Long Accrued Poems
Long Accrued Poems. Below are the most popular long Accrued by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Accrued poems by poem length and keyword.
1
Oh, gentle child, how doth my heart still burn
thine absence half a decade spent in vain
to break the bonds that tie, that fett’ring chain
that holds me from embracing thee, thyself in turn.
Thine all enchanting smile, piercing eyes–
thy flailing arms, the limbs, with rhythmic stroke –
responses soundless to the silent words I spoke
to thee before from thee Fate forced me from thy cries.
I watched thee grow through temp’rate times of yore –
remembering the gall’ry of my mind.
‘Twas all I had.
2
Oh, gentle child, how doth my heart still ache
thy presence all too far in distant land
where careless arms push thee with calloused hand
away from mine where once I swore thee none could take.
Thine eyes with tears I shared I shed alone
so thou might never feel the agony
the anguish, loss of my identity,
thy father, thee my offspring, daughter, dearest one.
I watched thee grow through chilling times, and more –
remembering thy portrait in my mind.
‘Twas all I had.
. 3
Oh, gentle child, how doth my soul yet yearn
those many hours oft upon my breast
thy head thou laid safe harbor for thy rest,
thy questions, mind alert, thy hungering to learn.
Thy voice I hear through dreams and zephyr breeze,
thou lark by morn by eve the nightingale,
as Dawn and Dusk, Aurora without fail,
thou hast my heart and soul kept warm with ease.
I watch thee grow, and will, forever more –
remembering thy sculpture in my mind.
‘Tis all I have.
4
Until we are as one renewed
some future date somewhere awaits
when thou her servant dare to flee
that which with thee so long accrued
where here I love and there she hates
that wily witch who bindeth thee.
Break loose those prison bars that bind
thy tired wings that flap in vain –
Renew thy pledge at length to find
thy youthful freedom once again.
Then shalt thy flags fly high aloft
while eagles scream thy freedom song,
while robins chirp with redbreast, soft –
all a capella – pure and long.
Then both our souls shall share their peace,
a father and his daughter, found
to spend their lives on borrowed lease
to live and die on hallowed ground.
Thus, take, Tai-Ana, this, my prayer
that fathers and their children hear
of this solemnity
that children here and everywhere
ne’er shed a sad though soulful tear
for all eternity.
[Finis]
Another Day...Another Accursed Blank Screen
Ma wink'n and blink'n
mind nod yet awake,
nor insights keen,
asper ho hum usual, this
(day-glo bull leave
me you) after noon,
(October thirtieth
two thousand and eight teen),
mine myopic brown
marbled occipital orbs
fixate upon a
lone blinking cursor -
hooping such intense stare
will magically glean
a divine comedy,
or even mediocre
shaky spear writ tragedy, none
the less letting thoughts
glom (cess) pool like
into some elusive essence,
finding me madly chasing
(feebly, lamely, queerly
and ridiculously
likened to a teen
age paramour) intriguing,
nattering, and wordlessly
spellbinding notion
all the way to Abilene,
perhaps metamorphosing
into a topnotch
poem (ska lean),
swiftly tailored harried
style even out rivaling
the best newsy
Lake Woebegone fabulist
(formerly Nordic European)
scribes, that juiced might earn
me some crisp
legal tender green,
yet impetus to write,
NOT predicated on ram
ping up checking account,
which primary queen
tis essential money source
of mine to pay bills
appears extremely lean,
and thus apologize if
any hint of desperation
(PULL EASE pledge to
Matthew Scott Harris charity)
seeps extemporaneously typing
this poetic expression,
when financial resources
picked bone dry clean,
and me fanciful
thoughts cannot help
wishing for miraculous
intervention tub bring,
a raft of smiley faces
tomb eye gentle mien
such as receiving
an anonymous bajillion
dollars donated (tummy)
from tennis scene legend
(in her own mind)
aery Billy Jean
King, whose near
exhaustive earnings -
at least compared
to thy germane mein kampf
(accrued during - her mist
starry re:us horse sing around)
straw berry fields
forever hay day
with tangerine trees,
and marmalade skies
completing tennis
(tense) backdrop against
engendered match with
the late Bobby Riggs.
Now Buxton is the place to stay when hiking in “the Dales”,
But your schedule’s shot to pieces if you’re troubled by strong gales,
On a campsite in the Pennines the wind was blowing bitterly
I confided to the warden’s wife, “Next year I’m off to Italy”.
So I asked my boss for overtime and accrued a tidy sum,
My girlfriend don’t like pasta so she didn’t want to come,
I planned to see some galleries and architectural sights,
I borrowed several brochures and I booked some budget flights.
