Long Transpiring Poems
Long Transpiring Poems. Below are the most popular long Transpiring by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Transpiring poems by poem length and keyword.
The night was dead silent and my body was on fire, sweat start rolling from my head leaving a pool of water in the middle of the bed; my tee-shirt was soaking wet and I was gasping desperately for breath, I thought I was coming down with the flu but that was far from the truth, the external temperature had risen and it felt like a crucible was moving around in the heavens, and so I went outdoors and felt myself drifting towards the shores. I didn’t know how I got there but I was sitting on a big ship, with loud music on the deck and people moving around in duplicates with beach towels wrapped around men bodies and women parading in bikinis. For one moment I felt out of place as the ship move from place to place, through choppy waters and the music gets louder and louder. Waiter and waitress were moving around serving all forms of beverage for extra tips with sliced lemon on the edge of the glass; I knew that the journey would last. I did not plan it, I did not organize it but I find myself in the middle of it. No one was serving me, for they could not see me, but I was silently enjoying their company. More people were coming from inside the ship, and the scene suddenly changed into a carnival mood, and everyone start taking off and tossing their shoes and dancing to the carnival rhythm. The ship kept moving around dropping off and picking up people around cities and towns. I got off at one of the stops and that was the ship’s final stop. The crowd was so thick, and everyone was doing their own thing as they join the carnival rhythm. I felt a deep premonition, but I could not tell what was transpiring on the inside, my body was still hot and something was dripping from the ship that docked beside the board walk next to the crowded bench. I kept drifting from crowd to crowd, until everything was spaced out, something was getting hotter inside me as I made my way towards the edge of the sea. Everyone was having a good time, but something was bubbling up from the inside; the forces were so strong, that it emits a strong energy that exploded in the ship. People were running and screaming and stepping on one another. I woke up from my sleep and realized that I had drifted in the deep and was traveling in my sleep. I was still hot and water was dripping from my back, and the rain began to fall.
Each one a universe unmapped
beneath a frail façade of skin,
a globe, where the value hides,
not on the surface, but within.
Sometimes glimpses are discerned
on the face or in the eyes,
glimmers of what is transpiring
beneath the thin disguise:
a marvel of complexity,
surprise and mystery,
a mapping of the future,
an encyclopedic history,
lands to explore and conquer,
genetic fortunes to unwind,
a human vista unique and rare
by God's own hand designed.
To traverse emotion's vast terrain
great is the heart's capacity,
but handle with care the souls you meet;
each has its own fragility.
Copyright, December 9, 2017
Faye Lanham Gibson
I can tell you a story
I have enough living to do so
But interested perhaps hardly
I’m sure you have better things to follow
I will tell it for myself then
You can stop reading at this point
Disinterest only mean you won’t understand the end
Or did I spark an interest in you to join?
Do you remember words?
A time when spoken bears it heard
To tell and be genuine about
Not claimed and be sky-rocket proud
When lying can be for good honesty within
When lying in modesty can adhere truth therein
So much said that weren’t meant to be
So much words in the air we can never see
I pick I choose I chose I used…
Somehow… transpiring words today I no more knew
How do words simply stray beyond?
To no more bear its meaning to once belong?
I can speak of truth you wouldn’t believe
You can lie and I listen and receive
Do I not grieve yet… we become the part
Those leaving words that could melt our hearts
Is it the world today… is it you up to date?
Are we too inward away… or is it simply me too late?
How can we speak with chosen words?
Upon words that no more commands to be heard
Have the world change or have I?
Did you let it change… or ask why?
Leaving minds for when words you transcend
The hiding thoughts where aspiring words will lend
I know what needs be heard
To play the language word for word
And there is no need for you to listen
Because already… we are forever broken
I no longer have the word to describe who I am
Have you that word to describe who you are?
Guess you are still reading this to the end
My guess… you haven't already known you have come so far
Do you know what I mean with my story?
