Long Xerox Poems
Long Xerox Poems. Below are the most popular long Xerox by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Xerox poems by poem length and keyword.
The grey oppresses;
surrounded by fog,
I traverse this shadowland;
Dorothy in reverse,
stuck in this land of monochrome
Xerox grayscale in 2-D.
Hoping it is but a dream,
valiantly, I stroke in Technicolor
Only to see it erased, again
It is no more real than the specters
haunting my thoughts.
Still I stumble around searching;
hues of hope hover out of reach
as these low-lying clouds
cast a pall-- blinding me to joy.
Perhaps, I'm trapped
in Tim Burton's sketch board;
these monoliths of grotesque
caricature evidence such.
At every turn there is a new one,
popping out of the mists.
Large, unmoving blocks of black granite
ring me like Stonehenge-- surrounded--
Leaving me wandering this maze of dark surrealism.
Glimpses of color reveal themselves
in the distance through the shroud,
ephemera teasing my senses.
Blow! benign zephyrs;
sweep away the haze
invading my peace.
Rescue me the confines
of my self-induced prison.
Let me walk in daylight, once again.
All is beautiful on this Christmas Eve in my neighbourhood,
bright colored lights are flickering on many a lovely house,
charming and enchanting- it seems a fairyland to me.
Delicate, fragile snowflakes are falling as I hesitate here and there,
engrossed in the beauty, as snow caresses my hair, and I
feel a glow growing within me on this Christmas Eve.
Good thoughts are flowing and I imagine a baby born,
heavenly visions of a bright guiding star, and I am full of
inner peace, as I walk the still snowy streets.
Joy and happiness dwells beyond the doors of these homes, and I hope,
kindness that abounds at Christmastime will last, for it is
love that I think Christmas is all about.
Magically memories come drifting and I find myself smiling,
never will I forget those memories I see in my mind,
open-hearted I share my happiness and sorrow, it drips from my pen.
Peaceful, oh so peaceful is my wintery walk this December night, the
quietness is so deep, that I can hear the snow falling on the bare trees,
respect is what I have for nature that can change from beautiful.
Serene and lovely quickly is changing to a scene dangerous,
tranquil snow has turned into a winter blizzard with wild wind,
utterly amazed, I stand in the swirling snow wondering which way to go-
Vibrant the lights of a snow draped dwelling before me ,oh
wonderful the Christmas music floating in the cold, crisp air,and
xerox copies of songs twirl past and I try to grasp them.
Yes, oh yes, this is my destination, all lit up and welcoming me inside, and
zestfully- I run up the path and fling open the church door.
____________________________________
December 24, 2015
Poetry/Abecedarian/"Christmas Beauty"
Copyright Protected, ID 15- 859-852-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
The ABC’s of Morning
Awake on the dot of seven
Birds are chirping away
Coffee… as always, first order of the day,
Doggy kisses from Kea
Enjoying the peace and quiet
Fumble for my glasses to see
Garden shadows in early light
Harmony of leaves in the garden
Intricate patterns at play
Just as sunlight begins, a
Kinship of finch burst away.
Lavender dreams are fading
Mindful of duties to do
Overcoming an urge to be lazy, I
Pirouette to the bathroom to dress
Quietly, I exit the bedroom, a
Resting hubby not to disturb
Sit in the lounge with my ipad
Thankful for all of life’s gifts
Up to date with events, I
Venture to start my routine
Walking, now for health reasons, try to
Xerox this action each day
Yesterday, though, I missed it
Zealot, I’m not, you might say!
7/22/15
Written: September 06, 2023
I dream poetry Sponsored by: Ink Empress
______________________________________________________________
I wander in the night of ebony embrace,
Lost in dreams, heaven, or nightmare chase
Searching in vain for a misty glimmer of hue,
A muted color, yearning to trace through.
My fingers nibble to nudge your comely face.
To glimpse a xerox of your soul in this barren space.
But phantasms and dreams are drowned in tears.
Dreariness and skepticism drench my fears.
Wishes, once vibrant—now unbearably barren,
Each flinch of solace mauls annihilated and torn.
The moon, with a crimson glaze, casts its light.
Uttering the details of this celestial night.
I'm glad I sensed this infamous hue loop.
