Long Trickle Poems
Long Trickle Poems. Below are the most popular long Trickle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Trickle poems by poem length and keyword.
waterfall from skies compete with my thoughts
must be doing something else,
yet here I am,
Here. I am.
Again.
Why do I keep coming back here?!?
A mental shake,
as I chastise myself
I shouldn't be here, don't belong here anymore.
Most likely, I never did, just pushed myself in this place.
But I feel like a homing pigeon,
where this is the only place I know
that I can be and not be.
Where I can hide and expose myself at the same time.
With repercussions? Maybe.
I sit in my own corner and immerse myself
in the chatter, the laughter, and other matters
Nobody really notices me,
but that's ok.
I'm getting used to it.
I guess I keep coming back here
for that sense of familiarity, of a somewhat home,
for the memories.
Of myself in happier times,
of a chapter in my life that I have written
yet somehow botched up. Badly, so badly
that the words are all swimming in their own tears
Oozing ink, drowning.
But it shouldn't surprise me anymore?
This is me?
Of course I will always somehow manage to mess things up.
Some ways more than the others,
'my-esque' askewness
For some, that chapter in my life
is of course negligible. An erasable footnote perhaps?
It hurts, but we all have our own worlds,
where you may not be as important to others
as you thought, as you wanted to be.
There I went, pushing myself again,
only to be pushed away with a
thousand mile barrier of silence.
All along, being dust in that corner.
I gulp a bucket of tears,
because I will not deny it--
how much it hurts. Still.
But like what I say,
have to get used to it.
My hands are cold,
and I wipe snot from my nose,
a dainty trickle of snot, but snot nonetheless,
have had my snot-in-sheets phase,
so this is progress, that trickle.
1234, my clock says,
12345678910, I count to myself
collecting, breathing slowly
needles in my feet and shivering
Gosh, can I get any more pathetic?!
Yes, I have and I bet I will still be so.
No, this is not a pity-me thing,
more like a slap-myself thing
So I can look back, read this
and say to myself:
Others have it harder than you,
yet they stand,
I'm here sitting,
yet others stand.
...
the sky is still drumming the earth with water
and my eyes are threatening to do a duet. Again.
I chide myself, Enough now.
For my bags under my eyes are already so smooth, too deep
Too weathered and soaked for a year.
----> 'slap-myself thing', remember??
Remember.
I lay in my bed.
Thoughts come in waves.
When will it end?
The Dragon slain.
No amount of time.
No person, no thing.
Can change the fate,
That the needle brings.
Sights of Orange,
Delight my eyes.
I pick up a crystal,
And to no surprise.
I crush it down.
In that damn orange cup.
I’m so overwhelmed.
The sinking feeling abrupt.
I carefully decide,
The amount to pour.
Then mix it with water.
And dissolve once more.
I take off the cap,
To reveal the shine.
Of that needle so enticing.
That it blows my mind.
I feel so small.
As I stare at that point.
My body quivers.
I can’t disappoint.
Thoughts of guilt.
Invade my brain.
But my body keeps saying,
This will soon end the pain.
So I draw the solution,
Into the stem.
Then flick it twice.
Let the bubbles settle in.
I slowly push the air out.
That’s collected on top.
And wonder to myself,
If I will ever stop.
But I shrug it away.
And again think of pain.
Then tie on my tourniquet.
And say “ it” again.
The veins start to pop.
And spread on my skin.
They bulge and prod,
And trickle within.
Sometimes this takes hours.
Sometimes days of my life.
I get so frustrated.
But search on with strife.
I stab myself over and over again.
Until the blood flows red into my syringe.
Seeing the blood,
Makes my whole body weak.
But I surrender with ease.
No more words can I speak.
I push the plunger forward,
Till she entires my veins.
Down to the last drop.
Empty and insane.
I wait just a second.
Pull the needle out.
My body turns to fire.
This is what it’s all about.
From my toes to my head,
Her venom spreads.
Ecstasy at last.
No more feelings of dread.
Then the fire fades,
Just as quickly as it came.
And then there’s just calm.
A final break from the shame.
I’ve given my life to this process,
So many times.
The bigger the shot.
The bigger the crimes.
When I’m in this state,
The dragon has one.
My mind and my heart,
Become unspun.
I do terrible things,
To all of my friends.
