Long Winces Poems
Long Winces Poems. Below are the most popular long Winces by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Winces poems by poem length and keyword.
~ A Storybook Princess ~
She dreams of princes, princesses and balls
A little girl on tippy-toes, not a meter tall
O, the frilly lace gowns she fashions
Stitched with threads of heartfelt passion
A little girl in dreamland enthralled
Daylight's full of pain, tests and probes
From her lower spine to her temporal lobe
Hair shorn, she bears it all with infinite patience
As they wheel her from station to station
For at night she's a storybook princess
No matter that in daylight she winces
Asleep, her bed's her castle, wedding-bell topped
Where dreams last forever, never stop
Entered in 'All Yours (Feb. '21) Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
It felt so good, like we were movie stars
You were with me, my friends, in my suped-up car
Through the village street at such high-octane speed
Tyres screech, car screams, girls see.
Bump the kerb, skid through the bend
We are men in a car, driving like this mission won't end
Police give chase, blue lights flashing behind
This is where the night changes from fun to wild
Now forcing harder and sharper at corners and bends
One mistake now and it all ends.........
People gather near the pub
Streetlights shine over the blood
Car is dead, crashed into a wall
Friends are dead, seat belts and all!
Policeman is the last one I see
Pain, blood, metal sticking out of me
He winces when he sees the bloody mess
Looks into my eyes with a sad grimace
I hear the siren of the ambulance come
I turn my head to see the paramedics run
I turn back to see the policeman in the cold dark rain
With tears in his eyes he asks me my name
I smile and before I can speak it to him
The sounds all around and my sight go really dim
Then blackness as I hear my father cry and my mother scream
My brothers are so sad, my kitten yowls on my bed in the night,
he can't sleep.
A photo of me when I was in the scouts
A young smiling face with such promise and dreams
Over a coffin with me in.
My father still cries, my mother still screams.
A winter sun doodles dandy-long legs shadows
over my eyelids.
Closed eyes from the glare, now
an insectivore brush of fine shadow hairs.
Knuckles rub eyeballs until they water.
Sunlight jumps into the day again
plays 'hide and seek' around passing clouds.
A patchy sky dumps a snow flurry
down the back of coat.
Squirm, wet spine, squirm.
Do a little dance with tingling toes.
"A daddy-long-legs is not a spider,
though it is an arachnid
related to the scorpion family."
Later on, mind winces upon reading this.
Sun shadows akin to scorpions,
not a thought to play with
when your back is still damp
and cringing.
So much has been left
in ruins by last night's storm -
shredded leaves,
amputated branches,
proud, ancient trees toppled,
uprooted and ripped
from their height.
The sad remains
of a bird’s nest laying
clumped in broken
egg shells, new life
now no more than strands
of gooey lint.
The mind winces
at the waste,
the loss of order, beauty
bludgeoned to a pulp.
This is the dark side
of creation, the endless
cycle of destruction
and rebirth. Reason stalls
before the fact.
Just think, massive stars
were blown apart
for the stuff to make
you and me - consciousness
was born out of the womb
of a cosmic catastrophe.
"We can choose either to remain heartbroken all the time or with resilience, come back to cheer, as true happiness primarily stems from inside and not through external factors alone. Our happiness is mostly dependent on our way of thinking and how we see life"..... By Poet
She heard the sound of pigeons overhead.
Looking up she saw them whirling
forming emerging patterns in the sky.
They soared on and on until they
became fading black dots in the blue
Such sights would have sent her to raptures
sometime back, but now when she sees them,
she can only think of the years
speeding by and the chances missed
and her whole life- a fading black dot!
Under a virus of melancholy,
she walks with lacerations in her soul.
Pain consumes her without visible flame.
She's heartbroken with nothing to look for.
The world around her looks devoid of life.
She wages a lone battle inside,
to drive out demons of dejection.
But she feels as if a sharp knife,
is cutting deep right through her heart
and she winces at every chop.
Though she tries hard to cover her bruises,
they bleed red and make themselves known.
Pain has completely sucked her out.
In a vessel, she collects her tears,
hoping to water the parched terrain
of her drought- stricken dry domain.
Light has miserably betrayed her,
and now she lives in eternal darkness
fighting black shadows day in and out!
Whilst I await slumbering, I look forward to
the night’s nebulous dome,
there, the winkers’ wisp in background watercolor
Indigo, violets, bluesy cobalt passions
I try and describe as best I can
such wispy delicacy, it seems,
in such an incredibly vast variety
far above gravity’s expanse
Can I make sense of it all? Inky space clouds
blinky storms of lantern spiritual guides,
they navigate notions into stellar minds
where porcelain poetry resides,
across oceans, they give us hope in darkened times
The brightest star gleams its essence,
and comforts the dreamers
clusters follow it, warming their hearts,
taken by its swaying stardust of magical menageries`
Exuberant eyes that twinkle linear force pulling all in
with its meticulous melodies, inking such
along the skylines, sonnets of indulging desires
endearing, flowery forestry, filled with filigree
Of gold and silver linings, wishing upon itself
and all is lost, its measure prioritized,
selling sanctuaries with no patina
The light grows dim, the longer it starves
the dark side commences, the eye of the eye winces,
and winks with sly
Besides, it has shown its realities
and the rapt audience
once billowing over it,
have unveiled the vile shadow
which makes steel struck, stifled
Its healing horizons have none after all,
betraying those in need of its light,
fueling its starship of starlight ego
of its own, smothering, smoldering
shooting the stars to smithereens
Sometimes I follow the faded stars,
the sun sinks into earth
Her horizon sends darkness
yet says it’s light always~
She holds his hand
In support she takes his stand
She holds his fears
Inside her tears
When she cries for her man
Who inhabits a spiritual land.
