Long Affright Poems
Long Affright Poems. Below are the most popular long Affright by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Affright poems by poem length and keyword.
I can never comply with fastidious hygiene
Try as thee most persuasive person might,
he/him, she/her,
they, them... can never wean
yours truly always objected
being told when to bathe/shower
particularly when puberty
found yours truly a tween
and my mother (deceased eighteen
plus years - sess her bowl),
she exerted authority
and told her "take a bath,
or no supper"
analogous to a queen,
strict disciplinarian to boot
who wedded her king
(my late father) at age nineteen
the latter (day saint) quite keen
nevertheless both experienced
love towards each other
and tricked out their progeny
(myself included) with halloween
getup, I vaguely recall Amelie Beth
(their eldest daughter -
older sister of mine)
donned as an angel
lighting up night sky, an empyrean
permanent heavenly fixture
popular through Byzantine
epoch, which blinded
her brother (me),
cuz yours truly, the devil in disguise.
Here I sit scores of decades
now edging closer to the edge of night,
and approaching those twilight years
remembering protesting vehemently
(way past the bewitching hour)
not wanting to wash myself
in the tub (water frigid cold), I write
how mother dearest,
whose presence I wanted to smite
this puny progeny
grappling as a neophyte
whose Lilliputian stature
(when a prepubescent)
a over five feet in height
who when constantly
teased courtesy bullies
ran back to ma mommy
whose son totally affright.
If employed in social services field, why
the above might justifiably
smack of insubordination
hashtagging me as Pigpen thereby
wharf fare prompting me
to cleanse myself diving off a Quai
in an effort for Peanuts gallery
to accept yours truly well nigh
but unfortunately
getting mistakenly captured
as a prisoner of war
forced by Japanese to construct
two parallel bridges spanning
the river Kwai
as part of Burma Railway,
also called the Death Railway,
for the many lives
lost in its construction,
but my daring do,
(and boyish good looks)
found yours truly
whisked away to the island of Hawaii,
where hula dancers
choreographed, entranced, and finessed
their seductive routines
a native lass smitten courtesy
one wily word wizard
whose courage bucked up
after munching powder milk biscuits
taken as mistress
helped beget our daughter,
who became apple of mine eye.
I admit tubby distracted by a modeling
female physique when attempting to write,
an aching agony rips thru this son,
gripping with hard on – tight -
by Dickens constricting sensation,
who orbited the sun LX times
coon sitters himself heterosexual male,
where slumbering testosterone forces unite,
no matter my libido feels
deadened, this despite
the above mentioned
asthma ordinary devoid sexual drive,
when these eyes (brown and myopic) sight
even just a picture
oven an attractive gal fanciful flight
evokes dormant longings
crashing thru concentration
without any invite
sparring dueling animal urge,
I know ain't right
since being married,
and all (witches nothing to celibate)
boot even if aye hapt tubby
dim witted with cerebral blight
prurient predilections, would
nonetheless prevail causing affright,
whereby the photographed lovely lady
dashes out like shuttered image,
though only so few inches in height,
would make a bee line into an
unreachable cubbyhole,
not totally airtight
just enough breathing room
to await darkening hour of night
than with lightspeed akin to meteorite
off into the farther reaches with a blink quite
invisible this quasi
holographic like pseudo sprite
leaves yours truly in the lurch ignite
ting a supposed sexual propensity gone cold
nay, no can do, cuz
untethered high as a kite
electrifying animal desire forced to bite
the dust, though thankfully concupiscent pang
ordinarily not the least bit aroused, aye attest
nope, not lascivious provocative
Barenaked Ladies can NOT excite
an older fellow, whose adolescent body
seethed with hormonal secretion,
and any pretty young thang did alight
a stick up between still skinny legs,
hence people watching
(particularly gals), a birthright
even migrant and/or
teenage mutant ninja turtle doth delight
tool hook, but NOT touch
most times an effortless fight,
yet every once in a while atavistic
pulsations, asper call
of the wild bobwhite
overrides instagramming, snapchatting,
and twittering uber with such might
even erupting sexless interludes of eunuch
or "FAKE" shining knight
chess moonlighting also as “FAKE” playwright,
hence if perchance a beauty catches me sight
lack of youth in your favor
from my penitent penile plight!
