Long Allegory Poems
Long Allegory Poems. Below are the most popular long Allegory by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Allegory poems by poem length and keyword.
Is that you there
I recognize that stair
Those eyes of a faraway dream
Fancy seeing you here, on this twilight day
While walking along this
Sterile bay…
Just watching the glassy water
Reflecting, this twilight day
A great time to be out
No fear of the burn
Of a tyrannical sun
A nice balance of shadows
Light, a gray twilight day?
Where we are safe, I must say...
Yes you know, oh and by and by...
The way my hunger is at bay
If only under tremendous pain
But the fiery veins of your neck call
My hunger needs but, I must keep and only, tip
My hat n walk away in this twilight day
Nice to see you n your lovely wife
She could be a treat tasty, fresh a delight
But I can wait for the shadows to play
I may come to visit for tea, a bite? Ha!
Too right! Don’t take stock in that crucifix...
So ironic don’t you think, but quite now
Listen, I must think...of the conflicts
Do you hear the sweet sounds of the doomed
The howls of the wild beasts
The music from the holly cost?
The infernal and the damned...SOON!
Well? Until til we meet again in these twilight days
This delicate gray light of doom
Ash drifting in strange currents
As I will dine on your fears
Drink your moral tears
And bath in your life
So un-till then, may me meet again
During the grey noon!
And dine on the lives of the insanity
Welcome to this twilight light
This time between frozen realities
On the fringes of forever and ever
As we sit in this doom light
Of proto-apocalypse
So hello, here you are witnessing the eclipse
I recognize that stair, those eyes of far, far away dreams,
Fancy seeing you there, on this twilight day
While walking along this sterile bay,
Just watching the glassy water reflecting
This twilight day is a great time
To be out, don’t you think? No! Not the crucifix
No tyrannical sun burning...no conflicts
Nothing to fear but the turning...
Only, going blind
in the grey night
of twilight!
Lunatic Lunacy
Let there be no doubt—the human mind is a curious
and most fragile entity in and of itself in all situations.
The border line between sanity and lunacy speaks to
the fate that some of us in our mortal world must face.
A troubled spirit, by the very hand and intent of God,
speaks to a cruelty that’s not worthy of the Almighty.
A nibbled mind over time may reveal a state of true
insanity that speaks to and reveals a human tragedy.
The state of human lunacy gives our white-coated
doctors something to ponder in this so crazy world.
A lunatic may indeed suffer from a state of incurable
lunacy—yet, no wonder, look at the world we live in.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
June 6, 2021 (Couplet)
The chameleon shuddered profusely,
It had never climbed to the top of a sky scraper before,
The melanin refused to scatter,
It could not make up its mind:
To take after the blue of the sky?
Or to be grey...
Every morning it felt the sunshine gold,
Caressing the slippery unevenness
Like the first waterfall down a nascent hill,
Stealthily through promenades,
And shrieking ladies on the way,
It reached the flies' humdrum festival
On a gloomy velvet cynosure of rejection from the other world.
That day, from the branch it saw the reflection of serenity,
And while it slithered through coffee machine conversations,
Geriatric glasses emanating dismay,
Fervid love affairs,
And lonely, revamped furniture
It reached the zenith of monotone,
Yet either of the eyes revolved unheeding cadence.
The journey had been iridescent,
And the Wind was colourless,
So even though it swayed in harmony with Her,
It didn't know what to be...
And it didn't know how to sprinkle white,
If mimicked the sky,
And so it became grey again,
Like on the trees,
And every dawn.
Woe Be Not Unto We
In This New Staged Reality
Despair sought a captive audience;
Hope showed up instead.
Faith handed out flyers. And
She gave grab bags for free courage.
Remembrance was the opening act;
His recall loaded with ‘That’s A Fact!”
The blood of memory flowed over:
We’ve survived 400 years of slavery.
The blood of memory flowed over:
We’ve survived the hanging of strange fruits.
The blood of memory flowed over:
We’ve survived KKK burnings.
The blood of memory flowed over:
We have survived the jim crow droppings.