My family, my children.
But she always wins.
I always think I can only do one.
But that’s never the case.
The cycles just begun.
“The devils tool” I’ve heard it said.
Takes every ounce of life.
And leaves you for dead.
But you rise up and start
The process once more.
A zombie. Tortured chaos.
I don’t know anymore.
sensory grass
tickles your toes
soft pokes
every word is a stroke
of a blade
not a brush
a lawnmower in the distance
breaks the silence
what the hell…
the smell of fresh-cut grass
and the moisture
that lingers on its smell
you know…retains it
(like the soft and cushy handprint that
stays in the grass
in the shady part of that corner in the yard
turns the white shoes green
amongst the hedges and the borders by rocks
by that long-ago planted snowball tree
and all the love you had to give while you planted it
…rubbed the lamb's ear,
said a prayer and wished it the best of luck)
but here, now
take a nap in the sunshine
under a clouded sky peacefully
on a blanket
the winds brushing by
the rays beam through
and warm that blanket
your worn-out blanket
with scents of lingering past summers
of far-off beaches and sunscreen
dusty and musty
yet beloved blanket
(different kinds of loved-upon)
but here, now
the breeze on my toes
and the breeze on the grass
and the breeze on my face and my hair
stealing my woes
keeping me cool
my eyelashes flicker
a lazy dream of greens upon blues
upon dandelion yellows
shining
until you awake
slightly alarmed
to a busy bee
buzzing by
blinded by beauty
my tears trickle down the corners of my eyes
bleed down my cheeks to my lips and taste salty
warm and salty on my tongue
warm from the gold
of that hot-blooded sun
and the sensory experience
grateful to be alive
to soak it all in
through the skin
can you feel it?
it was a lovely dream
the smell of sweet grass
how bits and pieces float on air
tickle the nose
sweet and bitter tasty on the tongue
whisking away depression blight
peace rises
higher and higher
like barometric pressure
elevating mood and lighter weight
reflecting on purpose
reflecting on mood
through transcendence
but here, now
you can just
be
tingling sensations
just
be
feeling overcome with peaceful power
power to
just
lie
still
and enjoy the senses and dreams
that the grass brings forth
you’ll wake up
remember details
and reflect upon paper
close your eyes
and reflect upon paper
an outward pour
can’t you feel it all beaming in the sunlight?
in the mood
in the barometric pressure
in those blades of grass
breathtaking striking
blades of green grass
my god, aren’t we blessed
—American writer
~ (~) About a teaspoon it takes me in the morning-coffee-that-is. (~) ~
~ (~) Cream more, sugar, a little-less, though truly I still do prefer my cup fresh brewed... its
superb when piping hot you know it sure is tasty. (~) ~
~ (~) Searching through those IM's e-mails trickle-trickle-hiss-bubble-pop-pop love-is-groovy
you bet man red lights hot lights an honor yes-I feel they're all an-honest testament that
hollowed ground is sacred... . Illuminating one and another their shadows dandling-along-a-
part-of-the-simple-collection-of-rain-puddles offering-their-jest, and from the beginning you-
know-I-believe they all exist as one light dancing together-until the very end. Because as
they vary; pale shades of poetic Grey, they carry for me of feeling but one of two tones
jocularity;
bitterness... . (~) ~
~ (~) Intoxicating really the harshness of Winter-fervency-of-Summer sweet rejoinder
cultivation of all our prayers... Spring... ! (~) ~
~ (~) Took a stroll amid the saffron all grown up in the Autumn laying down beside the day
lilies wisteria grace gently caressing them enchanting... . (~) ~
~ (~) Vibrant I find it all to be so very encouraging. (~) ~
~ (~) Looking now the frost once thick-crisp driveling down beading up upon the many grassy
shoots tulips lavender flower the mighty pines-now-reflecting-a-dewy-vapor, refreshing to the
touch, taste; hues of virtue mirroring this, glistening-upholding-all-things, in-their-
timelessness. (~) ~
~ (~) Life evolving hope offers this proposal questions often posed answers granted remain
open... because I believe peace and freedom this way friend are forever evolving,
while love all year 'round, it waits... pondering-this; as it deliberates... . (~) ~
~ (~) Like glistening crystal pools of alabaster sands scented-up diaper dusty-talcum baby
baby powder, funny contentment privy-so-privy I love the way newborns their eyes tend to
wander as they coo, all jovial, and-warm... surrounding all they know of God themselves in
the wake of the room... . (~) ~
~ (~) The birth of enlightenment a burst of individuality in every glance; I can't today but
maybe you, tell me now God is a farce, remaining kindle to the kind-less...
still the kinder... . (~) ~
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zcGJb-mPMmg
A Polite Warning. The Following poem is somewhat steamy. Not explicit, but explicit in
inference. If this sort of thing offends you, then please be considerate and don’t read
it. Thank you.
