Long Ague Poems
Long Ague Poems. Below are the most popular long Ague by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ague poems by poem length and keyword.
Perhaps like a lightning
bolt of clear out of the blue
rigor mortis (tenon and
three decades hence)
two thousand fifty nine if you
count from January 13th 2019, adieu
attest that day 9 months I did brew
in wound (of the late Harriet Harris),
now finds me loved ones
crying boo hoo,
after this stiff mortal
Earthling bid toodle loo
with symbolic casket
(carrying cremated urn of ashes)
remembrance attended
by gentile and Jew
sharing positive memories purportedly
about this nondescript
fellow they knew
mainly indirectly, poignantly,
and wickedly shot thru
with his insightful humorous scribblings,
plus magnus opus titled
"How do ye do,"
an informal rambling missive bereft
of any subject and
devoid with little clue,
the purpose of said hefty tome
out weighing The Federalist circa: knew
lee after American independence
Papers, written by true
purrs under the pseudonym "Publius"
but great (as a great doorstop), or
alight as tinder for barbeque
since many admirers never
read his text written in Hebrew,
fluency acquired spending
final years he grew
old, since automatic citizenship
granted based on genetic goo
plus Mediterranean climate helped promote
longevity to century his health did hew
thus naturally pronounced philosophy,
where he drew
quite a wide web asper the many
claims Matthew Scott did eschew
to maintain longevity (more
quackery than science), but who
could dispute glorious
principles, not to poo poo
analogous to placebo effect
harmless fervent coping methods,
whether to cure ague
interestingly enough he cited ack hue
puncture for a gamut of physical ills
as well he did advocate chew
wing food (after taking small bites)
until mouthful became pulpy slew
(proponent of Fletcherism), this to
exercise dentures in addition
to maximize stew
pen diss experience of simple
routine eating view
wing thoroughly good (by George)
said quotidian activity grew
tubby spiritual, similarly basic
functions in general did get skew
ward whereby meditation on intrinsic,
metabolic and scholastic
processes to name a few
added a dimension of enhancement prior to
exiting life into frontier mortals can only rue.
An Unlively Very Stiff (upper Lip) Masquerade
(any resemblance between averred one laid
to rest and yours truly...purely coincidental
regarding unnamed person liberated
into heavenly glade!)
though innocently youthful looking air
at three score year,
or so the trumpeting "FAKE" mirrored reflection
(animated, sans Alexa) programmed tube lear
and spout, one most familiar Shakespeare
refrain (frequently misinterpreted) wherefore
art thou Romeo, really translates as
“Why did you have to be a Montague?”
no matter living to max,
I did not accrue
hoping to lyft mine uber last dying wish,
no matter body besotted, kissed,
and riddled with ague
spirit fights futile demise submerging
into bone a fied underworld brew,
any bargain exhausted with grim reaper
past hour to argue
lifelessness accorded ritual
traversing along deathly
other mortals traversed, paved,
and hallowed avenue
sudden agedness tolled
danse macabre league
with trumpeting battue
rigor mortis in toto
human flesh turned blue
oddly starved of wrinkles
thee only cherished clue
that perhaps...key expiration
coroner did misconstrue
bah...false alarm let somber retinue
solemnly proceed so poet can continue
pointless against corpse
dead letter diktat to counterargue,
nor against cosmic creator
can one countersue,
or expect miraculous success cue
wing sudden resurrection,
when biological processes
particularly brought to halt by dengue
fever, and rendering void
erroneous, unlikely mistaken
death sentence, hence sigh continue
and marvel quiet eternal repose
avails most pronounced distingue
lying in state (within coffin)
pulling out all stops
guaranteeing her/his endue
perhaps casket sealed with
decedent's favorite chiffon fondue
unsure what grim missing fate will ensue,
asper the (soul) surviving,
perhaps reincarnated within
commencement of fescue
as verdant leaves of
wit man ask grass
or if cremated...surely
spiritual embodiment freed thru flue
but no matter,
(je ne sais quois) glue
thee only I French I knew
before bidding dearly departed
may dog bless ye - adieu!
