Long Akimbo Poems
Long Akimbo Poems. Below are the most popular long Akimbo by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Akimbo poems by poem length and keyword.
The rain---sounds like catapults fired on our roof
drops like palm kernels---splash on the back cover
of our black pots, Stamping the roof like horse
galloping on a narrow bridge. Is it war ? we ask
ourselves. And its comes along with Jealous wind
beating trees to pulps. The plantain treesare no more
standing with their toes but lying belly faced to the
ground, the palm trees in razzmatazz dance to the
calypsos Of the wind their hips fixed but their hairs
swirls
The sound of the wind
plays the tune of an invincible piper who was well
paid and skillfully trained. The African rain Is like
a tornado sent by a weird mate to greet a foe his,
competitor So as to end the play of his dancers stop
the beat of his drums and gongs. On his feasting day
as he refuses to settle the ground
We in groups
of seven, eight, nine ten---at the heart of the town,
nooks and crannies and front of our compounds
with belly flashed open unto the maker chanting
poems in unison to tell how beautiful we love it
when it pours.
With sandy coloured panties,
we dance In ecstasies to the unrhythmic beat of
the rain drops, splashing dirty waters on each
other body parts a sign to depict our new happy
days ahead whoever misses out this fun is a loser
we dance dance!! dance!! and dance the winner
the best dancer Is carry on the shoulders with
awards of applauds and joyous loud wailing
calling loud his name in repetition.
At times we catch little fishes In the frontage
of our homes as the nearby rivers, and
streams overflow into the dirty clean streets
with drainages stock by polythene nylons---
and our joyful mothers, who sing songs of
melody In their heart for a heavenly pour
to greet their water pots for a cool drink,
are seated in poetic manner l while some
stand at akimbo thinks the disasters it
might cause them their roof to cure.
Usually at nights mother goes around
Our beautiful clayed hutmaking little
amendments to our brown blistered
basket
mouthed roof and the drops it had
sneaks through. And the prayers our
hearts we pray its rains no more---lets
little ocean is our comfort.
https://youtu.be/hdZqDP0vMfk
Maidens often tells me she love me,
But can that truly be?
One who does not to me respect show,
But always my ideas she akimbo.
I asked my duplicate,
Whether it's a thing of my fate.
"Can someone who loves you,
Show no respect to your rule?
Can one who loves you,
View you in your seriousness as fool?
Can one who bear your affection,
Often cause you variant infections.
If truly she loves; I qoute,
Then,does she always me wrong qoute?
When my abilities toss me to speak,
Then will her mockery raise to it's peak.
She'll often mock my ingenuity,
Which pierce into my versatality.
Does she really love?
Tell me,or does she want me like a whot
shove?
'Cos by all my intuity,
I can't trace the particles of love's
conformity.
Let say she disguises,
Must she take it too far to this phases?
My quest for her personality,
Is now melting down like a scorched lead.
Tell me,does she really loves me,
Or only enjoy my spirituality?
Tell me,Tell,Tell me
Tell me, Tell, Tell me
Tell me, Tell, Tell me
For i'm pressed and squeezed like a bill.
Does she feel so pompous,
That made her conceive that i wroth her
purse?
Does her beauty stir her so hardly,
That her aroma disguist my belly.
One who i bare sickness with,
One who i share illness with.
One who my heart travels to greet,
Every hour while on thought's street.
One who i persuade 'I AM' for,
Don't even care if i fall.
Should i believe them,
Or pluck my garment at its hem?
Cos my rein did wept,
And my affection forever crept.
In search of an abode,
That will be to her a Lord.
Should i say she's by jealousy toss?
Or methink her that i her friend toast*?
Tell me,Tell,Unveil to me,
For this no more a secret.
I made 'I AM' so compassionate,
To make her edified in faith.
My intestine fought with my worms,
For the course of this maiden's norms.
But here is the tragedy,
Nay,should i say Blessing?
For this maiden of which my mouth is fixed
on,
Is the bone of bone of which i'm loan.
This stamped me on the fence,
With no idea whether to stay or hence.
For yet my shout and screams,
And affection for her is still like the tree.
But here i don't know if she truly loves,
Or if she wants to give me to the fox.
like cataracts
on a grey old dog
a light fog lay over the low, amber moon
a stiff breeze blowing
but next to the ground only
so the layer of fog stayed put above
eerily ... hauntingly
I had walked the dirt road for miles
flat farmland stretching into the night
only one other barn had I seen in the last hours
crumbling into the October grasses
like salt into the sea
my car had broken down
but the weather being decent and only a few miles from destination
I had decided to walk it, but was getting weary
it came from behind, the voice
at first I thought I'd dreamed it, but ...