Or have you a story I’ll be with interest to follow?
I think your story I'll understand too… barely
Have we really enough living to do so?
In my early 70s (not THE early 70s) I discovered, without having had the benefit of being properly schooled for old age planning, that "long-term lifetime goals" have become "longish term waistline objectives" over maybe the next decade or so.
The retiring, too quickly transpiring, nature of these hoped for outcomes has also triaged down to a more responsible mature adult scale of peace-making literacy:
good health plans for resilient physical dexterity,
(used to be sexual athleticism)
good humored anticipation of resonant mental acuity,
(used to be world-famous genius)
and good faith passion for integrity
(used to be making a living by doing something not hopelessly toxic to everyone, everything, everywhere, all the time).
Big surprise in the gerontology department, lesser quantity of life, but healthier qualities of love.
A Taoist's pronoia version of fair trade.
(used to mean not-fair-trade paranoia about getting ripped off by suspiciously threatening Others, God, Aliens, Big Brother, Artificial Intelligence, Big Pharma, Big Government, Big Bullies, too much over-capitalized, and weaponized, Bigness, etc.)
Now I practice compassion-engaging faith and humor and health by responding to systemic TrumPublican trauma with music and movement therapy, and writing sexual politics poetry, for which there is not a large commercial market, and practicing good liturgical song and dance.
Now in my 70s, I've also noticed that good sacred music, like good humor, and good health, is not just about commitment to the stretching movement, but also to the silent rest.
An Airliner on its regular schedule
It seems the Airliner was stuck in an anywhere time module
The Airliner would take off in fligh5t in the present, but would go from current into unknown times
The flight would be smooth
The destination was supposed to be from Los Angeles to Chicago
The passengers, Pilot and entire Flight crew themselves going from through historical past
It planned on the Flight chart
Even the passengers had no idea as to what was going on and what was transpiring
Confusion and concern running through everybody’s mind
No explanation could be expelled into why and what was happening on the Airliner
Finding their way to where?
There was no getaway only time traveling entry way
Fuel was getting low
The airliner in flight, but seemed locked in time to anywhere
Stuck in time to nowhere bound
They couldn’t even return back to their time where everything started
Airliner in its own search, but loss in no find.
Captive to the rainstorm
Riding the glaring lightening flare
Blistering the silent egg shaped moon
Tearing open the limitless midnight sky
Flashing with the vengeance
Of fierce exquisite white gold
Splitting the whirlwind atmosphere
With the perfection of stillness
Transpiring with the serrated shape
Of its jagged naked energy
Thundering within turbulent caverns
Of the bowels of the universe
Crashing like brittle blasts
Pursued by crackling ghosts resounding
Screaming, striking the dormancy
Far into the opulent blanket of earth
Transposing the primal jolt of its deliverance
Like the swinging Hammer of Zeus
With such majesty and wild haste
Like the utter abandonment in the thrust of great force
Challenging my breath with its repercussion
Its rumination and countenance
Of my impaled soul!
August 5, 2019
If hope is all the shadows you see, let it surrounds me
If fear is the mountain that lies beyond the sea, let it departs from here.We are trying to rebuild our lives again and invite some new friends us, after forty-five years of trying to climb the stairs and I finally got there.
I journey on land and sea and have spent years struggling in the deep valley, forgotten by friends, associates and family, but I kept the faith and kept my focus on work until I break through the gate and when the weather was fine I climb to the top of the roof without shoe to absorb fresh air.
I can see you over there, puffed up with fear, not knowing what the strange weather might bring, and not knowing which song to sing, the splendor of the universe is hidden in the trees and a new beginning is waiting for thee open the doors and release the stagnant air and courage will meet with you at the top of the stairs
You only have one life to live, so what does it takes to forgive? The villains have already gone out of the town and a new climate is floating around, come let me minister to your soul, come, the universe will make you whole.
