Best Longish Poems
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Rejoice, unknown of waking fall
Apart this longish bramble path
For lest we stand ‘bove lowered feel
And lone of echo’s loudest call
Of whisperings we shan’t conceal
Despised this threatened aftermath
Now formed of cost and promised wrath
If only but to heed the charge
These observations kept at large
Neath thundercloud and pouring rain
A prequel to the coming pain
Unkempt in true ballistic rage
Through iron bars and bolted cage
Lost memories we soon engage
In jest, we conquer phantom dreams
As rivers drown in roaring streams
With night a fantasy to spill
And mouths of babes we come to fill
For here we die in darkened form
When crying tears we’d soon forget
Submerged within the caustic storm
Alone with every found regret
12/30/19
Written for the: Strict rhyme and meter challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Son Of Spock
Rhyme scheme: ABCACBBDDEEFFFGGHHIJIJ
Categories:
longish, dark,
Form:
Rhyme
He stands atop the ancient towers, both grey and cold as skies
Which howl about and bow the trees, and blow his longish hair—
His countenance stern, he stares below to where his army lies;
Full bodied knights on chargers swift, with strength and skill to spare.
Across the moor, tempestuous skies recall the sounds of war;
Of legions lost, of fierce assaults, just as the wailing wind.
With stalwart pride and courage bold, a pilgrimage afar
Will leave behind the fortress, and the tears of Rosalind.
Although she weep and wilt away, he still must onward go,
Nor will turn back until he's sacked the distant Irish shore.
She, from her window watches him depart as bugles blow;
Face bathed in tears, she greatly fears she'll never see him more.
As warriors weave a path across the Connemara Isle,
Their fate may be of pain and loss, or death could be the cost:
And thus, resigned, was Rosalind— her courage must not fail.
The castle walls are cold as stone, but love is never lost.
Though love my fly, or love may flee, love's blind and cannot see
The growing gulf 'twixt man and maid, as mainsails catch the wind:
And salty spray sides down his face, out on the open sea,
As at her window, facing west, fall tears of Rosalind.
Each fragment of her hope resounds against the shadowed moon:
Two seasons pass, then springtime comes to cast the gloom away.
At last! Her warrior, crowned by sun, rides down a purple dune!
Her anguish lifts just as the mist. Within his arms she'll stay!
{Collaboration by Carrie Richards and Isaiah Zerbst
Written from August 10-25, 2015}
Categories:
longish, absence, devotion, heartbreak, missing
Form:
Quatrain
I could be less positive of time's resolving karma
without not(not) as negative
binomially defining
what is not polynomial not
and what must be more positive
you see, or not.
This double negative binding positive
hurts my bicamerolling brain
intuiting what is not Right
deducing what could be Left
to permacultural imaginings
balancing economies with ecologic
synaptic sap reversing
not aptic snap
fusing neural patterns
of polynomial permaculturing positions
overwhelming this knot of double nots.
To be
is to belong meta-diastolic,
I hope a positive existential phenomenon,
whatever that might mean.
But, too long this longish longing
is not to not be,
it is simply a not
waiting for a second;
to not not long
incarnates belonging grace
and not not karmic knots
in negative implicating space
without a proper polynomial place
for knotish naughty
not not negative integrity.
Karma double-masks what grace uncovers
as incarnation reverses back
toward naked origin of well-wombed undouble-knotting fetus,
DNA enscribing nurture's primal covenant,
warm and fertile buddha-care.
Uncovered human nature
erupts through Janus-masked cocoon
discovering nature's
uncovering intuition of polyculturing unity;
and competitive not,
hidden within ego-defensive
cognitive dissonance,
immune instinct
repulsing tied-up distinctions.
Biting into life's positive oysters
risks gnashing knotty pearls.
Categories:
longish, confusion, culture, math, mystery,
Form:
Free verse
My somewhat outsize ears and longish neck
(I swear exist, which contrary to popular myth
never seen by living persons) support this egg shaped
(fried or scrambled some might argue) head.
