Long Wake Poems
Long Wake Poems. Below are the most popular long Wake by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wake poems by poem length and keyword.
They sang to stars, to flowers pale with dew,
To hearts that bled beneath the waning moon;
Yet every song they wove from sorrow grew,
Each note a dirge, each rhyme a fading tune.
The world too heavy, pressing on their soul's,
A crown of thorns their tender temples bore;
Love fled like whispers, leaving them to hold,
And silence reigned where song had dwelt before.
Oh, cruel muse, who blessed them with your fire,
Yet cursed their fragile hearts with too much pain,
You led them, blind, to cliffs of dark desire,
And cast them down in seas of endless rain.
In lonely nights, they felt the stars grow cold,
No voice to soothe the ache of barren skies,
The ink that spilled their griefs a tale retold
Of lives unlit, consumed by unseen love.
Yet still their words endure, though they are gone,
A burning flame no tempest can erase.
Through death, they live—each verse, a tender dawn,
Each line a kiss of beauty's fleeting grace.
Why did they fall? Perhaps to teach us this:
A poet's soul must brave the abyssal deep,
To find the truth in love’s elusive kiss,
And wake the world from its eternal sleep.
October’s Finale
October sets the stage for ghostly goblins – frost on pumpkins;
Black cats yowl on top of fences arching, upstage the moonlight;
Floating apparitions of wraiths soliloquies in mid-flight fright;
Full moons cast eerie – shadows lost in howling ghost light winds.
Echoes of shame like bare skeleton bones, rattle in chains
Specters of spirits roam through crumbling haunted castles
Ghost trains run again then again, over broken gobo trestles
Spooky whispers of forgotten lines in hair raising rains!
A possessed chorus line of leering pumpkins faces night
Tells a hair raising tale of a roaming headless horseman
Breaking through fourth walls to ride in a spine tingling plan
From the wings on a dark and stormy Halloween midnight
Howling hounds wake vampires who escape from coffins –
Hide from mirrors cloaked backstage with no reflection
Bubbling cauldrons cook creepy spells upon prop inspections
While spirits serenade in ad-lib on stringless mandolins.
Brittle headstones speak in lines of green lichen slime
Whispers blow out flickering lime lights of lantern candles
Graveyards draped in flowing scenes of cobweb handles
Heartbeats pound in monologues behind a scrim of fleeing time.
Haunted theater creaks with unseen footsteps mystery -
A playhouse podium for phantom encores - blocking bows -
Until twelve bells closes shut this deathly stage door somehow -
For November’s morning review that laughs at death’s lost victory.
All Hallows Eve call time when spirit sightings seem to occur -
Screeches of everlasting doom run rampant in audition -
Find their final curtain ringing down on their perdition,
Eternal life, the blessing seen, in the finale of October.
10-5-20
Contest: October
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
Call it chance or fate that we met,
a night we will never forget.
Not looking for affection, but we felt an immediate connection.
In a room of online scrabble, we made small talk of babble.
Another game soon took place, without seeing the other's face.
Three years spent on the phone, couldn't leave each other alone.
Words of love had been said, flames of passion had been fed.
It was long past time to meet, but would it be bitter or sweet?
At last I knew the taste of your lips, the warmth of your fingertips.
I felt the beat of your heart, and nothing could keep us apart.
Cradled in your arms all night, we fit together and it felt right.
Unlike anything I ever knew. I couldn't get close enough to you.
You slept and I was content. I sighed from breathing in your scent.
I kissed your cheek, you didn't wake, lingering for love's sake.
Morning woke us with the sun, both knowing that what we'd done
confirmed what we already knew. We shared a love long overdue.
Internal rhyme pattern
December 11th 2015
Favorite Love Poem
Sponsor: Nayda
Joy of pleasure, a child of poor parents,
Bliss alone founts from a perpetual spring,
Joy fancies scores of fond uncles and aunts,
Never lasts long the song they choose to sing.
Being a moth made of mere moments nigh,
It sleeps all day, to wake in glare of night,
O Bliss, thou art a dancing butterfly
That spreads its beauteous wings in Nature’s light.
Perhaps I should call thee a honey bee
That gently sucks nectar from a flower
Beetle, nor ever a black bumblebee
That plums and cherries a whole would devour.
Thou art a Lark that no rain clouds would chase,
The bane of joy of pleasure’s to be blasé.
__________________________________________
Sonnet |04.10.2010| joy, pleasure, bliss
Poet’s Note: Mundane joys and pleasures are carnal and they never last long, unlike bliss that founts from deep within. As a popular poetic imagination goes, an Indian Lark, called Chatak, drinks directly from raindrops falling in its widely open beak. It prefers to go thirsty but would never appease rain clouds.
