Long Tunneled Poems
Long Tunneled Poems. Below are the most popular long Tunneled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tunneled poems by poem length and keyword.
2/23/24
It's not in all the books we read
Souls put to sea
Continual butchery
They carry on crookedly
Trying to coat the truth with something sugary
Some know and don't care others never could agree
A never ending battle where evil is trying to make the good bleed
Nah no really look at me
I stirred the hornets nests and shook the trees
Among endless wood debris
To be an honest man, you've no idea what it took to be
Gone beyond lucid dreams
Please do believe it's about much more than you perceive
Hmm the conclusions seems
They never have our best interest at heart nor any future needs
While unscrupulous humans scheme
They left our bodies out to rot all through ravines
As well as areas where sewage seeps
The truth it seeks
A way out usually
Regardless of opportunity
My mom asked son why must you suffer so
Caught up in an undertow
There's just things a mother knows
My true colors shown
I called my brother's phone
He thought he knew how it does and doesn't go
Unlike other folks
Through centuries still much unknown
All across this bloody globe
Studies show
Most want the whole honeycomb
All to themselves like life's only about hitting the motherload
As they judge and drone
It's not all cut in stone
Told him what was once a home
Started from just a stone
Now it's a bunch of those
Amid piles of mud and bones
Nearby encrusted tomes
Beside dusty clothes
Sat an old toolbox that rusted close
Outside stood trees full of a dozen crows
By fields with buffaloes
Bumps arose
In clustered nodes
Turning it into a rugged road
Nearby water full of sunken boats
The destruction grows
Life comes with no instruction codes
For any sudden woes
You'd think eventually it struck a note
Many looking through a tunneled scope
Always fascinated by the puppet shows
Another day redundant and alone
A struggle to find love blows
Causing a loss of what was hope
Reaching the point of being ready to jump below
By the end of it my bro said I must atone
He said I chucked the stone
At what I thought was a toad
Then went back to work in the construction zone
Only to find out that it wasn't though
Said he began to suffer slow
Caught in a thunder dome
Until he discovered those
That suffered the same fate buried right under nose
With a new adjusted approach
Learned first hand and through several hundred notes
I embarked on a journey,
In search of something that was not written,
If it was written, perhaps only in part,
With missing pages, if it ever existed.
I traversed meadows,
Sojourned across turbulent seas,
Tunneled through the night,
And walked through the heart of the deep.
I was relentless in my search,
Undaunted in my pursuit;
I encountered the strange,
Almost cloaked by the unknown.
In my exhausting journey, I met a sage,
Who understood my plight with just a few words.
He told me that mysteries are not found in caves or mystical staffs,
Nor at the distant ends of the earth,
But within humans and their chambers of secrets.
January 23, 2024.
Moonshot in the Spotlight Way gone jazz, tenor man, notes flying high like a moon shot, tearing the dusk apart and leaving a hole in the sky/
When you dug into his music, you didn’t listen with ears alone, you tunneled through color/ bright, brighter, brightest amber and emerald, electric blues and crimson sparks of colors that pulled you closer to Saint John Coltrane/
Man you felt his jazz pluse up and down your spine/ His horn shined in the club's spotlight, His body boppin' to the bands flo in time/ his every breath a comet, every note a constellation of peace and prayer/and the crowd moved as one, a living galaxy of listening to the way gone tenor mans lifes journey through his horn/
The drummers cymbals keep the groove and the bass player loosens the beat/ Man, It's the heavy gravity of the tenor man's sound that flips you on a hip trip/ The way gone jazz tenor man becomes a lighthouse in a sea of rhythm-N- Blues guiding souls through jazzy funky chords, and maybe even Bebop you can use/ In this night, the hole in the sky becomes a doorway, threshold where the ordinary jazz sheds its old clothes and becomes the new thing to behold/We step through, aligned with Trane's horn It's bright seam digging deeper to find that the way gone jazz tenor man's music wasn’t an escape from life but a ladder to something larger, braver, more true more real that will carry us home, closer to the divine, through sound. with jazz and Coltrane at the wheel for all time/
Intrinsic intuition tunneled through time,
drives incessant the central cognitive impulses,
surges with the sensuous waves
of enlivening enlightenment,
through the vacuity of amorphous perception.
The rhythm of time pulsates relentless
in the inner secluded space infinite,
the fervent frequency in harmony
with the intonation of the void,
the transition designed unequivocally
from one articulation to another,
modulated innately by the motivating stimulus
of the illumined soul.
