Long Untouchable Poems
Long Untouchable Poems. Below are the most popular long Untouchable by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Untouchable poems by poem length and keyword.
The light!
it outshines, dominates and cannot be captured,
is the definition of its glory and pride.
But a substance,
as little and unseen as it is,
captures the light, processes and even converts,
so is my victory and testament.
The Chloroplast!
Aiming at a shot, but had a blast
despite the hibernation
my doings shout and boast
as influence and praise stretch my coast.
From east to west
spreading so fast
like the yeast on an old baked dough.
My methods cast upon the waters
as they stay afloat and pass the test,
this marvels my competitors
and keeps them alarmed.
The past,
having its proclamation of me,
"less than a commoner
and worse than an outcast".
The present protests
while the future screams "AVAST!"
my new empire,
filled with pasteurized milk
produced from healthy breasts
and sweet scenting red meat
well spiced, salted and roasted
sums up the efficiency of my hands
which have defeated lack
until Ice heavys water.
At last!
In the Island of abundant grapes
having supplies of fresh and viscous Honey
with vast avenue for pleasures.
I stand the greatest.
And as mighty and untouchable as I seem.
I still dwell like the chloroplast.
She waits,
eight black spindles joined at one end by a pivot, a compass.
Each pinpoint balanced at the intersections
of self-drawn polygons.
Legs jointed like the fingers of a skeleton,
deft, dexterous as a harpist.
Body in two sections with ample abdomen,
the African who carries the water jug on her head.
Or an Indian, the untouchable with her caste mark,
the microscopic grains dropping through the hourglass
like drops of blood.
Blind, she has the surrogate sense of a seismograph.
She would feel a disturbance in the web
were it only a thought.
Never mind she lives in a dark corner
as devoid of light as she is of personality,
she needs neither.
She does not look as the wrapped body of her cannibalized mate
as at a gilt-framed photograph of the dearly departed.
The egg sac is not a silk-lined bassinet,
the hanging ornament
to all her future hopes and dreams.
She is absent of frontal lobes,
moralizing modifiers,
second thoughts.
An instrument of logic,
mate=food
sac=young,
syllogisms minus all prepositions,
additional excess cargo to be jettisoned
as the dried shells of devoured prey.
No welcome mats on the front step,
no settees in the parlor,
no cunning seductress with scarlet claws.
Only a modem waiting in the spaceless black.
This Citizen Banker
safely in his compound doth attest,
sans donning his typical
gabbling and trumpeting ways,
while legally tendered,
currently being cents
less lee swept away
soul fully - bellow
wing from my chest
(with fortissimo, the
whirling wide webbed
watery tidal swells
rivaling the peak
of Mount Everest)
reef furring to being
nearly reduced to poverty
hence, essentially buck
king the tide while washed out -
since day short and dollar late
circumstances force me
to cash worthless buffalo chips
astutely as you correctly guessed
from deep pull horrible
United States economic situation,
where option non
existent against invest
ting, nesting, and squirreling
financial resources jest
accessible for wealthy people
to sync investment portfolios
region of popular tax haven,
viz Cayman Islands lest
hefty costs accrue
keeping scrupulously stashed re:
sources untouchable,
where Uncle Sam canst
access ex cell lent
healthy maturing outlook
king monies, and understandable
at rage against the machine
if rainy day funds messed
up, but solvent versus
debts drowning oneself
unable to stay afloat,
where declaring Chapter 7 bankruptcy
doomed to bobbing
within a sinking boat,
and where pointless
to pull out all the whistle stops
including abandoning resorting
to heroic measures
while additionally futile
to shed tears and emote
only kidding self to seek out goat
tam ma Buddha, nor will
I resort to gofundme
(cuz ma last name NOT Kardashian),
but matter of fact lee
roll with the figurative punches
feigning tubby Jew Dee
or an incarnation
of Muhammad Ali
during his ready for prime time Box
sing rebellious jabbering
left fist out fox
sing prize fighter un
defeated champ with mox
see, his champion modesty
oozed muscles like rocks,
a bankable one man
Gibraltar with precious
mettle to the core,
not wanting with his pugilistic,
yet homegrown genteel
ringing true mark
solid core state athletically valued
bankable bonded stocks.
Somewhere between fallen flares
of an untouchable phoenix~
and the nostalgic red of crimson horizons,
I feel the amethyst embers of longing
illuminate rambling roses
that mourn within my hibiscus heart.
O beloved Love,
I long to be your tulip twilight
adorned with unfading mauve haze,
where green-gold scribbles of sunset
erase interlaced flaws,
to harbor blue-black mists
twirling above tides of tainted topaz…
and I will thrive amidst
storms of insecurities,
as the Swarovski Horse of Poseidon,
crystallized in resilient silver,
gleaming in glowing grace,
beyond dews of darkness,
shifting the aroma of pomegranate’s kiss.
