Long Unobserved Poems
Long Unobserved Poems. Below are the most popular long Unobserved by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unobserved poems by poem length and keyword.
—Insignificancy Crowned—
Morning comes; I raise the vanitascope—
Dust drifts where light refuses instruction.
I lean in; distance folds. Closeness pretends.
Air resists; I accuse.
Shadows gather. I baptize them.
A mark appears; nothing further.
Exactness devours edges.
Attention thickens. Mercy dies.
Sound repeats, stubborn.
I follow. Beyond reason. Beyond care.
Hardness calls itself diligence.
The rose breathes, uncorrected, mocking.
I touch; tyranny rises—
No crown, no empire, only insistence.
Time moves.
Nothing waits. Nothing falters.
Vast persists; I fail to see.
Motes hover. Flaws remain.
Life stretches beyond grasp,
Unobserved, precise, inevitable.
I step aside—not wiser, only absent.
The world endures.
Because my vanitascope observed too much.
Australian Ancient Depths Of Time
Under deserts rusting tides of red
Mountains once collapsed themselves into the clay
Became flat lands stilted while sun hung ornate on the humble quiet
Beauty remained unobserved, unobstructed, ageless
At this point in time my team and I, consisting of two guides
Walked gently along soft earth near a simple gorge
Mules and archaeological tools fell through to darkness
Deep in the hole one man tumbled, crippled, died
The mules too met an ugly fate as well
My other man and I survived
Crawled for hours through a narrow passage in the underworld
In the labyrinth of black, accompanied by barely breathable air
Fear and hunger took hold
Our mental faculties began to fail
With no way out, we struggled on
By quirk or chance we happened on an open chamber
To stand, to glance, to reconnoiter an unknown civilization
Covered by time, embraced by centuries safe keeping
Thick vases found in sandy walls housed oils
I had matches and some rope to light our way at last
Other vases filled with beans and herbs unearthed by us
Treasures to save us from starvation!
Olive oils tasted nasty, black beans were worse
But Australia’s hidden depths were fascinating finds
We tied ropes around our new supplies, dragged them behind
The maze, the cave, gave us many bones and pottery for exploration
We hope the ancients will forgive us for eating all their food
I think they no longer need it in the tomb
8/28/14 Contest - poem you have not entered in a past contest # 11
In a world without poetry, An empty parking lot could not explain the reason for its emptiness The power of the quoted words of emotions would go unobserved
and perhaps unnoticed.
In a world without poetry, The rescue of a sparrow, a yard bug, and a spider eating an ant would simply be an act of nature, not the story that led to the spider's breakfast
In a world without poetry, Word shortages of speech would remain unsaid, and true feelings unexpressed in the light would remain unraveled, unrevealed, and sorely unhealed
In a world without poetry, Earth would have remained a cold, dark, and void planet Stoicism would rule, and imagination would be nonexistent Pure romance would be fantasy, ever stripped of intimacy
011920PoSoupCtest, If there was no poetry, Silent One
LOTUS FOR SLOPING KNEES
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the contentment of disheveled twigs
sitting on shoulders of humming trees,
the sunlight wafting shades on meshed nets---
it is before early morning, pale always ever,
pagan and pliant as the swoon
of winged winds. after all, while village trawlers
tug the day’s haul of buttery clams,
salmon and weeds,
the river washes its feet unobserved.
even when the hills fondle the peaks
of embossed leaves, there is no time
for human leisure on the streams, not yet. not till
compass’ hours stray too long, tedious, unabated
for folk fishermen to haul the orb ropes
and slug aquatic baits in exile, washed
from sea wine that cradles trout’s liberty…
many a time, when incandescent beam
envelopes all things gentle and sunlight drifts
on lotus flowing, rowing; as clouds hover odorless
upon sloping male knees: fishermen become
the fishes darting free, finally tranquil…
content as disheveled twigs lying
on shoulders of humming trees.
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© all rights reserved
My admiration grows
with every conversation,
with every new occasion
that's given me to glimpse your radiant face.
I'm stricken by your grace.
Serenity's your essence;
I weaken in your presence.
And nothing is enough compared with you.
I'm driven to pursue
this sweet increasing pleasure.
Not unobserved, full measure
of beauty reigns within your warm brown eyes.
You took me by surprise.