I can see him sitting at that long table staring at the golden wall in front of him; he has no clue what is transpiring on the outside so he left it up to destiny to decide, the water kept drifting from the sea and his thoughts keep racing after thee.
The shadows of hope kept dancing around and he is anxiously pacing up and down, the village is rising from the sea moving towards mankind’s destiny;the children are playing on the sand and the moon and the stars are hurrying along,
He rise up on his feet and nod his head and walked off with a peculiar smile something, I have not seen for a while, he stopped and looked back and said, “the deal is done, it’s time for you to have fun. The shadows of hope open the doors
The shadows of hope bring peace the world.
I am just coming off the big stage that was erected for this vibrant age. The energy is still lingering in the ground and the honey bees are still buzzing around; something special took place at united center last night that send the people wild, heaven was cruising with paradise on earth and the people were dancing their hearts out and the world embrace each other close to the midnight hour. Everyone had this catchy rhythm in their feet and the ladies dressed in white looking like young brides some as old as eighty brought back the suffergate movement of the early nineteen century to life. The women were looking smart and happy as they occupy the center of the building and, the whole place resembles congress makeover. Lousi was there staring at the little starlight floating around in the atmosphere; her eyes were fixed on it and her mind was fading with it, what on earth was going on, it was like a party was transpiring on the lawn outside but it was the protesters in the park rumbling with the officer in the dark and the celebration went on and the music rolls on and the speakers enters the stage one by one igniting a thunderbolt across the center and everyone catches on to the fever, some were short and spice, others were long winding and heavy, but it did what it had to do to make the mistress day come true, the celebration mounts with screams and shouts and bickering around and the journalist filled the gap with interview across the floor as the patron called out for more.The momentum continue to build and the multitude in the center begin to chill, I was feeling the energy too but I did not know what to do, and sweat starts oozing out of my flesh and in seconds all my clothes was wet and the energy in the center began to circulate all the way to the gate and the momentum built higher and higher, And when she could not resist it, she came on the stage, the crowd went out of control and flags were waving across the floor and the people kept asking for more, the balloon came down and spread all over the floor and the momentum began to spread like wildfire in the wilderness; keep the momentum going and nurture it with your feeling, keep the momentum going and get some spiritual healing, keep the momentum going and hit the road in a brand new pair of shoe and destiny will tell you what to do.
The authors
blink only when looked at,
they recall for you
a story, perhaps a tale half-read.
One book lifted,
pages fly between thoughts,
a few scrapes of knowledge
peck and preen again.
Phrases return
demanding still to be displayed
though rarely used.
There are mystic scriptures
that hover between
fiction and non-fiction.
I imagine temple beasts
still guarding them.
I overreach,
shake this collected tree of knowledge.
Books fall, some like stone,
some like fluttering birds.
I am ankle deep
in the printed word and its aftermath.
Some will go to the thrift shop,
some to the garage,
a few will stay between bookends
surviving these winds of change.
Today I have time to admire
the dance of sunlight on bare walls,
the transpiring poetry
of blameless space.
For years it had flown through dim canyons,
hollows where the mute sheltered in echoing caves.
Poems shifted loose and gearless.
Words darted for cover as if caught
in an empty bell tower.
On tongue-chilled days it would croon inarticulately
as it sang beneath jawbone rafters.
Then one drunken night I felt it clearing its windpipes,
coaching a squeaky organ into yawps of utterance.
I can see it now, a raw unlovely thing,
a creature hammered through gurgling fissures,
grown stark with a transpiring clarity.
I would mislay it like a lost penny,
go crazy to find its untrod trail again,
then it would return like a tramp begging at my door.
I hear it knocking now – a homeless angel
eager to shed the next paltry revelation
in a foundling language.
No longer is it a chance sighting,
no longer a luminous flutter on dark walls;
it is red of lip,
a painted vowel in my unbolted mouth.
A mouth that now divulges,
and sometimes in a dull turning year
may say something worth transcribing
for the ears of other madmen.