Long Adjunct Poems
Long Adjunct Poems. Below are the most popular long Adjunct by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Adjunct poems by poem length and keyword.
Hi we wear
and cage
if we feel like peppered
if we ever awe by
worrying
if we ever contact
a cultivated mistress of excuses
and hardlucks
acids and gas are explosions
hey we may catch fire
if we will be remaining dim due to
a fatal fluke of one
we don't envy
because it kills or cracks love
who know may be
killing it at all
we don't despair
because it desicates and wilts
leaves and leaves them dry
nor live to suspect or mock
nor live to doubt or disgrace
nor envy the clouds
whose smile by virtue
is joy
we don't enjoin chagrin
because it doesn't reward minds
instead damn them
nor live by pretence
here and there
to mar and wear
oh! teachers fears
and poets and poets
for us is adjunct
to be saved from
becoming a new harbour of human immune deficiency virus.
Laws over user
Response in violation
I'ma violation of code?
Next sentence no jury
Immediately I lost control
Living is leaving without doors
Pre eminent domain the framers
Constitution
An earth in form
Assembled infantry
Order duty
Follow document
Intercept
Floored
Rent a right
Ambition dollar
Our articulate article
Misses print
Who sided with before, controversial
Higher orders, adjunct military professor of law
Stilled the fix of formatted text
The preferential abandon as treatment
Treat men
War with a battlefield of dying poor
My published records of ink in light
Stopped by outsiders having wishes of rewrite French crime
Penny contorts interest
Depriving satisfaction
Kreb a bus
Now undefine the cost of that writers right
In this absence if article documenting times
How is one literal
I was born to a city. Once was that city,
grout and soot were my bloodline
I was in it that city, and it was in me,
my eyes were hundreds of windows,
thousands of street lamps.
I was hoodwinked and bounded
by the hoops of an encircling blight.
My child-body an extension of docks,
cranes and wharfs,
of grey schools on the drizzling corners
of grayer days, small narrow shops
on dreary cramped streets, roads strewn
with the detritus of poverty, all an adjunct
of my urban milieu.
I never imagined that another city existed,
one unknown to the drab and mean byways.
I felt I was the scaffolding of that place
and that which I did not belong to
was beyond my view.
I was the glue of my own stark world.
It was then a shock
when they said I was to be moved
to the country.
I wanted to ask - What country,
what manner of place
could my cityscape fit into?
Little by little, brick by brick
I shed the cement filled hollows
while a newer me
shorn of the pasts teaming crush
sought higher acres.
Green pastures taught me to fly
far from of that self
I was leaving behind.
I Cooked the Book that Would Not Tap
A Doomsday, a nightmare gone wrong,
My hand shot with pain and didn’t stop,
Bandages hid the wound I wove for kong,
The silence echoed round the wheel fop.
I screamed with tears which said the news,
When sirenes had been screened for writ,
Draughts unveiled the blood for reviews,
That cared enough to dare read the fit.
Arching, the doctor stood vacant and here,
Physicalism bent metaphor until she looped,
Analogy personified emphatic nature’s fear,
When realism criticised cubisms’ truly trooped.
Critical realism still made no ontological sense,
My metaphysical slippers knew no god,
Subjectivism objected to empirical arms tense,
When constructivism departed from my odd.
I could not write to epistemology for methodology,
‘Cos clearly my relativity had got it substantive.
Moral absolutism saw humankind as pedagogy,
Still, not yet a guess, a list, a bond, gift, a plaintiff.
Rationalism was not a natural phenomenon, fair,
No predicates set my entities alight to condition,
The proposition adjunct to abstract and layer,
I imagined the mathematics that truly supposition.
This OR that, tip AND rat, not for me or negation
FOR ALL humanities THERE EXISTS a surreal,
Mere, underneath my formula, nude propagation,
Creating the sum of me that axiomed regal’s legal.
Logic. Logic, just pure blooded logic. Critical,
Crucial. Conscience, not questioning the cost, fact,
Never asking for terms or claim, the carer brutal,
The dame. The lame as mentioning the act.