A mostly flat and hairless chest attests to a regular
regimen of light (self-concocted) chest-pounding routine.
Exercise (as well as meditation) a vital part of my
daily program to deal with the ordinary stresses
of primitive existence. Coffee happens to be the
sotto voce sole vice, which exotic brews provide
helpful jump-start. I sometimes even chump on cup
kept teeth sharp. That unproductive habit came
to a screeching halt after breaking every pearly white.
Now to that locale known as the trumpeting rump
pull stilts skin. Although the unseen forces of biology
and genetics dealt me an itsy bitsy, tiny tushy
(which serves as the but for fellow Apes to taunt
and tease) such anatomical feature offers little
value as the worthiness of sexual prowess.
This palm pilot sized gluteus Maximus offers one benefit.
Ease to squeeze into tight spaces without getting stuck.
This tiny tushy accompanied by a vestigial and
teeny-weensy Weiner schnitzel of a phallus, which
undersized cock a doodle do doth bulge into
an erectile state within shooting distance of
coveted warm, wet and wooly private world
property of each and every woman.
A pair of skinny (flamingo like) legs (covered in
adequate hair) now completes this general character sketch.
Categories:
longish, 11th grade, 12th grade,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Brimming with memories old
In its light golden look
What a scent, please behold
There beside the rippling brook
We call it golden champa
The smell relaxing and inspiring
Champa-necklace would wear Radha
When with Krishna she is dancing
In our lyrics of three thousand years
Champa finds a thousand mention
Sometimes in smile and then in tears
With Champa many a lovely session
With us it's now rainy season
Lovely Champa silk-clad
We savour the smell and stay to listen
The toop, toop, music sad
______________________________________________________________
Note:(1) Champa – A small, light gold coloured, a little longish, and intensely fragrant Indian flower. It is a common Indian name of girls too on obvious grounds.
(2) Radha, the female figure and Krishna, the male deity are mythological lovers steeped in divine romancing. Thousands of years old and still very much current romantic literature dealing with their love is an Indian asset.
(3) What you say in English ‘Pitter-pattered’, in Bengali we say ‘toop, toop’. Imagine the rains falling on a tin or concrete or leafy surface and feel the lyric in toop, toop.
Categories:
longish, beauty, emotions, flower, image,
Form:
Rhyme
On the sidewalk standing in the rain
the old man is a wounded dove.
Longish white hair: wet feathers
grounded in a storm. The rain is heavy
and repeats itself, like buckets of water
thrown out of windows.
The old man stands there
holding a memory or a wish.
Under the streetlight
his wet hair glistens like tinfoil.
The downpour is a creature
that’s eating him up.
Darkness projects
from a deserted apartment building.
The ground floor windows and doors
are boarded, nailed shut.
It appears dead, like an old disease,
or stripped, like a despoiled tomb.
Its bricks cracked and crumbled,
wooden casings dry rotted and helpless.
Painted in bold red
across the boarded front entrance,
a graffiti-message: Girls Rule.
Looking back at the old man,
he stands the way a king stands alone
when doubting himself.
Dark crawls around him. The old man stares
at the building. He is motionless,
in memory. Rain gallops over him.
Inside the warmth of a café,
my steaming coffee. Outside, the streets
are laundered clean of everyone
except for the old man who stares
at the apartment building. Time has grown
over his face and body, has grown
over the broken down building.
Now the rain is as heavy as mucus
and with his tiny body
the old man shuffles away into the dark
and gradually disappears
like a casket being covered with earth.
_________________________________
from my sixth book-length manuscript
©dah / dahlusion 2014 / 2015
all rights reserved
"In Streetlight, His Wet Hair" was first published in
'Switch (the difference) Anthology'
from 'Kind Of A Hurricane Press'
Categories:
longish, age,
Form:
Free verse
I once knew a young cowboy in Tulsa.
He was broad shouldered with longish blonde hair.
He rodeo’d with the best of that breed,
And he was champion of our county fair.
He was something to see with the women.
Always had a new beauty in his sight.
