Long Vise Poems
Long Vise Poems. Below are the most popular long Vise by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Vise poems by poem length and keyword.
Back straight, shoulders down. Straighten the computer. Stop staring at the purple walls.
Light the candle once, twice, three times -- why won’t it light? --
before the flame finally catches,
filling the room with the scent of pine.
Breathe in, breathe out. Start typing.
Sunlight slants across my fingertips, and I turn to face the source
impossibly far from the window.
The clouds are tinged the golden white of times flown by,
of the yarn of the Fates that winds tighter and tighter and tighter and tighter in your chest until you’re suffocating, asphyxiating, gasping for breath, panic turning your body to crumbling stone.
The mushrooms know this process well. It’s been inscribed in their DNA since well before humans were graced with the knowledge of how to care for their dead.
Over the eons, they’ve befriended Time and Death alike.
What would I give to have such an intimate connection with the two?
To sit back amongst shadows that drape me like a blanket rather than grip me like a vise?
Too much time has passed. Too many seconds lost. Time, time, time, slipping away from my scrambling fingers.
Can’t grip the yarn; too silky, too precious. The Fates wove quality too fine for mortals to grasp.
Clear thoughts like an etch-a-sketch, sending fireglow hair flying. Breathe in, breathe out.
Start typing.
The words that appear are damn near incomprehensible, shrouded and hidden by
ghosts of memories that weave themselves through my thoughts.
A dark lake house lit by candles and the fire in my eye as I take my grandma “exploring”
over forest-colored carpet and around oak tables,
a land she’s already familiar with.
How do I rectify that vision with what’s facing now?
112 feather-light pounds of gray hair and fading eyes,
reality’s cruel reward for a life of purpose and love.
I’m scrambling to keep up with all the changes, but my grasp is slipping.
Suddenly she’s falling faster than we thought.
The heater’s white noise is the only constant,
the handfuls of M&Ms the only distraction.
I’m all too aware of the bills I’m racking up,
too cognizant that synthetic dopamine only shoves away what’s real,
but I’m crumbling too fast to care.
Shaky breath in. Straighten the computer. Stop staring blankly at the purple walls.
There’s too much to do; the future’s jumping down your throat and running away.
Start typing.
Wood Nymph, wraps white
gossamer legs in hello, as branch shakes
in obvious "ka_ching"!
'Oh wait till you see what she does next",
tattles the tree, in an excited and mischievous
foreboding.
Itself, a Familiar and Servant,
hypnotized to carry and present her gift of wrap
and wrap of gift.
The naughty Nymph O pushes herself halfway up
like a tired and cautious sloth
(on the lip of a drinking cup.)
An innocent look beguiles her face
as essence of bark soils it's digits up,
To stick like a sponge to her curves like a leech
leeching much.
Nurses a clamp to her soft skin
as if to aspire seed of sapling in sap, sapping sin.
As She stares through, impossibly pierced,
her cruelly clumsy jiggle starks the eye
in an ultra violence of lumplumpsum.
The forest stirs with whispers of silence,
gossiper secretions to soil more.
Wood nymph dances careless,
her story unfolding, merciless amore.
Her web weaving legs, wrapped in ethereal grace,
licks of
delicate tricks of creature of delicacy.
Surreal ad vise given visa visage
it's enchanting embrace.
The trees, they giggle with mischievous delight,
as they await her next move, a magical sight.
A familiar servant, the branches extend,
presenting her gifts, their devotion, bend.
Halfway she rises, cautious and slow, oh dear.
Like a tired sloth, uncertain where to go
but nearer near.
Innocence plays upon her beguiling face,
as she clings to the bark, leaving presiding trace.
A sponge to her curves, the bark holds so tight,
seeks to crumble there.
Leaving a mark, a visible sign of it's mare.
But she dances on, with a clumsy sway.
A violence of debauchery in a mystical play,
there there, tears tears tears.
Her presence, it lingers, in the air, a fragrance,
mimicking the soul bare.
A poem to stir souls, in carom of supernatural
resonance in crept.
The wood nymph bewitches with every step,
to numb your penance swept.
Leaving an imprint of memory kept as plum-line erect.
In the depths of the forest, her essence will remain,
a powerful muse, never to wane.
For she is a poet's dream, an excuse so rare,
relished relic of the gone insane.
Captivated, beyond complain,
the Satyr's forehead yields sign, pops a vein.
There is a simple fact very few of you see
I’m as alive as alive can be.
I start at the mountains and I end at the sea,
Life is abundant inside of me.
MY life begins by the melting of snow and ice.
My rapids are guilty of taking life.
