Long Whitening Poems
Long Whitening Poems. Below are the most popular long Whitening by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Whitening poems by poem length and keyword.
Leaves of the oak trees congregated in clumps of whispering soldiers
A devilment was afoot; the fey felt this and scurried to the meadow.
Someone was dragging a heavy sack into the darkest shadows.
The night shuddered, recognizing the evilness of the scoundrel.
Perfect place to hide a body, most agreed. Those who were brave to look.
Others hid behind stumps and rocks, hoping the culprit’s thirst was sated.
He has been here before, always leaving flesh that turns to putridness.
Finally whitening and stiffening into a stick-like corpse.
The evil doer did not give the trees or the sack a backward glance.
This was his dumping ground; he felt no reverence for it in the least.
A place to leave the shell of the people he hunted and killed.
*****;;; *****
l.
tears rip at the seams of memories’ betrayed trust
like liquid fists gushing through desolate waterfalls
gargling bloodied sobs upon lungs lumped with crust,
wet, wet on crumbled sagas of tortured, brick walls
this is the pang of swallows falling dark… the pain,
of a painful tear ravished by sins doubly committed
by spiked wrists slit by eyes’ deceit on pelted rain,
cracks of tinctured vapors stain these suds not quite acquitted
ll.
still, there are tears robed in delight of embroidered nights
and perching there, radiance’s rafters spin overlapping joy,
swarming the soul with giant suds whitening all whites
as giggles lift cottoned pillows only love’s fullness can buoy
i think of rekindled homes knighted by flutes’ ripeness
where children paddle days virginal without attic of fears
a maze of hoisted jaunts open zipped stars’ need for madness,
in times marinated gingerly sweet by life’s lush beat... such are tears,
they cleanse all. they crawl out of soul’s dual spears.
all rights reserved
©
********************
(( for HGarvey Daniel Esquire's " Personify a Tear ))
by nette onclaud
The pool becomes a canvas, whitening all the scars that hurt,
Allowing you to escape from the shadows that hide easily beneath the foam,
As if the stains of being touched, wounded, and haunted,
Had melted into the silent water that embraced you.
As the heavy weight fills your lungs with silent water,
A strange clarity emerges, drowning out lost lights and music,
Creating a silence where everything fades, disappears,
In that submerged realm where an appearance of lucidity appears.
Here, every molecule of water becomes a silent story,
Where the sounds of the world are distant memories, a fading echo,
The soul, stripped of the day's burden, finds cold comfort,
And in this silence, time stretches, and thoughts fly.
It's a slow dance of shadows and light, where outlines disappear,
The entire existence reduces to long breaths, which slowly unravel,
Each rising bubble carries hidden desires, dreams,
In that fluid silence, lost fragments of self are found.
Thus, in the depths where the world forgets to seek or call you,
You find refuge, a sanctuary of pure silence and forgetfulness,
For at least an eternal moment, the scars become old shadows,
And you, reborn from the waters of silence, rise prepared,
To face the noise and light above with a whole soul.
Written: September 30, 2023
Sponsored by: Silent One Pick a Colour Contest
"There is my body, in it an ocean formed of his glory, all the creation, all the universes, all the galaxies, are lost in it. Rumi"
_____________________________________________________________
In the scenic scope of a sparklingly stained sky.
Brushstrokes by a dulcet master, sky-high
An exhibit of azure splendor, a masterpiece.
Exquisite works of nature, why must you cease?
A cyanic cerulean, cavorting and courageous
Paints a tale that is both untold and tenacious.
Azure colors dance with genuine happiness.
All day long, hearts are captured by sappiness.
Wispy wetness, whitening whisper wreath.
With complete pride, wrap the sheath
Clouds of cotton candy wander nearby.
Adding elegance and grace to a sunny sky
A golden orb, the sun, sends a brilliant light.
Exudes a svelte and diaphanous gaze bright.
A radiance of soft light through the universe.
Fluttering formulaic fascination is fluminous.
Flowers fields in fabulous fonts of Forebay
Akin to a painter's palette, they thrive and sway.
Delicate petals, akin to brushstrokes fine,
Creating a tapestry is so divine.
The ocean waves have a turquoise hue.
Crash upon the shore, in shades of dew.
Symphony of mellifluous vibe, a rhythmic song,
As the creator elixir flows swiftly along,
Seagulls whiz by with wings wassail wide.
Their graceful flight was a sight to abide.
They elapse through the canvas with elegant ease.
Adding zest and zeal to an ephemeral breeze
As the day gyres to dusk, the sky transforms.
Brushstrokes of indigo chart various forms.
Mahogany and navy, fete the felicity of the scene.
Choreographing a fugacious, halcyon, and serene
Furtive stars twinkle, akin to gems so bright,
As the divine fulfills the tableau for the night,
Brushstrokes of cobalt in the glamor sky,
A marvelous feat that yields hearts to sigh.
The splendor of nature's marvels can't be denied.
