Long Wedges Poems
Long Wedges Poems. Below are the most popular long Wedges by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wedges poems by poem length and keyword.
Nothing refreshes me more
than standing beneath the misty veil of a waterfall.
Like avatar of baby's breath
and droplet of anti-death.
Phoenix burst of peppermint- spurt,
soft chew squirter of mint gone ejaculated shoot.
Starburst squint-inserts,
what is meant in keidoscope of photons,
wet emoticons
of teasing turning on
lightened bent.
In the cradle of nature, where whispers collide,
in a spectral dance of droplets,
where shadows reside, -
in terracotta edges needling in cool trace
lemoned wedges- of quench, to taste.
Each shimmer a memory, each splash leaves
its intent on cool poker face.
A breath of renewal,
like springtime's first bloom s ensual,
the sweetness of peppermint, fresh as a sigh,
spitting as it spake.
Pops in my eye.
Each drop a connection, dispelling all gloom, and refocusing direction in swan lake swoon-
terraforming the deserted crys.Tall in spirit
to become, comfortably succumb.
A reminder that life is a canvas to fly, trapped in beams
of moon, before the ink drys.
The shimmer it ignites- in the heart of its flow,
a gem facet to contemplate amongst us-under growth.
A kaleidoscope woven of dreams in the light, the dew of elated snows.
Wet emoticons glisten, a soft, vibrant sea aglow, transparency of purpose-
in a symphony of repose?
Repurposed-reproposed-
In the dance of the waters, I bask and I soar, aloft.
As the world fades away, I am wrapped in this peace, tucked away in it's soft croft,
willow-wisped pillowed crotch.
The waterfall’s whisper—a promise of more,
to adore
of
serenity's waters of life,
evermore.
NEWS OF REVOLUTION
Yesterday's wars
yesterday's news
news without end
news that isn't new
new day
new dawn
dawn arrives
dawn brings rain
rain so familiar
rain of blood red leaves
leaves fall again
leaves can shout of spring
spring is eternal
spring brings hope
hope for renewal
hope to heal
heal the wounded,
heal our hearts
hearts reach out to hearts
hearts can listen
listen and accept
listen to each other
other ways to bend
other ways to mend
mend the wedges
mend our bridges
bridges of enlightenment
bridges of understanding
understanding me
understanding you
you are not so different
your desires are the same
same respect
same love of family
family of the world
family cries for peace
peace for our children to thrive
peace for the future
future is precarious
future is now
now is today
now is tomorrow
tomorrow is in our hands
tomorrow waits
waits to see
waits and prays
prays to start anew
prays for revolution
revolution and resolve to love
revolution to live and let live
live
love
Barge Reef
Barge Reef lies isolated at worlds end by chance
Wedges of sharp rocks fill in what ocean can’t
Eighty foot waters roll at a distance out
Waves say hello on cresting white
Coral formed and bleached silent
Created from living life forms
On the wrong side of the island according to the charts
West of Barge is open seas
Liquid wonders that follow the world around
A tumbled dance
Storms pound constantly there creating havoc
Waves take naps much later beneath the deep
Descending back around
Rolling into a slumber as cool brushings over surface
Calm winds take a breath
Ships find their corner of the world in blue
Slip Into delinquency, there, slow to rise
Sun finds the horizon hot
Jellying through mist
Mystification sets in, as it morphs through morn
There, so easy to find a new day in abundance solar bound
Creaking ships never land but crash on Barge with jagged reefs
Sharp coral stand pure white on the vestibule of shards
Sojourning innocently forward
Ambling along with wood debris
To that end, begins in splinters sober float
And with it, seas fold over on the likes of Barge
Three decades ago, I was smaller.
My steep wedges made me seem taller!
In gigantic glasses
I taught my six classes,
and I worked hard. I was no staller.
Though mixtures of old and new dances
were challenging, I took my chances
on pulling a muscle
while doing the hustle
at proms. I got many shocked glances!