This saddens me deeply and it hurts my soul,
Murder wasn’t meant to be my goal.
I once had the freedom to plot my own course
Now, I’m full of sad remorse.
There are many demons who have altered my life
Left me full of heartache and strife.
They have built huge structures to alter my way
Creating places for them to play.
It also provides them with energy they need,
Evil demons full of greed.
Salmon swim up inside me to spawn far as they can go
Life and death struggles in my ebb and flow.
Forever altered, I can’t believe these demons can’t see
I’m the mother of all inside of me.
They dump their poison without any remorse at all
As entire species get sick and fall.
Now, I’m sad to say they have gone way too far
Clouds no longer block out the stars.
The earth is getting warmer and warmer each year.
The sky is dry and void of tears.
As the world heats up because of your choices
Mother Nature hears our voices.
She is the mother who cares for one and all
Its time you humans should fall.
As I run dry and have no choice, but to succumb to death
What will you do with no water left?
No more power generated from your mighty stations,
Creating another great human migration?
With no more animals left on earth to kill for sport,
Will starvation be your final resort?
I was once a mighty river full of a million dreams
Now I’m reduced to a trickling stream.
Your farmer’s wells are starting to run completely dry
As you all argue the reason why.
Climate change is nothing, but another hoax you say,
In the end our mother will make you pay.
Drought in the west with mighty storms in the east,
Mother’s vengeance is a powerful beast.
The situations you created through the webs you’ve spun
Create untold hurricanes and blistering sun.
There is a simple fact of this poem that is nothing nice;
All life on earth will pay for your vise.
I’m now broken and void of all my happiness it seems
I’m now just “The River of Broken Dreams.’
……Somewhere a lone survivor of a plane crash
A man of sound and reason
standing tall and proud.
But a voice of lies and madness
whispering words of doubt.
His mind a fortress sturdy
no shadows in the crowd.
But a path of doom and darkness
waiting to break out.
Delusions like a serpent,
coiling in his brain,
Paranoia like a venom,
oozing from his core.
Twisting truth and logic,
driving him insane.
The world a hostile army,
waging endless war.
Dissociation like a vise,
squeezing his soul tight,
A mirror of identity,
shattered into shards.
Lost within the maze,
his selfhood out of sight.
The pieces of his being,
scattered near and far.
Psychosis like a demon,
dancing in his mind,
The music of madness,
playing its eerie song.
Illusions like a spider,
weaving webs to bind.
As his grip on sanity,
was slowly being wronged.
Not working…..
He found a radio, a possible voice of hope and light.
…..Working
Then a change of course,
a turn of fate’s design,
A mind once plunged in madness,
now rising to the fight.
From blackness to brightness,
a force of hope divine.
An ascent from affliction,
a story of great might.
As his grip on sanity was
slowly being restored,
Illusions like a spider
weaving webs to break.
The music of madness
playing its final chord.
Psychosis like a demon
dancing in his wake.
The pieces of his being
scattered near and far,
Lost within the maze his
selfhood comes to light.
A mirror of identity
shattered into stars.
Dissociation like a vise
squeezing his soul bright.
The world a hostile army
waging endless peace.
Twisting truth and logic
driving him to sane.
Paranoia like a venom
oozing from his fleece.
Delusions like a serpent
coiling in his mane.
But a path of doom and darkness
waiting to fade out.
His mind a fortress sturdy
no shadows in the crowd.
But a voice of lies and madness
whispering words of doubt?
A man of sound and reason standing tall and proud?
A lone survivor of a plane crash……
I tried to be patient
I tried to keep my cool
I tried to be pleasant
And not act like a fool
I tried to be soothing and calm
Like the smell of rose balm
But....
My feelings got the best of me of course
What's worse? I feel like a spider on all fours
I'm burning bright
Right in front of you
I isolate and ignite
Left in back of you
Maybe....
I might have some good news for you -
You're mine and I'm not letting go
You're the victim and I'm the predator or vise versa
I have weaved this web with articulate woe
Collect my tears in your decrepit jar
I like you a lot just the way you are
And....
I'm wishing you'd be my victim forevermore
Well....
What are you waiting for?
Come spend a little time with me, myself and I
Pretty soon, you'll see, with no web of lie,
That I'm in love with knitting ancient grief
I beg for your silent plea and utter relief
I'm underneath you and above you...
Regardless, I'm always there with you
Even if you try to avoid me,
You can't
Where can you flee with my grasp? Will I set you free?
I won't
But, wait...wait!! Please...
I acknowledge you so
Let my weaving powers show
A future for you and I that will grow
Listen to my many legs, scuttling and crawling right next to you now
I am like the mysterious sweat on your brow
I can clearly see...