O some day to come, it may be that time will bury my memory deep as the hidden sleep of those who lie in some forgotten churchyard;
but my judgment is that the future holds for me a fadeless crown of amaranth and gold.
O thou Anonymous Reader, when I, a bard whose graces are plenteous, and has a memory like the British Museum Library, and its material arranged as orderly,
When I, a bard, whose words sunset burst upon them with a variety of forms and colors like those the Divine Artist throws upon the evening sky : they are matchless words on birds and flowers and trees,
“Indeed no poet has given us more Nature poetry than he. In it all, one who reads is astonished at his wealth of simile and metaphors, at the music of his lines and the cooling freshness that delights on every page.” says the Scribes of Thebes, the men of the Scrolls of the Elders, the cavemen and Shamans.
When, I, a bard whose lyrics awakens the response in a common man’s breast, and makes him feel stronger for the day’s work and superior to the day’s faults and failures,
Strives in vain, to share my Art’s disgrace
And then I die like the unknown hero in silent rank beside my passion at the birth of dawn,
Without a wreath of laurel for a nation’s thanks,
You O Anonymous Reader, might have a careless glance upon my works!
So then, my dear reader, listen to my far-off call:
For thy sake I sit in the garden of books mating pen and paper with muse just so I could create a piece in our own image by weaving letters into words and words into figurative languages.
And now here it is, the broken thing, the created piece, happily waiting to be read but breathes in nostalgia like a patient peasant, suffering scorn and wrong, to labor in his people.
Why, O Anonymous Reader, do you make critics wonder why the skillful lowly bards write and write when no one seems to read,
When Fame and Success still refuse veneration,
And when the world gives but a wreath of weed?
O pity for thy writers show! When will thou appreciate the work of the ink?
So I may sleep a sleep remorse cannot affright ?
~Jamuel Yaw Asare
Like a thief he passed out of sight
Through the dark shadow of night
All the animals are affright
As he hunts on moonlight
Take flight in the night!
To kill is his delight
Though it puts up no fight
All the animal’s fly-by-night,
to hide way out of his sight
Take flight in the night!
O little white hare
Beware! Beware!
Take care my little hare,
That tonight you’re not dared
Beware my little hare!
Take flight in the night O moose
Don’t get caught in this hunter’s noose
Fly as fast and as far as a goose
For your sake vamoose
Take flight in the night moose
Take flight in the night O bear
Take care to avoid his snare
Don’t despair beware!
O little bear beware
Take flight in the night bear
The wolf is whom I say
His coat is silver, yellow and grey
When you hear him call run far away
Don’t hesitate or stay
Take flight in the night.
We are the children of time
That big round clock
Arms like arrows
Not a minute to be wasted
In this precious cycle
Of ambition
We succeed
While hearts bleed
Yet we go on and on.
Growing up isn't tough
Mature before puberty
Nature versus nurture
A mind like ours is never a child
We are born fighters
Running full speed
Living the modern life 24*7.
Childhood was no fairytale
Education only for the male
Running the household
Responsibility of the female.
Every mark mattered
Couldn't afford to fail
We had dreams to go to Yale
Lopsided economies of scale.
Never heard a nursery rhyme
Anything but calculus was a crime
Professors of arts and humanities
Never earned a dime.
Peter Pan a fantasy
Charlie's chocolates a forbidden ecstacy
Mowgli a triviality
Winnie the Pooh served no practicality.
Industrious (child) laborers like us
Live in a world of reality
Where domestic violence is a commonality
Amidst high infant mortality.
Basic necessities are scarce
All the money gobbled up
By the fatty Babu's of
Our royal municipality.
Nasty neighborhood to live in
Mass murders ain't a confidentiality
Mafia's rewarded for their masculinity
No individuality
Fear of homosexuality.
Dreaming dreams do no harm
Waking up punched in the stomach
Not aided by an alarm
Learning to shoot a gun before ABC
My basti had no dearth of firearm
Attracting pity is our only charm.
Working day and night
50 rupees a month
One meal a day
Is our only right
Reading by the moonlight
Whenever free
If caught dozing off
Whipped brutally by the underdog
A terrible affright
No FIRs for our measly plight
To get out of that clumsy area
Is a dream a come true
But every Chotu
Doesn't have a happy ending.
