Long Alloyed Poems
Long Alloyed Poems. Below are the most popular long Alloyed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Alloyed poems by poem length and keyword.
The first drops of rain, a herald
Of good things to come.
The mix of rain drops and dust
stirs...
The fresh smell of nature revives
the senses.
Natures cycle turns full circle.
The allure of fresh vegetables
Tingled up sensation of past
memories are revived.
It's a new season of fresh fruits
vitamins filled.
Natures cycle turns full circle.
The rustling sound of a mix of
leaves and rain alloyed in the
hushed melee.
How exciting the nature, change
produces.
Natures cycle turns full circle.
Hazy clouds billows spiralling
cloudward.
The sense of rain, sun rays shunted
out.
Hissing winds, swaying trees dancing
to the rhythm of the waves of the
wind.
Nature cycle turns full circle.
As dark clouds touch down mother
earth.
The release of sandy dust pellets a rain
of dust alas!.
At last the rain has announced its
permanence.
Natures cycle has turned full circle.
(Written 17th March 2015)
A silver spider spied a golden fly,
and to it most amorously did sigh:
"O most glorious of flies!
What fine wings you have, what eyes!
No earthly thing shows beauty more.
I shall weave in silver thread
a garb for you, a vestment fair,
that we be forever wed,
a common destiny to share.
I in you, and you in me,
O how happy we shall be.
You shall be my metaphor.
To you I'll pose reality."
"I'm sure what moves you is benign,"
the fly replied in dulcet tone.
"Yet I regretfully decline
your offer of a common home.
My gold is - like your silver - pure,
and may such purity endure,
for purity, if once alloyed,
as sure as fate must be destroyed.
To sun and moon it was decreed
not fusion but duality
should constitute reality.
Cohabitation I debar!
I shall admire you - from afar!"
Shoot! Nothing like killing spree to bookend August 2019!
The latest homicide,
where gunman(men) slew
dirty deed done dirt cheap
half dozen innocent people drew
minimal horrific gasps, now a new
month (September two
thousand nineteen)
where goldenrods yellow
with morning dew
encompassing human zoo
welcomes unsuspecting killer(s) true
to form - predictably
will undertake to fire bullet(s)
setting calibrating counting queue
as month nine allows brisk business
bereaved will final adieu,
whether gentile nor Jew,
perhaps including
child named Caillou
instantaneously slain, who
knew
not what felled them
engrossed amidst social ballyhoo
ex post facto registering grievous hue
pallbearers accentuating somber view
eclipsing most recent prior massacres
similar to previous you
ululations yesterday's sorrows
without handy dandy blue's clue
motive explaining
cold blooded slaughter
unsurprising discovery
firearms Jane/ John Q.
Public kept stashed loaded, deployed...
guns up the kazoo
cocked, gauged, primed...
for unleaded opportunity
to unleash barrage
invariable generating hullabaloo
to curb bloody violence
trumpeting predictable brew
ha ha alloyed against National
Rifle Association almighty
Republican supported lobbyist crew
versus increased uproar
protesters chorus nearly few
tile opposition pitted grand Poobah
despite alarming statistics shew
plus increasing fresh gravesites dug
amidst freshly mowed fescue
attesting to wanton shell shocked
headlines indiscriminate brew
tilly assaulting sensibilities
without rhyme nor reason
yet, yours truly doth boo
leave rampant hatred
directly linkedin to
"FAKE" commander in chief
whose rabid vitriol hue
man fountainhead few
ming and frothing
lathers up right wing supremacists
greenlighting smoldering new
bile radicals hot headed
volatile mindset whereby
self anointed anarchistic Guru
possibly fuels global warming
evidenced by displaced Eskimos
flooding courtesy melting igloo!
We are all born
To a world seemingly full of interesting diversity
But why do we slam each other
Instead of accepting and living together
Do we not need each other’s support, sometime?
When we slam others we forget
We slowly shut the door on ourselves
And stop growing except bloating in size
And wasting precious resources
Which are meant to be shared amongst all humanity.
Each one must grow to mature somehow
And learn to endure the adverse
And the idiosyncrasies of things around
That change constantly on ground
In a collective effort to blend human needs with nature.
Is anything permanent except history?
So why not make it memorable
For us and future generations to cherish it
And build newer avenues and rising ever higher
Through cooperation and mutual respect.
We need to knit a grand slam team
Of entire humanity
To go onwards and upwards
Like steel alloyed and put to steam
Whose frames do not corrode easily through time.
Alone we sure fall downwards
And perpetuate the differences
Those obliterate our collective achievements
For creation is difficult to achieve
But easy to fritter away on triviality.
Slam kills the feelings of care and love
Spreads hatred and scares the dove
Warmth of fellow beings brings succour
Allowing unimaginable feats to occur
So let us slam the slam, shall we?
We boarded the soulful train at birth.
We grasp our family will be our vassal.
Both of our parents will starve to death.
No one escorted us toward the gravel.
Our parents will debark from the train later.
Hence we're left alone along this journey.
Sprung people will be joining our tabor.
Family and companions are at life's worry.
