Long Affixed Poems
Long Affixed Poems. Below are the most popular long Affixed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Affixed poems by poem length and keyword.
Alternately titled inferiority
complex since little boy
oft times ponder what
afterlife like beyond far horizon ahoy...
No matter scarce giddiness wave
did carry and buoy yours truly aloft
analogous to dwell amidst
hermetically sealed croft,
imagining small rented farm,
especially one in Scotland
comprising plot of arable land
attached to house,
where hat o' this gentleman doffed,
Thence beckoning thee
to get comfortably numb
nurse cocktail I doctor, ah yea
with good n plenti of rum
lamenting mein kampf
worth ordinarily absolute zero
on par with being
a harmless no good bum
reflecting scores of lapsed years
since bing hard school of knocks alum
lionizing American south antebellum,
Pace of existence found one
idyllic I exclaim
casually sauntering along,
quite welcoming if one lame
especially inviting nineteenth
century hamlet fictitious place name
crafted within A Stop At Willoughby
(think or Google twilight zone
Season 1 Episode 30), where
main character shed his shame,
I too could easily capitulate
if/when time travel will encapsulate
one to journey where simply
livingsocial appeared exotic and great,
versus twenty first century Schwenksville
specifically Highland Manor
each and every resident doth insulate
her/himself within four walls
affixed with memories,
a long gone mate
similar to mine nonagenarian papa,
whose spouse Harriet,
a prior poem
I did poetically narrate,
which rancor hardened filial me obdurate
considerably decreased, yet revisit loss,
now jars thee noggin o' this primate
smoldering resentment - a human trait
did poison when mother at death's door
objection to accursed
disease did undulate
within her cancerous kindled,
riddled, wasted body joie de vivre
loathsome beast could
never invalid date
grim reaper would not wait,
her passing fourteen
and half orbitz ago
Withheld a hug I never gave
presently wince with sorrow,
yours truly never forgave
himself eternal repentance within mine
soul asylum as unseen knife doth engrave
mine mean deprivation
bajillion miles separated us
unconditional love all she did crave.
***** NONPARTISAN SHAM (BULL SH*T) SPECIAL NEWS BULLETIN *****
Innocuous, yet unhealthy threat looms across
(air/radio) telecommunications devices
linkedin with plenti networks that criss cross
even primitive computers utilizing DOS
by George, which archaic code
once powered Mill on the Floss,
now long since covered over
with flora I lichen and recognize as moss.
Surgeon general (Jerome Michael Adams
20th Surgeon General of the United States)
strongly advises against, yet he does not boast
threat looms large coast to coast
watching more than five minutes at most
equivalent machination, the following I post
re: guarding haunting experience
analogous visit by fashionably late ghost
2020 presidential election coverage
able, eager, and ready to prey upon host
whereby curious George experiences
feeling noggin fried like toast.
A carefully worded (fake) communiqué
purportedly the brainchild of one freak
Matthew Scott Harris,
whose jargon puzzling as deciphering Greek
long story short while in utero,
he experienced cerebral leak,
said cheesy mousy man no longer meek
quite evident courtesy literary pique
his haughty style aiming to characterize
generic guy as self anointed Sheikh
sought after acceptance tepid and week.
Nevertheless he speaks/writes truth to power
aforementioned serious risk steeped within
social media platform sensory overload I ascribe,
whereby subliminal messages
voter's blitzkrieg does bribe,
albeit unconsciously, hence me subsequent rhyme
equals forewarning in league with mild diatribe
which receptive yours truly can transcribe.
All joking aside
oversaturation soaking up
presidential election aye chide
against viewing in excess (five minutes at most)
affixed to live streaming broadcast
can find thee steadfast staring getting bug eyed
thus hoop fully let moderation serve as guide
cuz the eventual outcome re: guarding
president elect political experts cannot hide
though be wary lest premature ejaculation trumpets
sore loser candidate, that
bombastic egotistical ignoramus lied
cuz prejudice nsync with pompous pride
for four years to many
the webbed wide world let him slide,
now as one common Joe,
a hardened criminal he best be tried.
