Long Undertone Poems
Long Undertone Poems. Below are the most popular long Undertone by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Undertone poems by poem length and keyword.
It was in my younger years
That you took away my heart
Just looking for a conquest
You tore it all part
You. put yourself so far above me
No mercy to be found
Playing as the victim
Finding joy in putting me down
You reveled in the glory
Tried to make me feel the shame
Playing oh so righteous
While using me to blame
The innocence that you portrayed
The lies, the undertone
Well baby take a look at me now
I’m standing on my own
I’ll never hold ill feelings
But my bridges will be burned
Chalking up the time I’ve wasted
To experience and lessons learned
You’re the one who started the fire
Searching for a moment of fame
Now you’ve become the lost one
And I’ve become the flame.
While you set out alone
Keep your eyes on that blue sky
My wings have been released
And now I’m going to fly
There will come a time when you look back
And contemplate the cost
Just know that my star will be shining
Because you’re the one who lost.
I will dance and I will sing
I’ll mount that horse and ride
I can walk through the fires of hell
Without you by my side.
Dark Forces
There is a sense of ennui the déjà vu after a feast
life is not what we thought it was, the banner of battle
no longer flies on top of the town hall.
The hero is not a hero but a figure fluctuating in the wind
and ruled by outside forces where he is only the visible
to fool the world into a shared vision of bravery.
There are so many other problems the scourge of pest
the sizzling heat burning human skin crisp
and rain that kills and sea that floods the landscape.
The undertone is getting louder; we have been lied to
dark forces seek a unipolar world, malleable people
into enslavement, where words are no longer truthful
but lies are endlessly repeated until lies are the truth.
It is late in the day, but there is a rumble of a fightback
the freedom of the individual precariously wilts like
grains of life die if not rescued by the rain of revolt.
The whispers of diamonds and moonstone,
Starlight’s infusion of butterfly wings.
Flutter of lady’s eyelashes in Spring.
Lullaby murmuring - Jane’s not alone.
Sweet puff of air, rustle of lilting voice.
The whispers of diamonds and moonstone,
Shuffle from ear to ear, play telephone.
Host’s sunrise hair - the inkling day’s rejoice.
Sotto voce of floating flutes. Daydream
Of droplets barely spritzing window-zone.
The whispers of diamonds and moonstone,
Reflection of lone eyes, glimmering stream.
Undertone of Autumnal leaves, strewn, sown.
Olive, lemon, plum - radiant and hushed.
Silent lips of a second chance, not rushed -
The whispers of diamonds and moonstone,
7/17/2021
Whispers
Sponsor: John Lawless
*HMS used - 10 syllables per line with two exceptions -
diamonds (2 syllables instead of my variant 3 syllables)
Sotto Voce (3 syllables. Should be 4)
Welcome Love, you do not need to tiptoe:
The wall surrounding my heart is not lofty.
A nightingale breaks in, not as a fearful foe
After dusk when the moonlight veil is softy.
The bricks are crafted with cotton stones
And even a gentle breeze can open wounds,
Thus, move singing in your sly undertone:
You tread on immaculate and frail grounds.
Is the sweetness you taste, my own appeal?
I prefer to think it is a boon you gave to me
When my joyful tears erased the last seal:
Do you recall when the nights were lonesome?
No, nor do I. Memoirs wiped by your presence
Just like the sun makes us forget the moon,
And then she with her bright luminescence
Causes all my sadness and fears to swoon.
Yes, hear the beat, stay and never leave:
You see thorns encircling, they keep within
Any that was once both gentle and brave
To tender, like to a petal, my garlanded skin.
But, if that is how you choose to pierce
The veil that I crafted and wore with pride,
Then I will hold you with a feeling as fierce
As you, the self-same Love at my left side.
Form:
Softly the twilight calls my name,
A touch of silver in your hair,
Like echoes lost within a flame,
Like footsteps fading on a stair.
Did I not once, in days unknown,
Walk through a garden pale with light,
Where roses sang in undertone
And stars burned longer in the night?
I cannot tell what time has spun
A thread of dream within my hand,
Or if I stood beneath that sun
That warmed a long-forgotten land.
A voice too faint, a touch too far,
Yet haunting still—
Like dust of some extinguished star,
Whose light remains, but not the will.