With a million eyes...
I'm no longer blind
When you're my lovely find
All your callous lies and crooked lullabies - feed to me
All your wretched goodbyes and your sad cries - take it all away possibly
The tiny hairs on my shapeless body stand up a tad
You're my best friend that I never had...oh well, too bad
I tried to be serious
But I got too curious
I tried not to make you uncomfortable
But, I read and taste you like a delectable fable
I'm scorching ice
Right in front of you
You're my living sacrifice
If only you...knew...
What our future may hold
You are beautifully bold
While I'm just a worthless insect
You're just a priceless human being
I wish you were my bug as I expect
When I see you, grace and benevolence is what I'm seeing
You're sweet...and...
Rather salty and
BLAH!
Bitter
The Offering Plate
The offering plate
started at row one
I was in row ten.
I reached in my pants
knowing I had a five
down there somewhere.
I pulled a crumpled wad
from my pocket.
A receipt from MacDonalds,
couple of one's and a----
"ten"!
I jammed my fists back
into both pockets.
Where was it,
that five that I was
so generously going to give.
Monuments and statues
were to be
erected in my honor
for the noble contribution
of that five.
"But ten?"
Did God really need
that extra five,
more than I did?
Thinking about the
theological and
the existential implications
hurt my head.
The plate was starting
the second row.
Going from one generous hand
to the other.
Five is one thing,
but ten?
I smoothed out
the wadded ten,
as I tightened my grip on it.
The plate was
on row four.
The passing plate
seemed to accelerate.
Do I give it?
I saw my monuments
and statues crumble
right before my eyes.
The plate was
at row six.
What happened to
row five?
My heart quickened,
the breathing became
more shallow.
My fingers held tightly
to the ten like it was
my only child.
The plate was steaming
along row eight,
like a piston,
faster and faster.
My eyes darted between
the plate and the ten,
as my grip tightened
like a vise.
Beads of sweat
began to appear.
My mind raced,
ten or no ten.
Righteous obedience
or succulent avarice.
The plate has now
cleared row nine.
It feels like
my eternity hangs
in the balance.
The plate comes
to me.
With gritted teeth,
and gritted heart,
I drop the ten in.
The ten snuggles
into the plate,
up next to a "twenty."
It's funny,
but ï didn't hear
the Hallelujah chorus
as the ten left my hand.
Nor did I hear: "Well
done my good
and faithful servant."
The offering plate continued
it's one way journey.
Songs were sang,
the preacher preached.
One last question
entered my little mind:
Was God impressed,
or embarrassed?
5-7-17
A hug is an action of feel ings of captive-seal of
passion's squeeze of personal zeal.
A physical mentality kind of deal.
A hug, a simple gesture with so much worth,
A capture of passion, a feeling of mirth.
It's a personal seal, that speaks of so much more,
A touch so powerful, one can't help but adore.
It's an action of feelings feeling for the feel, a
language of the real set in fantasy settings a spell.
A recital of mystical call to arms,
revealing enveloped scroll of proclamation, bond of.
charms.
Home's Tome tapestry of spirit and bone unveiled.
Sign, language telling the story in magic braille of.
seal.
Indeed of deed in its
real home projection reel in mapped feed.
A powerful vise of verse,
from the golden pair o graph, grafted in.
It brings people closer, like never before,
kind of thing.
A bond so strong, that forever will endure.
In it's honest font of headline, of pure.
A hug can heal, and take away pain,
It can shelter a soul, and calm a spirit caught in.
hurricane.
It fills a heart with peace, and joy so sweet,
A warm embrace is impossible to beat.
It's a captive passion, that knows no bound,
A feeling of zeal, that always surrounds.
It's a tender reminder, that we are not alone,
A sign of affection, a love that's shown.
So open your arms, and give a warm fat hug,
A gesture of kindness, from a heart to tug.
It's a moment of sharing, that brings people close,
A simple touch that knows,
it's powerful vibration grows
and grows and ripples affecting its native prose,
to the letter in it's electric vice of pose,
in itallics stylized bold, personal stationery stamped.
"that's better" O.
My head feels like it's being squeezed in a vise. Eardrums must have blown out from the explosion since I hear absolutely nothing, not even my own breath. Slowly rising to my feet I survey the damage. Left arm gone from the elbow down. Flesh hangs from my right forearm exposing bone and sinew. I don't even want to know what my face looks like but my cheeks are burning white hot.
