heart, our two ships weathering the storm
our destinies did collide with solid resolve
Now linked together His nightmare blind with fear
as his wild rages ripped my fantasy plunging into darkness
shattered and broke apart, before gasping and smashing
the glass bubble my very eyes stinging with rage
But through it all Love saved us both as the clouds parted
Our love rang true and on that magic day the seas calmed on
the dawning day when sun shone down again
we made it through the gale beaten but not broken
safe and sound, together on a dingy with faith renewed
Two as one, together now hand in hand I stand with you
into our sunset. we sail reborn
On the other side
of reality
from our fears
we're both set free
For Michael Jordons poetry contest, The other side of reality
Form:
On one night,
is it because of a bewitched full moon?
while driving my rusty shaking junk car
I became Don Quixote de la Mancha
mounted on Rozinante holding a lance under the arm aslant,
and with a full gallop, dashing into the battle field, through the street where
the full moon was hanging thirty degree above the sky between forests eastward.
The trees standing both sides on the street
dyed by reddish-yellowish gray moonbeam in silhouette
were the windmill sails whirling their gigantic arms in air to assail me.
The red and green one-eyed giants
often met on the way eastward were the fat and ugly
demon-possessed skins of red wine that must have slain.
Flourishing lance to the right and left
while giving spurs to Rozinante again and again
to advance rapidly, I found myself in the middle
of enemy territory before becoming aware of it,
detouring annoying barricades, I was running through
the path between ramparts while ducking a shower of arrows,
came to the endless water front where disabled Rozinante fell.
When raging waves come and hit the breakwater
for the water cannot advance any further or is able to return,
the waves break up the hundreds and thousands of beads and
return to the bottomless water while flushing its silvery blue scales.
And when sprays of water that dived into the deepest sea
gush out from its bottom belching fire, it rises to the sky
and becomes a gigantic dragon and swallows the moon.
In the darkness where the dragon gathering dark clouds
after swallowing the moon the rain falls, the torrential rain
hits Mambrino’s helmet mercilessly.
Then, Don Quixote kneels to make the sign of the cross
while patting a breathless Rozinante lying on this desolated waterfront.
The cross he made falls on the sands,
the cross he made mourns while washing away in the water.
[Someday,
some may sing Don Quixote with the finest lute in hand.
Praise the gentleman Don Quixote de la Mancha
with silvery voice in one accord, with unforgettably kind remarks:
the one who lived true life of knight is
Don Quixote de la Mancha
the knight of knights, the hero of heroes.]
NOTE: The Golf Road runs from east to west on north suburb of Chicago, and east (ends or starts) at Lake Michigan.
Here are four survivors of a rocket that had crashed.
For a great distance, they had walked through rain that had splashed
so long, and so hard, that everything was turning white.
The downpour continued steadily through day and night.
“Does it ever stop raining on Venus?” one could ask.
A journey through the planet’s ceaseless rain is a task.
It requires the strongest earthmen to endure the rain;
a challenging test to withstand frustration and pain.
Venusian jungles are thick with vegetation.
Survival is usually of short duration.
The torrential downpour cuts through the trees and the land.
It is steady and so strong. A man can hardly stand.
It’s continual pelting of raindrops on his head.
It does not take long before most men wish they were dead.
On this planet, there is one thing that they would call home.
It is a round, yellow building known as a “sun dome”.
Inside, there’s a man-made plasma giving light and heat;
where it is dry and comfortable, with food to eat.
Thirty days and nights had passed since their space ship was downed.
They blindly tread through the rain until a dome was found.
However, inside, it was dark and cold with no sound.
Gashed holes in the ceiling proved there was no one around
Venusians attacked here and killed everybody.
These creatures were infamous for their savagery.
On the map, another dome was shown to be nearby.
Only a few kilometers away, it would lie.
They would leave in search of the next dome they hoped was near.
Their compass readings were off; their position not clear.
Suddenly, their ship with two dead crewmen would appear.
They had traveled in a circle, causing them great fear.