Plenty will jump ship, leaving an endless void.
Others vanish so quietly we can't notice.
It'll be a train ride of farewell and fear alloyed
We must maintain a strong host alliance.
We are uncertain of our exit in this mystery.
But should adore, excuse, and utter our aware all.
It's crucial, yet we should abandon our seats empty.
We must improve comely memories for future recall.
How I wish readers miss me...
It has now been one year since he died,
What emptiness the poetic world feels!
His genius as days pass the more reveals,
His memories we hope would new pens guide
And his honest concern would be well billed,
Many a young mind was inspired by him,
All wonder-stuck on his poetic dream,
And his trademark style in this field.
In miles there’s no one to match his rare style,
He straddled tall alone as if on isle.
…And the reality
He sure carried a crazy little crowd,
He, more than crowd, was with his pen so proud.
We’ve oft seen him lost in utter silence,
And struggle, words deserting him at once.
Still, audience oft fell into rapture
Seeing his rambunctious rotund stature.
Fragrance there if at all came from flowers,
Not from blossoms of words upon bowers.
But that is how things go in today’s world,
More than song matter feathers of the bird.
About one year has gone by since he died,
On his pen’s silence few seem to have sighed.
Emptiness, nor is there any a void,
Many a new style have since been alloyed.
Yet, poetry field’s richer in this sense,
Not any worse in his absence.
And his so-called unique poetic style
Most likely might get buried on an isle.
No one flavour has ever ruled the world,
Not once has charmed for long a single bird.
_____________________________________
Musings |03.08.2014| poet
A poet imagines how he would be remembered after his death; what people would say, say after one year. The first stanza deals with this. Reality dawning on him, he then pens down the next.
On a muddy moonless avenue
his drooped silhouette tugs
while the hollow niche of despair growls--
permeating a former soldier's anthem.
All dawn moaning, all night lamenting
with lost faith buried under clay--
robed in a cloth of delirium from a warfare furious,
blistered hands marking a smoked-alloyed existence.
Quarreling with ghosts, his eyes quiver
as black powder of bullets explodes
unto pools of flushed hallucinations...
unresolved wounds leading him into oblivion.
For Anthony Slausen: Black Powder Contest
11/13/2018
.
What gorgeousness is Beauty most treasured,
that breathes life, air, and health into starving lungs,
so ecstasy that's beyond being measured,
make even angels rejoice and speak in tongues?
Nothing is more blissful than passion enjoyed;
and nothing's greater than love supernal,
which inspires joy when two hearts are alloyed,
in union of mind and soul eternal.
Love everlasting and preternatural,
and Beauty incomparable, divine,
transcendent, and utterly ethereal,
transform lovers that join, and intertwine.
To love is beauty, and beauty will not move:
what more could the world need now to know,
than heaven and earth were made from Beauty's love,
and grace, that sanctify with a sacred glow?
Just me and mine shadow doth blog
passivity, the path of least resistance oh my dog,
an emphatic YES,
a legitimately valid reason and rhyme to flog
yours truly (figurative emasculation),
thee catchword to hog
immediate attention,
see above named poem title
the best idea to expound upon,
while attempting creative juices to jog
all mein kampf, I felt like a bump on a log
please... don't be hesitant
to identify me as a nog
one aging long haired pencil neck geek
never reached maturity forever a pollywog.
More clearly, plainly and succinctly
one sniveling poor excuse for masculinity,
I continually experience
unrepentant (unforgivable) humility,
hence lame justification
Matthew Scott sought adultery,
which unwise choice attempted
(pun intended) to fill a void
sexual propensity linkedin with precepts
attributed to Sigmund Freud,
though skepticism skirts
barenaked lady hardcore psychoanalysis
downplayed or Oedipus complex
shrugged off (heavier imposition
versus Atlas) fails to bridge any mettle alloyed
within me psyche.
Absent healthy teenage
dating experiences, think tryst
I yearned, trended then
regretted handy dandy wrist
took rat tick antics subsequently,
and compromised spawning prurient dalliances,
hence understandably missed
(until death do me part)
doting upon then young daughters,
rightfully thee eldest one
(born 12/22/1996) still pissed
at primal, gonadal, and brutal predilections
now... finding very little reason to exist
matter of fact I dreamt
(earlier today June twenty seventh
two thousand and twenty), the gist
regarding harming self
SWAP MEETS PEACE--
Now reciprocal, is just the thing;
Separation divides it just bring;
War mixed with peace hysterical
Is just the thing now reciprocal?
War in peace makes peace brittle;
The social control that's really little;
How does the noise become fleece;
Makes peace brittle war in peace;
Often to keep peace dishonest ones greased palm;
Down, down, down into the darkness of the calm;
Gently goes the dreamy the muted they now cease;
Dishonest ones greased palm often to keep peace;
I’ve seen mutual happiness generation destroyed;
Feuding alloyed annoyed men now war employed;
In peace hunger for the cow and pig liver so usual;
Happiness generation destroyed I’ve seen mutual;
3/21/19
Swap Meet Poetry Contest
Quatrain poetry form only.
Sponsored by: Carol Connell