Long Abstruse Poems
Long Abstruse Poems. Below are the most popular long Abstruse by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Abstruse poems by poem length and keyword.
She spent her life doing just the one thing,
One thing that people payed for,
The one thing nobody else could do…
They’d pay to watch her perform,
She’d tell them their future with a little tea leaf,
She’d read the lines on their hand,
Or she’d spread the cards from an old tarot deck,
Revealing what the cards understand,
And sometimes the news was full of good fortune,
Sometimes it was filled in with dread,
Sometimes the numbers were a little abstruse,
And folks had to decode what was said.
Either way, she made a fortune, from telling a fortune,
For people who’d always confide,
And tell them the things they needed to hear,
To help clear and freshen their minds.
I can not believe that in our United States
A country known for the best debates
A country known for equal rights
A country that fairly wins our fights
I can not believe this and neither should you
There must be something we can do
First, they began changing toys, I couldn't believe what I read
There was nothing biased about Mr. Potato Head
Barbie was built as a blonde skinny babe but that wasn't too made kids feels bad or afraid
Now this next part is completely abstruse
These idiots want to ban Dr. Seuss
Six books are offensive and some say anti-Semitic
I am Jewish from birth and just don't get it
Others say he portrays races in a bad way
Six of his books are going away
Our children suffer can't go out to play
The virus has taken so much away
and now beloved books and toys
what's next no music
cause it makes noise?
Dr. Seuss had children learning to rhyme
I read to my patients all the time
Dr. Seuss's characters are cartoon-like and funny
they don't depict racial slurs or money
I'm ashamed of our stupid generation
will they omit history from education
can't study wars of north and south
no more Fred Flinstone with his big mouth
society is truly becoming scary
read what they say bout Little House on the Prarie
and the elephant our beloved Babar
this censorship has gone too far
first the masks next what? Cages?
we are returning to the dark ages
I think all lives matter yay fight for that
But you DO NOT MESS WITH CAT IN THE HAT!!!
Just a big overgrown kid, my Bruce
Wanting to hit the road and vamoose
Dreams of conducting a caboose
Go all the way up to Toulouse
Bruce refuses to grow up, what’s the use
He can rhyme off one of many old excuse
And sometimes swears to All and to Zeus
Bruce wasn’t always this way, something came loose
He’s become simple yet ever so abstruse
Can’t differentiate a moose from a goose
Doesn’t have a clue what to do with his papoose
The best we could do was come to a truce
Now they both get an afternoon nap after their juice
Sometimes I feel like a recluse
But never a victim of abuse
Or that life dealt me a deuce
When Bruce smiles he can still seduce
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
I relinquish my pen before the storm
of her tears falling upon my bare arm
her gentle whispering breathed in my ear
Muse of mine, adieu to your wit and charm
With piqued reasons I have come to deduce
It's time to say fond farewell to my muse
She should seek a new poet and lay claim
for my words have grown utterly abstruse
Spare me sullen eyes, from cries in refrain
I shall not weep in sadness nor disdain
Bitterness does not become a recluse
My poet's heart weakens, I dare not feign
Time's drawn the shades in darkness of night
No candle flame shall glimmer enough light
in which I may be tempted before morn
to doubt seclusion and attempt to write
Cloistered without pen, I shall ever be
From thinking in rhyme I shall be set free
Poems half written on bits of scrap paper
I shall lock away and then toss the key
My hand has retired, this last poem now penned
No more idyll thoughts of mind will transcend
Bereft of rhymes and abandoned of verse
This poet knows her time has reached an end
Ink no longer flows through my tunneled veins
Expressed emotions in poetry wanes
And when interred, on my stone I shall read,
"Reclusive poet" over my remains
Chest pain grips as anxiety fills the room
Or cornered I grasp a resting broom
Neck pain lingers and feelings of doom
Sadness at times fills the house with gloom
Exercising left long ago, enter old age woes
Quadragenarian no more~ whoa!!
Upset stomach, feeling overwhelmed
Energetic no more at forced helmed
No motivation, they've cooked my goose
Change in every part of my body, thoughts abstruse
Emotions ready to explode, anger and irritability
Social withdrawal on downhill side of durability
When a person goes their own way, the choices they make will always have consequences which can sometimes lead to stress with the end results of the above problems.
A Murder of Crows, A Pantheon of Gods!
Monotheism, we’re told, is the way it should be.
But the Heavenly Court doesn’t make it agree.
Similar to the pantheons of many a belief.
All kinds of beings with a head guy as chief.
Whether Zeus or Odin, whatever their name,
The behaviors and hierarchies are always the same.
(The heavenly court or angels in this dictation.
Where do they fall in the story of creation?
Nowhere mentioned in the seven days.
So what do we make of this obvious daze?)
Within the Courts we find all kinds of entities,
With differing functions of various complexities.
Hermes was the messenger for the Olympian Zeus.