Naked Flamenco
( A sultry summer night spent together
With ardour between us growing
She whispered, “Let me dance for you”
I agreed, little knowing………………. )
Binding spells of mysterious wanting
Soft dark her eyes looked
Into the shades of my mind
An enchantress of fantasy
She etched her velvet pattern
On veiled secrets
Parted
Dangerous lashes flutter desirous
In emerald peacock pupils
Midnight burnished hair let fall
In captivating tangles
To full ephemeral corners
Of soft bitten lip
Coy damp line drawn on her cheek
Captivated
Her expression acknowledges
With known provoking smiles
Eye lights shine saying “already mine”
With twisting flamenco poised
Sensual arm insinuates to finger tip
And eventide's rose is pale skinned
And naked
Curved line from ankle
Writes portents to the nape of her neck
Through black tousled sexual spinal blades
Shoulder dipping
Quivers her femininity to rising breasts
While arched longing
Mouths the indescribable tactile seconds
Of her promontory dancing
Patient in toe tip exquisite she places
Penchant elegance
Of her naked ballet
The ribbon swirl of vanished gossamer dress
Depicted wing-ed arms
She rises a surrealistic
Flight of angels created
In soft light air brushed forms
Of muscle, rib cage, bones and tendons
Body writhed centres eclipse
On pubic between
The epitome of gestalts navel breathing
I shudder Goosebumps of enthralling
Built by such grace of a heavenly
Consecrated female
Led beyond mere heated needing
To a place resplendent
With sheer un-tameable and un-nameable beauty
Guitar stringing twangs the milliseconds
Of her overture
Spanish castanets tap click fervent
Pronouncing the rhythm of my heart
Naked pale formed Goddess
Gently rips from me
Every appreciations confession of
Perfections contours
Fine satin sheen hairs risen
Beading sweats slight trickle
Aroused by my infatuation
Nipples stiffen
And I am drawn from and by
Heavy breath to music’s ending
To land in her presence
Panting
She has seen through me
Every century of a woman’s glory
And with a slow beckoning finger
Her eager eyes
Tell me
It is so
Trigger warning ??????????
This was a pretty hard piece to compile, and definitely a personal piece to post but my hope is it may reach someone who needs it.
Withdrawals
The pain is indescribable, but with my words I can but try,
To describe the hell on earth that withdrawals will supply,
It covers every single miniscule molecule of every one of your bodies cells
From every hair follicle to each tip of every toe, your head rings like orchestral bells
You can't concentrate in fact you simply can't think as your skin begins crawling
You want to cry but your eyes cannot even weep, you cry out but no tears come falling,
While the sensation of an infestation begins to infest you under your skin,
Your every muscle has lost its strength and then the sickness and diarrhea begins,
Beads of sweat trickle down from your face,
Yet your bitterly cold, no matter how many layers the shivers continue to play chase
They penetrate right down to the bone and you cannot hide the inevitable shaking
Try as you might because of your body's unbearable aching,
It's like a baseball bat was used to literally batter you,
Nothing helps to sooth any of the pains your being subjected to
You find yourself contemplating things you'd never thought you'd do,
This poison is like the devil himself whispering in your ear he's cunning acting like a saviour
But it's evil plotting conspiring against you talking you into failure,
Just one hit and you'll feel so much better, don't suffer he repeats and replies,
While the people who love me my family are the angels shouting loudly rallying I hear there cries
And it's now a game of tennis my head is the tennis ball, back and forth you can't construe
You contemplate continuously, do I have the strength or the willpower to see this through,
Or will the devil on my shoulder finally conquer and prevail taking my soul back with him
Back to the depths of hell from which I came which was grim,
But failure would mean I would never be free of this addiction of this disease, of this affliction,
Therefore failure isn't even an actual option?