Undiscerned life force abhors pervasive vacuum,
propels persistently the existential essence
through the sense-saturated emptiness
of enigmatic equanimity of abandonment
to the self-suffused sanctum of fulfilling bliss.
Today was the first day I held
a sledgehammer with intention
Callouses connect palms to fingers
tiny fleshy boa constrictors.
There is no catharsis
I know this to be a hollow act
With a face smithed of iron,
a body lathed with linseed wood,
and a head full of nothing.
No I am not thinking, I am
in fact refusing to do so.
This is an act of refusal
I am choosing childish behavior.
The empty parking lot
execution spot greets
the glass bodied shelf
Which will no longer take
the space of memories it held.
What should be cold and angular
Void of anything aside reflection
is a monument of mourning
a future I shall never know.
Light refracts upon my cones,
my tunneled vision only to show
a mangled miscarriage of the man
I can never grow into with you.
Partnachklamme
The most beautiful place
Above the Bavarian resort town of Garmisch-Partenkirchen,
There winds a country road which leads to the Partnach gorge.
Hikers are passed by less hearty tourists transported in hay wagons.
On the left side of the road, a river can be spotted through the lindens.
The river water looks like it was drawn with aquamarine pastels,
Having been super-oxygenated from the gorge’s rapids and cascades.
Playful locals built miniature dwellings and piers along the banks.
Loggers used to hike up the dangerous gorge to unblock log jams,
So safer paths were tunneled in and along the walls of the gorge.
So many sight-seers used to sneak up the loggers trails for the views,
That logging ceased and the gorge became a tourist destination.
At the mouth of the gorge, a guest house sells carbonated buttermilk,
Weiswurst, and other Bavarian specialties to fortify or refresh.
During the holiday season, pilgrims carefully hike the trails
Carrying torches which reflect from the icicles and frozen walls.
Waterfalls, narrows, bridges, and a logger chapel
All add to the charm of Partnach Gorge.
flow of awareness
intuitively intrinsic
channeled
through tunneled time
navigates
cognitive impulses
basic
incessant surge
of
enveloping waves
of enlightenment
through
timeless portals
of perception
reflective
opens up
floodgates of
bliss
pulse of time
vibrates
in
inner space
infinite
psychic frequency
resonant
tuned precisely
in
halcyon harmony
with intonation
of eternity
transitions
from
one manifestation
to another
modulated
by edified touch
of
sanctified soul
illumined
life force
invincible
abhors vacuum
pervasive
propels the essence
of existence
through
elusive emptiness
filled fervently
with
resurrected rhapsody
innate
Let your spirit soar now.
Let it move as tumbleweed
unrooted and free to roam.
Let your spirit fly now
with the freedom of a lark
uncaged and ethereal.
Gliding on the breeze,
or as a rustle in the trees.
Rolling on a riptide,
or wafting on warm winds
in eastern lands as they
move the earthly sands of time.
Your passing has released you
to be what you would be;
a spirit truly free; unfettered
by bureaucracy and materialism.
Laughing as we worldly souls
trudge unceasingly in the quicksand
of mediocrity, eyes down, vision
tunneled as we struggle
towards the light, weighed down
by our mortal baggage.
Laughing as in death's waiting room
we are forced to check it in
and we leave as we came; empty handed.
We talked, we knew the secret;
that the spirit holds the riches
not the things that we possess.
'Tis the soul that prospers
as it flies, expanding into eternity.
Sweep the empty bottles away
The last remaining drops drip silently out
Lay back against the wall
In some home on the edge of the world
My tunneled vision begins to open
And the blurriness begins clear
My parachute opened
To pull me out of my free fall
So far away from the world
My addictions fluctuate
My tongue is dry but my head is clear
A smile creeps on my face
But so far away from the world
My addictions fluctuate
My head is clear but my mind is roiling
As it always has done
I know what's gone wrong
My past can't be my present
I'm aware of that all
But through my muddled mind, I can't accept it
Sobriety is just out of reach
Could I just have a push?
All I need is one more push...
And I can be at peace again.
Wind-moles have tunneled
through the daffodil rings,
stems are uprooted or fractured,
Yellow bells and trumpets
fly in a tumbling sky.
The third month is a despoiler,
it scatters and stomps fiercely
upon the newly arrived.
Roofs are launched
to flap away on broken wings.
Yet the strong survive
until the lion yawns
temporarily bored with its play.
Like any cat, it yawns
and sleeps
while the sky washes it face.
If the new risen shoots persist,
if the tender buds
escape all runaway winds
if our lives can be nailed down,
only then
will the lion of March at last
lay down with its lambs,
but only to guard them
from its own rage and hungers.