Never heard ‘em complain about nothin’-
He disappeared in the dead of the night.
We’ve got a high school rodeo team now.
About the best that you’ll find anywhere.
Four ropers, three bull riders and a clown –
They are all broad shouldered with long blonde hair.
8/30/2017
For poetry contest Bittersweet for Kevin Shaw
Categories:
longish,
Form:
Quatrain
The Complaint
Sir we have a complaint against you. It seems you stink you wear your shoes
twice longer than most people do. Tell us in your own words how often do you
change those socks. My left sock has been on for far too long my foot is sweaty
it's so much shorter than the other one and rubs the shoe against the foot when
all eye do is walk in them. Eye find a sock every now and then within the week if
this eye can and most every day is now the best and then is when eye change
them again. Who was the complainer who was it the dike who dissed me some
eye bet it was she cannot stand the stink of unwashed socks. She must have
saw the way she looked at me in the mirror of my eye she seemed so
uncomplete eye cry when people look at me them ways. They fished in the wrong
water hole much longer they came up empty and the eye is smelling like a water
lily. Some men leave the clothes upon the back a bit too longish they turn black or
faded yellow with the stains of sweat and salt it would embarrass them if you
made a complaint.
The Complaint
Categories:
longish, social, sorry, sympathy, me,
Form:
Free verse
since becoming housed here since this year
july first two thousand and seventeen,
tubby more precise where
with thee missus, amidst bucolic environs,
(one could don underwear
Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
trees abundant with leaves of grass spare
zip cone: one nine four seven three,
this resident doth not find *****
disproportionate amount of time,
he spends never to overhear
the mostly soundproof walls
inside apartment b44 assigned midyear,
one bedroom living social space
gives ample opportunity to assess linear
ratcheting asper elderly folks inch along
chronological space/time continuum
fragile as jasperware
many experience diminution
of vital sensory organs, and oft time cannot hear
even without television blasting away,
no doubt harboring anticipatory anxiey sans,
grim reaper's unannounced visit they fear
their non verbal body language
(when aye espy and stride-rite past,
an old lady or man riding shot gun
securely strapped in wheel chair,
shuffling back where buffalo used to roam,
or trudging to common all purpose gathering place)
speaks volumes analogous to a frightened deer
when caught blindsided
within bright lights of an automobile 'ere
unsure which way to go, and dashing out in the thick
of evening rush hour traffic,
lacking notion, the figurative coast not clear
subsequently doe ting bucks killed, where birds of prey
thence loftily circle gracefully
gliding within upper atmospheric air
page number two:
upon scrutinizing what doth appear
as a hollowed out existence induces me to de clear
to maximize utilizing each precious moment 'ere
before each major metaphorical cog and gear
frankly zaps, this dude looks like a lady,
cuz ah ma longish bedraggled hydrogen peroxide tinted hair
me haint give a rats ass
what rumor mongers relish, and behind me back jeer
Since old people lack for purposefulness tis unlike to leer
that one day (fast as snap of fingers), lack of being ambulatory t'will be near
and upon limitation in physical functionality, aye aim to app pear
motivated to partake of mental exercises just sitting on me rear.
Categories:
longish, america, autumn, environment, future,
Form:
Elegiac Lyric
Sailing on a boat
Embarks to a new harbor
Prompting to abscond
Departing from foregoing
Commencing a longish trek
3-4-2016
Categories:
longish, feelings,
Form:
Tanka
Time laughs as she looks luminously red
In my longish love-pot looking gorgeous
Rich nature has so fondly invested
Her with marine beauty so infectious
At morning she beautified my garden
With her softly reassuring pink grace
At noon my white lily is quite ardent
At evening oranges come on her face
Maddeningly red lily she is now
Crimson murmur firing sparks from Venus
I am not sure of my art as to how
To hold you tonight for a trip to Mars
Lovely perfume frees all birds of frisson
Getting me inside the clouds from ocean
__________________________________________
26/8/16 :For the Contest: And in words, she blooms
Sponsored by Casarah Nance
Categories:
longish, allusion, art, bird, desire,
Form:
Sonnet
A written account (that incorporates some
self directed hyperbole) of this veritable stranger
now appears before your screen. Soon
after reading this message, the neighbors
might discern a blood curdling series
of (hyena-like) shrieking screams.
