Long Abetting Poems
Long Abetting Poems. Below are the most popular long Abetting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Abetting poems by poem length and keyword.
I had been placed in chains
Where the cripples shed their canes
And the blind regained the art of seeing.
It was a robbers’ den
And as all God fearing men,
I had assets needed freeing.
Sometimes the poet’s muse
Is a bride who will refuse
All his conjugal solicitations.
He must lure to bed
Any tramp that turns his head
With unchaste alliterations:
And so it goes...
He’d lived his life alone
In a hermitage of stone
Where he rang those bells for all occasions;
Like the feasts of saints,
For the widows’ sad complaints,
And for joyous celebrations.
It's said confusion rules
At the Festival of Fools
And the scene below just seemed to prove it.
So he clambered down
And was regent of the crown
Till Claude Frollo’s hand removed it.
He smelled her perfumed hair
From across Cathedral Square
And the fragrance soothed his loss of hearing;
For her silent dance
Cast a soul ensnaring trance
Both enticing and endearing.
She was a barefoot girl
With her gypsy skirt a swirl
As the minstrels played a tarantella;
Graceful as fabric spun
From a gently setting sun,
And he pined for Esméralda.
But when the maid fell hard
For the Captain of the Guard
As a villain plotted her seduction,
His trust was put to test
On a futile, wicked quest
In abetting her abduction.
And so he bore the blame
When the warden called his name
As they bared his back to take a whipping.
He felt each lash stroke bleed,
The injustice of the deed
Set those righteous scales to tipping.
While the Archdeacon's kin,
Who was guilty of the sin,
Stalked the halls as Satan’s emissary,
A young girl’s tortured plea
Brought his fool to guarantee
Esméralda's sanctuary.
In a defiant act
When the rebel mob attacked,
He strained his crooked back to save the maiden;
And called the angels home
With the tolling of Guillaume,
Like hard currency to trade in.
He ran from wall to wall,
Hurling curses at them all,
Raining molten lead down on the rabble,
From the gargoyles’ throats
To the beggars’ ragged coats
In a symphony of babble.
But it was all in vain;
He could laugh himself insane,
Still those oaken doors were being battered,
And the dénouement
Left his ashes in the straw,
Proving love was all that mattered.
Now you know full well what they're about, they're about using you
aint know better than wizards of wall street, rockin the beat with a juke.
Vegas bookies abetting frauds taking odds right against you,
left to die in the streets, exasserbated by your mental masturbated mood.
Playing russian roulette with only our head at the gun,
stirring up hatred for fun
the quest we're on is, when are you going to join us white folk
brother to brother arm in arm
most of us been waiting for you, we also the ones sounding the alarm
we hear the sirens in the street, we cry when your babies cry. We got Georgia....(guidestones) on our minds.
Now we aint made inside from some flesh that aint pink.
Same as you, we were derived, from Adam and Eve.
Each of us alone the only thing we got is each other, that's ALL there IS. Sister and Brother.
We have a common enemy, that which takes principality against us.
With Sins many fetishes of cowardice de unrelentus.
31 flavors so many ways to taste, the victory of defeat, disunity caused by cowards with immunity at rocky road place. hobbledstoned in the streets, Hoodwinked with their nuts in our face.
Don't rub it in, like "now you're on top, we got Obama!
make people suck on my chocolate dipped cone of invincibility pop docudrama.
I bet it makes the taste of vanilla so sweet,
but instead leaves a bad taste, in the palate of the nationality.
Too much high flying, smack talking, maligning personality
there aint no union in a "aint seen nothin like me"
I think you better stick with a spoon,
instead of the knife in our backs
a silver one for coddled athletes, and hip hop tools, im just saying dont say "always bet on black", thats racist fool
You got nothin else but race baiting to do,
besides your backupsinger's,
even when they more talented than you.
I see some people walking on eggshells
where the chickens have come home to roost,
making omelets with and sales of those with lower IQ
the yokes of goodwill and the r(o)(o)sters, themselves, Santaria tools .
Unshackle my verse: The People V. Poetry
The judge says,
“Will the defendant please rise”
Intently, I stare into his eyes,
was once the apple, but now despised.
