Long Uncoil Poems
Long Uncoil Poems. Below are the most popular long Uncoil by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Uncoil poems by poem length and keyword.
Be quiet,
I hear something outside.
All crazy looking,
and bug-eyed.
Chill bro
your all METH-ED- UP and high,
Watch TV,
relax get some shut eye.
I thought I seen someone,
moving in the back yard.
Day four,
why don't you smoke another shard?
Your mumbling, rambling,
on and on you make no sense,
You're in a frenzy,
and full of suspense.
You claim you have a good time,
just let me be,
It's three am,
and your house is lit up like a Christmas tree.
You have 22 projects,
scattered around the room.
How much meth,
can one man consume?
Chill bro,
your all METH-ED-UP and high.
Watch TV,
relax get some shut eye.
You're chasing the white dragon,
you're up to no good,
Terrorizing friends,
family and the neighborhood.
You broke your pipe,
you're searching for foil.
Take a couple hits,
watch the dragon uncoil.
When was the last time?
you got some sleep.
Close your eyes,
try counting sheep
You have been wearing,
the same clothes for three days,
It's got to be rough,
living in a meth haze.
It's difficult to decipher,
fact from fiction,
This is the life of a meth user,
and his addiction.
TURBO1904
a silver sickle shape hangs, carved by divine hands
across the velvet bruise of the greyish sky
in two weeks, a chipped coin, smoothed by countless tides
reflecting a silver light that is not its own
but borrowed from a dazzling distant, fiery eye
a splinter shard, a fingernail clipped from heaven
so thin, it might slip with a soft sigh of the clouds
it drifts on, a pale boat, on an ocean of ink
carrying wishful whispers of forgotten dreams
and the quiet awful ache of long lonely hours
it paints the sleeping fields in shades of ghastly ghost
turning traditional trees to skeletal etchings
shining streams into mere ribbons of mercury
that coil and uncoil beneath its uncaring stare
shadows stretch, shifting with the deep breath of slumber
it has witnessed extensive empires rise and fall
lovers whisper warm winsome vows, at times un-kept
solitary souls stroll their painful paths alone
each step, a silent secret, unseen, unknown
echoed in the moon's indifferent gentle glow
a silent light, hung in the vast shrine of the sky
illuminating prayers of a dreaming heart
it waxes and wanes, a sure certain reminder
of the quiet ebb and flow, the spring and autumn
of the slow, sacred, preordained cycle of l
i
f
e.
I have been waiting for you through ages
In your lingering aroma, dear rain
For resplendent stories on green pages
With a purple burst of May in my vein
On soil of departure we come and play
We the new green holding red blue and white
In dew-like cool and warm showers of May
The earth in foliage all lush and bright
I laid in mild sun with my ear on soil
Filled my lungs with April mingling in May
Saw and heard the sounds of crimson uncoil
Thousands of poems in the amber ray
Of little pink that from May rain you share
In tree and shrubbery how dreamy you’re
____________________________________________
May 3, 2017
May Showers – Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Nayda Ivette Negron
Last year when the fire raced across the prairie plain
Scorching and searing all within it's path
We look at the land destroyed by it's fury
So scorched and seared that all seemed dead
This year the spring rains have given hope
To the once blackened lifeless waste
Bringing new growth to the plains floor
Each living thing that was displaced
Slowly returns to the grassland haven
The once forlorn, desolate place
a charcoal desert waste
Looks different from one year past
A sea of multi colored greens appear
The seeds will break from the husks
the bowed arched heads will greet the sun
Leaves will uncoil and grow
While the bees romance the flowers
Spurning new growth , a new re-birth.
Spring rain falls akin to a gentle mist
Soaking the earth with every twist
Beneath the soil, a world unknown
Where life takes root, and seeds are sown
As drops seep through the dirt and clay
A secret passage starts to form its way
Tiny tunnels, winding and vast
A network of life, that's meant to last
In this hidden world, creatures thrive
Burrowing deep, to stay alive
Worms and beetles, ants and slugs
All living together, in cozy dugouts
The rain brings nourishment, to the soil
A gift of life, that nature does uncoil
With every drop, the passage grows
A wonderland of secrets, no one knows
As the sun shines, and the rain fades away
Spring secret passage is still here to stay
A world within a world, hidden from sight
A reminder that life is always taking flight.
Written: June 10, 2023
À propos preponderent passion penning poems...
posited puzzling apt aperçu...