"I'm hungry" it whispered
clear as a fog horn despite the wind
I spun quickly, in reflex
for there had been nothing but corn stalks for miles
I looked - nothing there ... just corn
and the road fading into the darkness
I turned back around and continued my walk
"I'm hungry", again
whispered, yet unmistakable
I spun back, studying - just dead corn forever and ...
a scarecrow, between me and the moon, oddly
it wasn't there before, I thought, but I must have just missed it
in my own world walking ... thinking of home
it was an odd scarecrow, arms dangling in inhuman ways
pointed hat like a witch
face shielded in darkness
legs hanging backward and ...
did it MOVE??
that surely was my tired eyes, longing for sleep
better get going, thought I, so I started walking again
"I'm hungry!", again the ethereal but deadly clear voice
as though right beside me
I spun to it again, and nothing ...
then back to the moon and the scarecrow, only ...
the scarecrow ... was GONE ... just the four-by-four stake
where it used to hang, limbs akimbo
I picked up my pace, and after a while started to forget it
tired and weary, I just needed sleep, and passed it off as fatigue
thinking then of the warm hearth and bed awaiting me
how long it had been since I'd been home
how achy I was, how weary and hungry and ...
"I'm hungry!!"
that time it was in my ear and a growl ...
an evil, gut-tearing, hideous growl ...
I spun again ... just in time
to see the black, empty face
and the white, pointed, gnashing ...
teeth.
while atop the surface of planet Earth humanity
all abustle skittering
to and fro, hither and yon
engaged in self important activity yielding profits,
sans blood, sweat and tears won
full throttle industrial
manufacturers quaking unstoppably
only intermittently pausing,
where managers standing arms akimbo
asper quizzical looking hue cree ton
megaphone blaring orders to underlings
so "Boss" tweed can line pockets
for his/her daughter and/or son
Head Honcho most aggrieved,
when red ink doth run
undermining the bottom line,
thus farming out labor to distant places
(where wages amount
to pennies on the dollar)
locals such as Lake Woebegone, Qum, Timbuktu,
et cetera where pun
gnashing working conditions tantamount
to slave labor,
yet scare other options open
hence able bodied men,
women and children scramble,
despite back breaking grueling physically
exhausting grunt job accepting second to none
with nary any rest for weary
long as workweek includes a mon
day, where bloodied bare hands claw
purported Mother lode
with feigned frenzied zest
enterprise bolstered
via executive bank ministers
financing lucrative scheme
attended to by majordomo
attired in expensive vest
corporate investment project elicits
quaffing, imbibing, and chugging elixir
produced from heavily guarded recipe
qua electric kool aid acid test
where coeval business men/women rest
assured bonanza forecast upon
former green acres hiding treasured quest
marginally concerned such nettlesome
pillaging, ravaging, torturing ranks
wealth driven vanity as deleterious pest
shortsighted exploitation money making embarkation
glorified as investment nsync to feather nest
retirement funds despite leaving the environment messed
up, whereby future generations saddled with
poorly bandaging gentrifying, resuscitating
gaping wounds upon Gaia at best
shortening quality of life
for all (poetry) Earthlings aye attest.
( Do you have a favorite poem of your own that you love, but that few others seem to respond to? I have posted this here and elsewhere before, but only received one short comment in all that time. Still, it has an ambiguous story and bubbling darkness that I just adore! (And that 14-10 rhythm is a fav of mine). I hope someone will find it as fun as I do ... this time. ;o) )
~ ------------ ~
'Whatcha say we spin a jig?' She said from 'neath my tongue,
Her almond bittersweet the queried tang ...
So naught but few, the moments 'til my belfry's bell was rung,
And thus with such euphoric, sexy clang.
"Do the worst and mock, you beast!" I bellowed at the moon,
Now feeling quite as tho' I ruled the world ...
For I, Mad Molly's mournful feast, would feign her lover soon,
And off this craggy ledge, be gently hurled.
The surfy sirens, leagues below, were pounding with my guilt,
And screaming that my sacrifice should be
Mad Molly's choice and reckoning, for her's the heart 'twas jilt,
Her tempers raging stronger than the sea.
But she had promised me a dance, and I would not be spurned,
Thus twirling 'top those ledges like a fool ...
My arms and legs akimbo while I tossed and jigged and turned,
So soaking in the moon's pearlescent drool.
I danced with crazed abandon, as Mad Molly laughed and cried,
Each dark regret and demon bleeding free ...
But I couldn't blame her anymore, for how I'd sinned and lied,
'Twas time those hells be given to the sea ...
"I hate you through, but love you more, Mad Molly," I'd begun,
The surging surf below, did plead and roil ...
"Please, kiss me deep now, Molly, for our time on earth is done!"