“Poetry, you have been charged with multiple counts of loitering in minds,
Assault with a deadly weapon penning words that give sight to the blind,
Aiding and abetting phrases that freed dark memories which were confined,
Multiple counts of theft of feelings, stealing hearts with emotional lines,
Mass murder charges stemming back years from killing time,
Poetry, do you understand these charges and the nature of your crime?”
“I do your honor. By the way, I love how you rhymed.”
“Don’t get smart with me, poetry.
Now how do you plead?”
“Ha! You did it again,
anyway, I plead guilty as sin.”
“Very well, let us move on to the sentencing.”
“Before we begin sentencing
May I share a few sentences on my day of reckoning?”
“I'll allow it
I can't disavow it”
“Excuse my french but
screw your laws.
Your rules cause people to follow
I cause people to pause
And to think, about how many victims blame me for what happens?
I am only the rescue boat when they are drowning, not the captain
I am the ambulance when lives are a wreck
I’m not the suit and tie, i'm just the crew neck
Underneath it all, that's where I thrive
When voices fail, I won’t deprive
I am the spokesperson for the heart
Public relations for nature and art
You can convict me and lock me away
Throw the book at me, I’ll just eat its words like a buffet,
You can’t pray this gay away
For I am happy as child’s play
So yes I am guilty,
Guilty and proud
I am who I am,
a wordy muse well-endowed”
“Oh and one more thing, your honor
Before you rule and make me a goner
Could I request a cell in isolation, not that it matters
That’s just where I do my best work. It’s kind of a work hazard.”
Written April 11, 2017, for the unshackle my verse contest
amphetamines acquaintanceship assuages
agonizing aches also advocates amorousness
assiduously activating admiration
aggressive attacks assault afoul
affable affinity and affectionadumbration
anatomical accidental addiction attested as academic,
although afterward abnegation absolutely arduous,
affianced attired apparently as an anomaly
Ares and Abyssinian Astarte admixture
acquiescence affliction affected adroitly,
and abruptly abends accessible
altruistic alms axed
albeit admonishing, alluding,
and attributing authored
autonomous anonymous adroit arriviste agents
accompanying as accomplished accomplices
accredited ace advertisers
applaud ascendent assaults amidst agonizing appeals
acting all acrimoniously apropos
avowedly ardently, and antagonistically, agitating
appositely advocating ancillary assistance
addict adrift afloat anchors away
along, among, and an alias archenemy -
adorned abominable assassin alters ambition
adroitly, aggressively, absolutely
addict announces asseveration
against avid admonishment
alarmingly annulling authentic affiliation
anew anonymous ability acclaims alignment
aegis actually adversarial abetting attrition appetite
acceleration ascendent after aplenty anesthetization
additionally activating arced analogous arrow
advancing added abdominal and arterial agony
abject ambivalence arrests accomplishments attainable
any artistic avocation absconded
asper auditorial approbation, animadversion
artificial aggrandizement abrogates astuteness
appropriate adjudication affronted
alternative afforded amnesty about acing audioslave
as ambition assumes arriviste affectation
already appalling alacrity awakens amendment
although Awol administration adamant
acrimonious affront agonizingly attributable
announces another afterworld
apparent ailing apparition
ardent allegiance asking anyone appreciable affix
apathy abounds attending apriorism allotment.
Bustling Tavern, din of thieves,
prattles sounds, like mini battles
of Sorcery, at mosaic of vomit tapestry.
Endowing all sorts in your bosom
like sins-full abacus beads.
You gather them by lamplight and promisery
of Nightlife, bejeweled deeds.
Your dangle of jewelry,
imagery into the back
of the mind.
Cleaving to your cleavage, in gilded-underbelly.
Whispered confessions, aspirations un-tamed,
at the heart of game, plays.
A maelstrom of activity brews,
where thieves and dreamers carafe their craft,
by firelight, booze, and cut-throat utensils,
for stirring the plot and tasting it's ooze.
A symphony of mirth and mischief,
lies, woven into each swirl of word.
A den of vices, a theater of souls,
where desires become exhumed
jewels, brightly interred.
Sorcery of charming, bracing,
where shadows dance in dusk,
efficacing with the flickering daylight
exuding allure, a beguiling musk,
facery painting, fishing for trust.