I met a waiter in a restaurant on a vibrant street in Pisa,
He’d offer me a holiday if I were not a geezer.
Could I shake off the tradition or am I wedded to my gender?
It’s a fashionable mission. Should I let him call me Brenda?
I like the foods of Italy, they’ve tonnes of tasty meals
But would I ever feel relaxed in a necklace and high heels?
Oh I’d return from Tuscany with fond romantic tales
Of operatic ecstasy and tall Italian males.
People shed their inhibitions, often break their wedding vows,
Would he buy me splendid dinners if I wore a skirt and blouse?
Could I elongate my lashes and step out in jewels and finery?
Is it time to leave this closet and declare myself non-binary?
Should I use the ladies’ restroom or still hang-out in the gents’,
Simply tell the folks around me that I’m sitting on the fence?
If I walked into the barber’s shouting "Rid me of this beard!"
Would he relish my exuberance, or think me rather weird?
I’d talk no more of football teams or the merits of real ales,
I’d think about nutritious food and the colour of my nails.
I would give up wearing neckties and my slacks would be less dismal,
I might sit at a reception desk, though the pay would be abysmal!
I might alienate mates if I keep changing genders,
Should I book into a clinic? - no the prospect sounds horrendous!
I still prefer to lead when I’m dancing down at gigs
And I’ll be auctioning my wardrobe full of brassieres and wigs.
My local mosque has two approaches, men and women are divided,
They’ll soon need an extra doorway, for committed undecided.
Subdivided laundrettes are another implication,
I think I’ll ’phone that waiter and decline his invitation.
"I don't call them New Year's Resolutions. I prefer the term:
Casual Promises to myself that I am under no legal obligation
to fulfill." ~ jamonkey.com
I've given thought, after a titch of consideration,
to make New Year's resolutions... such a vexation
I hesitated to do so without serious contemplation
because quite often I'm led astray by temptation
I will write better poetry to post on the Soup
Be more productive among my peer group
Mind my own business, on others I won't snoop
But won't swear not to write limericks about poop.
I will waive my penchant for chocolate... well, maybe
That will be the most difficult resolution to keep for me
I vow to give up margaritas and switch to sweet tea
And I'll put it all in writing. I'll even sign that decree!
I will not let sticks and stones break my bones
I'll just blame it on an imbalance of her hormones
Or on a guy who acts like one of the Flintstones
Maybe on a plethora of a million other unknowns
I will forgive anyone who screams at me in rants
I will not respond like there are ants in my pants
I seriously promise that I will give peace a chance
Smoke a peace pipe instead of doing a war dance
I will consider it a compliment to be called 'mean girl'
By anyone who derogatorily behaves like a churl
I'll have more patience, so my temper doesn't unfurl
And smile more often. I'll give that thought a whirl
I will make it a definite priority as one of my goals
To walk away from bullies and persnickety trolls
Wooly wolves who pretend to be sheep in their roles
But who expose themselves as taunting buttholes
I am determined to start eating much healthier food
knowing it's a required taste that I've not yet accrued
I believe I will enjoy life more with a positive attitude
And ignore negative folks who like practicing turpitude
I will do my utmost best not to break one resolution
But if I do, I must supplicate for leniency and absolution
I'll not give up a resolution without making a substitution
If you see me cheating, take my chocolate as retribution
The Trojan of our heroic struggle
The heroic struggle against chains
Which beckons with pains
That tends to make us insane
For we are already stained
As they offer us disdain
Nowhere but in the scorchy rain
From the cradle lipping with light . . . of wisdom
Grew to be part of the struggle against the kingdom
Clenching fisticuff against the host hoarding our freedom
For the student movement’s struggle against the fiefdom
Reigned like others that thinketh not of the days of doomdom
Whilst the 80’s have those that have seldom
Bothers not about their selfishly accrued freedom
And bear brunt and boredom:
The late Chris Abasi
The late Rotimi Ewebiyi(RE)
Lanre Arogundade,Emman Ezeazu
Olu Oguibe, Labaran Maku
Ogaga Ifowodo, Bamidele Aturu . . .