Robert Frost...A Reflection
No matter corporeal essence
of Robert Frost bid adieu
from temporal plain approximately
five and fifty plus years ague,
his rediscovered spiritual
omnipresence suffuses anew
mine gnarly feeble exegesis
denounce-able, deplorable,
and despicable hue
Morris legacy of Robert Frost, who
nonetheless (auld choke king aside)
doth rank as irreproachable amidst
pantheon of deceased
great poets, you
would agree, unless familiarity
already yar aware
how the New England vantage point
(approximately three quarters
of a century) in the past
his (WMGK) magic doth blare
infusing and injecting
a much needed cheer
full dose of dare...
ring ling lee, (I spout
je nais sais quois)
in my attempt
to be poetically debonair
(the only French known to me)
in an effort to endear
homage Robert Frost,
he whose flair
with words defy accolades
and brilliance doth glare
with blinding profundity here
to fore lamentable, impossible, and
feeble attempt to emulate,
a immortal one man brand
amidst pantheon of
August American poets,
the depth of,
his writings doth expand
lovingly justifiably ineluctably
historically gently fanned
this nonpareil poetic king,
whose status grand
which feeble, ignoble,
and laughable attempted hand
(spurred by facilitator
at "All Poetry" website) island
did this impossibly
elusive task, thus admit
admission aye feel duff feet head
to write letting words flit
to and fro, hither and yon,
that bind like true grit
with that esprit
de corps cerebral impact
that doth gently hit
ice suppose said task
would be a breeze to an Innit
where he/she,
would immediately synchronize
unlike myself, who whiz
not up to this task,
as yukon up prize
thy dog gone ruff hewn effort -
no (Chuck Norris) lies
attested as wretched - to by
any gallivanting guys
hence aye desperately axis allies!
Since advent of *****sapiens
objection overruled against immortality
all across millenniums humans
generated, amplified, and
idly reverberated (Billy me) rebel yell,
when finality 'twixt consciousness
eternal existence doth die as well
grievous news laudable hospice staff did tell
us (meaning yours truly plus
his deux darling siblings), I
in addition to older and younger sister,
thru passionate love making
intercourse did propel
seeds of life embarking
upon parent trap role
til sands of time did runneth out, and
for whom (him) the death knell
bell tolled, now funereal shroud covers dell.
Born April 9th, 1929 - Hebrew
ancestry papa never witnessed affection,
whereby his father - a liberal Jew
(mine paternal grandfather)
purportedly gave nary a blues clue
about welfare regarding youngest son
christened Boyce Brandon Harris,
who harbored quashed feelings
glommed like figurative ague
nsync with chowing down
into his esophageal flue
peristalsis allowing, enabling,
and providing gurgling goo
gull faintly sounding
to (my lard) Doctor Seuss
eerily similar to Horton hears a hoo
after milk (deciduous) teeth
gave way to papa's adult choppers
(by George), whereby
he could thoroughly chew
heavily saturated high caloric ethnic cuisine
(albeit American, Chinese,
and eats of ethnic Jew),
which high cholesterol comestibles
probably contributed to congestive heart failure,
now plaguing papa on his deathbed - loo
zing his tenuous grip on life,
where rigor mortis will find his body
chilled courtesy cold storage queue.
I feel sad today (September 29th, 2020)
and inconsolably weep,
cuz the man who helped beget me
after coroner pronounces
lovely bones lifeless heap
immediate fate most likely cremated
versus buried six feet deep
despite absence of his presence
cherished memories of his value,
yours truly will keep
plus recalling mine boyhood
chuck of full of bliss
particularly driving, fending, staving... off
bogeyman or any other menacing creep.
A fly and ant, upon a sunny bank,
Discuss'd the question of their rank.
'O Jupiter!' the former said,
'Can love of self so turn the head,
That one so mean and crawling,
And of so low a calling,
To boast equality shall dare
With me, the daughter of the air?
In palaces I am a guest,
And even at thy glorious feast.
Whene'er the people that adore thee
May immolate for thee a bullock,
I'm sure to taste the meat before thee.
Meanwhile this starveling, in her hillock,
Is living on some bit of straw
Which she has labour'd home to draw.
But tell me now, my little thing,
Do you camp ever on a king,
An emperor, or lady?
I do, and have full many a play-day
On fairest bosom of the fair,
And sport myself upon her hair.