A canvas filled with hues, so bright and defied
The creator is inconspicuous, yet his aura is felt.
It's clearly blatant in the cyan smudges knelt.
October: I'm eighteen, shortcutting home
through an autumn-burnished churchyard -
copper-lustred leaves, moss-skinned stone -
a jaunty swing of skater skirt and arm,
college folder square-sturdy in my hand.
In the moment. In the last pale pulse of sun.
Hey, can you tell me...?
I halt. I turn...
Cold earth. Colder blade dimpling my skin.
My coral cameo earrings scatter,
daisy-dotting the green.
My back is spiked by needles of yews.
Sun skews, sky side-slides
until his face is the firmament.
I'm staring into the tumid blank-bloat of blue;
the ground hardening beneath me,
the death-spike trees stiffening.
Heavy Special Brew breaths.
Grubby, moist fingers
like grubs crawling over my breasts,
and, weirdly, I'm smelling pepper -
horror-spice of pungent lust,
its acrid nose-thrust -
and woodsmoke is drifting from somewhere...
lung-flame, tongue-flames
of searing words - his words -
blazing like the umber tumbling leaves.
Please...Please...I'll...
Fear-forced bargaining, but I'm beyond care.
And I'm aware
of the church steeple rising,
its phallus penetrating sky.
The tilting church could topple
as tears crystal-crush in my eyes.
Fear-faint, already half gone
in a soundless scream, my muted mouth
mouths silent goodbyes
to Sarah, to Mum.
Time slows to a crawl.
I try to call. Nobody comes
but the man who has me ground-pinned.
Bleachy stink of semen
whitening my ripped skater skirt,
but some things don't fade
and there is no clean in this, just dirt,
wet leaf-mulch, shame.
Ineradicable hurt.
Sacred soil is soiled, sullied.
Stunned, I stumble
shoeless, knickerless,
into the trees and heave
into the mud, into the leaves
strings of spittle-sick,
my thoughts strung out,
reality spun out.
From stinking, pulped leaves I retrieve
crushed coral earrings,
ground-grimy knickers,
my white court shoes
that whitely scream the 90s,
the scattered tatters of essays -
white, like fallen feathers, sunk in the sludge,
muddied, the red-inked words bloodied.
I gather them together.
Gather myself.
I go
forward into my future, stained from pain
and tainted touch, the smears of fear, self-disgust.
And oozing slime-soft into my ears
the mire of incongruous apology: I'm sorry
don't tell anyone - I won't.
I don't.
I sat with the plant leaf again,
its veins straighter than mine.
The bus ride had ended. Manila steamed.
My shirt, still full of your smell,
even though you hadn’t come yet.
The blinds were half-closed
like eyelids in anesthesia—
and I traced shadows with my pen
pretending I was writing payroll,
but it was always a eulogy.
The dust in the corners of the cubicle
was not debris.
It was proof of my stillness.
Proof I had not been seen.
Proof I was human.
Somewhere a neon ad shouted skin whitening,
but I was already transparent.
A ghost who had filled in timesheets
and cried into broken staplers.
You would come one day.
Not as a lover,
but as a mirror
sharp enough
to open the mouth of the soul.
—Nothing, Save the Ache—
I adore stars that tremble through thy hair,
The forest breathing musk into the dark,
The moon's pale argent sleeping on the sea,
The falls that hasten toward an unseen will;
I adore the steed in brazen greaves,
Its warm breath whitening the winter air,
Its bridle chimes, small silver bells of dusk.
No star resents the worship of mine eyes;
I ask no light to stoop because I gaze,
But stand beneath the vastness and adore.
I adore violet's dusky perfume,
The rose that slowly opens to the dawn,
The lily's pallor, gold of daffodils,
The aspen trembling underneath the wind,
The winter sun laid softly on thy cheek,
The summer rain entangled in thy hair.
I venerate what will not be possessed.
I adore God, whom no eye hath beheld;
I ask no miracle, nor throne, nor sign,
But only this: be near me; be with me.
Then why doth my awe trouble thee at all?
Why doth my gaze make sanctuary recoil?
What claim lies hidden in my reverence?
What chain is forged by eyes that ask no bond?
I bring no hunger dressed as tenderness;
I seek no tribute from thy mouth or hands.
The rose withdraws not from the lips of dawn;
The sea resents not moonlight on her breast.
Why shouldst thou fear the gaze that asks no thing?
Why should being adored become a wound?
Perhaps adoration is the art
Whereby the hand learns not to close its grasp;
Where nearness burns possession from the soul,
And touch becomes a silence of the skin;
Where thy breath alters all the listening dark,
Yet I would sooner lose thee than confine.
One night I saw the firmament collapse
Within thine eyes, as though the vault of heaven
Were but a veil through which the nameless breathed,
Beyond the reach of all that language keeps.
And so I shall adore thee as the earth
Receives the rain, yet shackles not the fall;
As night receives the moon and lets her pass;
As flowers take the sun, then yield their scent.