Your youthful, peerless spirit
impels me to be near it!
What lovely interruption when you came.
Now life is not the same.
May my every yesterday
spent with you, Dear, ricochet
into our bright tomorrows' afterglows.
Feb. 1, 2018
He couldn’t recall an event
Or a time or even a place
Somehow he knew he knew
That approaching smiling face.
A night of flowing drinks
A night of many toasts
A night of copious alcohol
Supplied by generous hosts
A night of drunken wandering
Strange street intersections
Of turning left instead of right
A night off wrong directions.
Welcoming arms
To his surprise
To be replaced
By moans and sighs.
Coming suddenly awake in
A strange love wrecked bed
A fast emerging hangover
Pounding through his head.
Not his house
Not his room
An awful sense of
Impending doom.
The act of quietly dressing
To creep down a strange stair
Unobserved she watched him
Emerge into crisp morning air.
A night of unbridled passion
Of giving and taking
A night of unexpected and
Passionate love making
Silently she’d watched the stranger
As he disappeared from her sight
Contentedly musing on those
Ships that pass in the night.
Now he’d returned her smile
Though not knowing why
And the moment was gone
As they passed each other by.
It’s the awkward pause when I draw a blank.
All the dreams I can’t recall.
And those whispered tender mercies
That don’t echo down the hall.
It’s the lack of depth to the story’s plot;
Not much drama after all these years.
It’s the empty stare when I hear a song
That used to always bring me tears.
It’s forsaken anniversaries
And birthdays unobserved.
Every summertime vacation
Family portrait that’s been blurred.
All these careless reminiscences
That never cross my mind
Are the way I put my thoughts on hold,
And keep my feelings undefined.
In the dull routine of simple tasks,
The rituals that satisfy my needs,
I elevate my posture,
Positioning my head above the weeds.
From my early morning walk about,
Till quarter past my last cold brew,
I spend my day deliberately forgetting
All those many times I’d been a fool for you.
A Doe and deer come to my backyard.
its quite a common sight
in leafy suburbia.
The hunters search out the
deep woods to shoot at them.
They are in no danger here
except for the growling menace
of minor roads.
They are unphased,
by me at my door,
both stare at me for a long minute.
Then the fawn strays
too far from its mother.
Mother and Bambi
disappear into
a light industrial unit
just a stone’s throw away.
That’s just how it is round here,
the tall hedgerows
hide both the deer
and the humming machinery,
that unobserved
make the hunters guns.
A hush folds over the room
Not silence but a velvet static
Like the air is waiting to see
What you do without dissolving
Shadows rearrange themselves
Into half-remembered shapes
Old thoughts brushing your ankles
Like animals that forgot your scent
The clock doesn’t tick tonight
It breathes slow and deliberate
Testing whether you’ll follow
Or break formation
Mind unwrapped from its sugar-dark cocoon
Moving with logic out of rhythm
A lantern swinging in a cavern
Where the walls shift when unobserved
There’s a tremor of clarity
Thin as a hairline crack in glass
Letting in a draft of something
Which cannot be named
In that draft
A question lingers half posed
Is this what the world feels like
When it remembers itself
Lying there sober as a moonbeam
Listening to the muted rebellion
Of a body relearning its own edges
A mystery unfolding one unlit corner at a time
How does the hymner sing of God's measureless love through quadruplets-
Fine craftsman of fields, flowers, fountains of water, mountains, and sun-
Who practiced self-denial, till blood sweat, for the honor of thieves
apportioning second chances like sweet nectar while He came undone?
Why does the scribe pen his worship to the Universal Maker,
Compiling pages of effusive love notes for an unseen King?
Unobserved by open eyes but recognized by insightful hearts
Heeding courtship calls from Christ, Saviour sweet, at the threshold tapping.
Where does the artist conceive sweet lines, hues that tell wondrous tales-
delicate replicas of the Creator, thoughts color their veins-
as prismatic as rainbows post turbulence and wuthering days,
so silver linings laid on canvas sprinkle joy for hearts to sail?
When do dancers slip from guarded grace to ungirded ecstasy?
In the sweet echoes of a recent heartbeat or laughing babies,
bustling birdy melodies auguring spring's blessed revival?
I shall sharpen my grand jetés for Jesus' triumphant arrival.