Long Abscond Poems
Long Abscond Poems. Below are the most popular long Abscond by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Abscond poems by poem length and keyword.
Across the Atlantic ocean
They have a pedantic notion
Quip us Brits have a frantic lisp
Did slip..meant to say chip not crisp
Semantic antics causing a commotion
Misunderstand our land’s devotion
To the sensory explosion that is a crisp
So why the linguistic demotion
Respond to across the pond & beyond
Have donned a wig of blonde
Seem fond of being conned
They need to be told
The reason Brits abscond from the fold
Will break the mould
Skip this blip and let rip
A chip is hot and if not.. is cold
Such umami gold is actually factually
A crisp!
Our gung ho American foe
Will still go & crow..
Blimey those slimy Limeys
We’re the aficionado…so no bravado
Must surely know a chip is always
Made I’m afraid of purely potato
(unless I guess if its chips at a casino)
Displayed for trips in dips
Not just crud dud spud chips
Bud..could be made of wheat
Sworn am often torn
Could be swayed by corn
Synthetic aesthetic can’t beat
Heart attack in a pack food p*rn
If Polenta is the mentor.. its a chip
But if some parsnip you did flip
In oil then it is definitely…definitively a crisp
Got a hunch that if for
Lunch.. earlier at brunch
Or just for a munch
Thick or thin as a wisp
If it does go crunch
Then it’s crisp
Not being trippy.. dippy or too lippy
Don’t be hasty and haughty
Nothing beats..tasty treats
Seriously salty.. deliriously naughty eats
That's why we say crispy.. not chippy
P.S ..The only crispy beast feast
Where’s there is no hackling
Tackling or shackling
A snack as a chip or a crisp
No cackling…is when it’s crackling
Oops somehow a new row hatching..isn't
Fried pig skin..a pork scratching
But Colombian cronies are dispatching
Such phony baloney..there's no matching
The show ponies that are chicharrones
alive
it's worth more than it's (w)hole
and less than (a) (a)part
darkness borne of death
(a) (a)li(v)e that's been told
as if one more day were so old
flightless with fight
left to the night
to break or to not
to fear or to not
a mere bend with the wind
to late to abscond nor rescind
undressed in interpretation
undue distress of trepidation
filled or fulfilled
with failed reputation
of naught
so it begins
on
and on
breath
being
about to be(e)
the sting of life
feeling
free
I am but what I am
set out to be or not
blustery or besmirched
begotten but not forgotten
I will the will to live
(w)holey
alive
Dust swirls heavily in the air
I choke on each painful breath.
Wailing cries from everywhere
mingled with blood and throes of death.
Turn cloak! You sneak off with jingling gold
singing some cowardly song.
No moral creed, no worthy code
a vile traitor you’ve been all along.
I will not die, not here, not now…
these grievous wounds aside.
I’ll hunt for you, and this I vow,
my vengeance shall not be denied.
So make your peace, you pathetic worm
together to hell we’ll abscond.
I’ll be your escort, if just to confirm
it’s the devil from whence you were spawned.
Who making acquaintance, shall mightily hiss,
your perfidious deeds he’ll revile.
Forever you’ll anguish in silent abyss,
to hell’s deepest circle, I’ll see you exiled.
And when you regret ever having been born
and seek desperately, an end to your strife,
I’ll come with a sneer, and a token of scorn:
the gold which you thought worth my life.
07/30/15
We are all searching for happiness.
To face each day with a smile and enjoy,
To keep our souls from sorrows and pains
But how do we find it?
Where is joy? Where is happiness?
Troubles overshadowed Bliss
Mistakes that ruin and pains that hurt
Friends that betray and foes that bite
Have made joy abscond and happiness elude
Smiles faded and hope waned
Purpose blurred and destiny staggered
Death struck and void created
With these we live and strive to be better
Broken heart from years and years
Tears from toils and toils
A peaceful day so hard to find
Days like this are truly a treasure
If only you can truly measure
Whatever your despair or your frustration
Even in your deepest sorrow
Even in your deepest grief
Have this assurance; No hurt can last forever
Tommorow will bring relief.
A pledge to you by Edward Ibeh
I'll always rise with you
Lying next me at dawn.
I'll cherish you till my life is through;
When all is said and done.
I'll always treat you
Like the rarest jewel;
Comfort you when sad and blue.
I'd forever be your fool.
I'll always love you
'Til infinity and beyond.
I promise to always be true.
In trying times I'll never abscond.
I'll always be no less than
A king to you, my queen.
A one-of-a-kind man
Who'll never lose his sheen.
I'll always walk hand in hand
With you into darkness, into sunsets;
Tread life's uncharted no man's land
Without a care, without regrets.
I'm all yours, sweetheart.
For you, I'd walk the razor's edge.
With my hand on my heart;
All these promises, I pledge...
10/24/2021
My poem, inspired by Edward Ibe’s poem, is as follows :
My Day To You
I gave you a sunburst new day,
that dawned in my heart’s bay,
where you turned into a bird to fly,
and soared in my desire sky.
Your wings fluttered in ecstasy,
took you in spring to land of fantasy.
The pink sun painted you in love’s hue
on my canvas, you had no clue.
The sweet spring breeze blew
my dream dust of love on you.
Boundless joy in you my day grew,
you found a new me, I knew.
In the oasis of my life’s desert,
your shadow was lodged in my heart.
In silver-lined passion cloud it did glow,
the time’s sandstorm couldn’t blow.
When the full moon passed you by,
the stardust fell from the silken sky.
