Long Twitches Poems
Long Twitches Poems. Below are the most popular long Twitches by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Twitches poems by poem length and keyword.
A Study in Character
My aunt….
wears jewellery that winks as she walks
and she always has a sharp, shivery look
that you pay attention to …just in case!
She makes the world around her nervous
and I can hear it in my own voice;
it’s as though I have a secret
that she is about to discover,
one she won’t like!
My aunt….
has eyes that are shadows,
dark, hidden…
stretching to intimidation
because it’s always difficult to tell
what lies in shadows!
She is also an opposite;
anger lines track her forehead
while a narrow smile rides his lips.
My aunt….
always looks pale and cold
as if she has never been warm in her life
while her voice is a footprint in the sand,
light but very noticeable.
My voice?
Well I keep it prepared.
I take my words out and polish them
before saying anything in front of her.
My aunt….
likes to say to people,
“Are you listening
or are you listening
to what I am NOT saying?”
Then she would stare
as if it is a challenge,
her jib offering a sense of menace
lips chewing, fingers fisting.
My aunt…
sometimes stands very close to me,
a face dancing with twitches,
temples creased, crinkled and cracked
and I stand there as intelligent
as my left shoe, the one with the hole in it.
Then suddenly I feel highly strung
as she plucks me like a guitar
that has over anxious strings.
My aunt…
I remember the first time
she asked me something about myself
and, suddenly, I couldn’t find my voice.
So I sent a speeding bucket
deep down to my inner well
and I hauled up a meritless reply.
Yes my words are like me…
shy!
My aunt….
yes my aunt…
is a very unpleasant headache
dressed up in clothes….and jewellery!
Ian Souter
10/12/24
The night takers come when the sun goes down
When there's no one around to hear the quiet loud
They are the shadowed clouds feared by the proud
Seeping in through ears with maddening clapping sound
Insane clowns with razor sharp teeth poking around
The mind pounds until it's fully unwound
Once it's lost it can never be found
The brain twitches and seizes until it freezes
Epileptic diseases permeating the creases
Too late to call out or to cry to Jesus
Life never owned each one of us leases
Man thinks he can do whatever he pleases
Monkey like minds relating to rhesus
Trying to pick up all the evolutionary pieces
**** disguised as treasure but it's still feces
Witness lowly ones described as meek
Traveling along a narrow path to seek
Listening to prophets from the past speak
People laughing and calling them Jesus Freaks
Thinking they're feeble minded and weak
Are the wise and powerful really so unique
Who will be left to listen to their critique
For the night takers came and took them in their sleep
We live in a world of wise people who feel Science
is our salvation. Yet each attempt man makes to improve
upon creation seems to destroy another part of it.
Eventually we are the takers and the taken.
Saddens when strength fritters, muscles run to flab with age;
a once smooth surface wrinkles bold etchings of joy and sorrows
while rough landscape seizes the trophy, buries beauty beneath
creases and squinting eyes and drooping girth and jarring joints.
Look at a mirror—you're yet you at heart though reflection feigns.
Beauty is forever, not strength, not health. Life has a bell-shaped
trajectory—a sure-fire sine curve, though the sonic boom pales
at prime. Blurred vision fails to see the diminishing present
or the long haul ahead; ought to, and so cuddle the rhythm,
bound up to breast the finish line. Else gamble at summer's crest;
winter in the trough with a wobble. What an old age with sighs
and stings, peace paling with aching joints and flabby muscles!
Robbed of youthful verve, a pain prick twitches the nerves.
What a youth spent as if now's forever! We all need a brace ahead
of when the frail frame fails at nine or ninety... or in between!
The wise may think otherwise. Maybe!! The pudding has proof.
All I know: Old age is divine!
© Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
4 February, 2019
“You’re such a hypochondriac,”
They say with a smirk
As they roll their eyes
I try to come up with lies…
But they just don’t see
The hypochondriac isn’t me
But that 12 year old child
Who nearly went wild
To see Mom lying in bed
Blood gushing from her head
Yet Mom smiled through her tears,
“I’m fine…don’t worry, my dear.”
It’s that little girl who grew
Not knowing what to do
Believing that it’s no lie
Mommy WAS going to die
MS was the monster
That Mamma couldn’t conquer
“Are you afraid I’m going to die?”
Mamma asked her one day
She couldn’t run away
So she gulped down the tears
As Mamma rocked away her fears
But never said it wasn’t so
Yes, she was going to go
After the broken legs and stiches
The garbled speech and twitches
The wheel chair and near misses
All the lopsided kisses
The choking and pain
The burial in the rain
I look at them and say….
“Yes, the hypochondriac is me
Now will you please set me free.”
Angry fists pommel a defenseless face;
racial slurs punctuating each black eye.
And as punches start to increase in pace,
a black man collapses; and boots let fly.
I've seen hate.
The needle twitches as you inject death;
while chasing a high, you slip into shock.
And overdosing, you gasp for each breath,
drowning in your vomit while strangers gawk.
I've seen fear.
Staring at the past as it disappears;
having lost yourself, you live on the street.
And a vacant look lingers past the tears,
as you sacrifice pride, and face defeat.
I've seen sad.
While an injured soldier cries out in pain,
a medic responds; undeterred by fear.
