Long Abouts Poems
Long Abouts Poems. Below are the most popular long Abouts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Abouts poems by poem length and keyword.
The enemy knows the power of a hook.
One verse repeated got your whole world shook.
Because your ears are the gateway to an unseen realm.
Lead in a pencil becoming the ink from a well.
Escape room within the confines of a mind bass ackwards.
Sea horse in a bubble, Jessica Rabbit past her prime.
Thoughts cruising down dead end streets and round abouts for no apparent reason or rhyme.
Letting it flow in the changing of seasons.
I've sat within darkness, led by light back to freedom.
Brain set ablaze, while stumbling within a self made maze.
Thankful to the Lord my God, after how far I strayed.
Restored a mind which had become lost in the hallways of insanity. The mind itself had made.
Writing to find the keys of the rooms I've still no access.
Lead leading the process of imagination on paper.
For those who wonder where I am
or where I can be found
I'm in the mid west of my country
in a well known college town
How I got here or purpose being
might be easily explained
but looking at this thing called providence
a street just one block away
The hand of God is mighty strong
much stronger than we'll ever know
but trusting God with unseen faith
Is always the next place to grow
My newest job I tried to avoid
all these long years
but being humbled by my God
I no longer have that fear
I applied my art at being the best
and going beyond my duty
but really it was simple
just do what my conscious told me
Life has connections
and sometimes they are people
but making the right connections
may not always be someone we know
I have yet to see the end of this journey
somewhat still possessed by the middle
I think I see where this is going
and the miracle just started showing
But in my imagination
I have this budding dream
I'm in the right place and at the right time
What's this showing in my mind?
Perhaps what God has made me will finally come to life
I am so much more different than what I was in life
But I do posses things that God gave to people I like
Now that most of them are dead, I must continue the fight
I don't know how this story ends
I think I'm just in the middle
Of Gods plans for me I know very little
But if what should happen, happens.
And if life takes off with me
if dreams came true for me and you
I wonder where I'll be.
Pile drivers have replaced gandy dancers
And Mayflower trucks the circus, open-cage parades
Horse drawn down Main Street U.S.A.,
But overnight canvas bosses still command
Roust abouts to raise big top sails,
Over decks of prairie dogs and tumbleweeds.
There are gaudily painted juggernaut ride machines.
Smells of grease, heated white from oozing knuckle joints,
Calliopian music and rounds of happy screams.
A carney operator offers two a Scrambler car,
Teases riders with the tip of his bitten off cigar
A flick on your nose and ash that crashes to the circus grounds.
Jukebox music by Wurlitzer gets tinny with distance
On both sides of musty tented, kid show exhibitions
Mushrooming quiet translucent, sideshow shadow lands.
One sign says:
A WOMAN’S LIVING HEAD!
And inside there is a severed head up on a tabletop.
She answers questions easily, smiles and winks.
A kid shill says she’s doubled up
Inside a box affixed with mirrors.
Our cheeks redden more for her
Than the fact that we are led astray ourselves.
We leave to let more unenlightened in.
That day, I left forever past free throws
To win erstwhile girlfriends
By shooting hoops too narrow to be made. (4/4/21)
Mysteries into mysterious
The thought just makes one curious
History having accounts within its own log
The wonders through the creation of the seas
1871 was a year when cargo ships would sail through unchartered waters of LAST CHANCE ALLEY would often disappear
The crews were never found
Some say the Devil would be aboard their ships
But there is no record of witnesses who can contest to that
All you hear and feel are the sea breezes
Many ships dare not to go through Last Chance Alley fearing that their ship would be loss and never be seen again
Captains and crews heard stories about Last Chance Alley, but feel the name should be changed to PROHIBITED ALLEY
Mysterious doesn’t make it obvious
Once mystery still a mystery
History has stated the Devil being disgusted as a monster aboard all the previous downed ships
One would think the many storms feeling like a monster itself
Imaginations gone wild
Some see Fishy ship tale being folktale
Perhaps it surrounds too much ale
Yet many ships have disappeared without any findings or known abouts
What’s the reason, and why no investigations out?
Unknowns still uncertain
A torn curtain with splits could be a beware
Was it the sea or storms themselves being lies of the Devil Sea?
We can only guess the many assumptions being nothing conclusive
Only suggestive
The Devil’s revenge
Myth or theory?
We will never know
We don’t know what is happening below
Maneuver your mind and continue to wonder
Devil Sea with an evil approach
Madness and controlling
Fulfilling in offsetting
It is thy wanton gestures that contrive inside long auburn
curls -
Wherefore to diminish the pleas of a warm, lustful
breeze!