Suddenly, I am keenly aware of the immediate surroundings. The twenty story office building I call my second home is utterly destroyed. Smoke and haze are everywhere. An acrid odor fills my nostrils with each breath. Scanning the vicinity I see body parts strewn about. The urge to vomit overwhelms me. Afterward, I begin to shake and sob uncontrollably. My God, why?
Home is five blocks away. My wife, my daughter are they alive? No idea how many bombs were dropped. Must get home. Each step brings excruciating pain, but the adrenalin pulsing through my veins impels me forward. Finally reaching my neighborhood, it quickly becomes evident that it too was targeted. Rubble and debris surrounds me. In the distance, what was my house, leveled to the ground. The cries, the screams of others sifting through the debris make me question my sanity did my hearing return or are the screams in my head?
Reality sets in coldly as I discover the bodies of my family, partially buried under the rubble. I have no more tears in this moment. Instead, my mind drifts back to former days happy times. Myself, Najwa and baby, lying in our back yard on a comfy blanket, staring up at the stars, watching the fireflies softly flicker in a dreamy, summer night sky. We had peace then. Now there is nothing but bitterness and hatred in my heart. I gaze at the sky, now black as sin. All the stars are there. But the fireflies they're gone. I can't help but wonder, what will become of me?
Flicker flicker fly
Stars above to light the sky
Angels weep goodbye
Rage… that’s all have now,
The loss of what could have been,
And the youth that will be affected.
Memories fragmented, pieced together…
By an imperfect mind
Information from others,
Filling gaps…
Misery is all I have now.
The loss of what could have been,
The youth that will be affected…
Pain, Humiliation,
Emasculation…
Justified by one’s insecurities,
And unwillingness to admit they had error ed…
Sorrow is all I have now…
The loss of what could have been,
Our youth that will be effected…
Blind and unfeeling,
The indifference to my suffering,
The failure to see the gold in front of them,
But lunges at pyrite at first glance…
Suffering is all I have now,
The loss of what could have been,
Our youth will be afflicted…
Flashes of relief,
In absences of presence,
And reemergence of loathing,
The struggle rearing its head
Loathing is all I have now,
The loss of what could have been,
Our youth will pay for it
Our youth, Intelligent
Our youth, aware
Our youth understand,
You are not there.
Rage is all I have now,
The loss of what could have been,
Our youth conflicted…
The anger is its own person,
The compassion is another,
The suppression is tangible,
The toll, devastation
Karma runs not in a circle,
But water in a funnel, reversed.
A single error
The youth’s pain burns,
Hallows out my heart,
My heart cry’s out for vengeance,
And compassion snuffs it out
All I have now… is a shovel,
For some it may look like a bottle,
Its purpose the same
The shovel is familiar,
Stained with dirt and blood,
Stinking with anger’s steaming musk
I must maintain order here
Strength is what I have,
Lost is where I’ve been,
To move forward, don’t look back,
Honorable, I’ve always been…
This is where I leave you,
Shovel in my hand
Jaws like a closed vise,
A fighter to the end
Beats the liar to the finish
Until his wondrous lights
Diminish.
Form:
Favorable and a faithful young lady indeed! She’s compassionate, bright, positive, confident, easygoing, single-minded and humble (unlike Charity) and she’s the mother of Joy’s niece!
(I won’t tell you all her name…I’ll leave it as an anonymous thing until later on of course)
A pretty, prudent, humble and joyous individual, bearing all of the traits her sisters lack: hope, joy, charity, and so much more! Above all, this is the trait she builds up before she passes away: TRUE, GENUINE, & TREASURABLE LOVE
I believe she evidently found the love in her life…a boy that’s poor in the world’s standards, but rich in heart…he shares most of the traits she has and he has some she doesn’t have…and vise versa! They were like two peas in a pod and they were destined to be with each other for eternity (strangers to best friends to a cute, charming couple)!
Tranquilizing like a violin her voice is! She’s a surprise at every corner! She has a priceless, graceful voice greater than many! She’s unpredictable and untamed with enthusiasm and curiosity (much like her daughter) and takes it on another level!
Has a hilarious side of her, though she’s too bashful about it getting out of control in front of everyone, including some of her family and friends . . . She brushes her hair to try to let go of the embarrassment she feels inside; likewise, she’s grooming away the gloom in her solitary bedroom and wants her sister, Charity, to reflect upon her for one (she feels left out when she’s hanging around her because she’s self-centered and doesn’t notice her, only herself)! She refuses and breaks her heart, once pumping with plenty of effulgent, extra-incredible exuberance – thanks a thousand for your ignorance, Charity! Have a giving heart like Faith, thumping with triumph, thundering wonder and thanksgiving! All 4 of the sisters should gather and preserve faith forevermore!