She winces at his pain
When flesh and blood fail him
Again and again
And the critical arctic blasts
That bring a coldness in his soul
Try to freeze his bones until they cannot move.
The headlights flow into each other
Heading home after locking the late night door
He stares down the headlights
Then looks into the future
Across the centre, she holds his tired hand again
Knowing the highway will never end.
The curtains light up again
She puts a brew at the side of his bed
He turns the page and refreshes his spirit
And drinks in some heavenly wisdom
Spirit to spirit, Man to man, Deep unto deep
Here he goes again, so here she goes again too.
Refreshed, refocused, reassured
Their bones thaw
Their spirits are full
They embrace their source
But she'll keep an eye
On the one whom she shares with the world and heaven.
Unexpressed emotions never die
It seems that they attain eternal life!
We give a wanton wince, a wistful sigh
But might such hidden feelings lie?
As does a husband to a questioning wife.
Give no reason but a truthful cry
On emotions hiding, wonder why.
Will they cause an everlasting strife?
We give a quantum wince, transcendent sigh
As we grow older, feelings multiply
And fearing laughter, in the back they’re knifed
Unexpressed emotions cannot die
And gazing ever closer, magnified
We divide each one into unequalled halves
We give unnoticed winces to blind eyes
So what is left, what will of us survive?
All the feeling unexpressed in life!
Unexpressed emotions never die
Take care of what may be your endless lies.
“I deserve to be happy”
they said, jaws set
determination
eyes glazed
Selfish Ones seeing only
what they wanted to see
tunnel-vision of mind's eye
narrowed down to one word
“Happy”
while others' protests
were utterly unheard
Thinking they could
by sheer determination
set themselves free
from the rest
of society
suspending
laws of nature
like drops of water
falling into a lake
yet failing to make
a ripple on the surface
or rings extending outward
...that their actions
would cause no reactions
outside of themselves
But repercussions
and consequences
shown on faces
in painful winces
worry-lines and tears
from failed investments
of time spent, years
broken beings
bearing witness
to quiet devastation
their lives crowded out
displaced and crushed
by the Selfish Ones'
overwhelming
entitlement
their right
their claim
on the happiness
they so “deserved”
And now the others
also suffer from a sort of
tunnel-vision, mind's eye narrowed
down to the other word
“Deserve”
for what could they possibly
have done to deserve this?
When all they wanted
was a little fragment
a slight share
of happiness in life
with someone
who cared?
Covered Dishes
1
The password is… password, shhh...
Try to remember if possible,
this sure-fire way of getting through the door;
Entering indeed, as with all lithesome ladies,
and their dithering dogs, after
entreating the big dude at the entrance gate,
with licorice sticks and cauliflower juice on ice,
and leaning over long enough to show off the planets,
those spinning orbs of a mathematical universe,
now turning madly and centrifugally, sucking
out the eyes of the pleading fools,
dressed in rage, and wont to feel the ancient eclipses,
those silent but grunting interludes unseen,
all dressed in satin boredom, all flummoxed
as with clowns, dressed in neon failure,
who now offer smiles and winking winces,
to the sad-eyed pedestrians, and
the red-lipped ladies with the wide-brimmed hats,
out to tease with nylon exposures,
around the bleakly lighted doorways
to dark entrances, without eyes to feel.
You were sitting there with legs crossed,
a cocktail dangling from your frozen fingertips,
like a fainted ballerina in the splitting moonlight.
In front of you, on the table, covered dishes
covered tureens, with surprise taste delights simmering,
shouting out in mute languages of the multitudes:
What is under the lid of this blue dish?
What is beneath the cover of this steaming tureen?
I turned to see other dishes and other culinary settings,
and instead, I saw you among the bon bons
and the flaming surrendering soufflé.
You wore that same translucent skirt with
the lightning stripes and the chiffon protestations,
and as you rose from your chair with howling legs,
there was no hell and brimstone in what I saw.
Then as with a silent hungry leopard,
setting exotic eyes on my stilled soul and quivering body,
you took my hand into yours, as easily as one might,
and with straight-staring certitude, we politely exited
from this quiet pedestrian grille,
this obscure café under the yawning stars,
hidden behind festooning flowers,
draped on hungry trellises,
for the hopelessly outraged.