The blood of memory flowed over:
We’ve survived unjust shoot downs.
The blood flow of memory flowed over: Yes!
We have survived all debilitations injected on us.
Intermission has come and gone;
Veil curtains have opened on Act Two.
The stage has now been set. And
Shakespeare has duly been put to shame.
The new tragedy is merely an old reality.
And we’ll survive this ‘trumpt-up’ eddy too!
The curtains will close again;
But it’s not the end.
Remember, workers die;
But the work goes on.
Survive, we always have;
Survive, we always will.
The reality show is over;
Wipe away the laughing tears.
Get up, grab your grab bag. And
Let’s get back to work!
If there be any virtue
In all this—please think on it!
Not I, not me, uh uh, not true,
I own no Sharpies in black nor blue,
I’m sure I’m right, the chart was clear,
Dorian’s path to Alabama’s near.
The media cries I made it up,
I drew the lines right on the map;
How dare they say such lies so mean,
My words are gold, my conscience clean.
These folks do whine, they rant and rave,
To score some points they sorely crave,
Yet all they do time and again,
So well reminds of a cackling hen.
If there’s an expert that’s so me,
No-one quite sees the things I see,
Wind direction that’s my hat,
Great golfers know precisely that.
And if the storm went up the coast,
That too should earn me one loud toast,
I channeled prayers from all around,
To have it miss that Rebel ground.
The South’s my turf, I like those folks,
A land of dreamers full of hopes,
I have their vote, undying love,
Hence why I gave this thing a shove.
Towards New York, that den of thieves,
Spreading untruths like falling leaves,
Let them delight in Natures wrath,
Rewarding me with one great laugh.
In the winter I realize
I became a cat moving from one cozy spot to the next.
I stretch and lay.
I watch the snowfall and play as it drifts in the chilly winds.
The fire snaps, with a gentle blaze.
Embers sturs.
The tree lights are all aflame.
I feel like a cat moving from one cozy spot
to the next cozy spot,
from one moment to the next.
I hear the wind rushing the eves.
The rustling of dead leaves.
Memories.
In winter I realize I become a cat.
I move from one place to the next,
one cozy spot to the next.
From the bed to the couch,
in front of the fireplace
or in front of a window sill.
I stretch and watch the day.
Wax and wane.
I watch the snowfall,
play as it drifts in the icy winds.
Wrapped in blankets and with hot
coffee or cocoa, it all depends.
The moon eyed the sun with consummate glee,
You think you’re so great and yet you can’t see
That I am the one to block out your light,
A fact you can’t doubt, a truth you can’t fight.
Despite all you do to prove me quite wrong,
Flaming bravado to show you’re so strong,
Each day I appear and do just the same,
Denting your ego, taming your game.
A little humility would go a long way,
Less bluster and gall in all things that you say,
I know you are strong, of that there’s no doubt,
I’m used to your heat and watching you pout.
We’re part of a team, want it or not,
An unshakable truth, our unfortunate lot;
I’m going no-where, I’ve set out my path,
Your turn now to choose, teamwork or wrath.
OF AN EBONY HUED MID-SUMMER NIGHT DREAM
(Apropos of We Kings, Queens, and The Fiery Furnace)
Indeed, this is a day the Lord has made:-
Considering last night’s revelation dreaming,
Waking up into this day the Lord has made,
I must enjoy and be glad for being still vertical.
Although “The Great Dream” may have been deferred,
Indeed, it has not been forgotten and deterred.
Oh, they may have murdered its dreamer, but
His and our liberation dream is immortal:-
Looking out over the horizon of our challenged life,
It is realized that we Exodus people have come a long way;
Survivors of the blood-stained shadows of horrific death:-
And we have come this far on the sojourn by faith.
Yes, we have come this far by an inherent faith—continuing
To maintain and sustain us in the present perils of our lives:-
And as African-Americans, surviving in this deemed “promise land”,
We’ve had and continue to have a special kind of relationship with God.