Then off we waltzed ... into the mortal coil.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand Select 9, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
("Molly" is the street name for 3, 4-Methylenedioxymethamphetamine, or "Ecstasy", C11 H15 NO2)
From dusk to dawn
Sunrise to sundown
This I will never forget
Your kisses that always left me in a comfort
And a bliss that no grief could ever secrete
A mile-wide-smile and sweet
That never deserted your cheeks
Your submissiveness
When my stomach would rumble
How you would enable my aptitudes
And change my ill attitudes
And fashion my self-esteem
Not to be the next awaited victim
Under any state of affairs
You reduced yourself down to zero
But to me you were still a hero
Jointly we went outdoors and out
And more often than not
We would go up the hills
And lean idly upon the walls
You were my physician
Upon all signs of hypochondria
You were a mother superior
You did the whole in a real thrill
You were to me mother-of-pearl
People said, "too much sweet cloys"
But your love to me grew bold in all ways
Now and then I never thought
Life could bring in me a heart-strife
And put a blot of blood on my ecstasy
I recall one day I stood neighboring you
With my two hands akimbo
It was the nightfall of the 16th July
My tongue had stranded on its pivots
My mouth was kept mum
So were my tryouts
To keep you from shutting those eyes
I asked myself so many whys
I stretched my eyes to see if it was a lie
Only to hurt them and find I couldn't deny
That I was left a flag without a pole
And like a shoe without a sole
Or like a worker denied a dole
In my heart there was now a hole
Life turned a wound that hurt
I got myself caught up in a mesh
Like a fishbone stuck in my throat
I never thought
Life could be so dicey
I was blind at the outset now I see
This life will never set me free
In every breath I'll pay a huge fee
For my blameworthy breakthroughs
Still death split people into twos
The worldly and the heavenly
The lonely and the heavenly
Mothers gone, children left odd socks
Little strokes fell great oaks
In my life time and hereafter
As long as eyes can see, mouths can utter
From side to another, below to above
There has never been a heartfelt love
Like yours to me
Or whose love that can be?
Let’s go skiing ! Said my wife
It gives you such a thrill
So off we flew to Canada
To face the bitter chill
We took a bus from Calgary
To Banff’s National park
Found our hotel, went to bed
To get up with the lark
I brought a bright red jacket
My mate Stuart let me borrow
I thought at least I’ll look the part
When I hit the slopes tomorrow….
In the bright blue morning
I went to hire some skis
And boots that felt like concrete
I could hardly bend my knees
The minibus dropped us off
By a mud stained snowy drift
My wife said “ I’ll get the passes”
Just go meet me by the lift “
A group of red faced skiers
Were gathering in a throng
To sit on a revolving seat
That didn’t stop to let you on.
“I cannot get on that” I said
As I stared in disbelief
With slats of wood upon my feet
I knew I’d come to grief
“Come on Mike” my dear wife said,
You’ll be fine once you get on
So I stood as was directed
Then “whoosh” and I was gone
Hands gripped round the safety bar
As we rocked on metal ropes
Thinking “how will I get off this thing
When we reach the nursery slopes ? “
The chair in front began to slow
I heard their bar go “clunk”
They deftly skied away with ease
While I prepared to flunk
I ejected from my seat
To a ramp of icy snow
I soon was sliding on my back
With both legs akimbo.
Sailing down the green runs
My instructor in a strop
Kept telling me to slow down
But I didn’t know how to stop
I saw some awesome sights
I learnt the “pizza” wedge
I heard a muffled scream
When a friend slid of the edge
I lasted just three days
Till we skied toward lake Louise
I handed in my ski poles
When I couldn’t feel my knees
Time to sample “Apres Ski”
In my warm, hotel retreat
Dipping bread in fondue
Was much more up my street
While My wife “carved the powder”
Meandering with such skill,
I rubbed ointment on my kneecaps
And took a pain reducing pill.
I would not trade these memories
I will treasure them for life
I am not built to be a skier
But thank you my dear wife !
A chimney on a low rise standing sentinel
On the loosely scattered outskirts of town.
A reminder of an old house built by hand,
The home around the hearth long fallen down.
The silvery frost covering the remnants
Of the old broken place spilled on the ground,
No room hereabouts for cheap sentiment,
It’s bleached broken bones now earthward bound.
Wandering through someone else’s ruins
My imagination starts to take hold.
Discovering relics from times long since past,
Anonymous, broken, rusted and old.
I spy a grand old wood fired oven’s legs
Sprawled akimbo all four across the floor.
With its door ajar and enamel cracked,
It’ll provide them warmth and food no more.
The floorboards cling to the twisted bearers,
Bleached pine timbers cracked, warped and twisted.
Only wind swept and no longer mopped with pride,
Their gaps now hide rabbits no longer hunted.
