Long Traverses Poems
Long Traverses Poems. Below are the most popular long Traverses by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Traverses poems by poem length and keyword.
There's an intrinsic dimension deep within my heart.
Its capacity for love and pain, I cannot explain or measure,
but when love takes hold of it, it refuses to be swayed
from taking an emotional journey, arduously pursued.
It's said a heart can be treacherous. I know that to be true.
I've been wounded more than once by my heart's betrayal.
Its pulse is strong, never missing a rhythmic beat,
but to its fragility, I can solemnly attest. It breaks, easily.
Though caged to protect it from physical harm,
pangs from emotional loss traverses through the bars.
My heart never hesitates to ask what if or, should I...
Its sails full speed ahead, despite whirlpools and eddies.
It can motivate me to laugh at life's joys found each day,
but it allows tears to fall in rivulets when it's wounded.
Love's thorns stab much too deep and heal too slowly.
The incubator of my life
Who shines more than the twinkling stars and blazing moon
In the Africa twilight;
And glitters more than precious gold's and diamond's of Africa
I see you!
Mama,
Whose dimples, from where I scoop animation;
Are deeper than the sweet well of Gerar;
The seasoned yellow corn that fills the mouth
I see you!
Shine shine Mama,
My reliable and relentless life support
On whose impenetrable wings I sailed securely in my youth,
Regardless of the distance, traversing life
I see you!
Mama,
Whose unquenching love encompasses all;
The non defaulting mechanism of my locomotive,
Wiser than oracle's of Africa;
I see you!
Mama,
Whose heart is larger than Olumo Rock;
Hands taller and larger than sacred idanre hills;
Who traverses and watches over Africa like a Colossus
Mama of all mothers,
I greet you!
Oh, the poet sees you not just as a fleeting shadow that fades into horizons,
He falls in love as the sun in gold transfigures the curve of your cheeks,
In the line of the smile that steals your guarded secrets, fragments of hopes gathered,
In the tones that around your fingers display codes of lights and dreams.
He is captivated by the vibration of the air when his name is a hymn on your sculpted lips,
He sees ocean depths and stellar explosions in the pigment of your iris full of delicate reflections,
He notices how shadows, in their reverence, outline your form, canvases on which histories are written.
In silent chambers, places not filled or solidified by words,
A poet with a generous heart will find you, beating in unison with the melody that resonates within you.
With eyes that see beyond veils, he extends your being into the most subtle and precious whispers,
He will weave you into immortal verses, every beauty captured is a star in your personal constellation.
Keeper of souls, the poet does not sit as the executioner of your heart,
For he himself, having passed through the fire of mistakes, has learned the art of redemption,
He, bearer of lights in the heavy night, traverses the sunken sentences
Where the word finds its cradle, and his touch is a balm for wounded souls.
In his crafting with the grammatic brush, he resurrects forgotten meanings, and in poetry
He rewrites manuals of love, where every wound finds the ointment of a sublime peace.
He steps, a charmer of silent wisdom, through the antechamber of hearts,
Leaving behind emblems of his passage, inscribing in history cantos
That celebrate the candor of moments and the vastness of human love.
Each scar becomes, in his odes, an illuminated altar that ceaselessly watches over the wellspring of life.
And thus, the master of this arcane lexicon becomes the architect of the kingdoms of imagination,
Immortalizing in his profound rhymes the thirst for affection, for connection, for remembrance.
A Rousseau of words, painting the unexplored jungles of emotions,
Where every mark left, whether it is a gentle step or a sign of suffering, transforms into an ode to existence.
'Course as a grim teller of tall tales,
(albeit poetic) reasonable rhyming
quasi roundelay I readily admitted to feign
cuz, stringing words together with
pride and prejudice plus
sense and sensibility, jocularity,
and conformity I dissed deign
(spoiler alert) iamb, trochaic,
dactylic, and anapestic metrical reign
jest your ordinary garden variety
dollar short day late dime a dozen
penniless citizen banker Abel and Cain,
yet mine mean mien blithely, daringly,
fatuously, ludicrously, nauseatingly,
pretentiously playfully urbane
many (if not all readers)
will coon sitter
yours truly harmlessly insane,
whose feeble attempts
to wax and wane
oft times falls flat (splat goes Matt)
as if dropped out plane,
without a parachute
instantly recuperating while lain
supine (winded, but...
none the worse) asthma brain
suffers concussion, confusion, contusion
actually, immediately, and unexpectedly
knocked fluent German speaking ability
within germane guy verständlich?
If ye really comprehend
trademark non Turkish gobbledygook
then explain (using
language of least familiarity),
but best to commence
with eye catching hook
impossible mission
apt lit pupils (mine)
to evade even momentarily
riveting, spellbinding,
and transfixing look
courtesy ingenious way
with word ye snook
cored me and took
wind out my sails.
Nor could I breakaway courtesy automobile,
cuz 2009 Hyundai Sonata
would not start... yea for real,
thus finding me ready to yoke
neck (think gibbet) each heel
dangling as body goes limp
blessedly, finally, happily
ridding me of any/all hangups,
one less goo goo gaga born this way
poker face cards for him to deal.
UNGABLUZUM describes this schlemiel!
In the fractured realm of trust and broken hearts,
Love suffers, feeding on enigmas.
She, a fragile constellation with a cracked heart,
Thus, we remain, seeking infinity in corners of dreams.
A ballet of the shadows of trust, waves of unrest,
In the quiet of the cosmos, emotions grow like falling stars.
A mind once a halo, now a troubled vortex,
Love traverses the storm of light and stardust.