No worry. That would be the mating call
of the hairy Harris mama bear.
Ready! Set! Click!
A scary reflection greets me whenever
I summon up enough steely courage to take
a sneak peek into the mirror. Before
spider lines start to appear across the
shiny surface and subsequent cracks
and fissures dissolve the glassy surface
these deux hazel colored, myopic be
spectacled eyes quickly absorb a most
frightful countenance and visage.
That near legendary and trademark feature
of longish, wavy and brown straggly hair
seems to fill the entire view. Hidden among
avant garde rhapsodic bohemian, Cro-Magnon,
Neolithic, non-every-man style of un-styled
non dread full locks (interspersed with silver follicles
indicative of acquired worry fighting off
garden variety prehistoric creature) can be discerned
a brutish, nasty and short proto-human with
high forehead, which allows, enables and provides
more skin surface to bang against wall when frustrated.
Categories:
longish, 11th grade, 12th grade,
Form:
In the wee hours,
When the wish hours of sleep flowers,
To computer games still sticking
And one’s satisfied lips licking;
A still irrepressible interest in understanding a movie
Or memorizing the lyrics of an American groovy
To the end follow a longish Italian Mafia
Or faithfully sum up the untouchable truths of Radio Biafra:
A normal persons destined inability to short- change Nature,
Retaliatory sleep’s readiness to bed-chain the Cheating Creature,
Until the long and short hands of the clock have described 800AM
Or over bounded to a a farther –flung AM!
Some kids to their schools surface late,
Because of a morning overcrowded with chores
And an instruction, very stiff, very straight
To further complete the cleaning of mummy’s stores:
Sometimes, a school child’s dramatic remembrance of an orange tree
And his wanting to first fill his satchel with what is luckily free.
Lateness to school
Not to be always pushed to a fool.
Categories:
longish, child, depression, education, environment,
Form:
Rhyme
phallic hellic gallic fella,
slipped and fell into the cellar,
gargled with a vat of wine,
stayed for a longish time,
when he found one Isabella,
she was dark as one othello,
hot and steamy primed to go,
seconds later there she blows,
yes you bloody so n so
said the Isobella...
words could not dispella.
i do rattle on ,
Its her fault........Linda-Marie The Sweetheart of P.S.
Don
As you see below Linda-Marie,
your words were ferterlized by me,
so i put it in a poem,
chinese phallus buzzing home..
Yes trials is what its all about,
come here to suffer learn about,
tangled pig trough for the snout,
this methinks without a doubt... :)
Categories:
longish, adventure
Form:
Rhyme
I gotta n itch) Lenin, where alien archeologists
from outer limits of the twilight zone unearthed
(com) bust stubble rubble yes likeness of Guy
Richie Rich Noir, whose couture, the best skid
row wardrobe.
He sported longish wavy (fluffy when washed
once every fort McHenry night), which character
wrist ticks evoked Chaplinesque down on his
luck Dickensian doddering dude, who cast an
immediate vagabond er dishabille, he happened
to be plenti none the poorer and ranked near
top Facebook listing of Forbes Plenty Of Fish
list, and whose trivial pursuit with flickr ring
idea to GoLong.
As a poet by fashioning his adversity into discord
ant clumps of clichés, facsimiles, idiomatic limply
mixed metaphors in a per verse manner reflecting a
discombobulated egghead delivered an ova night
fashionable fame, though syrup prize zing lee met
with profound success, and bore fruit of the loom
(one of his countless “FAKE” offspring’s begotten
unbeknownst to him iz this schlepper) constitutes
this blimey dorky and fluky guy, whose weakness
when communicating about extemporaneously usually
leaves the reader like totally tubularly confused like
ha cool and totally tubularly groovy man.
Categories:
longish, 11th grade, 12th grade,
Form:
Free verse