These people and things are iconic:
The Golden Girls, Reagan, Hask Tonic,*
moonwalk, Dirty Dancing,
the cold war, Romancing
the Stone. Need to GET REAL was chronic.
poem title--song by the Bangles *for hair italics for movie titles
October 16, 2018, entered in Michelle Faulkner's Remembering the
1980's Contest
Line of inquiry:
“We have been here a thousand times before
Memory erased, each time we begin anew
Of hands held tenderly, we’ve lost the score
Each embrace virgin like fresh morning dew
To which image, oh dear soul, should we cling
For each heart was at some point of time dear
As we flow through life with zest, zeal and zing
In all forms we see God’s presence appear”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“As our soul passes through the annals of time immortal,
Each life I claim as mine looking through life’s portal.” ~~ The Poet ~~
As the perpetuity of an eternal flame,
My soul carries on, all memory I disclaim.
Each life fulfils a quest for human birth,
His grace offers breath and instils worth.
I believe then we come to know our Creator.
An inherent bond. No need for a translator.
Each baby has a God given virtue within.
The soul is pure and free from original sin.
This is the image to which we must cling.
Its inner existence is almost everything.
Over time the bond may ware on its edges.
Even veer from Him as we create wedges.
During each life at times faith may wane.
That deep seated bond can surface again
If we are able to cling to His presence,
Teachings of His love will be the essence.
We will make every hurt a stepping stone.
To joy such as we have never known.
Though life can be an arduous climb to bare.
We will reach the top, for God is there.
Far away from home, I found another home in Taiwan
Today all family members come together
Eat pomelo
Make a pomelo hat to turn bad luck into good
The smell from the pomelo hat is very energizing
The day of the festival starts with the inexplicable taste of mooncake
Tender pastry skin enveloping a dense sweet puree
Sweetened mung bean filling
Salted duck egg yolk embedded within
Small wedges of green tea flavors mooncake along with Oolong cha
Filled my heart with joy!
The mooncake contained a secret message
After my family make it public, it is not a secret any longer
When the sun starts moving down the west
We spot a place to sit along the street
Just in front of the house
Neighbors are also starting to do the same
Everyone is delighted to sit under the moonlight
BBQ sauce starts to spread its magic smell in the neighborhood
Chopsticks and paper plates are in every hand
Oldster make their groups
Cheers with a glass of wine
Laughers and music defeats the sounds of BBQ
How delightful to chew those sausages!
Kids are running all over the place
Playing crackers
My younger brother was playing Erhu
I sat on the ground holding a steamed corn
Placed a chopstick in the middle
Eating corn while looking at the sky
The moon is bright and blissful
It was blushing like a young shy lady
A bit of its happiness sprinkled on the earth tonight
I started toddling at seven months,
Walking the roads as from twelve
Shaping my feet from sands and mud upon bumps
Frequenting the paths to hell and into which I delve
From the spittle of the seas to the flayed clay of aging silt
It’s the same old story frequently told in tears
Moaning and mourning are kinsmen in the compound of guilt
Where ancestral rocks and whetstones gather moss in pairs
I have journeyed on, night and day, stumbling
And falling, rising and schlepping determinedly ahead,
A bag of sorrows on my back, encountering no nibling
It’s a one-man tiring journey accompanied by dread
When the road is bifurcated, I gamble on my choice of route,
Searching stars at nights to guide me on paths of clearer lineage
I borrow the gimlet eyes of crickets to seek out wedges to uproot,
Knowing well what I desire in my pilgrimage
So far, it’s been one Hell of a road
So frighteningly long and sinuous —tumultuous
Harbouring wildernesses, dens and gold,
Yet those who tread on it are serious and sensuous
It plies mountains, rugged and brutal, with sweltering breeze blown
On flat land and deserts, it hurts and fries the naked feet
On rainy, starless nights, you’re on your own.
Above restless crests of sea waves, it’s like a wet, riotous street.
Trust me, it’s one road upon which I’d hesitate to tread again,
Even if the lights of the sun and the moon promise to accompany me
Oh, no, I’d prefer to board the wings of a tern, even in rain,
And keep warm with the feathers above the knee.
Tho' they may display legs to best advantage,
observing the constraints, begs the question, 'What's afoot?'
Seems to me I had a bee in my bonnet
about women's proclivities and passion
when compelled to write this pseudo-sonnet
about their footwear fashion.
Some are bonkers barmy as bedbugs, daft, dippy, daffy,
(with) bats in the belfry too,
it's far beyond my reckoning, as I can't fathom,
why they choose to wear the pairs of shoes they do.
And as for a clue, I haven't any, why they own so very many.
With their platforms, pumps, stilettos, wedges, they're tottering on
the edges of insanity, an exercise in futility,
an accident about to happen, one stumble, a tumble then... a calamity.