Yet these are crumbs of an urge to stoop.
They scolded me sternly from the start.
A sane conviction into my flaunting heart.
I swallowed a smidgeon of your spirit.
Silken strings of split that we skillet
Mirthless melodies form a philharmonic of pain.
Sisyphean scarcity smolders at me again.
I waltz to the woeful waiata of weary dance.
Oddments of our devotion, a haunting stance
Alone, I bemoan in the manor of the moon.
Will the sun ever hover over my sorrow soon?
Could the growl as it rains blur a rainbow?
While we witness it from the apathetic row.
Or am I being scolded and rebuked for being alive?
Will the spasm that lends life veer and strive?
In the abyss of darkness, there is light.
A beacon of optimism that shines so bright.
And even if I wander, adrift and alone,
Iffy down, surely my soul will cinch home.
I'll retain probing solace in memories past.
They are the fragments that will ever last.
Yet throes may abide, and anguish may resist.
I'll cling to my optimism that love will persist.
Love is an odyssey full of swings and turns.
But, at last, it is an affection that returns.
So I'll betroth myself to the dreams of the past.
They sang to me over the glorious time I cast.
At An Age
Busy Brain Boost
Crazy Cool Call
Destiny Delight Dearly
Encouraging Exceptional Energy
Fighting For Fulfilment
Gaining Ground Gradually
Hunting Hearts' Heritage
Intently into immortal
Jewels Jell Jar
Kedge Key Knowledge
Lightening Literature Lucratively
Managing Magical Miles
Noah's Nights Neglected
Over Obeisant Oath
Provoking Pregnant Poet
Questioning Quills Quietly
Relinquishing Revelations Reign
Seeking Sensational Spheres
Tempting Time Testament
Unleash Untold Until
Vulture Vomit Vault
When Water Whispers
Xenon Xerox Xmas
Yarn Yummy Yams
Zillions Zealously Zoom
Abandon baby cries daily effortlessly for giving hugs,
idle jealous kisses, loving mommy nowhere observed,
papers quickly read signed to unite vain woman,
xerox your zest.
Date Written: 2/22/2023
2 Place
Note: Just a write. Not true.
Note: 2 mothers and 1 baby.
attractive available anguished armadillo
babbled bold bald badger whose bagpipes billow
Caribbean cardinal carved a curious candy castaway
dazzling daffodils and damselflies dived into last Tuesday
eagle’s eager echoes edged eastward to eavesdrop
farsighted French fantasy fascinated a frenzied fop
Gaudy gauzy goose gathered green gingham in a glut
Handkerchief Hannah hid hairy harpoons in her high hut
Identical illusions ignored illustrious images on an iced cake
Jackal and jaguar jaywalked on Jersey Jet nicknamed Jake
Kindly kettledrum kangaroo captured Kansas kiwi and a kitten
Laryngitis Larry liberated long legged Lieutenant Litten
Macabre macaroni moved a muggy machete in the mail
Nomadic Neanderthal noticed nest hanging from nude nail
Old-fashioned omelet overbaked her overgrown tomatoes
Persnickety panda piled on plenty of posh potatoes
Quagmire’s quahog quizzed a questionable quake
Raccoon and rabbit wrestled a rattlesnake with a radish rake
Saber-toothed Sally sanctified Sudan’s soldiers with a salute
Tabernacle tabby tom tap danced with flute, violin and lute
Unskilled underwater sub was unstable and unreliable
Victory for vivacious Vivian, virtuous and viable
whimsical whales wished to be included in a Washington poem
'xact xerox of x-mas trees ‘xcited ‘xtra long xylophone
yen yielded yellow yaks which Yvonne used on bone
zealous zany zebu’s zipcode zinged into a new zesty zone
a poem regarding evil-company
thus do learn to tolerate the blow of wings
of the most inflammable flesh
after the successful sacrifice of the student-hostel
jumping into the peacock-foams
how dangerously is changing the total travel-route of the nail-polish
in the high tide of the coconut-kernel
that conquers the world
today the water-pigeon gets pain
only by the flute made of palm-leaf
can’t be written the pleasure-trip in boat
of the injured-knee night-queen that is deposited heavily
on the collar of the village-moonlight
even-then the gramophone would be playing on
even-then the courageous pheasant would proceed further
to throw towards the squirrel a dinner-sleep
then all the daughters in disguise of birds certainly
may come out from within the salted mosquito-net
burning open-ground in their eyes
even after
the small boats of the fig leaves
would slip from the chorus song
of the roses
then they are to be pulled forward to the river-bed
of the late afternoon
to make them understand again
that such Xerox-centre which can ignore its metallic-birth
does not grow even now on either side of this muddy road
so look at to see how the epenthesis
of the screwpine-leaf withdraws her beak from the old dome
and pours
all new mathematics
into the compact-disc stitched with the back of the sea-tortoise
if that’s not real
how in the left and right
such evil-company of the oxygen would creep
if the next part of this commentary
resumes from the umbilicus cavity of the x-mass
would the blood-sugar of the water-plankton be rising continuously
look there again
the feather of colour that is in her adolescence
touches the cold magnet of her gamut
to disperse the cherry orchards
now if the doors of this brown triangle be got open
you can see on the screen one by one
the projection of the apex-points of the red-palash
and in the night-texture of the kathakali-kathak
they are supplying continuously
small sun-shines in poly-packs
A broken shell, a living hell, and all I'm left with now is my regret.
