Long 18th Poems
Long 18th Poems. Below are the most popular long 18th by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long 18th poems by poem length and keyword.
The staccato stammering of bass guitars
punctuated the flash of strobe lights.
Limitless vistas of black and gray;
smothering the crowd in ghoulish poses.
Framed, as if frozen, in a glow of acid white.
Some stagger, their movements mimicking,
the rigors of death or birth?
Others jerk puppet like
upon invisible, randomly clipped, strings.
And, as the music grinds to a halt,
driven by the apocalyptic pace of the Disc Jockey,
and the hard scratching sound of synthesizers;
the charmed, trance dancers disperse;
swallowed whole by the shadows.
*St. Vitus's dance was a social phenomenon
that occurred primarily in mainland Europe
between the 14th and 18th centuries;
it involved groups of people, sometimes thousands at a time,
who danced uncontrollably and bizarrely.
Men, women, and children would dance
through the streets of towns or cities,
sometimes foaming at the mouth
until they collapsed from fatigue....and the beat goes on....
Friggity friggity!
MacRaith and O’ Tuama:
poets incessant and
blabbering bores.
Publican served insults –
flibbertigibbeting.
Rhetoric ingrained dull;
flyting supreme!
________________________________________________________
The limerick is an English comedic five-line poem. The form could be found in England as far back as the early part of the 18th-century. It is thought to be derived from the Maigue Poets of Croom, County Limerick (depicted here). When the two erstwhile friends, Sean O’ Tuama and Andrias MacRaith, had a falling out they started trading insults (in rhyme format), ie flyting.
LEXICON
flibbertigibbeting: frivolous, flighty, or excessively talk.
Flyting or fliting is a contest consisting of the exchange of insults between two parties, often conducted in verse.
You were diagnosed with Leukemia and sadly, you didn't survive.
If you hadn't died 111 months ago, today you would've turned 75.
You were born on October the 18th of 1947.
But 111 months ago, you went to Heaven.
Your hair grew back when chemotherapy made it fall out.
When you were told you would die, there was no doubt.
It must have been terrifying when you learned that you were terminally ill.
You had to battle cancer and it was not easy to go through such an ordeal.
Today would've been your 75th birthday.
But 111 months ago, you were taken away.
[Dedicated to Charles F. Johnson (1947-2013) who died on July 13, 2013]
The Dakota Wars
Took their toll
Native Indians
Out of control
Five settlers were killed
Is what started it all
Little Crow declared
More would fall
This all happened
Many years ago
As the history books
And the records show
August 16th
1862
Treaty payments arrived
Truly due
But the fighting had started
Like i stated above
Settlers and Indians
There was rarely love
August 18th
1862
Little Crow on the warpath
Tensions grew
The Battle of Redwood Ferry
24 soldiers killed
Dakota war parties continued
How could relations build
At the battle of Wood Lake
1862
The Dakota surrendered
269, quite a crew
In Mid December
The trials were set
330 convicted
Their fate to be met
Lincoln commuted
Most of the above
Leaving 39
For the deathly shove
One was reprieved
Leaving 38
Confirming
Execution date
December 26th
1862
In Mankato, Minnesota
The 38 flew
To be with their ancestors
Fly on the wind
Chant with their spirits
In plea to rescind
The above date
Histories numeration
Is written as America's
Largest mass execution
9/11
And the Civil War
Two tragic tolls
Above the Dakota Wars
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/native-americans.php
Once upon a time, I was created by an 18th century jeweler,
but I do not remember his name because of course I am very old;
for a while, I lay on a satin cushion in a high style store,
although just made of glass and silver, I was still quite expensive.
Then, one bright day a nice gentlemen came in to buy a gift,
he explained to the clerk it was a birthday present for his new wife;
he was shown many pieces until they came to me,
and he exclaimed, oh yes, this is perfect, I will take it, please.
His wife adored me, oh I love the flowers in sparkling glass,
of pink and diamonds, I am going to put it on my new hat;
and there I stayed for years and years till she at last died,
I lay on a closet shelve gathering dust until her daughter found me.
She cleaned me gently and pinned me to her wool jacket,
and I got tons of compliments when we went out shopping together;
she never forgot me and touched me often with great love,
then, she died suddenly . . . and I was given to a charity store.
It was a terrible place, and I just lingered there sad and alone,
until a girl with raven hair picked me up and said oh how pretty;
she took me home- now I live on her dresser . . . . loved.