During our living experiences here during and after debilitating slavery,
We’ve seen, heard, felt, and responded to the Word of God in ways that
Are unique to us as an African people of God; for indeed, as chosen ones,
We’ve always been able to sing and praise God in truth and in holy spirits.
Reflecting on the truth of ourstory, it is realized that we are of a people
Whom many would have expected to have stopped singing and praying
A long time ago; yet, from generation to generation, we’ve just kept on
Singing and praising and trusting in the love of God and His redemption.
Indeed, sacred revelations continue to bring us from extermination
To exaltation, from degradation of dignity, from nobody to somebody;
With wide wondering eyes on the prize, we continue to sojourn onward
For our eyes have seen His glory as we have continued marching in His truth.
Indeed, we not only believe but know that in the savior’s favor
Life is and while our perils may endure here a little while longer,
We know that a liberating joyful stay here on earth is on the horizon
Promised by that very present help to those who live in good trouble;
Thus, let us not be exhausted nor deterred by the ghost tyranny
But with undying faith and spiritual strength, let us victoriously
Demonstrate that we are not of the children of Sisyphus’ fate;
But living reflections of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego:-
One month into summer 2022 elapsed here...
Within Perkiomen Valley, Pennsylvania,
thus far marginal rainfall for season
nevertheless...the hazy, hot and humid dog days
meanwhile (gad) Zeus
tiredly huffs and puffs...with a growl
regarding thunderstorm unable to make headway
against invisible firewall
shielding this area
of the keystone state haul
in tandem with the spirit
of Saints Peter, Paul
and Mary (Southeastern -
tri county (also)
encompassing the suburban hall,
sans Spring Mount Mountain King -
an egg gree us fellow - quite tall
simultaneously straddling Bucks,
Delaware, and Montgomery),
and much as I revel,
when blizzard conditions raged, a Saul
ting self importance of humanity,
where meteorological conditions
hurled a wicked frozen curveball
forcing fatuous, egocentric brazen arrogance
into unassuming (ruff) atoll
shape shifting paradigm,
viz dogmatic couture of modesty call
out depravity, immodesty, pomposity,
et cetera, vis a vis,
when "she" declares marshall,
law yes only when might
of Mother Nature tempers
trumpeting one donning
guise of cloudy (with chance of) meatballs
unfortunately indiscriminately
striking havoc overall
mindful, honest, decent... folks
swept up in maelstrom, which pitfall
could cause loss of life or limb,
this teetotaler inebriated,
fascinated, and captivated,
and linkedin to thrall
dom wielded by volcanic, tectonic, climatic...
of phenomena take (measure for measure)
an indifference to scuttling
hominids beef four all
lose well that ends well,
asper scrimmage maul
ling the accouterments of civilization
then...deathly still quiet doth befall
after unleashed forces exhaust
and expend blistering might
temporarily silencing madding crowd
to standstill, and eventual faint crawl
courtesy of a wicked atmospheric drawl!
Inside the pot of the poet
Is the soup to maw
Prepared of stew during dew
Fishes and beefs crave for
Survival off poet's mouth.
In the soup of the poet,
Ingredient abounds in the pot.
Rhyme pepper appears along Haiku
Epigram stewed Pastoral with Sonnet
Timed Iambic tangle freely with Free verse
Ode speak of Ballad with maggie of Tanka.
Couplet spill curry over Epic of Quatrain
Blank verse added onion to a Canzone
Tin tomatoes had Epithalamium stewed
Elegy took along a dry pepper to an Epitaph.
Carpe diem had groundnut oil gushing
Abc verse sprinkled Alliteration with a palm oil
It took Rictameter of locust beans for a Sestina
Salty Burlesque put smiles in a pot of Dirge
The soup was full of Limerick of Etheree.
Confusion of ingredients in the soup
The poet wilt more in dilemma
Which one of them do I maw?
For the soup of the poet is full.
Ayande Stephen.T
12.15pm
17th August 2006
Still on my way to Apagbon in Lagos on the behest of IPC
Chairman,Lanre Arogundade.
Specially packaged for www.poetrysoup.com for being a wonderful family.