There, peonies of peace
feast upon decadent delicacies
in the barren garden ~
flourishing with jilted jasmines.
I wonder, will these metaphors
woven across my canvas in perfumed ink,
speak the songs of my splintered spirit?
For the moon no longer sings
the melody of my soul,
and I refuse to choreograph
a diabolical dance for resentful ravens,
collecting twigs from tortured trees,
as the crescent smile
wanes into neon nothingness.
Yet while the witching hour beckons
skeletal remnants to rise
as celestial ashes,
I go insane, lose my incandescent light
that glistens in opalescent hues,
leaving my quill to suffocate in solitude,
unable to grasp the musical muse,
to stitch sorrowful sonnets
with seething synonyms.
O stringed sapphires
sailing above the meadow of melancholy,
forgive this coffin curse ~
it holds carvings of a corpse bride,
aching to be seen beyond the kohl shawl~
cloaking the frost-glazed silhouette,
weeping woeful elegies
while slumbering in the
amorous arms of Orpheus,
for in your absence, I cannot breathe,
and sleep screams
like a long-forgotten miracle,
needing an oracle to
alchemize a soothing potion…
So lay me down in a bed
of deep daffodils and thorns,
watch me plead for merciful rain,
to free obsidian tears of terror,
while my psyche bleeds
grammatical mistakes.
I am forever trapped in tremors of agony,
unable to reopen galactic gates
of euphoric escape,
so tonight I’ll let the torrents of torment
embrace inked insanity…
If I gave it time, I suppose hundreds of things would come to mine.
Like the old two-story mansion where my father's friend made moonshine.
Like the feel of blue, an escape route, that turned many to singing the blues.
'That blue feel' was still strong and hung in the atmosphere like cloths on a back-yard cloth-line.
The combines and farm equipment now occupy the old homesites.
The Chinaberry tree, under which we buried my dog Jack, and the peach trees from which we feasted on sweet treats appear to have taken flight.
Yes, they are the landowners, but who gave them the right? Who gave
them the right to overlook and completely disregard as trite, the passage
to my past? Of course, they had every legal right, and I had none. Yet,
I felt that something of great substance was taken away from me.
To see and feel such blight breeds disgust, not delight.
Was not the lowly impoverished life, lasting for O so long
and burdening languishing souls for generations enough wrong?
It was once a place where I roamed but never felt I belonged;
A place of mere existence that I longed to someday make an exit.
Forty plus years and 2000 miles removed, but the memories persisted.
And the sweet taste of family created there never departed my sensory.
And the fragrance of love introduced there never escaped my memory.
But I wanted to see my birthplace again for myself with my own eyes.
I longed to see my Genesis where I often craved a rendezvous with Exodus.
For some many years. I longed to revisit my birthplace.
But it took decades to actually see the site again. The
House was gone, but I am glad at least I returned.
Although the feel was strange, and the pain was real, there's no
denying that the little quiet village is very much a part of me still.
Some things from our yesterdays are untouchable and forever sealed.
And it is often difficult to explain the pain that in time shall all be healed.
040722PS
Why don’t you tell the people the truth about the problems of their youth? Why don’t you tell the people the truth of how the system has changed, and their life will never be the same. You have created a system that have left many people confused and has the universe moving to different rhythm; the sun has come and gone and left me sitting forlorn on the wide space on the empty lawn with a long distance between us and a long stretch of road in front of us. I am getting ready for another journey to unravel he truth and expose the secret of the untouchable fruit in the garden of Eden. I have no appointment, contract or assignment; but I am getting ready for a long journey. I need a brand new pair of shoes and a book to read to perk up my zeal. Keep dreaming when your passion is burning, keep dreaming when your body is shaking, and keep dreaming when your spirit is railing. I have no money food or script, but I have all the energy to take on this trip, the wind is blowing in front of me and I let it take me, wherever I want to be. I will keep dreaming when the dreams have died, I will keep dreaming when my heart is beating and when the moon is gliding in the skies, I will dream and hold on to the gravity in the air and share the stories of the sorrows that we bear. The life is like a soldier armed for battle and the commander giving orders for the troops to march straight through the tunnel, with a giant flag hoisted in the sky and sings song of victorious soldiers returning from battle. I woke up with the tree of life pointed towards the East and destiny saturated in the breeze, no one knows where the sun rises and where it sets but courage will lead me on until I find the best. My heart is singing a happy song with lyrics originated from a distant land, it has words of hope and rhythm of peace and joy that will set your mind at ease, the journey is long but I have just discovered a shorter one. I will keep dreaming until you come so get ready to meet me here before the day is done, I have allot to share.