Classical infusion, Beethoven’s “ode to joy”
playing on blaring audiophile speakers annoy
purposely looped to destroy vagrants with electronic music
blends of subversive elements and anxious acoustic
the solution to loitering the bodega doo dropping
spicy Shiitake broth smelling pissy store front,
jaded daily stunt, at midnight wino corks popping
abruptly segway into a film from one music scene
to a melting hallway, a lipstick alley with animate occupants
disconnected unmoored, appearing eerie and dormant
fluorescent lights unleashing a hum buzz in duress
hissing sizzling hornets’ nest of unsettling unrest
illogical levels of unease, an iniquitous den
such madcap absurdity is beyond my ken
not a shack, mall, nor a Holiday Inn,
a queasy Quasi-Moto mood which lies within
backrooms filled in with discarded filets
of fishy maceral that have no place,
frolicking pixella's in a glossy abyss of liminal space
plump puce brushed lips affixed
swollen browns and purple mixed
deep maroon and dusky rose,
make-up art is what they pose
I wish I may I wish away what is unreal with blinky eyes
I pray not to awaken one more inky surreal surprise
Crescent shaped moon portions mounted in pseudo walls
mounted upon the glare in unpleasing patterned halls
side by side quagmired half discs dawning a contorted face
in a half dazed-half-moon crest loon’s invisible phase
not unconscious but in some in-between state
bored while in transition and abandoned as they await
whimsical moldings who see me try not to take a peek
an exit to this madness is what I and they seek
maybe re-evaluate my sleep number, for gravity defying rest
What insight imports this encounter and what test?
what it means for a doomed generation Xer or baby boomer,
tacked in stucco, Silly Putty it seems, in a warped sense of humor
I wish I may I wish away what is unreal with blinky eyes
I pray not to awaken one more inky surreal surprise
Upon making
the treacherous
undertaking optimal
poetic theme to write
dangerous, and
arduous foray into
spooky catacomb, I in vite,
where fear doth
dill liver worst
trek to our mailbox tonight
risking life and limb
at very right
angled turn
summoning em mon ent
mettle pluck quite
for quotidian plight,
asper hiding unseen creatures
sealed in dark shadows
along the edge of night
way after deep
into nighttime hours,
I cautiously slink
with steely might
thru barely adequate light
even for this healthy
as an ox good knight
relying on a Jack o'lantern
designed jacklight
with superb vision,
and supreme insight
steadily held above
mine five feet and
ten inches average height
espy spilling thru underneath
securely eye
booked deal lee shut tight
locked heavy metal doors,
a faint glimmer
sans gaslight
possibly from blaring,
flashing, and placating
television screen se
essentially keeping curmudgeonly
aged residents company,
while reminiscent nostalgic
"FAKE" memories take flight
as such wistful
foregone reflections
upon the gift of
a watermelon pickle excite,
viz the cobwebbed
whirled wide
give "tearful", though
pained years gone by
blinkered back teary delight
a hermetically sealed story,
one will never
get ghost written, nor
affixed with a copyright
depressingly clamped
down inescapable
emotionally stagnating
autobiographical blight.
The girl stepped out her face amok
With lurid colors, set to shock
Four others came with mal intent
Hoods up, sinister, a desire to torment
Jeering voices in the dank of this night
Adrenaline flowing at this time of fright
The bent old woman down the road
They're stalking her dim abode
That sad old witch alone in her house
Where she sits as quiet as a mouse.
Gothic shapes adorn the outside
They're statues and a good place to hide.
Dared painted girl sets to at the door
It's hammered and kicked until limbs are sore
No sign of her, the night retains its hush
Feeding their frenzy, then out they rush
From the shadows and occultic bush
Their ghoulish prank has really begun
They'll crack the windows, break the doors
The widow resignedly braves the boors
Contorting their faces in leering pose
She removes the sun glasses from her nose
Their fate is sealed as they succumb to fear
Broad beams from eyes that continue to peer
Now gray in color, the stand affixed
Immortalized in stone, she is transfixed
More statues to add to her collection
She'll look at them with morbid affection
I found this little book
inside my heart, much
to my surprise – in a place
secure, for faithful, searching
eyes...apparently having long
been there – a safe-space of refuge,
free from sighs – an inner garden:
no perennial blooms, that perk and
rest, as sunlight and moons lift our
spirits like April Blooms, till
the winter's chills, though a
tolerable season of icy glooms –
some, of our specie
more inclined to adjust and
make best – put on skis, and
flip with fond zest...not willing
to succumb to our earth's seeming
recurring duress –
A place one finds nurture
and spiritual delight – free from
daily cares replete with despairs;
where the book came from –
God alone knows, and perhaps
none of my affairs; yet, filling me
with a sense, it was mine
to someday find – and then,
read to others, a blessed mission
to truthfully boast and share; I opened
it up...and low and behold,
sealed on the first page, was a
heart of gleaming gold. Solid gold,
seeming shiny and new.