Amongst the wooden wreckage lay scattered
Shards of brilliant and broken lead stained glass.
Elegant reminders of another time
when no-one thought this would come to pass.
A time when the front door was always open
And the pine rafters inside rang with life.
When a family filled the space with laughter
And gathered at the hearth in times of strife.
A battered and blackened iron pot upturned,
Rusted holes, cracked and weathered through.
It’ll never again be used to boil up
A feed of mouth watering mutton stew.
Handles, hinges, bolts and rusty nails too,
Lay in abandonment across the grounds.
The daffodils, jonquils and geraniums,
Now foreign to the garden’s new surrounds.
An aching head betrays a tired sadness
At forgotten scenes of decay and neglect.
Ignorant passers by cause me to wince,
As on this families history I reflect.
This one too from our sight they’ll soon remove
As progresses heavy capped boots march in.
The suburbs swallowing up our old farms,
As new histories in new houses begin.
I’ve come across many such sites of times past
As around the back blocks I’ve wandered.
If your eyes were open you’ll have seen them,
But do you care for our heritage squandered?
Retrieved Passage 3:
From The Book of Days, Sonnet 2
For Lo! I must relate this tome to you
who gather here to listen and believe
to tell the story I believe is true
before my sanity (BARK!) takes its leave.
The Spuds in Exile traversed the terrain
wearing long dresses of the fine-spun silk
all travelling by sedan car and train
with their bright ears fresh-bathed in llama milk
and (UUUURRRGGHHH!!) such necklaces as seldom seen
made of gold-plated prunes and aubergines
graced the neck-less heads of brown and green
of these arcane potato libertines.
And (WOOF!) soon you must go and leave me here
for my time of insanity is near.
Retrieved Passage 4:
A Running Transformathon
Mutation comes: hair after little spiny hair
appears on palms and small akimbo knees
and he is wont to don dark leather underwear
and mumble backwards in dour blasphemies
The beer flows, the cape swirls, the spud appears
grinning like a satyr in the dark
with twin horns standing up like stabbing tuber spears
he's poised to lope and gibber in the park
Mutation comes: the cycle goes and comes again
when the moon's bright halo lights the sky
the spud goes skinny-dancing at your window pane
and howls along with every mad dog's cry.
Retrieved Passage 5:
Revenge of The Jelly Men
I dreamed a dream,
screamed a scream,
a vocal vent of pain:
the Jelly Men are coming
to find me here again!
They are coming slow and stealthy,
they are coming with blancmange,
they are coming back to pelt me
with a stale Victoria sponge.
I see the day
fade away
to all-consuming black;
the Jelly Men are coming
in dark, deadly attack!
with their moaning and their howling
and their teeth fiercely displayed,
and their custard dogs slow-prowling
in the sleepless, shifting shade.
A sound of drums,
the tyrant comes,
on legs covered in hair!
The Jelly Men are coming
with their dark, demented stare!
I will lash them with strong cable,
I will fight them fearlessly,
I am here under the table
merely out of strategy.
no one saw it coming they never do
the phone poles were giving off sparks
dogs began to howl birds flocked to the sky
A Plymouth hubcap of immense proportions
quivered and droned in the air over the capitol
television screens from one coast to the other
blinked and flashed and sputtered in unison
two fetus-headed visitors from the vast starry ocean
floated to the ground in a lime green light beam
introduced themselves as Hoo and Watt
then performed an Abbot and Costello baseball skit
we bring humanity a gift in a box with a message
if you open the box and read the words writ within
you must under threat of annihilation do what it says
you can confer and decide we'll know if you peek
a murmur of animated if disorderly consternation
rippled menacingly through the assembled delegates
if we read the message it could mean slavery
went one side and began arming themselves
it is but a message how malevolent can that be
went the other side who were of a trusting nature
and began calling their investment bankers
as the great spinning hubcap lit like a jukebox
hummed up and away through the clouds
but back on the surface ripples of disquiet deluged
conditions grew tense fires were set mail was stolen
the metal box hovered mutely in the rotunda
giving off the smell of jungle gardenias
women fainted children giggled and pointed
dogs barked and humped one another
ears back tongues akimbo butt to butt
we must read the message it is salvation
we must not read the message it is tyranny
it was a quandary that spanned the plantations
and spread a paroxysmal miasma across the land
the musts and cants mud wrestled through the night
the great rotunda heaved and rattled
eyeballs were gouged tufts of hair unmoored
the bedlam reached a crescendo of exhaustion
fatigue at last brought silence and reflection
the jaw grinding impasse had lasted weeks
vultures circled plaster fell from ceilings
then a small voice from the back of the throng
a cheeky tousle haired lad blurted bravely
flip a coin
(to be continued)