Better days ahead were a pipedream after our relationship crumbled. Countless arguments. Disagreements. Every day! For my life, I can't believe we stayed together as long as we did. God knows I didn't want her to leave me. How much longer must I wrestle with these painful memories?
I just feel regret, unspoken, I just feel the pain; since she left, my life has been a broken shell, a living hell — I can't believe I let her go; it was foolish pride before the fall the day she left when I lost all — I should have held her closer, I should have made her see the feelings I have for her, what she means to me; I didn't say I love her or beg her to stay, instead, I stood in silence and watched her walk away, and all I'm left with now is my regret.
Justification is an exercise in futility. Knowing what I could have and should have done leaves an inextricable switchblade in my soul. Love's lessons learned too late — love's loss too great.
Misting eyes beseech as memories replay in my head, but they're too painful, and I feel dead. No joy to be found. Oh well, my self-imposed hell. Painful memories open like an oubliette under my feet, plunging me lost and languishing in isolation's labyrinth. Questions left unanswered, decaying in the debris fields of "what if.”
Reflection can be a catharsis for the soul, but it can also rip a hole in it, and soon reality roars from guilt's bottomless pit to devour all hope. Sometimes despair is mitigated by occasional reminders of us. Thoughts lingering on happier times, blessed moments mine to treasure. Until the damnable loop of regret dominates to decimate any respite of joy. Vanishing expectations. Weeping willow's silent wail. Xerox memories fade with time.
Years have passed, and my thoughts continue to haunt me over what we could have had. Zero-sum game — all I'm left with now is my regret.
Imagine or actualize that at the bottom of the heart,
there lies a massive storage of feelings yet unspoken.
There's a room of secrets yet untold as we grow old.
They can only be unfolded if we dare to be so bold.
One room is filled with pain and the other with shame.
There is a locked room within another room filled with hate.
We lie awake with heartaches, desiring to open the heavy-gated
hideaways of the heart before the sands of time say, "It's too late".
Remember well that our hearts are deceitful, and who can really tell?
Like the sea, our hearts cast up dirt and mire as she waves and swells.
Remember well that the heart has a shield and it is blocked and locked.
Like God Himself, everyone seeking entry to the heart must stand and knock.
We paint our faces and hide away any traces, and never do we dare.
Wouldn't it be great if these wounds of the heart were free to share?
Open heart exposure to a stranger is more likely than with a friend.
There is an endless number of strangers, but best friends are far fewer.
No, we cannot Xerox, Google, or Facebook these deep matters of the heart.
We long to open our hearts, even though it's covered with fog and very unclear.
We long to unload our heavy hearts, but who can find a trusting ear?
We need to be forgiven, but we are bound by fear.
We need to forgive, but we are frozen by a tear.
We need The Lord, but we fear to draw near.
Since we can clearly see that access to our hearts is rather limited,
And for most of us, gaining an entry to such guarded hearts is off limits,
Perhaps it's best we realize that we can more easily try to listen to each
other's hearts.