A memory seared into my mind with the rose red tint of desire,
The hazy flush of too much, too soon.
I crawl into the car after you
our figures crowding the tenebrous space
My drunken gaze stumbles upon
your hair
short brown strands my fingers itch to explore
My eyes drift to your face
and a flush brightens my cheeks
Beautiful and stagnant
Infinite and untouchable
The curve of your nose
The secrets held in your smile lines
Shadows dance to grace
your delicate features
I, too, would die
to trace the lengths of your lips
Dizzy with lust and unspoken words
i lay my head on your shoulder
Heat burns where our skin touches
scorching and dangerous
You place a hand on my leg
impartial to the cross delicate on my collarbones
and my skin sears and blackens
even eight months later I still see the outline
of a winter intertwined
PEDDLING HOPE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
a small pill, solace in a blister pack
legally dispensed by a white coat
promises relief, a cure, a return to normalcy,
a life unburdened from pain and disease.
the ache returns, however, louder and more insistent
another pill, then two
the dosage creeping like a vine.
a pressed white powder, a crystal shard
illegally peddled in a dark alley
promises escape, temporary reprieve, abnormality,
a life numbed from pain.
the craving returns, however, the gnawing need
the body screams,
desperately clawing for the next fix.
addiction cares not about legality~
the hungry monster gnaws the same
whether fed by doctor’s script or dealer’s promise.
Big Pharma, a sanitized name
cartels in suits and white lab coats
pushing their product with glossy ads.
the cartel’s hand, a brutal fist
deals death blows and ruin,
pushing their product in seedy places and backstreet alleys.
one wears a suit, funds politicians,
smiles on commercials, promises relief from disease.
the other whispers in shadows
creates transactions based on desperation and fear.
Big Pharma’s towers gleam, untouchable
built on prescriptions, on the fine print no one reads.
cartels hide, their dens and caves obscured
built on blood, dead bodies, and broken dreams.
how many lives line the pockets of pharmaceutical giants,
legal drug pushers in suits peddling hope in blister packs?
how many lives line the pockets of backstreet cartels,
illegal drug pushers in hoodies peddling hope in powder?
Wait! don’t tell me about regulations, about quality control
when the end result is the same:
bodies chained; minds enslaved
lives bartered for fleeting highs and ephemeral repose.
Some connections don’t come with clean edges
Ours was one of them
Messy, beautiful and unexpected
I’ve been carrying around the weight of an ache
Not the kind that wants to turn back time
But the kind that remembers how rare our friendship was
Before it turned into something we didn’t plan for
And maybe we should’ve known better
Or maybe we just trusted too much in how easy was to feel close
We understood each other
I don’t regret knowing you the way I did
But sometimes I wish we would have held tighter to the part of us that wasn’t complicated
I miss the laughter that didn’t come with hesitation
And the comfort that wasn’t cautious
I guess I’m writing to say I’m sorry
For falling when neither of us meant to
For blurring lines that should’ve stayed clear
We didn’t mean to love each other like that
But we did
And we had to let it go
We’ve both moved on, grown up and built lives we should be proud of
I see you sometimes and I’m genuinely happy for all you’ve become
But if I’m honest
There’s still a part of me that misses my friend
Not the past and not the what ifs
Just the simple presence of you
But let’s face it, you were never a factor in my life I considered simple
You mattered
You still do
In a softer, quieter way
You who I barely know, unconditionally love.
We are so close, You and I,
Yet we are too far apart.
What is it that persuades me to envy you?
How is it, looking at you, I see greatness?
Why are you the one I try to find?
You, I want nothing more than to please You!
To show You I can meet more than you expect!
To prove You can be proud, of me.
Me, You look at me in distaste,
My presence is never something good.
Something you would wish for.
Conversation between us, never an occourning thought.
Why do You treat me so?
Can you not see this makes me miserable?
What You do, how You do it, when You do it!
I am sad, unbearably sad.
Angry, unshakably angry.
You do this and can not see it?
Not see the pain and scars I carry with me?
Do You not hear me now, right this minuet!
Crying out to You.
Why do You walk away and disgrace me so?
And when You are here, You are not here at all.
Largest aspect of my life is You.
But where is it I fit into yours?
Have I ever been in it at all?
You, never looked in my eyes,
Tell me you care about what I do.
Would it make a difference?
Untouchable You are, untouchable I am.
You do not share Yourself with me,
I do not share myself with others.
Quiet you are, envious I am.
Pushing me away,
Further along without You I get.
So alike, You and I.
Who I barely know, unconditionally love.
Our connection thin as a hair.
I have lost You.
Who makes me angry,
Sad, miserable. The one I chase.
Who I can not talk to, can not see me,
The one that can not hear my cries.
You, I undyingly love.