A dark, ominous, electrical cloud they would see,
spewing thousands of lightning bolts, a monstrosity.
This caused their compasses to show inaccuracy.
The group’s leader yelled “Everybody get down right now”,
but one man stayed up and tried to run away somehow.
He was struck by the lightning, and was burned quite badly.
Remains of this man were charred beyond identity.
The raging storm cost the crew another casualty.
The three remaining men continued on their journey,
blindly hoping a sun dome was in propinquity.
Based on the short story "The Long Rain" by Ray Bradbury
"The Honey Masquerade in Delta"
Love and Lust
ignores
ALL
The Others dissolve
who cares, Lovers don't -
Lovers are in a world of their own
Lovers dance
through shadows
Love and Lust
play their own game
Unafraid, they play
Day into Night
Night into Day
Burning sweet like toffee
they play,
The Honey Masquerade
In a World of their Own
The Wheel of Fortune calls
Venus Spins
Freedom
Delta lies her land flat
triangle shaped
beckoning
Free,
but now
Honey Trapped
Apollo runs her like a River
Out to Sea
Love like a poem
sweet vibed and ripe
Lust like a bandit
challenges Love
and ignoring
ALL
Lust takes the shiny, juicy Apple
and temptingly whispers to Love …
"Come, take a bite."
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
"Behind The Wheel"/ Depeche Mode
https://youtu.be/cHpApC0oSCw
"His life rushes onward in such torrential rhythm that...
only angels and devils can catch the tempo of it.”
Anais Nin
“I prefer empty cages, Sabina,
until I find a unique bird I once saw in my dreams.”
Anaïs Nin, A Spy in the House of Love
"One discovers that destiny can be diverted,
that one does not have to remain in bondage
to the first wax imprint made on childhood sensibilities.
Once the deforming mirror has been smashed,
there is a possibility of wholeness.
There is a possibility of joy.”
Anais Nin
"Good things happen to those who hustle."
Anais Nin
“The one thing we can never get enough of is love.
And the one thing we never give enough of is love.”
Henry Miller
“Anaïs, I don't know how to tell you what I feel.
I live in perpetual expectancy.
You come and the time slips away in a dream.
It is only when you go that I realize completely your presence.
And then it is too late.
You numb me. [...]
This is a little drunken, Anaïs.
I am saying to myself,
"here is the first woman with whom I can be absolutely sincere."
Henry Miller
.... obviously, too much whiskey ....
"Delta of Venus"/ Anais Nin
In her slippery salmon swim
And red streaked Crawdads chute
Into her eddying pools
To stare at her from beneath rocks.
Whitewater rapids challenge men
To stand against her torrential frame
And face her, screaming out in pain
Torturous centuries of ecstatic rain
To be her solitary stone
To stand against her all alone
A true man to soften her cold soul.
And who’ll be her Reigning Lord
Echo her insanity
To lover her shade and slippery slopes
Crevices’ waiting, sharp inclines.
Once a current in the sea
So filled with green and mystery
To her a man did rarely come
Then, pulled up by curious shapes
Like lambs, in white puffs she flew
And traced her shadow cross the land
Till the puffs released her soul
In little flakes, gentle and slow
For a time entombed in frozen snow.
There men saw her as a sprite
Reflected in her cage of white
Men chased her form of watery light
In dreams that came hard in the night
Her body lucid, long and lean
A cold corpse, frozen to the earth
Blue hair, bent arm, frozen knee
The sun took pity, broke the back
Of the ice block and set her free
So through high mountains, cliffs
And rocks she trickled
In a gathering streams, in rivulets
Of tears, mouths open
Her bosomed skin slipped as ice
Pain built up the rage within
And sorrow brought it to the light.
Green – the color of fast and deep
White – the foam that came in waves
Along the long and joyous vein
She spreads her long body
Knee bent, her heavy breasts pinned
Blasted, rippled by the wind
She’s touched only by old earth’s hand
Its gravity like a naked man
Basking in her pools
Her faces and belly ghosting him, a mirror.