Binding patrons, captivated by the dire-light,
broths to salivate for spitting in its flame.
Bardic stories, each worth half a codler of truth,
confess their lies amidst the clinking of wine.
Tithes abetting their cover, to mask the grape-vine.
As hearts chase fleeting pleasures true,
where fantasies intertwine,
the weight of the world measured, momentarily
subdued in fermented promise of unsealed
magic in held balance of bottomless opportunity.
So, come, dear traveler, lose yourself,
in the spell of atmosphere.
In the spray of this sacred mace,
lift of skirt, skirting of honest wage.
Panning for adventurers,
planning under-sway of sunder's way.
Shabbos Table True Fable
Our family "Heimish" setting,
Replete with 2 lighted candles letting,
Blessings, my wife's "Emunah" truly abetting.
6 days' worries & scurries set aside, allayed,
2 lights cleansing in noble "Dr. Suess" style displayed,
Candlesticks' "Curved Art", due to years of use arrayed.
Bluma Yehudis's beautiful voice, her simple innocence,
Capturing a crystalline semblance,
Of each of our spiritual en-trance.
2 "Challah Bagels" offered gratefully to "Hashem",
Each one a symbol, "Remembering" & "Guarding" them,
The 24 hours of rest, from creative labors, not physical ones, we stem.
"When wine goes in, truth comes out",
Liquid sunshine savored in moderation, no gout,
And to boot, enhances melodious singing aloud.
Other Yidden heard through our window, grace the night,
Melodies heard so clear, listening is like eyesight,
Each "Niggun" inspiring, not the least bit trite.
Shabbos graces us each with an extra "Neshama",
Meaning Soul, from "Breath", exhaled into each "Guf" by "HaRachaman"
Gifting "Bina", or understanding, & appetite for my wife's "Manna".
In Bina we listen to each other, to Torah "Tools & Dies",
Attending to Hashem's word, true hearing with eyes,
Conversing, not the least, with your loved's ties.
Singing "Shir HaMa'Alos" in unison,
Brings us together as each other's & His chosen ones,
Bonding warmly, embracing each other by voices' tones.
Afternoon naps, enjoying playing Bananagrams,
Invigorating, rejuvenating, noncompetitive lambs,
Sharing dreams, emotions, wits & words, ignoring weekday scrams.
"Davening", or praying, to Hashem for ours & others' welfare,
Ending domestic disputes among us, pointless warfare,
Huge blessings & tiny like "Shalom", health and carfare.
All this in our Shabbos? I barely skimmed...
" There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy!"
They punch a fist in the air
Anger written on their faces
Those deaths of their own..
Having ignited hidden fires
Rushing over each other arsonist...
Reason and civility is thrown away
Adopting hardwired survival mode
They rant chant and grow furious
Distancing rules of Covid forgat
I cry with them and pray morrow
We won't be burying them too..
When the dreaded virus attacks
Who is fueling these fires now..
At a time when the neo-revolutionaries
Risk being executed by a Covid 19 virus
Distancing they are testing a hypothesis
In a battle as old as time the surge-on
Is it the Spanish conquerors who ignited it now..
Or the Arabian enslavers who planted the seeds
Or them Templer's founders of the Newfoundland
Who appeased them fires with an in God we trust
When the puritans in Salem burnt Tituba
Her confessions to witchcraft but coerced
A puritan community covering behind Law
Aiding and abetting an injustice of racism
Wait now..did they but then set her free..
Where are all the gains made in rights movements
If at the tiniest spark flames allover do now ignite
Is tolerance but a subtle retreat as peoples gather..
All manner of arsenal in battle the for domination...
Sons of a lesser God are there really any now One
Yet you do recite that he called his son from Kafira
With Kemet said to have enslaved a race chosen..
Am reminded he blessed them all.. subdue the earth
Not subdue and conquer each other
Not to exploit other's guise of labour
As they enshrine a demi-god of greed
Fondly aptly its named urban culture
This one now does call for patient(ce+...
Have they not suffered enough anguish
At this stage of the Journey-Kibrithmana
And as Moosa uplifted that bronze snake
Don a bib... We pray it not Horsemen
We heard what seven thunders spake
As angels Swoon all over the earth...
