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.
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:
A ghostly shade of white that cloaks the ground
Of contoured guesswork and ominous mound
With flecks of skyward flakes tossed by the storm
That frost the gray, obscure the day and change its form
Observed within to look beyond a misted window pane
Into bitter extremities of ague and blaine
A snowbound silence that inhibits the soul
And uncertain depth that impedes all goals
Struggling iconic beauty that stealthily grows
Haphazardly drifting across the moors
Confining rugged scene of whitened dune
Snowbound and shackled this afternoon
To gaze and sit and reflect and ponder
The greenery beneath the shroud out yonder
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.
Musings on the façade of Seville Cathedral
How patiently they suffer, these old saints!
Their sandstone features, crumbled, vague,
some noses gone (some medieval ague,
or Time's cruel drip?) they offer no complaints.
Stranded seven centuries on this reef,
they bake, and wait resignedly, begowned,
for bell-tower shade slowly to inch around.
Do bas-reliefs experience relief?
This church was once a mosque. In point of fact,
the holy ancient venerable Gothic pile
(and here one struggles to suppress a smile)
has relatively recently been sacked,
and only lately put to Christian use.
These saintly faces, preternaturally mild -
do they still fret? Or are they reconciled
to slow decay, as hand or ear works loose?
And do they savour time as you or I,
observing how, below them in the street,
perukes give way to pony-tails and pleats?
Or do, for them, Septembers flicker by
like squandered seconds? Do they muse on Fate
and Destiny? What if my youth has gone?
What if this woman keeps me hanging on?
They also serve who only stand and wait.
Nameless nomad from nowhere needed nestling niche
Emotions enveloped evermore excitement exuberant
Vague venture veered on valiant venerable voyage
Ever eager to enter enticing enclave of enduring endearment
Recognized remote rhythm of romantic reverie in rippling rapture.
Life’s listless landscape lighted lunar luminosity lured by your lilac love
Evidently eager I’ll earn, emerge enamored at edge of ebullient ecstasy
To tread the twilight trail, travel to your tulip tinged turquoise terrace.
My mind marauding in mauve meadow murmurs don’t maroon me
Even if eroding emerald enchantment ever ends embedded in ember.
Glitzy green garden gone grey, growing gloom grabs, never let me go
Open obscure old orifice on orb, I’ll orbit out of oblivion owning you.
March 27, 2019
Contest : Pick A Title, Vol 3 Alliteration
Sponsor : Edward Ibeh
Title chosen : Never Let Me Go
(Idle musings on the facade of Seville Cathedral)
How patiently they suffer, these old saints!
Their sandstone features, crumbled, vague,
some noses gone (some medieval ague,
or Time's cruel drip?) they offer no complaints.
Stranded seven centuries on this reef,
they bake, and wait resignedly, begowned,
for bell-tower shade slowly to inch around.
Do bas-reliefs experience relief?
This church was once a mosque. In point of fact,
the holy ancient venerable Gothic pile
(and here one struggles to suppress a smile)
has relatively recently been sacked,
and only lately put to Christian use.
These saintly faces, preternaturally mild -
do they still fret? Or are they reconciled
to slow decay, as hand or ear works loose?
And do they savour time as you or I,
observing how, below them in the street,
perukes give way to pony-tails and pleats?
Or do, for them, Septembers flicker by
like squandered seconds? Do they muse on Fate
and Destiny? What if my youth has gone?
What if this woman keeps me hanging on?
They also serve who only stand and wait.
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.
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.
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!