Seeing them hobble, while their dogs are barking,
these are the words they'd speak, if their feet could talk,
'Cinderella had the right idea, losing her glass slipper,
as oh the pains you put us through when you are wont to walk.
It's no more than torture, a total imposition,
somewhat akin to boots of the Spanish Inquisition.'
One colored page at a time
I touched the field of amber pleadings
with eyes only sure enough to find that hidden light
Long lost in the sea of forgotten grasses,
brown from the sun, parched by a drought,
exhaling diversions as I stand facing time,
expecting faces to appear but hands caught the sorrow,
passing it down to an earth that is baked and sore,
thirsting for more, a longer plain in this universe
Weeping cocoons snug in the brambles
oblivious to what the outside wears,
blend in with the endings slowly creeping
awaiting metamorphosis
as a tree falls, no noise, no energy for that
Rooted in dismay, clogged by last season’s air,
pausing only to capture one final view
of the smoke stacks, brick faced commandos,
circular spewing pillars
where beneath wealth is created
but eternity is shortened at wholesale prices
Grey skies, a constant color palette
pressing doom and gloom
into the landscape, fitted like wedges,
force fed in spoonfuls of ignorance
Gathering place settings at my feet,
stirring up dust, blurring the wishers
wondering where the water went,
as not even mud stands a fighting chance
When on a hill I see them, the youth,
our future, backpacks and bubblegum
Marching to the beat of a new drummer,
right, left, right left, neither
somewhere in the middle
Reading comic books about heroes,
caped crusaders who will save the planet
(that must be what the S stands for)
one colored page at a time
Holding balloons, once sagging,
now inflated and reaching for a sun
that still faintly shines through the curtains
hung by those in denial, nice tapestries
they shred in defiance and desperation,
challenging destinies and fate,
as if fact is nothing more than fiction,
and fiction is something to be changed
And I sit in the dirt, leaving my impression
for that is all I have left, no questions that
have not been asked, no solutions
that remain passed over, just a wild hair
out of place in this take all world
as highways trickle across farm lands
and corn fields are as barren as my stare
But there is hope…there is always hope
I hope
To Eat A Peach
Spring is here.
The delicate tree blossoms replace
the delicate white lights of Winter.
From the petals fruit will grow.
Pears, plums, apricots, cherries,
nectarines...
Peaches.
I set the unripe soft rose and yellow
orb on the windowsill.
Two days later I tenderly lift it
and gently squeeze its warmth before
I wash it.
Biting into it...
the sweet liquid is Ambrosia.
The juice runs down my chin onto
my tee.
I greedily suck the peach’s flesh dry.
I daydream as I munch.
Peach cobbler, peach pie with a lattice crust,
peach shortcake, peach muffins,
stewed peaches, peach tea bread,
slices on your cereal, slices in a bowl with cream.
OR...only for dessert?
How would a
chicken breast soaked in a peach marinade taste?
My taste buds begin chattering.
Summer’s here!
corn on the cob, okra, tomatoes:
small ones that pop in your mouth
and big beefy wedges that
garnish crisp celery slices, carrot medallions,
tender Bibb lettuce, sliced mushrooms, cucumbers,
asparagus, broccoli, Vidalia onions, cauliflower...
Watermelon, blueberries, cantaloupe,
strawberries, honeydews, raspberries...
Juicy hot dogs, spicy barbecue, thick charbroiled hamburgers,
hot German potato salad, 3-bean salad, macaroni salad,
potato chips and French onion soup dip,
soft pretzels dipped in brown mustard, popcorn...
chocolate chip cookies, Snickerdoodles,
strawberry shortcake,
chocolate cake with red, white and blue frosting for the 4th,
apple pie
— softball, Mom, doggies —
I awake with a start. There is drool
on my pillow.
Another day begins but it’s really
not another day.
It’s the same day I’ve been living
since 1 May 2017 ~
The day I let the dentist pull
out the last 5 teeth I had
in my lower jaw.
And as I come to consciousness
my tongue pushes
against and spills out over the
the soft toothless tissue that burns constantly
and is covered in a thick gooey saliva ~ place a
teaspoon of Elmer's
glue in your mouth ~ if
you care to have a taste
of my reality.
Summer’s here.
Clear your palate.
Clean your plate.
Barbara Dickenson
1 May 2018
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