For though gilded rays shall grace all thy sunlit days
Tis Moonstrucks cast beams, your mischiefs,
That did so deceive.
Happily ye wander through Midnights velvet vales...
Thus to bathe in the still of deep glades shimmering pools;
Gently smile as the White Hart confuses at the Nightjar,
Laugh joyfully as he gleefully barks within a Huntresses
muse.
Whence, entwining abouts your lithe-liken limbs,
Enchanting currents that confound upon like curvaceous
streams:-
Flawlessly proportioned, highbred, temperate form
Of palest earthborn Athenian figurine.
And ere those coy sighs should but just once countenance
Mortal compromise
Through your countless ages of fair queens and fabled kings -
Then, at some singular point in trickling sands spatial time,
If my heart beat against thine...wouldst thy charge me astride
Great Pegasusus wings?
So recline thou, betwixt sharp earth and Heavens eternal
skies,
Thoust art serenaded by forlorn winds that forsakenly
Beseech upon your divine name -
For the raging fires of burning stars were lit to blaze
In thine eyes
By thee fearful architect who moulded immortal clay
To thy perfectly sculptured frame!
Nestle in deep slumber the mighty Kublai dreams
of lapping cold milk, eating fresh meat, running wild
with hundreds of his doggie friends
Little Genghis shoots up from bed and darts out
running to room to room to sniff and search for what abouts
finding Kublai asleep on his fluffy pillow bed
He sniffs him gingerly and retreats under the adjoining chair
Peeking through the curtains a stream of sunlight
embraces the mighty Kublai and he stretches in place
sits himself up and has a good long yawn
He steps off his bed as if he was sleep walking
and within an blink of an eye
A snarl a flash a quick ten yaps, the little Genghis
is on the attack, he jumps he jives on Kublai hide
then just as quick he runs away and hides
Kublai stumbles back on his rump, shakes his sleepy heavy head
looks confused and tries again to stumble up-BUT
BOOM! the attack resumes happy growls awake you pal
as Genghis barks and snaps won't shut his trap
then just as sudden disappears
Kublai shakes it off, softly coughs and nudges his way back to bed
lies himself down with an irritable frown and lays down his sleepy head
Genghis purrs into a growl getting ready to pounce his pal
But I open a bag of doggie jerky treats
Kublai immediately stands on his four feet
Eyes wide open nose in the air, he zooms so fast without a care
Genghis planning another attack but with Kublai barging
gets slapped back, flipped over and rolls under the chair like a cat
Kublai will have no more of that
He greedily grabs his doggie treat
the taste of morning now so sweet
Little Genghis finally got it back
no more of his morning guerrilla attacks
Genghis gets his jerky treat runs and hides in defeat
Mighty Kublai licks his lips savors the flavor of treat he gets
What a way to begin my day nothing really left to say
no TV shows could bring me the joys
of the silly antics of my little morning boys
Twas darkness upon the quietly residing heath...
And deathly was the sullen red sandstone tower...
Standing gloomily inside the masons dry-stone walls
Amidst toppling granite slabs and the faded, wilting flower.
Solemn was the chime of the hollow, mournful bell
When tolling out on midnights grimly sombre hour;
And thinly the swirling, unearthly mist
Did so wend abouts her silent, melancholic bower.
Where from a fronded yew of venerable years,
Besides ancient trunks of ivy-entwined gnarly oak,
A chilling screech from a sudden ghostly apparition...
Summoning upon waking resident souls - did thus invoke!
For pale his form in soft white downy flight...
But none paler than that of me...
As across from the stream, held by an unblinking stare -
My shaky fears are transfixed so unnervingly!
Oh wise old feathered sage of long owl-lived age,
Unctuous incumbent of learned perch within black night,
Allow this the moment to calm my pounding heart...
And catch upon my fleeing thoughts - after such a wicked fright!!
Diminishing virtues stripped away
From the flesh
By the fierce brined rods that freely
Course thy hot crimson blood;
Dry cracked lips attempting to
Fashion broken words of compliance
That so must needs to be spoken...
But...Ohhh, Meretrix...
My foolish and innocent child -
If you but only could!
Consider, Meretrix,..humility!
To which pleasure one thus
Submitted
Guiltily discovers:-
The joy in the act or posture of
Lowering oneself in relation to
Others.
For in your anguished dis-repair
You will find strength to endure and
Embrace:-
The acceptance of all your defects
And ultimate seduction
In the power of your:-
"Submission to Divine Grace"!