When you are but a mule
A tiny part of a big racket
Any wrong move
And you are smashed like a bee
Slammed like a fist
Held in a cage
Anything but flying free.
Gaining independence is rare
Thinking of freedom a dare
Every chaiwala ain't no
Slumdog millionaire.
Time bracketed between
December first nineteen fifty nine and
December first two thousand twenty three
represents sixty six orbitz
one prized Earthling
named Amélie Beth Harris-McGeehan
completed round the sun.
About half her life linkedin
with spousal enrichment,
(while hunkered down livingsocial
in Woodbury, New Jersey),
hence the hyphenated married name.
Though said endearing eldest sister
approximately thirteen plus months my senior,
ofttimes during mein kampf,
she displayed maternal (motherly) mien.
Back during mine boyhood
dark shadows along the edge of night
(emanating from outer limits
of the twilight zone)
spooked me to flinch
as did appearance
of the boogeyman induce affright
only exacerbated my delicate mental health
punctuated psyche of mine
with disequilibrium psycho-social blight
above named sibling a protector I cite
twilled me in the valley
of love and delight,
an emotional refuge rescued sought
deliverance from anguish
loving succor proffered
peace upon mine body, mind, and soul,
she did immediately expedite
warming cockles of me heart
analogous to affecting, creating,
forging, jumpstarting, offering, and ushering
ideal paradise island temperature
if measured by degrees balmy fahrenheit
pointing, revealing, shining,
and training a guiding-light
unafraid to defend diminutive
docile, inordinately meek brother,
when threatened courtesy bullies
that significantly towered over mine
below average stature height
a measly little skinny, yet zany
(when within comfort of home) lad
naively oblivious to our mother,
when her first born daughter dynamic,
especially smoldering contention
kindled figurative tinder, which squabble
escalated in intensity
sparking vehement feud to ignite
loosing volatile verbal exchange
triggering The Emergency Alert System
to issue warning
lest clear and present danger
(at 324 Level Road)
recorded in history books
licking, overshadowing, rivaling,
and undermining revolution
kickstarted and hashtagged as Jacobite.
It’s over! Is your last sentence and final sentence.
You accused me of pushing you through the edges
Every time you’re giving up, I make a new entrance
Every steps closer is ruined by a thousand wedges
To remove my skeletons you need a stronger dredge
You tired of trying and overlooking my hawthorn hedge
In my vulnerability my guards are up or so you allege
My impenetrable walls constantly keep you up at night
You are done and you refuse to do one more pledge
You said it: the grasp of my past still hold me tight
Your eyes and your kisses melt away my prudence
Each touch makes me want to skip too many bridges
All these walls built for a better and stronger resistance
Your wit lightened my days and remove my trudges
Your smile lessen pains that I have yet to acknowledge
In your arms there's no doubt and no unwanted gledge
Your heat consumed me but don’t remove my privilege
Yet every time you step too close to my heart, I flight
Even when I know the pain instilled cut like razor-edge
Yes again: the grasp of my past is still a stronger fright
I have experienced the youthful and joyful exuberance
The blissful impudence pushing to take on Everest’s ridges
I’ve repeatedly been through the high of new romance
It always ended up in dysfunctional and painful smidges.
Each time my heart is abandoned like a broken sledge
So I can’t stop wondering if that soul willingly impledged
Isn’t a phantom of my past pushing me over one more ledge
For I have met you in another pretty face and amazing sight
But I was left with pain and unhealable scars, I acknowledge
You are right: the wounds of my past sill hold me in affright.
I can’t promise a better tomorrow without yesterday’s edge
I can’t crumple the walls that have worked to my advantage
But if you take me through the steps I’ll make it thru the night
I’ll follow your lead step by step, I know you and I can manage
Maybe the love in your eyes is enough to bring me to daylight.