As the yearning song in zephyr flew,
you knew it was me singing for you.
My time saw the twilight of the dusk,
for my day you didn’t ever ask,
but I gave, for it was your due,
so my day could make love for you.
____________
April 25, 2023
Contest : Find Your PS Muse
Sponsored by : Margarita Lillico
Trite query from pen so weary
My muse has blown a fuse
The light that once shined has declined
My fleeting hope hangs from a rope
A vagabond whose muse did abscond
With illuminating spark leaving him in the dark
Out on a lark; my scuttled engine in park
Night and day I recon the lexicon
But the literary discourse is no recourse
To a stray itinerate who has lost his way
The sty in my eye has begun to cry
The pus is no fuss; my page is dry
A rhyme for a dime would be sublime
Perhaps, a bartered verse in my purse
Will break the curse, or still worse
Might stain with shame my languishing pain
Incarcerating my fraudulent pen in the critic's den
Oh, if words would rain then my brain drain
Would filter inspiration to my perspiration
The fertile strain if only but a grain
Would fertile sprouts shoot extinguishing my doubts
Alas ,the entire farm is swallowed by the bird flu
Only one chick is escaped from the eyes of influenza virus The poor chick is taken asylum with me true
Daisy is the good name given for her by us.
She is accompanied by me all day and night. Every place is occupied by her pleasantly Sometimes she walks on the dinning table quite. I can't abscond from her keen eyes apparently
She is sharing even my small bedroom really Her low clucking sound is attracted by me lovely. She jumps on the steel cot quickly. And she sits near my face in the blanket humbly
She clusters slightly on my forehead funny To indicate the early morning surely. She likes to eat our family food for hungry. Her life is unseparable with me fully.
Days are rolled and she has grown well evenly She is abnormal in size and weight openly. One Sunny morning she has gone suddenly Her memories are still in my mind hopefully
Wat?!?
No jovial banter? No easy give-and-take of rivalry? Naught there be a good-natur'd ribbing between courteous competitors? Nay a rusty-edg'd petulance on propriety's behalf? No acrimonious innuendo f'r the sake of the game? Nay there a parry and thrusteth of verbal interaction, given eagrly in the hon'r of athletic engagement? Not yea a poison-ting'd barb-or-two f'r a corky adversary?
Ah well, I s'pose 'tis f'r the best, lest naught gallant Prince Brady springeth from the ramparts and striketh said foes to the quick . . . dark h'rse ye sayeth? Aye, I grant ye such, but such darkness yea the fires of Hades himself shant cleave in their most earnest reakoning, n'r shall thither be any who abscond the ire of it's somb'r intent.
Hearken ye anon to the soundeth of the armorer's accomplishments . . . the busy hammereth closing cold the rivets, as valiant Sir Thomas shall likewise closeth the lighteth from his foes' furth'r days. Seekest thou mercy? Dost thy heart thump with the rhythm of a calleth f'r clemency? Dost thy eyes endeavor to findeth the spark of benevolence in Prince Brady's gaze?
No one - nay, not yea I - can knoweth of such things . . . but ye can, as all creatures of similar acumen art apt, prayeth. Thou shalt findeth eventual attainment on thy boney knubs anyway, best prepareth f'r such ends willfully, hands clasp'd and eyes to the heavens . . . thy doom is thy salvation, as is the glint of Sir Thomas Patrick Edward Brady's salient blade!
Consid'rest thou admonish'd.
Arousing opulence of ancient ballrooms
She creates her own make-believe world
Waltzing coyly in terpsichorean rhythms
Upon glittering stage where they sell love
Each time she caresses arms of a stranger,
Pretending to levitate in sultan’s harem
In glitzy appeal of polygamous mansions
Where she reiterates to sighs of ambivalence--
This used to be once the venue of glamour.
But her allegory of ardor quickly fades
As her disillusioned ego yearns for solace
When invisible bruises begin to ache
Having surrendered esteem to ruthless nights
Trading dead-feelings in lavish marbled halls
Where stench of alcohol, perfumes, and cigars
Traps perturbed anguish inside prison walls
From which, she knows, there’s no escape.
Initiation period for her was the hardest
When beauty and youth at height of apex
Squandered her magical Cinderella zeal
Abandoning fabled-castle her childhood built
Crying into that gutless, gruesome night
For lacking the force of fortitude to leave
Before she condemned her soul into abyss.
She’s worthless to the heartless crowd now—
A shriveled rose desolate in parched garden,
A discarded bottle of expensive scotch;
So, voicing contempt, like a caged bird she sings
About the wedding night she always fancied
Reciting lyrics, crooning spent feelings,
Whispering the names she picked for her kids.
Look closely at her, she has no chains now,
She can abscond easily whenever she wants
But, alas, no longer has she the desire to fly;
For her mutilated spirits relentlessly bleed
Ever since her own hands clipped her wings.
August 29, 2020
Placed 1st: Woman in chains poetry contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Inspired by Woman in Chains song by Tears for Fears
The Charlatan
In honesty young Sir, I have good reason to doubt,
When you tell me “My word is my bond.”
I fear your insistent asseveration is but a scam,
With hope to take my chattels and abscond.
You talk in a manner of self-confidence,
It would be easy to succumb to your plan.
A charlatan, a dishonest schemer, a cheat,
Not as you assert, “the epitome of an altruistic man”
I have testimony to your wicked villainy,
From a Woman of good character and trust.
It is self-evident, positively axiomatic,
You are but a common thief;
I feel only disgust.
for Roberts Triple A Challenge contest