Come near, if thou wouldst; vanish, if thou must.
I shall not forge a prison from desire.
My awe requires no answer but thy being.
I need not have thee for thee to remain
The wound my freedom gives me to survive.
Go where thou wilt; I shall not call thee back—
For thou art mine in nothing, save the ache.
Woke up this morning
With news headlines spawning
I do not know if it's winter yet
Because of old age I often forget
Got to realise how weird it is
When I can brush my teeth
And scratch my nose
But try as I might
I just can't touch my toes
Wasn't too bothered when
Often times back ache set in
And even when Viagra
Didn't give me the desired vim
But this is not a funny joke
The morning when I woke
And begin to realize
That I could twist my hip
Do a jig
But try as I might ,
I just can't tough my toes.
Pinocchio was a lier
Kristine Keeler was a hooker
And Lord Lampton got exposed
But trouble comes in different parcels
But where mine is heading
God only knows
When my wallet drop on the floor
Bend down to pick it up
Like brass monkey in winter
The entire lumber vertebrae, froze
Often times mi get a pain in the neck
When it comes, I can deal with it
Sometimes mi love to dance
Do a foxtrot and even a quickstep
But that is no compensation
When mi toe nail look like talon
And size ten no longer fit mi
But try as I might to cover them
With knitted socks, mi get since when
Its a doomed attempt
Flexibility is now a distant memory
And back ache now my closest friend
Mi know young people
Will laugh at old people's talk
But it only seems like yesterday
When I too was laughing
But today , I am walking the walk.
The same thing whey a reach mi
Is the same thing a happen to mi friend
But if you think it can't reach you
You better think again
Mi used to be a little sprite
Do head spins and bouncing somersaults
Do some boxing, and throw down a fight
But time travels faster than lightening
And my black hair overdosed on whitening
So before you reach my milestone
Heed my warning, get enlighten
That one day, not so far away
Things are going to be past memories
Because try as you might
You may bend your knees ,
Scratch your nose
Try as you might
You just can't touch your toes.
—In Which the Speaker Is Corrected—
He found the warmth where afternoon had lain,
And there resigned what every creature must;
I checked my step, then spent my quicker breath—
"Wilt eat and be all thy little trust?"
He wagged, because I still had said his name.
The room received us free of praise or blame.
Whilst yet I fetched the bucket and the cloth,
He brushed my knee as though I welcomed near;
Twice I removed him gently from the boards;
Twice he returned, mistaking wrath for cheer.
The cedar breathed. The rinsing water shone.
Outside, one thrush persisted in one tone.
The stain withdrew beneath the woven thread.
The grain resumed the labour of the floor.
No shadow crossed the candour of his gaze;
He waited only till I moved once more.
Nothing had altered any eye could prove.
The room kept listening after I had moved.
The kettle answered from the further wall.
A fly inscribed one circle through the light.
The chair remained exactly where it stood.
The window held the ordinary sight.
Then quietly—
The words went on obeying whom they chose.
They crossed me as the daylight crosses dust—
Without dispute, without the least delay.
He laid his forehead softly on my hand,
Possessed of no resentment to repay.
The floor grew clean beneath the whitening cloth.
The room had learnt another use for truth.
I drew the door. He crossed it as before.
His tail acquitted neither beast nor man.
The boards were dry. The bucket held clear water.
The cedar kept the fragrance with which it began.
No mark remained.
Only the house remembered who had spoken.
In our Asian-cum-Eastern land
No one prefers or admires
the dark-skinned or tanned
Gosh, as if the fair-skinned alone
belonged to the so-called fairer sex
And here, 'black is beauty' a phrase unheard
All falling for the light skinned almost in reflex!
Bachelors on the hunt for a non-fictional Asian 'Snow-white'
Even an ugly heart will do if the skin is white, pale and light
For them lighter skin tis brighter and better at beauty
even if superficial and skin-deep
The dark-skinned maidens thereby left single to weep
But while the ebony dark- pigmented
go on applying whitening and lightening creams
The white Westerners frequented
the sunlit beaches for dark tans from sun beams!
So in westerners females wish to look browned and tanned
Thus the opposite is preferred
so to that end they may sun bathe for hours on beach sand
Ah and though from the point of view of my motherland
I am luckier that God chose
to model me from a peachy whiter lighter clay,
I still feel this tug-of-war between complexions
needn't really join the fray.
For when you and I glance at Naomi Campbell
we know beauty can be white, brown and black as well
Like love, beauty knows no colour, creed or race
As proved by this gorgeous black supermodel.
Besides, we all have come across
both dark-skinned angelic saints
and fair-skinned folks with sinner's taints
Ah, Black Beauty, or Fair and lovely
Beauty has never known any bounds
For God He distributed beauty rather equally
No argument can last on these grounds
Oh, a soulmate's inner beauty ought to be earnestly sought
Too bad lustful passions fall for those merely outwardly hot!