While pondering particular
theme to address
amidst tangled webbed mental skein
today November third
two thousand nineteen,
unexpected Möbius strip
tease conundrum unforeseen,
yet as avid aspiring scrivener
only now I became keen,
which theoretical, rhetorical,
philosophical... predicament
may not suddenly find me
flush with green
i.e. profuse legal tender,
but merely thought provoking
puzzlement addresses following quandary
stuck within gray matter of pate
impossible mission to differentiate
jagged fine line between
passion and obsession
case in point strong
affinity to write of late,
cuz yours truly susceptible
toward compulsion that doth not abate,
and mind boggling to wed healthy
love of language analogous as mate
nsync with psychological trait,
viz excessive compulsion
diagnosed years gone
by courtesy professional
mental health specialists, did annotate,
and I admit behavior impossible to satiate,
thus generating aforementioned query
how does one (me) segregate
productive interest versus excessive,
née fanatical all consuming - I narrate
oft times burning midnight oil
(albeit figurative alluded
to mister Arson Wells) witness
as logophile doth painstakingly toil
bajillion cerebral threads to uncoil,
whereby utilizing figurative tweezers
uprooting, untangling rhyme I embroil
(even using Scooby Doo conditioner)
metaphorically beneath mine royal
hirsute (Scottish) matted topsoil
ultimately bringing in top gun
uncannily resembling gargoyle
shape shifting between pop eye
at lightspeed as if
greased with olive oyl
so watch out Bluto,
get ready for turmoil!
À propos preponderant passion penning poems...
posited puzzling apt aperçu...
While pondering particular
theme to address
amidst tangled wide, whirled
webbed mental skein
today November third
two thousand twenty two,
unexpected Möbius strip
tease conundrum unforeseen,
yet as avid aspiring wordsmith
only now I became keen,
which unflagging vexillological,
theoretical, rhetorical, philosophical...
narratological, linguistical, judgmatical
historical, fantastical, didactical,
and bibliographical predicament
may not suddenly find me
flush with green
i.e. profuse legal tender,
but merely thought provoking
puzzlement addresses following quandary
stuck within gray matter of pate
impossible mission to differentiate
jagged fine line between
passion and obsession
case in point strong
affinity to write of late,
cuz yours truly susceptible
toward compulsion that doth not abate,
and mind boggling to wed healthy
love of language analogous as mate
nsync with psychological trait,
viz excessive compulsion
diagnosed years gone
by courtesy professional
mental health specialists, did annotate,
and I admit behavior impossible to satiate,
thus generating aforementioned query
how does one (me) segregate
productive interest versus excessive,
née fanatical all consuming -
affinity towards English language
I loopily, quirkily verily narrate
oft times burning midnight oil
(albeit figuratively alluded
to wicked mister Arson Wells) witness
as logophile doth painstakingly toil
bajillion cerebral threads to uncoil,
whereby utilizing figurative tweezers
uprooting, untangling rhyme I embroil
(even using Scooby Doo conditioner)
metaphorically beneath mine royal
hirsute (Scottish) matted topsoil
ultimately bringing in top gun
uncannily resembling gargoyle
shape shifting between
comical characters such as
Popeye and Beetle Bailey
at lightspeed as if
greased with Olive Oyl
so watch out Bluto,
get ready for turmoil!
Nature's tit- bits!
Gentle droplets of rain
on the colocasia leaves
slide like glossy silver grain
wish these pearls my palm receives
and I weave them into a chain!
A black-pepper vine
climbs round the coconut palm
saying 'am yours and you mine
wish this obsession to my heart embalm!
and me in my love -life assign!
In the moist soil take shelter
black ants and the root-grubs
safe beneath the damp leaf litter
My heart seeks refuge in such secure hubs
and wish my life with deep trust glitter!
A squirrel burries the nuts in soil
leaves there to sprout as it forgets
Trees do come up as bad weather foil
wish I plant in my life such goodness
and let sweetness in others' life uncoil !
© Anulaxmi Nayak,2015
blades of green
rise from the brown
spreading all around
soon to be
sprinkled with yellow
all aglow
in the sunshine
wings of gossamer
flit as they hover
in the air
before landing
amid the splendour
of the brightly hued décor
painted below
spiral tubes uncoil
gently injecting
delicate centres
feasting on one's nectar
then moving on
to another
repeating the action
buzzing sounds
fill the air
striped bodies appear
treading gently on petals
sipping nectar
to convert to honey
later fed to many
blades of green
swaying gently
caressed by
a soothing breeze
invoking a refreshing
and peaceful
feeling of ease
Deep in the wood of Anilal
lived a young Elf named Calanal;
such a wee being was she
and she could talk to all the trees
of magic and elfin delights
and even stones, amethyst and pyrites
they sang to her of their own lives;
upon their stories she did thrive.
She’d whisper to them for hours on end
their languages she could comprehend.
A special gift this tiny one had
but something made her very sad.
She’d come upon a forlorn young stone
beneath an ash tree’s deep root zone;
digging there she’d found a being
and to her it began to sing...
“Oh please help me ye Elvin child
from the mines I’ve been exiled
by a troll who cannot see
that one day a great stone I will be.
I’m offspring of the great sapphire
yet, I’ve been thrown into this mire;
I need the radiation in the mines
for my color, to become refined.”
So saddened was young Calanal
a most compassionate little child;
She promised to help this little stone
and she knew someday once it was grown,
that someday a lovely gemstone it may be
if she removed it from beneath this tree.
“Dear ash I ask the for thy help,
to make this precious sapphire well.”
The ash complied and with its’ roots,
pushed and shoved till it could scoot
the little rock up from the soil
as it roots began to uncoil.
4-21-2021
Nursery Rhyme 5 Poetry Contest
Eve Roper