Of course, I already knew, that
gold never tarnishes, just
the metals with which it is
mixed – and who would have
thought, on a book's first page
one would find, such a precious
thing affixed – a book of hope –
a book for all life? I pondered
thus refining even more – how
tarnishing mixtures gold needed
if to strengthen into shapes,
precious forms that endure – I thought of
my world, and my metals of strife –
thought of all my blemishes...those
I've spent seeming an eternity
from myself and others trying to hide...
and thought, maybe, I should have, all along,
not cursed them but blessed them – perhaps,
treasuring my obvious imperfections, as well
as my golden side.
Simply unaware....or perhaps I don't care
what others say or do
It's partially true
I'm through
Used to care what they think
of my words, of my ink
not anymore....
So much more is in store
you see...rhymes keep knocking at my door
I write and you explore
I won't be intimidated
slated or hated
my thoughts confiscated
by he said she said judgement calls
and so the mic falls
Applause reverberates
and oh how it sates
this little heart of mine
it sounds almost...divine
approval affixed
on my lines, on the mix
of these thoughts and these scribbles
gone is the dribble
of inconsistent scales
yes, it all pales
for I blossom, yes I strive
here in my poetic tribe
the true and the tried
the ones who remain
the ones who refrain
from unkind jabs
drawing blood, leaving scabs
wounds remain...
sad refrain
Yet, tranquility is my gain
I'm stronger
I've stayed here longer
and I will thrive
"staying alive"
for the select few
people like you
and people like me
who love poetry
Pseudonyms, pseudogames
I've seen them come and go
and this much I know
truth is tenacious
staying power's for the gracious
weathering the storm
an exception, not the norm
this much I can tell you:
rhymes remain resplendid
all the way through time
poetry
will
shine
Eileen Manassian
The waiting cute texts,
Affixed with the warmth of my heart,
Greeted with the promising intent,
Eager to flash in front of your eyes,
Meanwhile, you become offline,
It feels similar to a tragedy,
Certainly planned by me,
and the resulting suffering.
Comprehending a bit distant you,
I cease not to eliminate the lagging miles,
In contrast, you run away with a high velocity,
When exhausted me, settles to relax,
I realise your glance mocking at me,
It's like a funny circus,
My wisdom missing somewhere
And, desperate me, entertains you.
Originally published on blog Words of Anvi.
Somnolence of sweet dreams.
These are given to be most combustible or tranquil.
Taken them in midday and midnight flights.
These truly are a delicate delight.
Now, soaring adoring and affixed with inner might.
Mortals dream to release a dove or hawk tonight.
To be exercised is our inside plight.
We have been given grace, mercy and divine inspiration,
to surpass these extremities in life.
If, we do not defer hope, we are able
to elevate ourselves to greater heights.
We only being bound by Earth’s invisible
gravitational atmospheric rights.
I feel, I see, I live, and yet, still possible to die.
We have an ethereal essence;
ours is an entity of intrinsic light.
A spiritual immortality given us at birth with foresight.
Our future already written on invisible scrolls for us to recite.
There are angel allies traversing multiple dimensions
of time and space to unite.
Winged warriors warring and winning
a contested celestial battle and fight.
I do ride upon golden and platinum colored
feathered wings of a very large eagle this very night.
This to win the battle of the imagined Enkro land
most lethal of sites.
The morning time abruptly commence.
I realize that I had been dreaming, to be
awakened by the dawn's early bright rays
of the sun refreshing and renewing sunlight.
"Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews."
By: Miracle man
3-27-2020
Up Golgotha’s hill Jesus carried a cross,
to take upon himself all of mankind’s dross.
Thereby to be hung between two convicted thieves,
each Easter we hear the story His death leaves.
But this isn't where Jesus' story would stop,
the soldiers affixed a sign to the cross’ top.
Saying "Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews,"
He willingly was paying all mankind's dues.
Among themselves, His garments, then we're parted,
and each Easter, Christians celebrate, brokenhearted.
Lots were cast by soldiers, for his seamless robe,
now this occasion is remembered around the globe.