Long Vortices Poems
Long Vortices Poems. Below are the most popular long Vortices by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Vortices poems by poem length and keyword.
Catharsis of a King
Twisted trees, gnarled and warped
by wicked winds, curled in crippling
curling toward faint warming of the sun,
clinging with clutched roots to rocky crags,
overhanging the crashing roar of foam tipped
breakers. Stone face of shear cliff etched by
fine chiseled rivulets, tears shed by dark clouds
pummeling a world below, shaping the prisms
for a future sunrise, deepening the chasms of
canyons, uninhabitable but for their beauty.
Creatures that defy the bounds of “beauty”
yet define the artists form, call us to stare
at simple brush strokes. Explosions, eruptions
of hot, steaming lava, scalding and denuding
mountains, torturously flowing to a
roiling sea. Swirling vortices of
madness, vicious brushstrokes tearing through
the gentle country landscape as if change was
overdue. Humming birds and fireflies,
mosquitoes, gnats, and icky things
one feeding on the other,
the warring and the gnawing that would
discourage even mother. Sunrise in the
jungle, moonlight on city street, church bells
that daily ring, calling us to celebrate
the catharsis of a king.
John G. Lawless
9/18/2014
for Brian Johnston - God's Kind of Poetry contest
Still, I wait.
Alone, In silence.
Listening for your whispering wings,
hoping I will hear them sing.
At last you motor past,
and briefly pause-
checking to see that you are safe,
rapidly fanning the ambience,
filling the surround with vortices
that suspend you statuesque,
without a fainéant feather.
I know you see me,
those dark eyes opened wide,
never blink.
Yet, you are unafraid.
Or, maybe hunger rules your reason,
checking flowers of the season.
You hover slightly back,
and then decide
to probe the flower for what’s inside.
Sweet nectar…Elixir of life.
You lap a little as hummingbirds do,
and then you stab another two.
Then, purr closely past my face,
Darting to another place
having had your tiny taste.
Now retire to who knows where.
A bird must have a nest somewhere.
You’ve earned a respite for your wing.
Next time, maybe, will you sing?
Marilyn Monroe discusses making
"The Misfits"
A desert is a bitter place.
There's something cruel in endless space:
it strips away the human scale.
I fear these winds that scour and chase
the vortices, and sting my face.
Good looks are fine, but all too frail -
ask Monty. Once you've lost your place,
you feel as if you've lost the race,
you're not what you're supposed to be.
I envy his consumption rate.
The one man in this battle-born state
in grimmer shape than even me.
Yes, Huston's the paternal kind,
but something's left him colorblind:
director's name on empty chair.
He's hollow, going through the motions,
painted ship on painted ocean:
you touch him, but he isn't there.
I married Miller on a whim.
If I could land a man like him,
I figured, I must be someone.
A man above me, older, smarter:
I didn't want a Jewish martyr.
Why lock the safe? The money's gone.
I come without a guarantee.
Men fool themselves - they don't need me.
I nixed on Arthur, fixed on Clark.
I've reached some kind of plateau now.
I'm sure of everything ... but how
to find my way back in the dark.
I met her in an International airport
we both chose to reach for the same magazine
at the same time.
Hubs can be vortices, either
you make your connection, or you don't.
Delay can lead you to travel different ways.
It was a 'Nat Geo' publication
so naturally we fell to talking
about our best catches and the ones that got away.
When they called her away
she hurriedly told me she was heading for Venezuela
for a photo shoot but lived in Seattle.
I told her to look for me in London nest time
she was there.
Time past. The connection was lost,
bad signal, bad timing, low energy-waves
in the stratospheric miasma of kismet?
Years later I saw her work in an article;
lizards, snakes, and exotic birds
but none of her.
I drove to Heathrow Airport anyway
just to feel again how close
distance can get.
Written: February 14, 2025 for Brian Strand Contest
***********
In twilight, specks become stars,
bridges locked in gold,
Engraved whispers on walls
painted with diamond tears.
Singing hearts weave veins of
lilac and jasmine,
A serenade of soul waves,
ebbing through arid shadows.
Dark alleys paint a carnival of
spectral silhouettes,
Roots entwined in forlorn twilight colors,
wine-stained breaths.
Sorrow’s perfume lingers
like raindrops on roses,
Hushed epicedes echo
in the cinereous horizon.
Herbs waltz with heartbeats
beneath a canopy of trees,
Nestled nests console the forlorn
shorebirds at dusk.
Paranoia flickers like sparks
in a delicately hushed night,
Love’s choir sings an elusive refrain of
integrity and sins.
Delirium dances with
egoistic ghosts in the dark,
Tears pirouette like phantasmagoric
mist over steel syntax.
Blurring edges between serenity
and abyssal flare,
spheres clash in capricious vortices
under Gaia's winged gaze.
A whimsical trance catapults dreams
to an eldritch nebulae,
vortices float serenely,
weaving cosmic whispers into the night sky;
hushed murmurs from Eros to Erebus
blend seamlessly with somber threnodies;
in Gemini's embrace they linger
as wisps across Pyxis' burning calyx;
and while Maelstrom gnashes
within Tartarus' volcanic depths;
velleity blooms amidst fervent altar prayers
Echoes waft through Nexus' cavernous voids
to quench desires caught betwixt Chaos &
Gaia's visceral nexus hallucinations.
Written: December 5th, 2023
_________________________________________
Inspiration bursts forth akin to a volcano
with kinetic rainbows and gooey agony
frothy vortices or bubbling in infernos
an existence on the verge of decay
reaching the pinnacle of bliss
In that moment, originality bursts forth.
