Long Voices Poems
Long Voices Poems. Below are the most popular long Voices by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Voices poems by poem length and keyword.
"PARIS"
Her perfume follows him
from room to room
Lily-of-the-Valley-Roses
lingers in the corners
of his mind, the hollow of
his neck
a soft kiss some hot moment back
in time, a vintage tune
Breeze blows her curtains
wide open
her streets of soft pink velvet
pulsating
Cherry Blossom,
her Empress Trees
all her rapturous city's noises
sway in time to
all his heart’s
crying voices
Her Church steeple,
his place of worship
god’s altar
drink her wine
his hair ruffled
genuflection,
Choir of Angels sweet cry.
Spring rain softly caressing
his Winter window panes
stained glass
Cognac Kisses, sweet
nude vertigo
luscious dream,
wanton blisses,
his last golden
Libertango
(Lovejoy-Burton/2018 Jan)
1.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vaXNdVTGT0k
2.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h02LY6KnyoI
I'm astride a white steed that runs through the trees
I am a leaf, a marauder of the breeze
I ride against the rain, I was born with a vein of knowing
Like the disappearing sun of yesterday, so has my past slipped away
I'm called Shantain, born at the edge of morning
Sight to the blind who cannot see tomorrow, or view the valleys of the past
Where voices speak in lost syllables, in a language of forgetting
Clouds take me by the hand, and wind takes him by the mane
We are runaway dreamers, in the moment of some happy memory
I hear the infinite past at the heels of each enchanted hoof
I am Shantain. This is my steed. I was born with the seeds for growing
I was born with the grain of knowing
We are the messengers...together we will be witness to the world
We prove that hearts of species, as wide as the universe
Can beat as one....drawn together, like poetic and timeless music
And that both hearts can feel the same remorse when day is done
_____________________________________________________
12//5/13 For Contest: "Who Are You.....Fantasy Character You"
Sponsored by F J Thomas
A Year Ago
the moats of your castles
were those big round eyes
brownies shot projectiles
piercing my blue skies
you dug trenches with blinks
thwarting my yearns and choices
countering lashes that sink
your eyes hugging other voices
try recall those starry nights
I was in left field
with my demons at fight
up against your shield
throw me no bat and ball
given no chance to come to the plate
it was easy to see me take a fall
pocket dreams of you is all I fate
and those brownies only read the cover
it hurts. not the pages of me to discover
connie pachecho
8/1/17
"The Croquis"
I draw what is required
from the Russian Doll
embracing my mind
Heart-shaped,
a planchette to guide
the necrophonic void
eternal,
recalcitrant,
answers back like a child
automatic
white chalk drawing
whispers from a Ouija board
guided by spectral voices
charcoal shadows dark
cling fast to all the sharp
cobwebbed corners
directing and pulling
invisible refined strings
the poetry's ectoplasm is outlined
in moments softened
smudged into the rough draft
canvassing the remnants of a life
unseen
yet on-demand
shards of light cut
some kind of spiralled bliss
rippling unclear
like moon gloaming ocean
waves across my nemesis
the Croquis
letters in pitman shorthand
old school hieroglyphics, to you
are all mine
some future
I will be
your most desired haunting
closer in séance
yet still moving fluid
out of view
somewhere
ashes scattered
over sea
like a siren selkie
calling you
back into me
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
“White Chalk” / P.J. Harvey
https://youtu.be/5YKbcWQNtE0
croquis
séance / meeting
planchette /
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Planchette
LYRICS/"White Chalk", P.J. Harvey
https://genius.com/Pj-harvey-white-chalk-lyrics
In waiting for you, my love, the seasons have snowed in black and white,
The landscape of our time together has been painted in trenches of lingering silences,
And every moment without your voice, an eternity crystallized in waxen clocks,
The autumns have passed with winds that leafed through memories like pages rare.
Since I've been waiting for you, my love, so many years have slipped by...
The long road of your absence has been sprinkled with shooting stars,
The weeping celestials, in the night of my soul, are the lighthouses of an abandoned edifice,
The city of my heart is in mourning, and its streets bare and numbed.
And the mournful sunsets of violet purples,
Are faded lipstick marks on the rim of a forgotten glass,
Yesteryear's dreams have become cobwebbed in untamed thoughts,
Where are you, love lost in the fields of lavender of unshared evenings?
I waited for you at the crossroads of roads, a spider's web stretched between yesterday and today,
Where vows of love were carved in wind and promises of smoke,
Like shadows that dimmed beneath the flicker of candles nibbled by oblivion,
The springs have faded, the celebrated red chestnuts have rusted, in a leaden festivity.
Yet no one passed by there, no echo, just absence as a heavy cloak,
The gate to you seems locked with a thousand padlocks of steadfast memories,
By the sea I dream of you, a foam statue waiting in silence,
Only the waves, prompt in mysteries, confide to me the secret of the parted.
The ocean of my soul waves its unseen wings,
In the close murmurs of hidden shells on endless shores,
I wonder what solemn horizons, what illuminated passages have you walked since you left?
The waves respond with froth of cold regrets and with untouched, uncreated prints.