And his uniform is a blood-soaked stain;
as he tends to the wound, then drags him clear.
I've seen brave.
Icy currents grip the boy like a vise;
immediately, his mother jumps in.
And when frantic rubs no longer suffice,
she warms him up next to her naked skin.
I've seen love.
An infant is born an innocent dove;
with skin so soft it almost seems to melt.
And triggering unconditional love,
this babe embodies feelings deeply felt.
I've seen hope.
The child, now sleeping, loudly snores.
The nightlight shines there on the wall.
If you could peer under the door,
The sight awaiting would enthrall:
It seems the toys have come to life!
They are engaged in no mere game:
A toyland battle to the death!
The superheroes are to blame;
The men in green have few troops left;
Their losses heavy in the strife.
With Duplo blocks, they barricade,
Regroup their forces there behind.
They inventory their grenades,
Make mental notes of where they've mined,
Prepare to meet their tragic end.
Magneto rises from the floor,
Unleashes his attractive beam;
The troops let out a racous roar,
for they are plastic, it would seem,
thus to his will they do not bend.
A team dispatched to try and flank,
To scale the chair, come from the back.
But Hulk awaits them like a tank,
Behind a pillow, sneak attack.
The spear is blunted, further thinned.
The captain, knowing things are dire,
Determines he will save the men,
and laying bare some lamp cord wire,
he challenges Magneto then;
His sergeant understands and grins.
Magnetic forces back in play,
the soldier runs, flips the switches.
The predator becomes the prey;
Magneto, arcing current, twitches:
a turning point in this grim war.
The flash of light wakes up the child;
she bolts up, eyes now open wide.
The spell is broken; meek and mild,
the toys, inert, lay side by side.
Her head back down, again she snores.
----------
So that's an ABABC DEDEC tail-rhyme, and kind of a fun one!
"You're as beautiful as the day I lost you."
The sky is as blue as the day we said goodbye
My heart is as heavy as it was when we said our last I love you
My taste buds taste something as sweet as our last kiss
My nose twitches as it smells something as strong as your perfume
My hands are as warm as the last time I held you
My eyes are as emotionless as the last time we texted
My body is as hollow as the time I realized our chapter was over
My memory as chaotic as the time we first met
But it's not as if I miss you
I miss the warmth I once I had for you
I miss the smile that had once been reserved for you
I miss the way my face lit up when you messaged me
I miss the feeling of being alive
I'm not calling you a mistake
I'm just saying...
I miss the man I was
The one who felt whole for a few seconds
The one who was starting to put his heart on his sleeve
But...
I don't hate you
I wanted to thank you
For showing me that there's more to me than sadness and guilt.
She had severe scoliosis and her teeth were atrocious but her heart rings as pure as a bell. She's on haldol, heavy doses to ward off her psychosis, one can see that she's clearly unwell. Ranting and raving in her chair she's not going anywhere, so on this unit she'll remain. She sees demons. She hears witches, as her body jerks and twitches and the doctors have declared her insane. Theres not much left in her repertoire accept to sing la de da which she chants a thousand times each day. La de da is now her mission, sung soulfully with contrition. La de da is about all that she will say. She no longer knows right from wrong, la de da, her theme song, and she owns it in the most endearing way. In this mental cocoon she'll by pass many a moon, until one day she will just slip away..
My laptop hiccuped twice last night.
Then sneezed a cloud of snot and phlegm.
The cursor did a moonwalk, a back-flip.
Then crashed in cyber fake delirium.
The printer printed hieroglyphs.
The toaster broadcast a fax.
My smartwatch went completely feral,
Demanding better bigger data packs.
Glitches in stitches, twitches, and itches,
Pixels doing flip-flop, digital switches.
Bugs in the plugs and chips in the ditches—
I’m laughing in stitches, at all the glitches.
My blender gained self-awareness.
It screamed and shrieked with binary leaks.
Liquefying my breakfast oats
Over the ceiling and my new wallpaper.
The traffic lights blinked green,
Then yellow, red, and blue between.
While sat-nav sent me confidently,
Through somebody’s washing machine.
The robot vacuum lost its mind.
Choked on socks I left behind.
It circled like a hungry Mako,
Then swallowed my baguette.
I tried to patch the glitches.
Reboot the brute, twitched machine.
But breakers tripped and circuits sparked,
While wicked wild widgets twitched so mean,
As chaos reigned supreme, in the neon sheen.
Glitches in stitches, twitches, and itches,
Rich little hitches in Silicon's britches.
They're all to blame, despite their fame,
Laughing aloud at my glitches in stitches.
trickling streams enlist fingers stroke
translating silent stares script air bubbles
soul skirmishes dying and breath twitches
her amort jabs shatter blind eyes
soft breaths linger aphonic sighs
surfboarding alongside rocky creeks
you wish to decry me with metaphors
whispered secrets shared solely betwixt us
words untied weighed by fireflies glow
bemoaning to aurify amid fiery solar flares
hoping for air in a pathless stream
let me shed words from balm of dry lips
you said that you might catch them
I've seen the way a glass dances, though
slips through your fingers and shatters
I hear a forlorn violin pluck its strings
catacombs lurk in a hollow cage
when it beleaguers, it wails and shrieks
an uncaged spirit walks with a dog
left, just a beshrew echo in a silent world