Come now, my hearty, rack your brain
To make a case about your grain.'
'Well, have you done?' replied the ant.
'You enter palaces, I grant,
And for it get right soundly cursed.
Of sacrifices, rich and fat,
Your taste, quite likely, is the first;--
Are they the better off for that?
You enter with the holy train;
So enters many a wretch profane.
On heads of kings and asses you may squat;
Deny your vaunting I will not;
But well such impudence, I know,
Provokes a sometimes fatal blow.
The name in which your vanity delights
Is own'd as well by parasites,
And spies that die by ropes--as you soon will
By famine or by ague-chill,
When Phoebus goes to cheer
The other hemisphere,--
The very time to me most dear.
Not forced abroad to go
Through wind, and rain, and snow,
My summer's work I then enjoy,
And happily my mind employ,
From care by care exempted.
By which this truth I leave to you,
That by two sorts of glory we are tempted,
The false one and the true.
Work waits, time flies; adieu:--
This gabble does not fill
My granary or till.'
Jean de La Fontaine. Translated From French By Elizur Wright 1882.
Form:
Frenzied anguish precipitated Matt chew
Scott Harris, with
unrelenting, unescapable,
and unbearable despair, grew
wing by leaps and bounds,
which fraught gloom didst hew
mindset equalled nought
(Gordian knot) i.e.
zero ambition tubby
alive, and concomitantly
brought if only you knew,
wrought unbearable toxic brew
to pinpoint the exact clue
how being penniless I do
attest, this compounded zilch money
agonized by quite
a stack - more'n a few
monthly bills past due,
thus aye rue
min hated, the least loo
pee, and most painless
final solution of this Jew
wish atheist, (these
utterances absolutely true),
no "FAKE king," trump
petting, yawping foam
minted psychosomatic ague,
whereat mine mental state hue
mon gust lee off kilter,
with hum moo
zing thoughts of
palm lee strangling myself,
(or hiring sum
handsome fist responder to slew),
me the way - no
cho king) till I go
totally tubularly blue
in the face, em
barking on undo
wobble decision, said permanent
exodus from life,
this scribe dost view
as last saving grace,
this self woo
man eye zing,
(nada so amazing),
ye might poo poo
such drastic desperation,
non heroic measures stew
pa head and er ration
hubble grim foray
exacerbated predisposition
to panic/ anxiety attacks,
the alluring temptation
hi with Andy Lee drew
to bid bid adieu
to hard scrabble existence,
and in summer re: goo
winter becoming cremated powder,
(with urn nest to dog -
un woof hoot
table Sirius ness), wharf few
if any tsuris -
(Yiddish for aggravation),
NO ash lee zero distress,
would upend resting
in a bajillion pieces.
they would dice many a chive
by management me from da dive
apartments in hatfield in close proximity
to the bloody sorry fate
oof a von nee gutt
thar slaughter house five.
mine eyes saw gore
and remained fixated
orbital fixture
of poor creatures in a daze
sans reaction averting gaze
away from disgusting entrails
visible picture amidst the maze
of chutes and ladders
stepping on select
foursquare did raise
or lower (similar to an elevator)
but movable blocks
also went cross ways
oh, anyway, this reply
written by me - scott math u
passable poet tree - at most true
this email far ye to rue
these twisted sister strands
of pearl jammed zz topped
chromosomal strands being did hew
who only to five feet and ten inches grew
crafts, finesses,
indulges love of language
to prose from fingers flew
and writes poems
cawing all r e'en juiced
one angry emu
leaving her/his presents
custom made doo doo
per comprising a motley crue
of a family - pearl jammed color ague.
please rsvp asap via text
to me scott matthews my chosen ac/dc label
i.e. pleasure like rubbing against sable
create r hard woo n intimate scorpion fable
unless ja noah under me ma jib rush
like inxs o ruck kiss in tower o babe bull
by texting if willing, ready, eager and able
froom - - scotts matthew
who lives way off the mainline -
juiced about a few dirty dozen dancing deeds
done dirt cheap miles west of philadelphia,
and some ten miles east of king o prussia
pennsylvania who imagines your sultry skin
silkily soft as a lynx, pussy cat
rubbing against ma leg under da table.