And this evening, again, the violins cry beneath my window,
Soothing their longing in faint voices piercing the amber sky's infinity,
It's the autumn of a soul that submerges under time, under yearning, under an unconsoling sky,
In a lamentable dance to the notes of romance, which fall away like leaves in the wind, wandering without end.
I hear loud clamoring and yelling.
It sounds like a rumble in the school hallway.
I know it is the older students.
The young ones do not dare.
YOU’RE FIRED! Someone yells.
You’re going to jail! says another voice.
Lots of snickering and laughing.
Maniacal giggling. It is not this funny.
Joy in the hallway because it is Friday.
Kindergarteners are on the other side in a straight line.
Looking straight ahead, keeping their bubbles. Voices off.
One of the sixth-grade boys gives them the stink eye.
A little boy screams.
“It’s okay. He is my brother! “he tells the teacher.
The teacher begins to give him the what for.
The kindergartener smiles, because he did it first.
Why oh Why
A Collaboration between Seren Roberts, Tim Smith and Arthur Vaso
Poem inspired by Seren Roberts
Each poem written from a different view
The Murderer
The Murdered
The Mannequins who witnesses the crime
Why of Why
Lovers Die
Mannequins Cry
Sat, with his head in his hands
Remembering how love had once been,
Now, because of his stupidity
He was on his own, solitary again
Remembering, how love had been,
Behind the bars he now calls home
He was on his own as before and again,
Realizing, he was such a petty bitter fool
Behind the bars he now calls home
His mind, aflame with tears of regret
Realizing he was an utter fool,
To have stabbed her to death in a bloody pool
His mind aflame, with deep regret
Why... did he buy a knife that day...why?
To have stabbed her to death
Cause she had given love another try.
Oh how he wishes, its he that had died
Lovers Die
I linger with the scent of flowers
cascading over what was once spring showers
Your red hands drip passion
long since cooled
darkness surrounding you has lifted
and only I can see the light
Why couldn't you leave
a girl clamoring to be free
dressed in a burnt orange skirt
driven to the stake with your hurt
Words were written on the wall
but all you did was erase it all
Twisted as the knife turns
in a cell your hell burns
Mannequins Cry
We have no faces
We have no voices
You think we have no feelings
You see us as objects in commercial spaces
We saw the hidden knife unfold
We saw the young ones stabbed so bold
Pain is the emotion that frightens us all
Mannequins crying, tears running as we see her crawl
When the blood flowed
When the redness of hate showed
We with no faces
Shed tears at the human disgraces
Such young love so brutally robbed
By the jealous and lonely one, made us all sob
He regrets I am sure the hate that overflowed
Life's so torn it can't be sown
For you, the winter has departed
For me, the spring has started,
Seasons began where nature parted.
Going from north to south
on its axis through the earth
around the sun, the seasons give birth.
There are no wasted nights
nor annulment of days,
with rainy clouds and sunny rays.
Every journey has a portrait.
Every spare moment in the fate
the mood keeps the spirit awake.
When the sun comes shining
All the flowers begin blooming
Their beauty and radiance illuminating
A day moves into a new horizon
The possessive night lingers on
Into memorial direction.
Every step is a valuable lesson
To capture the paths of each person
which leads to the same destination.
Where life's challenges begin
With whispering voices in the wind
receptive illusions and dark living.
The path known could be everything
when you recall, it could be nothing
only the memory of silence serenading
Typewrite
Pacing back and forth these keys,
Like footfalls echoing on worn-out tracks—
The sights and landmarks in languid grey,
Burning with the sting of nostalgic pain,
Faces, voices, shadows etched in memory,
Untold stories thump against my brain
Like a retroactive typewriter,
Reminding me—
With every thud of the type slug,
Voices in these walls
Strike the ribbons of regret.
Scars printed in blue,
Hurts inked in red,
Fleeting across faces and lives,
The ribbons take the beat
Of my swag and gait—
That staccato rhythm
Of a past that won’t forget.
Thud tap, thud tap, ding!
And back again—
Like my aging heartbeat
On this old typewriter in motion,
The carriage bell,
Signaling the end of a line—
A moment of reckoning,
Yet back again: the carriage return,
Resetting for the next confession,
The next scar,
Thud, thud—
Like the drumming in my head,
Tom toms telling the wind:
My past always catches up.
But now— it’s time to abandon conformity,
Transformed by verity.
I should have a screen and keyboard,
Control-a, hit delete,
Roam the freedom of a white page
With a renewed mind.
Nurses
Most aspire nurses
to achieve more out of life.
Nowhere does caring invoke the spirit.
But time shapes your world its way,
sometimes silencing your hustle.
It’s like no other profession.
You become a proficient whisperer
piercing into the hearts of others,
not realizing you also have one.
these are acts of infinite morality
guiding you to the best of the next life.
Your resilience has no comparison.
Your hands, an unselfish spontaneous radiance.
Your smile radiates a refreshing chaste blessing.
Your tears, pure like dew drops from heaven.
Your eyes,
oh! your eyes
they siphon into our soul -
they are the voices of God.
Heaven is smiles on you.
©Al Juman The "Said" Poet 12 /2021