Who scrawl their sobriquet in the Ingrained
Annals of the Nigerian student struggle
Those whose names sends
Cold and shiver to the Military junta
Chima, a born Trojan
Had no laurels and medals to display
Except for broken ribs and
Bruised lips with a bloodied head
For a cause he believed in
Ubani, a masculine Amazon
It just occurred to me that your demise has left
A big lacuna in the revolutionary kingdom in Nigeria
You remain the unassuming link amidst
The ultra-leftist, the progressives
The right activists, the social critics
The liberals and other change seekers
All along, you raised the slogan of
System change and Regime change
Craving for a working class mass based
Political party to take over
So that we can move over
Whenever we see the sign of cross over
In order not to spill over
In our quest to possess our possession
You remain a Trojan in the gully
Having kept your head above murk
In the human right trenches
You have scribbled your name boldly in
Gold on the sand of history
The road claims another Trojan
Unable to lose us out of your life
We gain from the blood and pains
A living testament to earn us new hearts
And firm us on the more
Forever in the struggle till we wet out
The blood of our tormentors and oppressors.
Alayande Stephen Tolulope
September 27th 2005
4.45pm
Form:
After Goethe's "Ritter Kurts Brautfahrt"
Sire Gaddabout one spring-tide morn
his sturdy dappled steed did mount.
for he would wed the highly born
Maid Ethrelda Holyfount
He plucked his lute and sang an air,
but scarce a league was trod
than came a cry. "Beware, beware!
Here comes the knave, Sire Heaviplodde.
"Sire Heaviplodde, my mortal foe?
Seeks he this day a fight?
'Tis him or me a mortal blow
must soon dispatch to endless night."
Sir Heaviplodde in armor black
rode up to mock and jeer.
Then said he, holding high a a sack:
"Your head will serve as souvenir."
"Make good, black knight, your foolish boast,"
stern-faced Sire Gaddabout did cry,
"or by ye saints your wretched ghost
full soon the Stygian strait must ply."
The shields did clash, the horses snort,
the dust did fly, the swords did ring,
and, to cut a long tale short,
'twas Heaviplodde who knew death’s sting.
A fulsome wench with babe at breast
stood steadfast in the way.
Sire Gaddabout at her behest
stopped for to hear what she might say.
She raised her babe for him to see,
she cocked her head and with a sneer
said:" Knight at arms, remember me?
You left behind this souvenir."
On seeing this the knight did blush.
He bade his squire go fetch some beer.
Then said he to the young girl "Hush,
this bag of gold should help out, dear."
Past hill, past hamlet, wood and mire,
he rode with noble carriage.
Might even yet the fates conspire
to dash all hopes of marriage?
Who stood with visage grim and old
to guard the way before?
A man in black held up a scroll,
whereon were writ the debts of yore.
Not all the gold the knight did hold,
not lands, not herds, his dowry,
could e'er redeem his debts of old
accrued in youthful folly.
"I have sinned" the knight did weep,
"and mercy is my plea.
I must to church my pledge to keep
in holy matrimony."
The grim collector smiled and said:
"As bridegroom you today are free.
Your past is like a shadow fled.
What counts today is what shall be."
our Spring was a whirlwind of newness
learning our emotions
exploring the worlds we were
that had left their long-held orbits
as we began a dance among the stars
in each other's arms spinning thru galaxies
never losing the gravity in each other's eyes
we then burst into the fullness of Summer
idle days as companions upon a trail
each step brought us deeper into fruition
a fullness of an accrued life
we had reaped the orchards offerings
swung the scythe in union
as fields of wants and needs were harvested
now we sit on a bench
as everything begins to come to rest
it is our Autumn
holding your hand, the age spots
are now a part of what was pure alabaster
still, the precious cup
my cheek holds in reverence
when you guide my gaze into yours
the skin has folded a bit
here and there
condensing years of accruing love
pouring inward to an ever-growing heart
time has been good to us
a love that has grown deeper
its roots match the canopy
joy hangs from the branches
rooted in the happiness below
we are the strong oak
a love was borne in a single acorn
what we have is the most precious gift
our singularity in the devotion we have
for each other
what we share deepest in those roots
is knowing these seasons are but
life in the garden to come
there are still times when our lips meet
i have those butterflies
still, times as i peer thru those roses
you grace our special evening meal with
you are red and i am pink
i skip a breath
the heart races an extra beat
i breathe in the potpourri she has become
i still read to her poetry on that bench
where we first began
i have never wavered in my intent
each poem has but one purpose
to win her heart, again and again
the never-ending story of my love for her
children still lost in the magic
2/1/19 Kismet
Magic exists. Who can doubt it, when there are rainbows and wildflowers, the music of the wind and the silence of the stars? Anyone who has loved has been touched by magic. It is such a simple and extraordinary part of the lives we live. ? Nora Roberts, Charmed
Why must you boudoir bring me an empty bag full of fake?
