Long Transfers Poems
Long Transfers Poems. Below are the most popular long Transfers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Transfers poems by poem length and keyword.
THE EYE of I
What is life? What is love?
The eye of I took it in…
The material rolling sweeps highs and lows--valleys cuts, grooves, gullies and gorges eye engorge crevices of porphyry
heat flies from the ravines
places the eye cannot see but the soul can visit-- living matter,
infused with tissue thoughts generated externally electrified internally
the sweat that beaded on the brow drips and spatters, absorbs the entity under
What is the breathing open petal life… radiating respiring
One throttle to quell that respiration, bright lightening beauty gently fusing into glow?
Brightening as I faster
Turbine-whistle I your master
beating, spewing, thrusting, ignition transference… body grue and stifles?… Gone
She stiffens the radiance of the face pale, milky, alabaster, clammy pore-less beams the lips and cheeks rubescent now. Smoothes, and transition into deep hues of blues, violent violets, ebony black. Hardens, stiffens stone then softens? as alabaster
Deterioration, matter, entropy all so naturally
Squall has past--the quondam respiring takes long respite..
The eye of I took it in…The material rolling sweeps highs and lows, valleys, cuts, grooves, gully and gorge I engorge crevices of porphyry
heat flies from the ravines folded as petals from
places the eye cannot see but the soul can visit
of living matter, infused with tissue thoughts generated externally electrified internally
The sweat that beaded on the brow drips and spatters, absorbs the entity under lies the breathing open petal life… radiating, respiring?
The fingers trace and fall in place the Etowah infused with breath
The sweat sinks in, absorption energy transfers electricity thoughts
Cabachon crescendos!
All the while the living, beating, breathing, entity flutters, shutters, smiles.
Half past December the dim light comes
Transfers gray images reflected on the lake
From clouds crowding the sky about to cry
Huddled near by are the strange mountains
Holding scenery together just close by
Calm facilitates a kaleidoscopic morning rite
Maneuvers with blue birds dipping down to take a drink
Makes ripples in the time line they deserve
Thirst works with maturity in harmony with nature
The common observer takes it all in at once
They come to the conclusion that all is well
There is more to be perceived if given more time
To a paradox generated to facilitate the calm
There is no sin in simply breathing
1.
On the bank of oblivion’s river
A soul hastily arrives
Wishing to cross on the other side
Where eternity resides
2.
Has been preparing for the crossing
Since the first day of her birth
But now that the moment is so near
She is afraid of her death
3.
More few moments she is begging
For much better to prepare
Before the Charon with his boat
Her, to perpetuity transfers
4.
Death however is adamant
Since to delay he can not
So he is reminding the soul
That it is her mortal lot
5.
With dread, she is now boarding
For the trip of no return
But surprised she is to find
That this is of no concern
6.
As the crossing is completed
And the soul disembarks
On the land of sanctified
This is now what remarks
7.
All worries and all burdens
That she carried all along
When imprisoned in the body
In that place don’t belong
8.
For the first time, she is sensing
Real freedom in her being
Such an amount of love and beauty
This world has never seen
9.
At an instance, she turns holy
And with angels, she soars
To the heavens of the blessed
Where her creator adores!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
16 OCTOBER 2013
*Reposted poem – in honor of our loving PoetrySoup friend and a personal friend, Lucilla Charillo, who died on 27th September 2014! Lucilla, we miss you already! You with God now! Rest In Peace!
Here is Lucilla’s comment on “ THE CROSSING”
Lucilla Carrillo
Date: 10/16/2013 8:28:00 AM
My friend Demetrios; I have been sad for the past few days, but this really made me cry. This is very heartfelt and touching to the soul. A - 7 and I loved this poem. Thank you so much and God bless you always.... Lucilla
It’s a fine line we walk in life,
but a finer line the lineman
holds on to. There’s something
about holding 24,000 volts in your
hand, close enough to kiss it.
Close enough to feel the tingle on
his lips, sending the slightest
shiver down his spine. He’ll
tell you, there’ something about
watching that blue light dancing
up his arm while working in
the rain. As people sleep he
works swiftly to allow others
to live, teetering on the edge
every day. Dealing with hot lines,
pot heads, transfers and more
volts than most people
encounter in their entire lives,
these men risk their lives for
the love of the live wire.
There’s something about being
outside, 60 feet above the
ground, in 110-degree weather, -10 degree
weather, or pouring rain. There’s
something they can’t explain to
you, something you won’t
understand unless you also
fall in love with the live wire.
He’s content to know he’s
done his job, all too often
without recognition. He sleeps
nights, knowing his friends
are out their risking their
lives, and he may be called
at any time, to help them,
to help you. As the children play,
as the neighbors sleep, the
lineman climbs his poles
and brings you back to the light.