Painful self actualization
quickly brights to light
paltry reasons (with or
without rhyme) a desolate sight
within blinkered mindseye hindsight
grotesque grimace shocks with affright
desolate landscape
precipitated when airtight
vacuum sealed sequestered,
muckraked, furloughed...
which past existence now doth bite
back with a vengeance more agonizing
than any imaginable plight
feeble effort thru poetry
to portray psychological bombsight
cathartic, emetic, pathetic... ejection
minus (all gore rhythm)
red tattered torn flesh ala bullfight,
vigil held under
deathly hallowed candlelight
lack of living will trumped right
against autopsy, eh
scant material worth any copyright
deceased did request mourners
to revel in daylight
of life (l'chaim) delight
within simple pleasures downright
unfettered, yet respectful
of self and others fight
for peace with strong lanced arms,
yet...shy away from fistfight
while standing firm
on righteous ground,
versus passively taking flight
modestly acknowledge accomplishments,
sans reflection initial birthed floodlight
ideally rejoice asper positive contribution
within webbed, wide world despite
shortcomings vis a vis height
insight, might,... dismissing as trite
customary, healthy, quality traits
sustaining virtuous yeast
leavening kindled hindsight
carried into darkness of afterlife
soul asylum void of oblivion
analogous to eternal midnight,
where surviving kin begat,
viz biological millwright,
which sunny daughters
became darling lasses overnight
I ask do not weep, nor mourn,
neither heap exaggerated flattery, quite
upon the head of
this beastly boyish sight,
whose dying wish
expansive though slight
points to stopping for persons white
red, brown, black...since one's birth
until...final seconds usher
mortal into twilight!
Florence hydra logical might -
tee pseudo tentacles, monstrous sight
didst bring watery plight,
deluge rivaling Noah - bliss oblige
epic flood of biblical
proportions, downright
terrible, re:, a drowning egregious fright
ten ning (in contest
able uber catastrophe) - Don know why
das trumpeting spare none, tossing,
pitching, and lap
ping blithely alight
ting across geography of thee
Old North State leaving affright
full trail of destruction, (envied by
the ghost of General
William Tecumseh Sherman),
he no match, where battling
mortal men didst bite
the bullet outflanked,
sans doodling Yankees topflight
capstone march to the sea,
then touted as outright
masterful stroke, asper,
turning tide of historical Civil war,
which swath of indiscriminate overnight
destruction in tandem
followed his Georgia quick step,
successful Atlanta battle, fight
ten, which campaign
rendered victory in sight
Union accorded devastated country
as winning booty, viz prizefight
ting champions clearly, grimly,
and lamentably plunged
once promisingly emergent
then vanquished Confederacy
with defeat written
in figurative bombsight,
qua Rebels surrendering
at lanced armstrong
rapier pointed to Appomattox Court House
original United States territory
initially indigenous copyright,
stolen, whence ark enemy
routed, killed, and decimated
blood brethren human kind -
versus present natural disaster
no matter meteorologists foresight,
nonetheless horrendously cruel debacle
crushing The Tar Heel state
trouncing analogously
as aqueous blight
damn hellacious sight
tropical storm forcibly reclaiming
visa vis re...
In the spring of 1880 young Clifford Griffin immigrated from England to Colorado.
The death of his fiancee left him bereft and he was searchin' for his El Dorado.
He settled in Silver Plume where he and his brother bought the Seven Thirty Mine.
Clifford and his brother Heneage became very rich from ore that assayed very fine!
With all his riches, Clifford chose to live in his lonely cabin above the town.
His only companion was his treasured violin which he played with some renown!
His melancholy melodies wafted down from his mountain aerie 'most every night,
To be heard by the whiskey-guzzlin' hard-scrabble miners to their delight!
Clifford always dressed in black, enjoyed fine cigars and was quite the dashin' bloke!
He seemed content with his solitary life and in business was as solid as an oak!
Alas, death cast its gloomy pall high above Silver Plume one moonlit night.
Instead of sweet violin music, a single shot was heard that left the town affright!
Next morn his mortal remains were found in a grave he'd dug for himself alone.
His heart-broken brother found the pistol with which his brains he had blown.
A grand monument was erected atop the mountain just above Silver Plume,
At the very spot where Clifford lay midst the ponderosa and Columbine bloom!
Mysterious events now occur on that lonely mountainside accordin' to local lore!
'Tis said on moonlit nights sad violin music is heard below on the valley floor!
Folks have seen a black-clad phantom smokin' a cigar and drawin' a bow,
Playin' melancholy music and a wraith in Clifford's likeness a-swayin' to and fro!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Entry for Carol Eastman's "Story Poem" Contest