The weeks of hell you endure of withdrawals comes with the greatest reward you could ask for
Freedom, of the mind, the body and soul, withstand the biggest test of your life because for sure,
You've got so much more to live for!
It was a sugar maple.
Fairly average in size, a good
Number of branches, some
Low enough to climb for a
Child like myself.
I was never very athletic,
Hated all sorts of sports,
But this tree, this one tree
I could climb.
I would scramble up her
Branches in spring after
School, and tell her all
About my day, in my head
Of course, because who
In their "right mind" talks
To themselves?
In summer, after I
Completed that day's
Workbook assignment,
I would sit between the leaves
And read the latest book
I had checked out of the
Local library, my second
Favorite place to be.
When her leaves began
To change in fall, I would
Climb her cool limbs
In my puffy jacket and
Let the crisp October air
Flow through my hair.
He (the wind I mean)
Was my other best friend.
But the sweet maple also
Kept me high up, away from
The house below where
Mom and Dad would yell,
Where Dad would throw
Plastic cups my Mom got
From the nursing home,
Where Mom would sob
And pray he would stop.
And I prayed then, too.
Prayed I could one day fly,
Take to the sky like the
Birds in the feeder below.
I would pray for friends, too.
Human friends, I mean.
I don't think God could hear,
Even high up in my tree.
The tree isn't there now.
As I grew up, it grew sick.
The leaves fell earlier every
Year until one spring, they
Just didn't grow back.
And so the laundry lines
Were cut, and my old,
Sweet sugar maple tree
Became my uncle's firewood,
My Dad's smoking chips.
You can't see where she was
Anymore. The final remnants
Of the stump have rotted away.
Only grass remains where
Once my friend stood, where
The wind whispered sweet
Nothings in my ear, where
The setting summer sun
Would trickle through the
Jade-green leaves, the
Leaves that turned upside-down
When a storm was coming.
Now I've moved away from
That house. Two-thousand
Miles away to a desert that
Has never seen a sugar maple.
I can't climb trees anymore.
Seems that skill died with
My friend. I think I feel what
She was feeling. Still relatively
Young, but health slipping
By every year.
Someday my stump will
Rot away. No trace of me left
To tell you I was there. But
Maybe, someone will move in
With a child, and I can listen as
She tells me her dreams,
And we can watch the stars
Together.
Dawn Forever Rising
It starts
Street lights fade
their tiny soft-winged tenants flee
checkerboard facades change
last night's illumined squares now dark
become but yesterday's portals
some polished
some weather streaked
all reaching to reflect first breath
Steam ascends from the city's vacuum
gratings rattle with subterranean yawning
people-movers wind their way
through mazes of starts
stops
Topside tracks
like fixed contrails
glisten with frost
not yet enjoined by speeding transit
their skeletal tributaries
readying the trickle of humanity
into a mass ocean of glass and steel survival
Uptown
Downtown
A street sweeper's tire rubber and swirling brushes
beneath the overalled believer in Lottos
holding firm the wheel and gears of faith
of trust
gathering gutter-lodged disposal
glass and plastic
paper and cardboard
spinning into the vortex
lifting yesterday's careless cast-offs
inviting today's Starbuck anew
reflections of another kind
Leashes strain from anxious sniffing
bladders hold
ready to burst
seeking just the right tree
the right hydrant
the "ah, yes" that only a canine can know
Rays of sun begin spilling down alleyways
the long-tail rodents scamper for cover
their bellies full
seeking safety after a long night of ancient ritual
food of anything
digestion of history
all in a night's work
Suddenly
Full light cascades down avenues and streets
itinerant pigeons and seagulls spread habitual wings
ready to adore the steadies
the loners
park walkers
window ledge dependables
homeless with dance cards of crumbs
envying the moneyed insomniacs throwing chunks
baguettes gone stale
fit for few
a feast for many
senses loving the coos and warbles
the bobbing thank you
the reciprocal bonding
few but the lonely can appreciate
Finally
The steel and glass imitation of nature
comes fully alive
a sun's illumination without reserve
energy's provision for another day
Rich mix with the poor
money exchanges hands
the hotdog vendor
the hedge fund taker
the cookie jar provider
Most become tomorrow's yesterday
knowing little of the other light
requiring no rising or setting
illumination that never grows dim
something as nothing
forever light
never of darkness
Such for some
awakens from a New York sunrise
this dichotomy like no other
forever reminding
our eyes of dawn
one's inner light
is forever rising
Gazing up at the dark and grey sky,
While Sparkling drizzles adorn the earth,
Calmness filling up as time goes by,
And the drops trickle down the hearth.