Watch her through the thickening trees
Her body sliding toward the sea
A torturous rape, a rapid ride
For all who’ve hung upon her side
Hearts pound, as she shrieks and sighs
With each down stroke a demon dies
Within the man who’s bourn the pain
Endured her crushing fingers round
Who’s felt the pound of her breasts soft
Been beaten by her to the blood
And awaits for centuries her cold flood.
The pursuit of justice was for her, just a child
To acknowledge her life taken by organized crime,
those who acted out the worst kind of evil
With cops in their pockets, they could do anything
Had a chief who protected everyone he chose to ...
a network with a cover up so very ugly and deep
Children grew up, threatened not to speak
Justice was for her
As the friend silenced,
finally stood up to them with the truth
Spoken with courage, facing backlash for years
They weren't going to let the truth come out;
not then, not now ... not ever in their minds
Her life became a web of their entangled lies,
there still was no stopping her as she ran
She learned how to move quickly to be safe,
life was always changing at a rapid pace
They vowed to find her anywhere she went,
just to keep their secrets hidden from all
Still she vowed to bring justice for her friend
Acknowledge an innocent life stolen by them,
yet so many still in power derailed what she did
Still she stands, still she speaks, never giving up
Her friend's life is not about the money and drugs,
and all the other criminal acts they smoothly do
It is about a child's innocent life: her soul, her smile
For these precious things and more,
her voice speaks from the grave ...
Justice was for her
A requiem is required
for innocent blood shed
Silence is not golden,
the truth never is beholden
to a lie
Yet, if justice is not her friend,
how will right prevail in the end?
If justice be not given to her friend,
what message then do the corruptors of truth send?
That lies of deceit win,
that criminal justice hangs a crooked grin?
No, her friend will continue to speak out ...
a sacred vow given shall not be turned about
So she press on, presses onward ---
unrelenting as down pouring, torrential rain
Exposing the matrix of corruption,
that will go to any length to cover up
the death of her dear friend
Willing to endure much tribulation
to seek justice
Risking her life, steadfast undeterred,
as long as justice remains deferred
And when recompense is given,
two voices will sing ... this justice was for her
This project was solely Heidi's idea and thematic creation. I was merely her poetic assistant.
she was a beautiful and rare wildflower
peaceful and delicate
but with vibrant untamed hues
she had a blaze
that no one could grasp or contain
so she confined her truth in solitude
she often felt lost and consumed
by the bleak shattered illusion
of the world around her
it was too distressing a place
to settle her sensitive stem
it would smother her oxygen
and sift her energy into
depths of darkness
when her heart flooded
with loneliness and fear
she would lock her walls
fold her life
and paint her windows black
the beauty
anchored deep within her heart
would begin to fade
when she could no longer
find the path
back to her source of strength
she would sit in hush
waiting for any like one
to come
to water
no one ever did
when the pain became unbearable
she descended into madness
no longer questioning,
no longer reasoning
but content to
not be
until
there was no more
she sat in silent playgrounds
listening to children laughing
she enjoyed the indulgence
of a soft encounter with hope
she watched as the
final crumpled leaf
hung from its tree
dangling alone
waiting for the last hale
of winters icy sigh
she was the swimmer who intently
dove into oceans of sand
her heart weighed heavy
with exhaustion
burdened by the
ceaseless meaningless,
struggle of life
to which she
could not understand
she felt resigned
that life existed
and when over,
one could walk gently away
with no hesitation
or need to stay
but she was that rare wildflower
she had danced to the whims of the wind
and had weathered its torrential storms
the fire within her refused to relent
and she found resilience
to rise back into the light
each breath became a privilege
she returned as moments in gratitude
her journey became her solace
and it was there she found her truth
she was reminded that
emptiness in life floats into butter-colored warmth
because it needs to heal
sadness in life is the addiction
of re-living anything
that ever made one's heart soar
perfection in life bows in gratitude
to complete imperfection
and imperfection in life
is the essence
of hope
at birth
rising