Echoes of remorse, deep calls from eternity,
A yearning for healing, time weaving on wings of nothingness.
She, once a goddess of the day, now a fragile enigma,
A love forged by the unknown, without the chains of fate.
The weight of my madness, a hidden colossus of fire,
But among the remaining shards, love roams like a moon's murmuring.
A fool, an alchemist lost in labyrinths, seeking redemption,
In the ruins of faith, hope is born like a golden flame.
In the dark abyss, a splinter of magical light,
To restore trust, the hearts that still whisper.
For in the fracture, love weaves like an astral dream,
A never-ending thread, woven from the cloak of stars and chosen eternity.
Under the night sky, she walks like a shadow of light,
Carrying stars in her bones and the moon in her heart,
As if the universe had left pieces of itself in her hands,
And when she touches the world, everything becomes magic,
The hidden corners of the streets whisper her name in the wind,
Like an old story that does not want to be forgotten.
Her veins sing melodies of galaxies, each breath draws the tides,
Her heartbeat synchronizes with the rhythm of constellations,
Her eyes hide thousands of stories from places no one else has tread.
She walks as if she is connected to something greater than life,
As if the earth moves at her will,
And the sky bends just to caress her skin.
When she smiles, you wonder if the stars are jealous,
For nothing they shine upon has ever compared to her intensity,
To her untamed wildness.
She was created for more than this world can offer,
A force too infinite to be contained.
I sometimes wonder how someone so infinite can exist in such a small world,
To be a longing for eternity in every step,
A wandering star in search of a sky to match.
Like a wave of light, she leaves behind a trail of dreams,
And her soul traverses the universe, always seeking something beyond the stars,
Beyond the night.
Your priceless words still sit in my heart,
Your voice resonates in my mind,
They're the happiness I find
as I sojourn along life's weary lane,
I follow their guiding light.
The memory of our evening walks is my keepsake,
An ode to it I desire to write,
Your smiles linger in my chamber
despite your years of slumber,
An evening walk I have found to be a healing stream.
Your silence has taught me that
the unheard breaks dawn's ice,
It has taught me that
the unspoken traverses untold mileage,
I now understand
why you sometimes routed that way,
I now understand
why you embraced the face of its sunlight.
I'm forever grateful for your tutelage,
You held my hand from cradle age,
Though our time together was short,
The memories are forever treasured,
These I'll bear across the seas of my sojourn.
April 28, 2023.
Elon Musk at 54
Under the sapphire sky, at fifty-four enchanted dawns,
a dreamer weaves his path among constellations of desires,
from the ashes of Pretoria, an ancestral fire ignites, calling us
to Mars, where stars weave promises of light.
With the hands of an alchemist and the soul of a wandering poet, he breaks the boundaries
of the old world, his mind cutting through dogmas like a silver sword,
sculpting new horizons, endlessly asking "Why?",
and the sky answers him with its deep silence, rockets dancing
where gravity loses its spell, and dreams fly free.
Tesla vibrates under his fingers like a harp of lightning,
an electric pulse traverses the universe, while Neuralink whispers:
"The mind is an epic code, and the world is an endless canvas."
On X, his voice thunders like an echo from the depths, a laugh and a cry,
fighting the shadows of bureaucracy, the dogmas that would pin him down.
No chain can bind him, nor fear of the infinite void,
he is a pilgrim of the cosmos, with a soul of fire that burns
with the desire to see beyond the horizon, to make humanity
multiplanetary, not just dust scattered in the cosmic wind.
At fifty-four stellar spirals, with eyes set upon the universe,
Musk becomes a beacon for those who dare to secretly dream,
from chaos and doubt, he builds a road to the future,
always asking "Why not now?" under the eternal sky of dreams.
From way up high in the cloud-covered sky
A snowflake traverses toward the ground
In its crystallized form a new season is born
And it lands without making a sound
Darkness arrives before the start-for-home drives
So much earlier it begins to get late
Convertible tops have their openings stop
And baseball teams start to hibernate
Autumn is here, the first snowman is near
Candy corn I am starting to crave
In front of our home are some skeleton bones
Coming out of a makeshift grave
Turkeys get carved so that nobody starves
Footballs are flying through the air
Kids start being good like always they should
Thinking elves might be everywhere
As the seasons change, fireplace logs I arrange
And start to winterize our place
I am wearing a smile as long as a mile
Autumn put it right there on my face
Apparent normalcy of seeing Simon crouched on bathroom tiles,
engrossed in energetic chewing, fails to filter my distress.
From outer body standpoint, hovered below ceiling's heat lamp,
I monitor the horror of my daughter's distraught face.
Ginger fringed, four foot five island stands on tiles first splat tarnishes.
Her scrunched hand shields centre of her face.
Vibrant sauce slides between her fingers, rivulets lead from between knuckles.
Confusion holds her captive. Velvet blond temples wince.
Metallic stiff hand draws away from her altered face.
Gaping space menaces a moustache of tomato soup.
Escaping stalactites extend from her feather faint face.
Rubbery bulb thousand times kissed
bread crumb sprinkled nose tip Rudolphs its ridiculous absence.
Coolest nochalance, Simon casts defiant dollar coin eyes at me.
In typical satisfied snack imbibed style, athletic tongue traverses his tame feline ferocity.
Miniature tiger teeth with clinician care cleaned, reminisce their red.
Placidly pleased by his sudden dismounted diplomacy, primal Simon forgot it.
Sun snoozing couch cushion
visited by vengeful psychotic.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Gory story. Feeds my fiction addiction.
3rd June 2020