CHANDELIER PRINCESS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She smiles, for she is the Chandelier Princess;
A young queen sitting on an ivory throne
with her golden crown glittering when light falls upon it.
She smiles, for she is a fair lady;
wears dress of ruffles and exquisite satin,
Her cinnamon hair neatly fashioned in a meticulous bun.
She smiles, upon her throne; yet, I see utopian-like happiness;
a symbol of her hidden pangs,
which bitter autumn brought upon the bud of her heart.
She smiles; yet, I see tales concealed suffering and pain;
a ribbon of her ever-flowing tears,
that her mind transfers to her soul.
She smiles; yet, her silent screams can't be hidden
not even from her being - where emotions flow,
nagging her thoughts roaring like thunder.
She smiles yet finds no solace
in the mask covering her real face
veiling where her true self lies.
She smiles yet dies gradually in silence;
her pain feeds her shame,
crying silent tears for imperfections, disguised with lies.
She long lives these feelings,
letting them drain the life out of her.
I beg you, Chandelier Princess, remove thy shield, thy mask!
Your true self awaits.
~ The Tzaddik ~
A 'Tzaddik,' normally translated as a 'Righteous Man,'
is so much more than that. I think of a 'Tzaddik' as a
selfless holy man, who exists only for others. If you've
ever met one, you'll recognize him in the poem below...
You can’t put your finger on it
or think of its synonym
Yet the instant he spots you
there’s something special about him
It’s in his smile that greets you
his attentiveness when you speak
He exists only for you, for your deepest needs
though you may be unassertive and weak
He introduces others to you with a shine on his face
that he transfers to you with effortless grace
You will never forget him, nor he you
for you’ve just met a tzaddik, whose love has touched you
I sip compliance from a cardboard cup. Tight fine steel lines, hoist five lifelike life sized paper mache white swans. The birds seem to wing from sunlit atrium up and over an oak railing to the mezzanine. Dazzling beneath skylights, they depict ascent, flap, glide, brake and then descent towards wrought iron tables. They mimic our trek from mall entry up the escalator to feast at the food court. I sit alone at the railing, gliding swan overhead, and pretend to eye my phone. Today I secretly study humans. Food court stuffed with youthful staff, bargain hunters, transit transfers, mobility scooters, mothers, babies, bags, phones, the braggadocio of men meeting, gaunt faces of the needy. Bodies milling, streaming, yearning. The bubbling cocktail of pop rock, chit chat galore, languages, slanguages, giggles, and that one guy yelling. The carnal essence of commercial cookery. Unspoken competition for tables, at times nearly a blood sport. Each of us tiptoeing through our daily hopscotch. Only children wonder at the swans. Do mall swans search for lost wetlands, or do they strain to join us? Mythology has it that swans shift between human and avian form. The enchantment of Tchaikovsky’s swan, princess by night pirouettes into swan by day. In the wild, sudden bright white, raucous landing, huge bold birds calling, splashing power and grace. I wish we each burst into swan. But flight feathers do not anchor to my bones, nor contour feathers pierce my skin. I vow to visit the wild ones, and leave.
published in "Unbroken" 2025
Like the basement door.
Doesn’t flounder or bend.
Just is hinged.
Unlike me.
Any door can be an ocean.
As expansive and open.
Creates a passageway.
Tangled sea.
Any door can be a flower.
Attracts bees and such.
Gets gobbled up by slime.
Leafiness.
Any door can be a poem you see?
Just like candy stripes.
Just like peeling off stickers from the mirror.
Gobbling the space between those two planes.
It’s flat.
The door is flat and stoic.
Transfers me to the next realm.
But only if my feet stop trembling.
Any door can be a poem.
Attached to me.
Any door can be a poem.
Unhinged.
The Company which keeps titles in time does so in profited excess of allowance as time.
Under Guilty
Titles held in Observation of build, create discussion opposite of direction.
This Co Direction
Company Directions real estate holdings today include delapidated uninhabitable dwellings.
Dwellings owned by the poor.
Letters, titles, transfers and objective to directed finance create a trust opposite of intent.
Assembly Member Irwin are you withdrawn
from holdings described?
Message Sent
Your email address has been verified and your message has been sent. Thank you. Trust file in the supreme court
In dark rock-cleft with guano splats,
There dangle many thousand bats.
A lowly worm evolves therein
And in bat flesh begins thriving.
Now man arrives for bats to eat,
For hungry poor, some tasty meat.
And so our worm transfers to man,
Thus species barrier now it span.
For little worm this is good news,
As further afield then it moves.
Now clever worm it gets a ride
When in long-haul man it does hide
To depart from the Orient
And widely spread in Occident,
Then many folk start feeling ill,
As lowly worm begins to kill.
Perhaps a lesson man now learn.
Don’t underestimate that worm,
For sometimes it will disappear
To change its guise and reappear.