Structural.
Rhoda Monihan
Down the fervent aeons Buddha’s sagesse,
casts its august shroud on benign witness,
shades, shadows, subtle symbol shift,
encompass cosmopolitan and temporal,
incongruous to flaccid predilection feigned,
astute statue of nuance and nicety,
crosses annual acme’s snowflake whirl,
Christmas that propitious seasonable fount,
amid the merriment and jubilation stirred,
can wry dispensation be somehow drowned,
sculpted mould epitomising solemn pearls,
to counter spartan sparkle an uneven match,
for the blissful bubble oft recurrent judder,
though evaluation oscillates on this thorny subject,
palatial gift as lavish token bountiful toward,
unswerving fellow pilgrims of our jagged journey,
despite the avalanche of advertiser’s counterfoil,
triumphant warm rush Burra Din advantage,
can engender migrating episodes deft mutual,
as the Buddha manifests a dovetail harmony,
strained coexistence with December frolic
in the most enshrined but unforeseen locations,
where Buddha influencer might drop wry hints,
juxtapose amidst jollied Christmas victuals,
where bear necessity bordering on martyrdom,
is gratuitously extolled in quaint quintessential quote,
that arrant caustic jibe at the apparently trivial,
the importance of recurring benchmark scope,
as that valid institution built on solid query,
might be seen as an awkward encroachment,
to the much pilloried fanfare of modern life,
changes are afoot when blind pursuit exhales,
has in zoom of instance been Buddha fostered,
if one probes forensically profound into the furore,
where future life burden is an exponential angst,
so abundant amid a sinister spiralling pessimism,
the seeds have been planted in a sprouting urn,
for above the shoulder carry torch consciousness,
a synchronous embryonic Buddha ethos at the core,
one is cognisant of this in zealous online sweeps,
where a budding spirit Christmas mosaic adjunct,
is a Buddhaesque nod on foot of wellness kinship
to concatenate shrouded inkling o’er enduring quest,
on the universal isthmus of humanity plagued by panacea,
one suspends as Buddha meets Christmas on a jubilant,
December day exuding generous exchange across the globe,
it’s a down the centuries dilemma entangled in time,
The flying sent projections free to see,
from adjunct Astrals singing bold decree.
Perched on Pisces’s cusp, forsaking Plato’s cave,
Puppets casting shadows, chancing me a slave.
They hang from dreams of higher forms, allures
Contempt in self when loving carnal cores.
Haunted by women’s passions kept in Spirits,
Dawns my sleeping stages now inherits
Marionettes aloft eternal twists
of spinning truths with lies recalling trysts.
Killing prone volitions, changing essence.
Chosen starlight’s beings guiding presence.
Upon a love in purest form demands,
Forgotten suicides of ego strands.
Risking Pirsig’s fate in Zen and journey,
Waging sanity, a bounty worthy.
The stringing of my soul and bracing seeks,
A pulling truth beyond this death it speaks.
------------------------------------------------------------
Alternating stanzas of iambic and trochaic pentameter
I try to make myself very scarce midst the teeming flock,
To reduce the risk of finding my neck on the chopping block!
Why do you put me through this annual frightful scare?
I pray that I won't become your Thanksgiving fare!
May I propose for your very careful consideration,
An assortment of options for your holiday celebration.
Have you considered a delicious rack of lamb,
Or a scrumptious glazed and juicy spiral ham!
You could save my friends and me so much grief,
If only you'd serve a luscious roast of beef!
As you thank the good Lord for your many blessings,
Wouldn't you prefer a goose stuffed with dressings!
An adjunct to your cranberry sauce and pecan pie,
Could be a savory duck - why not give that a try?
Another suggestion that would please your friends,
Would be to prepare a platter of Rock Cornish hens!
There are many creatures that swim, run or fly,
That could complement your taters and punkin pie!
Better yet, why not concoct a vegetarian meal,
Then, I could forego my urgent annual appeal!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 2 in PD'S "Gobble, Gobble, Gobble" Contest - November 2011