I swallow smitten smoke
stomach the wake of verve ~
a corseted coherence
craving night’s clemency
while the sun sleeps
lips pressed to the searing chalice
intoxicated by silver essence ~
my fragile fragrance
You name my soul,
an enamored enchantress
the touch that craves not
a thousand thirsty eyes ~
misinterpreting inner magic
confusing compassionate
curves with consent carved
but I am not your temptress
nor am I a mystique
clothed in mists of memories
marooned in manipulation
I never ached to be the allure ~
bound to every burn
wading to savor my secrets
the intriguing incense
intricately kissing the cashmere air
the scent of the soul’s need
O spirit, guarding my light,
seek me as I am ~
an enigma, unfelt,
studying the silhouette
s i m m e r i n g
in crimson and copper
for the mirror
resembles threefold silence
wanting to be the destiny
not the dancing desire
dissolving into the drunken depths
of candle-lit dusk ~
your breathless incantation
a hypnotic haze
hand-woven into thin lace of love…
I am more than
your skies’ beholding ~
I am heaven’s eternal poetry
a pulse
no palm can possess...
in the fervour of my sweat
sheets drenched
i wake to the toxic bellow of my own voice
in the torment of my own thoughts
in the complexity of my simple life
i lay eyes swollen wide open
in the measure of hours set aside for sleep
overwhelmed by recent events
i struggle with the haunting of their potential outcome
in the exaggeration of my emotional outpour i bleed tears
dry to the air of the night
i shrivel like a plum under light
so this is what it is like
to be a prey to grief
an abhorrent internal pain
i forget its feel when it is gone
i remember its feed when it is here
bent
out of sorts
barely able to walk
i return to the inferno of my now
quiet
i keep my affliction private and unassuming
Feb 28 2016
armand
I wake up in a bath of sweat
I am late starting my journey
Weightless clothes hide my being
Protect the skin from reality, my reality
The garage door shuts up in a rearview mirror
There is nothing else but emptiness
The rose bushes prune themselves
For an artificial Californian winter
Dislocated trees pretend to whither genetically
Along the street I slide encapsulated in soundproof
I ride in a bath of distorted forms
Cannot figure out why the street ends up in stairs
I merge in an one-way freeway with ends of marine layers
Curious eyes greet somber, slow and mute police lights
I am finally free to fly and collapse in the Pacific
Slapped by wreaths with my name in purple
*
A three year old with ash blonde hair jumps up her beach towel
She runs towards the ocean in an excited déjà vu
I grab me with my two little hands and smile at my regenerated youth
An obsessive dream re-occurring - our street ending up in stairs…
Again and again…
Never will I fear a Martha brae witch wearing my bathing suit scraping my slippers trying to force me to drown leaving Martha brae dirt gold dust from the Taino witch eh reeking havoc in America envy fear denial you will forever walking backwards and when you finally stop death the same death of Rasta Andrew I know your wrath beneath my feet the many men drowned in your wake eh dem be lost Martha Brae river seeking the blood of an American poet deep sadness to know your wrath flee backwards I'm a holy woman of God your root cannot form any works here witch craft voodoo is a horrid crime in America I was warned about your root on the baker right before his demise your family of drug dealing females Rasta Andrews operation I know your wrath vultures killing men from Kingston I am so blessed I survived your wrath Jamaican jay Townsend Johnson Henry Toni Townsend Henry murderer of men Trenchtown curse attacking their loved ones with illness sickness like mum unable to walk after helping Kadie Rasta sister I know you scum Shakila lil Henry big Henry Shaina Aliana Towanda Jay Teesa voodoo Jamaican witch craft killing men of Kingston man down scum I know you killed Fred he told me you put a root on him it was validated when I found dirt under my sofa from Martha brae river here in America returned to sender I Chant I Chant I rebuke you and all of your works walking backwards connecting the swamp to Martha Brae river feeling Irie
God bless America
Wake up Earth,
the wind has changed,
the clouds lost their direction,
the sun is scorching,
the rain makes
its appearance as an artist.
Wake up Earth,
the green is becoming brown,
the landscapes are getting dress
with the deserts' sand,
the fires are painting
forests with ashes,
the birds fly lost without
a rhythm to follow.
Wake up Earth,
the sea animals
are committing suicide
for no apparent reason.
Travelling to nowhere,
just to be death
on the fantasy beaches
for blind people to rejoice.
Wake up people,
don't let the others to solve
what you should do,
politicians fill their pockets
while they share
"Seducing talks"
with no facts to satisfied.
Meanwhile, the whole world
is an irremediable disaster
without control.
Wake up Earth,
don't sleep too long,
your wonderland
will be your hell
before you can get dressed on.
I don’t need to know you
For what I know is true
You were formed before the sky
You were seen through the father’s eyes
Your face is painted in splendor
Your skin, his warm delight
The gifts you posses
Are parts of his universal appetite
You’re made for greatness
And it flows through your pen
You’re made to know mysteries
You’re his special friend
Every scar, every cut
Every time you were in a rut
Has been written down in his book
Open your heart and take a look
You spin through lives
and touch their souls
Filling each and every hole
So when you wake
And look in the mirror
You will see things much clearer
You’re a reflection of the master’s design
You are precious; you were created by the divine.
BY: Sabina Nicole
Written: 10/21/13