Pinocchio emotions: wooden soul mannequin real
Your impulses beat a synthetic heart mood —
artificial aorta stimulation ~ false erotic excitation
Making it so hard to pump up contrived passion,
when I’m getting so many tissue soft, milquetoast excuses
as to why you’re always missing in merge action
I don’t believe your tears of contrition are real ...
see, here’s the deal —
Me tasting no substitute was the attraction thrill
Once you got the plastic access,
enabling for an instant gratty hi-rise, material elevation
A funky vibe got dropped on the Cloud 9 date vine,
and the alternate current rain paraded imposter elation
Counterfeit love declaration bell bottom dings
started ear chiming with the sultry pleasuring
Bottom line sensations, gong bosom calculating
You’re accrued credit to the lass canine race,
cardio dressed in Marie Antoinette violet lace
Guillotine guilt was disembodied false grace,
repentant wet blush stroked an invisible trace
Ugly thoughts painted on a pretty angelic face ...
clipped wings: be a forged halo prize for haste
So sorry that a makeup do-over couldn’t take place
I found out you had a synthetic stack of sorrows
stashed for a rental getaway rainy day
Victoria building up the secret portfolio courage,
befo’ you go centipede creeping astray
Your skyscraper acquisition desires
wasn’t nothing but a disengaged, EKG rocket boost
A surgical science project
of a failed bypass carjack
Blunt scalpel carotid cut the angle criminally obtuse
But you got caught in the act ...
Trying to steal someone else’s family jewels
just ain’t chastity cool
So sugar, you can keep your recycled sack of sorrows,
it’s alright, baby ... do believe me
Please accept my handwritten,
parting dear Joan message
lip inked urgently
But, it was tardy delivered
with the utmost synthetic sincerity
George is in his eighties and he’s seen it all before
He was born in the depression and was wounded in the war
He hadn’t been a hero, but George had done his bit
His legs had both been broken when a piece of shrapnel hit
George with his new ungainly gait really didn’t care
He had served his King and Country and was proud that he’d been there
Once the war was over and he got a steady job
George worked hard and did overtime to earn an extra bob
He was careful with his money but you couldn’t call him mean
He had known the pangs of hunger as a child when times were lean
He never wasted money in the bookies or on ale
He wanted some security in case his health should fail
Came the National Insurance Scheme in 1948
George gave the scheme his full support thinking it was great
If we all join in together and we pay our weekly dues
We should all get good pensions that can only be good news
What with all our contributions and the taxes that we pay
Well never in the future should we see a rainy day
No humiliating means tests, no more workhouse for the poor
The old can hold their heads up like they never could before
Now George is getting frail and weak and needs a little care
The pension that George thought he’d get simply isn’t there
The savings that old George accrued long ago had dwindled
The Council now want George’s house, no wonder George feels swindled
Every evening in the news on all the TV stations
The Government hand out our cash to lots of foreign nations
What’s more it is a well known fact that cannot be disputed
Folk come here and claim benefits who’ve never contributed
Our leaders throw our cash around with philanthropic zeal
Massaging their ego’s, Not caring how we feel
To men like George an honest man the real reward is owed
We should be taking care of him, not stealing his abode
Form:
Twas accursed destiny
since birth alack
nascent emasculation abominable barrack
emergent deus ex machina,
viz zit ting older sibling counterattack
thirteen plus chronological gap
eldest sister struck like diamondback
surrogate "mother" role
assumed tubby exact
protectorate pseudo fullback
against cruel beastie boys
bullying barbs
comeuppance giveback
pummeling spongiform
gray matter (yours truly)
fisticuffs she didst highjack
proxy mothering
kept corporeal essence intact
jilting nefarious nemesis aligned
(maligning) and stalking,
this fee-fi-fo-fum
ordinary bean sized Jack
are runt (arrant) cowardly
(non lion) nerdy lad owning a knack
courage lack this glum
older married chap doth adumbrate
satisfactory accomplishments lack
king, where crazy quilt aimless wandering
described purposeless multitrack
thus, sympathetic
to hue men/women nonblack
or decimated aborigines
once populating Australian outback
existential nihilism would,
undergirding hypothetical
unwritten paperback
with little need to prevaricate,
nor appear as quack
pot, one measly *****sapiens,
who accrued millennial palimpsest zeitgeist
where, punctured
disequilibreated psyche dust rack
asper protean (in utero)
multitudinous setback
soundlessly resonating
with concussive thwack
as this rickety ship of state
(a haunted junk ket)
unwanted emotional ballast to unpack
asseveration, asper assiduously
preferably welcoming
dry suction no vac
jar this pawn (knight wannabe
in his bishop rick) torrid
me psychological wrack
king within (castle keep)
complex edifice shackled
in dungeon with repast constituting.