Reapers working overtime.. Jumbos
I found a photograph today.
Its discovery agitated my emotions
and I caught my breath.
There you were - suspended -
like some ancient fly held
eternally in amber.
Pose, expression, frozen - always.
I found a photograph today.
It awoke a memory long forgotten:
It was a hot sultry day.
We had travelled to our arrival
and we argued, our tempers
shortened by the blistering heat.
My neat linen skirt had creased
- like my mood - and you were rude.
What did you say? I can hear the tone
but the words are gone now and
suddenly unimportant....washed away
down the plughole of insignificance....
Gurgling then gone - lost in the
annals of broken promises and accumulating
hurt which precipitated our goodbye.
I look into your petrified eyes -
eyes that sparkled when I loved you
yet metamorphosed into damming hate at times.
Is your hand touching mine?
I remember when it did - tenderly -
I remember your fingers .... graceful somehow,
artistic, creative, piano playing, painting,
then hitting, hurting - same hands yet tender no more.
Same hands, there in the photograph, no, not touching.
I found a photograph today.
Its discovery rankled my emotions
and I held my breath -
like I did when you frightened me
with your unpredictability.
Your ability to swing from light to dark in an instant.
Yes, I found a photograph today
but its gone now .......
Torn to tatters and thrown into the wind.
Therapeutic in its destruction.
Aiding and abetting reconstruction
of a future without you.
You're gone -
washed away -
gone - down the plughole of insignificance.
Gone in the cleansing of reminiscence.
Gone, gone, gone........
....................... and forgotten.
Unter den Linden
I have a soft spot for the German language
when a toddler, I had free access to a military camp where they had enormous horses and let me sit on top of one of them (looking up horses,
I think they were Belgian draft horses)
Since I was 5 years old at the time, I reserve the right to be wrong
My mother said I could speak a little German
I don't think so, but when the Brits and the Americans came, my few words of German were too soon forgotten.
In the late fifties, I was onboard an old ship that
had survived the war but needed its motor seen to in Bremerhaven
the town bore scars of the devastating war
but there was full employment, and everyone was doing something worthwhile, like the farmer who took
took food scraps from ships and fed them to his pigs later, sold for slaughter through ship-chandelier to the merchant ship.
No, Bremenhaven was not Unter den Linden
Not a tree left, cold had the aftermath been
It was spring walking along streets where people sat out telling stories and laughing.
There was a sense of comradeship that made me feel the trauma they had gone through.
At that time, there were no beggars, and no one was following me around in the hope of getting some coins, which was annoying in places like Kingston in Jamaica and other places
Germany has not hitherto played the leading role
a great nation in Europe, this is because the burden
of the Holocaust, a burden unfairly put on the Germans alone to bear, is coming to an end,
also, I think so is the headless policy of not being critical of Israel's policies, which makes many countries
guilty of aiding and abetting the genocide of
of the Palestinian people
a ship and Germany
Unter den Linden, I have a soft spot for the German language
when a toddler, I had free access to a military camp where
they had enormous horses and let me sit on top of one of them
(looking up horses, I think they were Belgian draft horses)
Since I was 5 years old at the time
I reserve the right to be wrong
My mother said I could speak a little German
I don't think so
but when the Brits and the Americans came
my few words of German were too soon forgotten.
In the late fifties, I was onboard an old ship that had survived the war
but needed its motor seen to in Bremerhaven
the town bore scars of the devastating war
but there was full employment
and everyone was doing something worthwhile, like the farmer who took
took food scraps from ships and fed them to his pigs later
sold for slaughter through ship-chandelier to the merchant ship
.No, Bremerhaven was not Unter den Linden
Not a tree left, cold had the aftermath been
It was a spring walk along the streets
where people sat out telling stories and laughing.
There was a sense of comradeship that made me feel
the trauma they had gone through
At that time, there were no beggars, no one was following me around in the hope
of getting some coins, which was annoying in places like Kingston
in Jamaica and other places
Germany has not hither played the leading role
a great nation in Europe
this is because of the burden of the Holocaust
a burden unfairly put on the Germans alone to bear
is coming to an end,
I think so is the headless policy of not being critical of Israel's policies,
which makes many countries guilty of aiding and abetting the genocide
of the Palestinian people