I will adorn you in the yellow Toga
Of the Vestal virgins,
They whom wise Augusta did abhor;
Burden upon you with an Imperial
Tax
Imposed by perverted Caligula:
Whither all Matronly protestations he
Didst dismissively ignore;
My Tribune forcefully exact -
When employing you in the
Degenerated role
Of my most reluctant Whore!
Clasp jeweled anklets abouts your
Shapely bones,
Decorate upon you like fired and
Painted porcelain figurines;
Whilst all the while, as your lost mind
Bemoans,
Choking between involuntary gurgles
And low-pained, stifled screams,
The gagged mouth bites down
Amidst salivating sounds
Borrowed from the hurtling
Nightmares
Of your darkest dreams!
For I will lift you higher than the
Tallest mountain peak...
So you may gaze with awe over all
The innumerable Kingdoms and their
Proud tyrant Kings;
Of the many differing species of all
Mankind type things...
And of the immeasurable riches
They so endlessly seek.
Lower you to the solitudes of the
Grassed floors
That sweep across the sunken
Valleys deep;
Where, besides enchanted streams,
Violated Nymphs quietly weep
For Abels broken schemes;
Now, tragically, all taken apart;
And for the wicked callousness
Of fallen man...
Whose desperate greeds ripped out
His live brothers still beating heart -
Then tore at the living throat of
The one true Gods Holy Lamb!
TO BE CONTINUED...
Chaste and more graceful
Than the white canvassed Dhow:
Reclines sweet Nefertiti
Upon a Blue Nile breeze.
Fabled entity more whiter
Than the purest white snow
That thickly blankets
And folds over the wide Pyrenees.
Dipped is thy beak
Into a harvesters August sunset;
A Bohun proper,
Gorged and chained with a crown;
Tipped Argent quills
Thus scrawl across royal warrants:
Plodding, punctilious creature -
Of high born renown!
Proudly thy trumpet Lancastrian ascension,
Emblazoned on a Heraldic shield;
Pomp and indignation
Paddling alongside contemptuous scorn;
Sinuous neck of Serpentine undulations
Tensioned as if a Longbow -
On whose plaited strings
The sturdy Yeomans Bodkins were drawn!
And did Columbines mask
Ever hold such indignant eyes
For whose feathered heart
The diligent cob did attend?
His sedulous efforts
To court within impassioned grunts
When intertwining throats
Do abouts and lovingly wend.
O, Cygnus olor!
En monde bosse - glittering Dunstable jewel;
Pen and immortal verse
Chart beside heavens gilded streams.
For under old mariners discarded stars
And above silvered byways:
Whoop the beat of dusted wings
Inside slumbering clouds wandering dreams.
Afosa Adagio
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He described her as mean
someone caring she demanded more
than she gave
someone that is only
politely spoken of in a gesturing
of description. The first AACT spoke of
her speaking to her lover who only spoken Italian.
Moments later she is said
to be speaking to her lover
in Portuguese..
We learn later both are separate entities neither
wise to the other.
Act Four speak of him finding
Pantaloni senza cavallo, in his bedroom.
He reflected the days and nights remember nothing
of their where abouts. He knew they fit her and the
smell he knew they were worn.
"Pantaloni senza cavallo!
Pantaloni senza cavallo!"
he was heard crying through the door
the maid rushed to tell her: they stood
doors away giggling about the scene.
" the maid saying in italian " he wished her
to be less desirable
mine he handle her"
The Woman spoke" and more common that
she should be submissive"
Maybe the sarcasm of words
can be expressed in the desire
to undermined him.
It couldn't happened to a nicer
guy: you know!
"Creating monsters are the ways of
cornata women
are we then either as evil as he
or wiser and untrue
la canzone sfacciata intrigante
complotto è stata scritta per questo"
She loved neither and was believed
to have been in love with anyone
whom henear to.
Storing his past and sleeping with
those he hired.
He knew of one affair, then learned of the many ones
she had had. Once he was sleeping
and she woke him to have him drunk
she pretended to be "gobby with him" wearing a scorff.
It was the stable man from afar unshaved and paid by her
to do so. When he learned of this
she had been sent to an undisclosed place
and a letter written by her
detailed the event. she stayed away for weeks.
returning he just eye balle her
while the staff tryed to hold in their laughter.
Fictional Depiction of an Italain Contessa and her
Inperatore Husband. Opera of Frustration and Love.
Bassoon solo: number twenty four is a
bass lovers dream! The staff nicknamed her "Gobby Il Lupo"
a term that was unkind but true!