__________________________
April 13, 2018
Poetry/Personification/The Old Brooch
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1012-723-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Bring To Life
sponsor, Shadow Hamilton
Fourth Place
It happened in an elementary school
On the monthe of October 18th
The children were in the classroom
They were all seated ready to learn
One child hurried into the classroom
He was about to be seated at the desk
The teacher said " You don't sit there now
"I moved your desk to the back"
The student sat still at the desk
Then the teacher got very angry
Grabbed the student plunked and plunked
The student into the back desk
She had duck tape in her hand
The teacher tapped his mouth shut
Put the mask over his mouth
Then continued to duck tape
The whole class was terrified
Watching in terror scared
The time had passed the teacher
Gave a language lesson
The time passed the class was over
Students left the classroom
" Don't tell "said the teacher
Somehow the principle heard
of the incident
Police were called to the school
The teacher was arrested went to jail
The student ducked taped Was traumatized
As well as the classmate3s
By the experience.
This was on the news. I was shocked.
I slowly open the old, rusty cemetery gate that groans,
it squeaks and creaks in the still night,
the trees are swaying dark shadows,
reaching out for me-
I walk
a path
strewn with fallen leaves,
they crunch beneath my feet echoing.
A sudden wind takes my long raven hair,
it whirls around me like a dark velvet, warm cloak.
The headstones go on for miles in rows and rows,
names engraved, cut into cold stone,
voices of those gone whisper softly,
but I journey on.
I seek
a stone
that bears my name.
Statues of angels turn and weep,
their tears wash me like gentle falling rain,
in the distance a mound of red roses already decaying.
This my resting place- I should be dwelling in peace.
I lived a short life and died young,
and in death I am beautiful,
but I linger still.
I was
a poet.
I seek the poems,
I wrote my words in blood,
in journals my many poems still exist,
words written that should have been buried with me.
it was my wish . . .
________________________
Writer's Statement:
The first thing you will notice about my poetry is that I like to write my
stanza's anisometric, that is, composed of unequal lengths. I also like
automatic writing without conscious control. I have the ability to put
myself into the poem, I am right there with the words as I am creating.
My poems tend to dwell on the sadder and more morbid aspects of life.
As the early romantic poets like to do in their poetry, I also like to write
in the school of drowned-in-tears style. Often my poetry is mournful and
takes the reader to a cemetery, a graveyard. So, I am also writing in
the style of the 18th century poets whose melancholy words dwelled in
darkness. This is known as the school of graveyard poetry.
In this poem, I am the ghost of a girl, a poet, who died young. She
cannot rest in peace because her poetry is lost to her in death. It was
suppose to be buried with her but was not. So now she will spend eternity
searching for her poems that dwells in the realm of the living.
__________________________
January 14, 2017
Agape, love, what a beautiful word, its origin Greek,
To me using this word is such a passionate feeling,
People too gilb with I love you, must come from the heart,
Must be a saying reflecting true courage,
Like being in church and saying your prayers,
A true inspiration to talk in Greek of Agape,
It is sacred to say ‘se agapo’ I love you in my home language,
When my husband proposed, whispering in my ear,
Se agapo Agape mou, I love you my love, healing to my soul!
The essence of Agape, marry me darling, Oh yes I will.
Entering The "Agape" contest
Sponsored by Regina McIntosh
Dated 18th 04/2021
When Napoleon declared the French parliament defunct,
representatives beat him up. A couple hundred miles away,
Beethoven scribbled over his own dedication to Napoleon,
whom he had supposed to be a champion of liberty.
As climbing the greasy pole goes,
this wasn't exactly polished.
He was roughed-up - by politicos!
Can't blame them: no-one likes being abolished
(for sure, not these ego-bloated shysters!)
What else? Oh, in a paroxysm of rage,
an eccentric Kapellmeister
gouged a hole in a music page.
For all his smiling talk of ease and glee
(tomorrow), his eloquent implorings,
this moment always comes.
The pipes get drowned by drums.
The sleek ship of self-regard, so sleazily,
drifts free of its decent moorings.
Sunsets putting stars to shame
As I pray to the you in the Lord’s name.
I would have written you a letter or mailed you a card
But finding heavens address was a bit too hard.
There’s no golden mailbox for this special envelope
So that He will translate this message to you,
I can only forever hope.
It’s April 18th, your special day
But there’s just one thing in the way…
So tonight I’ll pray to you under the sun
About how you left just as your life had begun
I miss you so much more than I thought I ever would,
And as I go more days without you
I miss you more than I thought I ever could.
I just wanted one more birthday with you
But I guess this year a prayer will have to do.
I’ll wish you happy birthday through this special spoken note,
That I felt your presence as I tearfully wrote.
“Happy Birthday, Easton, don’t party too hard in heaven,”
although I know you’ll be forever eleven.