I settled down to cherish the serene blues,
Engaged deeply in its scenic imagery,
Which brings back the echoes and views,
Of my tender and dreamy childhood memory.
Several scenes vividly playing through my mind,
And various conversations echoing inside,
Leaving me restless with a whole new find,
Urging me desperately to travel back and confide.
If only I could go back in time,
Yearning to meet my younger self once more,
For it's not a sinful fault or malicious crime,
I would teach her many things in store.
First, I would delicately take her in my embrace,
And softly stroke the strands of her hair,
Assuring her that she made it through the chase,
Not giving up even in her darkest despair.
I would shower her with a treasure of rewards,
For being kind and helpful to others around her,
Also telling her not to forget the regards,
And to be kind to herself despite any blur.
I would take her to mountains and rivers,
For they could make an inseparable bond together,
As they stand by her in the toughest quivers,
And would support and befriend her forever.
I would describe to her the profound joy,
Of achieving her precious visions and dreams,
The deepest connections woven in her heart's ploy,
While reaching for those priceless fantasies.
I would prepare her to face the worst,
While trying to be brave and consistent,
Throughout her valuable self-exploration quest,
And would teach her to be strong and confident.
I would teach her the essence of euphoria,
In every small and tender delight,
From the warmth of those close to her aura,
That would ease her pain and make things right.
At times when people would disown her,
Judging her efforts and attempts,
I would teach her to trust herself and persevere,
To move on and achieve her greatest triumphs.
When life seems tough with each passing second,
I would ask her to remember my guidance,
That would keep her going till the end,
Without too many regrets and hindrances.
If only I could go back in time,
Wishing to make her stronger than ever,
For it's not a sinful fault or malicious crime,
That would help her surpass her struggles forever.
The campaign …
was over -
he, the last left alive on the
field of battle, and barely, at that …
his men had fought valiantly -
the odds were never theirs,
yet he was content in
their efforts, and more than proud …
the sky,
Payne's Gray and brooding -
the drab-but-stark background for
giant flecks of snow that
swung fro-and-to as they drifted -
as if sewing the aching February sky to
the crumbling castle bulwarks that
rose angrily from
the white-dusted hills below ...
or perhaps, like himself, just indecisive -
weary of wind and waft and
the willowy billows that birthed them,
as weary as he was of war -
war and weariness, itself ... its
ire filled his marrow with a longing for
love and life ... and COLOR ...
these wretched, barren highlands
were ashen and lifeless now,
dull and splotchy like
his rusted armor -
his once treasured fortress,
all but ruins and rubble and regret -
the only blush that met his gaze
was the crimson trickle of his own blood
as it drizzled from his beard to
paint the snow - perfect, white snow ...
faultless ... pure ...
and yet ...
in less than three full faces of the
moon, these slopes would
be bursting with heather and the
hues of burgeoning blooms -
pregnant with hope and heavy
with springtide wonder ...
he would never see it now,
his mortality written red in the snow,
but he could FEEL its approach!
he closed his eyes tightly,
sucked the keen winter wind deep
into his being - frozen flakes tickling his
nostrils and throat and lungs ...
he breathed in again -
each cold crystal inhaled, a tiny blessing -
a brisk reminder of special things,
moments of joy and pain,
marvelous things he had done and seen and felt,
tastes and aromas and aches ...
and lovers ... oh, most especially those!
precious, warm, bitter passions and
the beautied beings that
had conveyed them - the souls he
had swum up and lost all his senses in,
and the one - the ONLY one -
who had captured his much-too-jaded heart ...
he took one last, rooted breath,
counting the cold flakes as they melted
inside him - remembering each as a
kiss SHE had given him on special occasions,
and as darkness fell about him AND on ...
he opened his dimming eyes -
watched his final exhalation turn to frozen
mist in the Scottish gloaming …
and smiled.