A creative vision of shadowed areas
amid a thousand beveled mirrors
portraying vibrancy and iridescence
in tandem, or utterly not
conversing common items into marvels
perched atop majestic mountains.
The highly focused artist's mind
perfectionism never fades
up until the medium is fulfilled
often veiled eccentricities
displaying pushes witnesses to impanel
an opposing viewpoint to hate and love.
Gratitude for vivid dreams
revealing hidden spaces to inspire and empower
emerged from cramped corridors
of crumbling walls and fading edges
within the Edenic roses of teal.
I hear guitars a’ calling in the gloaming’s final fling
when sinking suns subdue their flames and fairies take to wing
as day departs, a yawning ash, beneath a dusky haze
igniting one by one the jewels of midnight’s diamond blaze.
I hear guitars a’ calling in the clouds within the skies,
with tunes which trill like welling tears from somber misting eyes
of misplaced muted homeless souls who drift alone in grief
beneath the silence of the stars that offers no relief.
I hear guitars a’ calling in the beat beneath her breast;
their murmur throbs with passion’s pulse and sensuous unrest
that rumbles deep in worried woods before impending storms
and splits the air in morning meadows, ere the sunrise warms.
I hear guitars a’ calling in the pitter-patter rain
which summons with a soothing sound upon my window pane
evoking bygone childhood dreams within a vagrant breeze
engulfing me in gusty swirls down misty vortices.
I hear guitars a’ calling in the waves on distant shores;
they’re crashing out a monody upon the mystic oars
of phantom ships within the dawn, like speckled caravels
a’ sail on seas of raven wings to moonlit citadels.
I hear guitars a’ calling in the morning’s reveilles;
they’re pouring fires in the skies and burning up the seas,
while waking flowers in the fields and setting trees ablaze,
and closing one by one the eyes of midnight’s starry gaze.
I hear guitars a’ calling in the deserts of my mind;
they’re nullifying hollow realms that time has left behind,
where pathless sands are blazing hot, the sun is set to die
and weary hounds are panting faint’, their tongues hung long and dry.
The winter wanes and the soul of the water revives.
Reincarnation incarnate.
The Cascades cleanses her cradle of Earth; kissing it's sediments with liquid sheen and sentimental shine.
It's body is a white and blue river; it's scales being the scale of space in which it occupies.
Suspended in the air and traced with white squalls and calm skies.
She roars and names herself The Mighty Blue Dragon.
Soaring in a downward dive with her fangs bared to bite the rocks below.
When she does she may die but behind will refine the mirror of herself, forever in remembrance of her pounce and it's lustrous force.
The Mighty Blue Dragon; she prevails and dances through vortices of time.
Emanating an aura of Azul, she peers into the void with sapphire eyes.
Bravely piercing ever onward for the boulders that chart her flourished end.
Past the stone and into the hearts of the onlooking Lovers who gaze.
The Lovers kiss and leave their lips glistened like crystalline rain.
With a fierce splash, The Mighty Blue Dragon basks in a life of its own, as a distinguished and stellar animism.
Whereby in it of itself it finds sentience in grace; giving love and praise to those who witness her fly through the glade.
Reborn in amity, she has risen to thrive in all who spectate; to then cease and sleep in turbid tributaries.
As a tribute to the aesthesia of all who may feel the loss and gain of companionship.
Within it an interdependent acknowledgement and admiration of their coexistence.
So she may hope that one would say.
O hail the Mighty Blue Dragon.
As her descendance grants a divination.
Allowing her to fall in love with the Lovers, as their love becomes it's face.
The universe waits in silence for no one
Only for Sun Ra to take a close-up
Sun Ra, celestial architect of sound,
a cosmic voyager, beyond the norm,
In vortices of thought, a meditative storm.
a wonderland of free jazz flight,
Colorful vibrations in the cosmic night.
His music makes your bones swell with the future's call,
. ancient Egyptian mysticism, science fiction for all
This American jazz composer, bandleader, and keyboardist
Made Futuristic tones that transcend it all.
Outside the way out, yet straight ahead, cool
A jazz bop universe, where dreams are bred.
Freight trains of sound, smokin' rails,
Saxophones wail through cosmic tales.
Marshall Allen’s stratospheric cry,
Afrofuturism in the sky.
Experimental, theatrical, space-age attire,
Sun Ra’s universe ignites with fire.
In the same breath as Trane and Miles,
Monk’s melodies and Dizzy’s styles,
He’s the captain of the stars,
The architect of time and space music
The red planet, space travel, and a mystical life in the cosmos
Did Sun Ra think in holographic time?
A master creator, sculpting the void,
Freeing cracks in space with love employed.
Egyptian science fiction, love, peace, and art,
Sun Ra’s music is a cosmic healing vibration
Earth was just a classroom for his plan,
To show the world the good in man.
Saturn rings sing in harmony,
Guiding us to eternity.
Sun Ra, the cosmic pioneer,
His sound, the future’s frontier.
In every note, in every space,
Sun Ra’s peace and happiness in the universe’s shining grace.
We cannot bury cosmic birds
they land not where we are …
their feathers of colours unknown
we see them flitting by, their speed
of light outlined in gold upon pylons
greengrocers watch in awe
open parks will not entice them nor
sunflower seeds magnetise anisodactyls
waiting on cliffs so high (...)
we wander not there ~
in woods near farms of warriors
where they now plant apple trees —-
since knowing consciousness is One
we label their flight in Light Language
mystic like streams flowing peaceful ~
There lie our buried heroes at rest.
We hymn songs of freedom as they flap
our emblems long past buried —-
they descended from realms of seraphim
cores spin vortices from which we drink ~
__________________________
Placed : 7th : Premier Contest
Sponsor : Brian Strand
May ‘26