Do dreams recall, or do they weave?
What once was true, we still believe.
The streetlights bleed an amber stain across the asphalt, slick and black. A Monday drowned in heavy rain, with no way forward, no way back.
The neon sign above the doorIs dead and dark, its hum now still.The saloon is locked, the warped wood floor grown quiet as the evening chill. A rusted fire escape hangs low, like an iron ribs against the night.
The alley swallows all the glow, and chokes the last remaining light.
The thunder cracks, a sudden tear,It breaks the quiet in my chest a violent echo of the fear,That keeps this heavy mind from rest. Inside my head, the storm runs deep, More jagged than the flash of white.
A phantom noise that murders sleep and stretches out the Monday night.The alley shakes, the windows groan,The ceiling trembles overhead,
louder is the undertone,Of every word I should have said. I flinch at what the dark can breed,The phantom steps, the sudden fright.A storm that matches what I need,To drown the stillness of the night.
The thunder cracks, and time goes cold.I freeze against the window pane.The shadows stretch, the past takes hold,And washes downward with the rain.
That jagged sound splits wide the floor,And drags me to a younger dread.The slamming of a heavy door,The bitter words that stained the bed.A raised glass and a rising shout,The smell of whiskey in the hall.The little lights of hope put out, a frightened child against the wall.The alley shakes, the world turns white,The storm outside unlocks the cage, and Monday traps me in the night,With echoes of a phantom rage.
Suddenly all is quiet, only the sounds of light drizzle, street light is my saving grace, to sleep the child goes, another Monday night storm dwindles to a soft whisper.
I remember in her eyes the color of Christmas day
and the taste of melted butter in the early morning sun
The cadence of her voice the undertone sounds
of her silences, it was long ago
She was a matriarchal mountain of energy back in days
when her hair was red and her cheeks were pummeled pink
Decadent cakes for Christ's birthday, accompanied by her own
we ate cheerfully with eyes aglow
Then in the eve of midnight we unwrapped
secrets of her hand me downs, a knitted family tree
prepping up our dreams we slept without the know
that Christmases of future, would hold no mistletoe
I remember her eyes , two melting Chocolates
and her laughter, rippled layers of agate.
November sets emerald leaves ablaze,
igniting flames of scarlet and cerise.
And long nights overshadow shorter days,
as Nature unveils Autumn's masterpiece.
Scarecrows are left guarding empty gardens:
as Jack Frost's brush colors the dying leaves.
And two Thanksgiving turkeys get pardons:
while Fall's brisk breezes strip the trees, like thieves.
Autumn adopts an orange undertone
as the fields are gleaned and canopies thinned.
And as naked trees get stripped to the bone,
skeletal branches rattle in the wind.
December triggers the death throes of Fall,
whereas flowers start to shrivel and die.
And the geese fly south, with a honking call:
trumpeting, that Winter will soon drop by.
fetishized lament
echoed
from colourfully besmeared winding sheet
devouring luminosity
become my pivotal infringement
vigorous luminosity
somethin' s wrong with her transcript
-they said, and put me behind iron pipes
my name dawned divested
and encapsulated in frame
of long time inhumed language
thus
soul
elastane woven
bends
every time words clash at those
indifferent barricades
this circle of life is fuc***
it cringes in parts it shouldn't
Danaans gift tried to conceal scenery
of birth given screenplay
they failed to excrement that light
clash became my attribution
yet they didn't let me to keep
any of that ordeal dust
they left me empty-handed
but emptiness brings happiness when filled
outage is divergent level of melancholy
undertone of this vanity named it pain
I call it a way of life
you got a thousand and one battle
war is mine
blinded by a rhythm that died a long time ago
i revive the beat and myself everytime i press the fingerprint
today i mark with makeshift age spots
nowadays i decorate with a few long forgotten notes
perhaps i should put a jazzy overtone with an undertone of latin flavor
maybe then i would love it instead of list it
sipping on the cream soda of my playlist
i survive on a deserted island long ago overtaken manure in the form of quicksand
hey, quicksand, perhaps i will pull out that 45 and go on a closed eye trip to detroit
then again, hold up, LIFE.....i cannot leave for i am behind all daughters named billie
i will just throw on a fox trot compilation in my mind and find 78 ways to fry modern times