And the word angel, means messenger, not really abstruse.
And then there are maidens the gods choose to take,
And often in them, babies they make.
These girls never have a choice in events.
The gods never asked for their consents.
And famous these children did become.
Not hard to imagine, with whom they came from.
So once again, mimesis comes to play.
God impregnates Mary without her say.
And a baby is born and when an adult,
Becomes famous for his actions as a result,
Of being part god as well as part human,
And able to do things, superhuman.
So in the end, we have this god,
In a book which clearly shows a facade,
Of a single deity who reigns alone,
But seems too similar to another’s thrown.
Angels, archangels, principalities and thrones,
Powers, virtues, dominions, all clones,
Of other pantheons in the region.
Really no different in its legion.
So monotheism? Not exactly true.
It doesn’t matter what they tell you.
The truth is there, it’s again, mimetic,
It just keeps repeating as if synergetic.
If all writing is, indeed, a mere ruse,
Why do I need an inspirational muse,
or editor my syntax to masseuse
Mind's eye is vapid and obtuse;
My brain is calling an immediate truce
Inane pretenses no longer refuse,
and with sixth sense consciously fuse
Mundane fare is now abstruse;
Morose wit critics dare not abuse,
or for lack of purpose, design accuse
Metaphors, metonymies tightly noose;
Colloquial sayings, truisms freely infuse
Slang terms, archaic words out of use,
In remediated discourse common, diffuse
Choppy meter, bland rhyme schemes choose;
No rhythmic patterns, contrived forms to confuse
Do not need with limericks, riddles to bemuse;
Trite puns, silly jabs will laughter's tonic effuse
She never slept for fear the world would disappear
nor would she take a bite for sake of living grace
and when her tinted shades of youth became abstruse
timorous with apprehension, with shied away inside
The sun appeared with streaks of gold then went away
while little bears, dolls and talent soldiers drummed
she rocked and rocked and rocked, until she numbed
"SHADOWS IN THE MORNING
SHADOWS IN THE EVENING
SHADOWS IN the ROMPER ROOM
SHADOWS WITHOUT BLOOM :
She called out to her mother behind a wooden door
while sunlight coughed up rays upon the dusty couch
a whiskey bottle fell, between the morning cracks
And while the simultaneous soldiers drummed,
she joined their stoic march with mutiny and rise.
April 27, 2020
The town which oozed the plain and lacklustre held them in a judo grip but by the same token itself seemed to become slyly going into step by step morph contraction.
“Donkeys are symbolic to a vast extent.
They exude such, indeed much ken.
Are they guffawing at us?
But just as you and I had our first encounter as children when on a short trip with our parents.
It was one of the few forms of entertainment available in this mystery shroud of a spot.
Where disposable income might be too easily disposed of.”
Both Nigella and Nigel found that ever since they met whilst nourishing the donkey, this donkey, its Mise en scene, its portentous presence had this uncanny knack of pursuit of both of them.
The strangest coincidences.
Idioms, expressions, the way people interacted, the synonyms for donkey in this town created a situation where the word donkey and a donkey’s environs, and other creatures in the habitat had this hypnotising invisible secretive yet insidious skulk.
“Have you even sensed, Nigella,a disconcerting shift and shunt this isolated district, the size, there has been a slow exit to boot. On boot.
Does it have its own booty?
We both smirk at that one.
Even as we interact there is this intended or unintended prank simmering….somewhere.
As if we might be shoehorned into a loosely scheduled drama.”
Nigel and nigella often mused and bandied about words asinine and their variants.
But devoid of concrete proposal or narrative life pulse in this strangeville of a town that was now a drift sand physically and in terms of folks who no longer existed resembled an abstruse puzzle when it shouldn't
"If it's a human flaw to occasionally desire to live in oblivion,
I plead guilty to my fault." Quote by Poet
I wish I could fade into a realm of oblivion
even if it's just for a few moments in time.
Or be unaware of the mountains I climb
Long enough for my heart to heal
from wounds it continues to feel
If only I could recede into shadows of oblivion
so sorrowful memories might vanish with me,
or seep into the sea and set my mind free.
I'm weary and my soul has become bleak
trying to be rid of the past, I'm too weak.
Let me slip into the darkened void of oblivion
to wilt and wither like petals of a cut flower.
I'd thank the gentle mercy of the wind's power
to hide my jagged scars from prying eyes,
but I cannot don a mask in life as a disguise.
I would vanish in a raging storm of oblivion
as my fate to disappear inside a nimbus cloud.
I'd be quietly meek when thunder roars aloud
and mingle my tears with pouring rain
if I thought I had something to gain.
Don't deny me my quest to be lost in oblivion.
Never wake me from the beauty of my dreams.
Let me linger in darkness because it seems
I can shrink into a stupor of mediocrity...
content to be abstruse; invisible in obscurity.