Sent from my iPhone 456789
Mine defense weapon
of choice comprises
standing stock
(lock, and barrel)
still like a statue, who
would not budge if
someone yelled "BOO"
cuz fighting back,
he did not eschew
on account of, his being puny
like one Ninja Turtle moo
tint, and quiet as Hebrew
service, which cowardly
behavior admittedly learned
early in said life,
(no matter such much ado
about nothing smart
ting emotional, physical,
and/or spiritual issue
destructive coping method),
whiz not true
lee healthy, and really wanted
to tell bullies "eff u"
while smacking brutish and nasty
short haired gentile or Jew,
neither response employed,
since "scared lad" knew
no confidence to
put up hazardous dukes,
and land "scape
goat head kid"
matter of fact contributed
to setting moss psyche askew,
which trademark docile withdrawn
modus operandi did Matthew
Scott Harris, (this
wordsmith) more harm
than (Sherry Jones),
his first goo goo
doll (me, her close in age beau
kindergartner - same as him
more'n fifty plus years ague),
she lived near,
this present crotchety
ole Scrooge, when cute
as a button little boy,
he considered (second residence
after parents relocated
from Cincinnati, O hi you),
to a corner house -
adjacent to Daily's
Family motley
cutting (insults) crue
on Lantern Lane
(within the neighborhood
of Apple Valley, Pennsylvania)
unsure if this poe whet
tick sketch I drew
clear as mud in your view.
Each cherished memory of mine...cause iz woe
Analogous to unique ventifact for shore
and seven years ago,
where time and tide faintly roar
within noggin o'this common Joe
reviewing silent film unreleased,
unpopular, unimpressive tour
de force if technology existed
to broadcast and show
projected on big screen only
to elicit chore
tills whereby rotten tomatoes
lobbed accompanied by dough
less bro (i.e. an alter ego equally hoar
rubble at lifelong accomplishments), though
woke to awareness, whence
twilight years sped more
bajillion times faster than greased
lightning, when final adieu
will tide dully be high water mark
luke king point blank at poor
etch heave mints mostly
abysmally, equally,
pathetically barely drew
stick figures upon tabula rasa
mostly feeble scratches galore
looking at you
unknown reader, now
doddering, hobbling, loafing... ignore
rant of untold opportunities
(long fostered barnacle clad) view
wing gamut of healthy risk taking
avoidance in name of war
re: ness against challenging,
testing, upending... true
and tried loathsome
overstayed welcome, a deplore
hubble basket case squirreled
within bedroom, who
suffered rabid exhortations, objections,
ultimatums... told to shovel ordure
lack of gainful employment
beset courtesy a slew
of psychological mailer daemons
case closed by parental cloture
countless decades ague
reduced present fulfillment score
indelible bitterness toward
self confident self I never knew
afraid of doppelganger to
central processing unit silly con wayfair core.
Silly wisps of her raven hair flutter
In the winds of the long-short corridor of summer;
They snivel with the whims of cosseted sots,
Sinking in the futile harmony of winking beasts.
Pretty whiskers, soft with the ague of age, and lean
From frazzled grey.
A halo of white cotton crowns her fine dome, revealing little.
She paints the inky images of Al Hirschfeld —
Among whited, slit, black smuts needed for art’s emphases.
The greens of the season, lush and dreamy,
Stand witness before us two —I, limping hard
From the roasting east; she, from the broad
Corners of a lean north.
We meet at the navel of the earth.
She posts a reflection of a travelling zealot, dragged
By rains and heated sods.
She must have been weary with prayers and demented,
Silent laments, for her eyes bored into the fragile
Energy sifting itself from the raw power of NOW.
I follow her silent drama —less words and impaling stares.
Time stands still in all rural dumbness, with the checking hush of
The sacristy on wartimes.
Quiet reigns with the immortal grace of planarians.
A pound of silence sells with strident gavel-sound,
Hammered thickly on the floating beam of an unstinting market.
“Be healed”, she clamours,
Her long, bony fingers running up to her sinciput,
And quickly down to her chest.
Her voice is frozen —embalmed for life.
As she trudges on, words of the paternoster grease her tight
Lips, streaming with ease, like digitized lyrics, to my listening ears.
Amen!
I wish I had David’s lyre!