Long Angled Poems
Long Angled Poems. Below are the most popular long Angled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Angled poems by poem length and keyword.
His wheelbarrow wobbled
Across the broken sidewalk
Toward the job site
Where the work was
Some girls in yellow taxis rode by and whistled at his tanned arms.
His brown boots got chalked
as he scuttled and scooted
The heavy load
And he thought about her
Again
He was so clean and polished last night
When they sat down for dinner
Around perfect white cloths
So uncomfortable for him
Only to hear her say,”I’m leaving.”
Her skin was like a pond in the morning
Before anything was awake.
Her eyes were like Grecian isles
Even her nose was a perfectly acute angled
Piece of her face.
He was a bricklayer and knew his place.
And he would never ever get to kiss her face
Again.
So today he dumped out his wheelbarrow full of bricks and started building his walls again.
Different peoples infest.
Aimless swoops pluck.
Yellow swoops prowl.
Local societies loll.
Industrialized societies sally forth.
Grand impieties affront.
Horrid impieties affront don't wanna get up NOW!.
Terrestrial planets star earths closer to the sun.
Societies loiter wasting away at night.
All souls devour must get up earlier.
Violent westerner's gobble days just begun.
Industrialized societies squall.
Numerous barbarisms hound.
Gentle souls hunt as the sun comes up early.
Tangled sunbeams lair.
Individual thunderstorms spume.
Many souls sic.
Earlier impieties affront more time to play outside.
3/3/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
I bow to
First International Star
The Iconic figure of speechless cinema.
Revolutionary Actor
creating ceremonial precedence
carrying charismatic elegance
on success of tramp character as vagrant wanderer
ensuing mockery whirling enigma.
Sweet, short silent Man acting on tricky plan
Mustache butterfly, lips pressed
Wearing bowler hat to impress
Cute cane in hand, posing as clown to stand
Cool calm, clad in cocoon of sarcasm
Always rushing in fun: Jumpy walk on right angled turn.
Geometrical movement slipping silent.
Charlie Chaplin cheerful chap
demanding deserving delightful clap.
Humorous pretty pageant
Glamorous majestic pleasant
Macrocosm of circus
Comical pose and postures
Funny witty gestures of super quality.
The Global Celebrity.
Artistic Realistic benevolence in aptitude.
Precise Perfection in plenitude.
My deep reverence
Earnest admiration and adoration
to Classic Comedian.
My emotive veneration
for presaging emblematic errand
on typical style tangling in derision.
Diplomatic Director on dauntless dogma.
I bow to
First International Star.
LANTERNE PHRASIS 3
Tedium ends with the setting sun,an
angled view that reaches into life.
Loud sighs,piercing eyes that erupt
from unconscious minds.A lyrical dream
abstract fantasy of multiple emotions
that leap out in varied shapes,
an angst of moody blues in a
perversity of remembered views
that climb into the staircase of
the mind.A chaos with no focus
point,images shadowing the floor
as in a dream near and far and
beyond as random gestures
inwards&upwards that launch
a thousand still lifes,with slow
soaking stains into evolving
moods that pass away with
time in gray graduations.
From my Lanterne poetry publication 2005
Listen to me recite this part phrasis on youtube under my pen name ichthys chiro
I WEAR IT, LIKE I MEAN IT
Brim dipped low enough
to make you look twice
high enough to let you
catch the heat in my eyes
This isn't decoration, its declaration.
I wear it like I mean it
I wear like I heart it
I swag it out, add my sauce, and wear it just like, I like it.
The Brim traces shadows down my cheekbones
across my mouth, resting like it knows it's framing temptation
My posture deepens, My voice lowers
My walk slows into something deliberate
I wear it like I mean it
I wear like I like it
I swag it out, add my sauce, and wear it like just like, I like it.
You really dont know, you haven't been told
being unforgettable is not the goal. Please hear me, queens
I must speak bold. Sexy isn't noise, Sexy is control.
So when I step into the room, uplifting the gloom.
hat angled, confidence charged
understand, I didn't come to be noticed
I came to be remembered.
I wear it like I mean it
I wear like I heart it
I swag it out, add my sauce, and wear it like just like, I like it.
Let people be—the world shrinks
with internet access, genuine connection
is rare.
none of us is who we claim
we walk, talk, write
mostly in clichés with
breathtaking phrases we
para-plagiarize unknowingly.
most of what we do lacks purpose
the problem, as I see it: too much
focus on another's porridge
not enough care on the hungry
human bidding for connection.
maybe they started with an AI handshake
fixing grammar, or their confidence
how is your dog threatened?
what is this race? can you articulate
your itch, scratch some compassion
off your backside full of insincere rage
in the name of artistic integrity?
no shade, we've all been there,
hot takes aren't wrong
just incomplete, one-dimensional
slices angled to amuse bored strangers
chasing a boogeyman for an imaginary win
on the internet.
spoiler alert, losing the plot like this
makes it tough to spot the bad guy.
Frost wasn't the first to find
two roads where snow fell
long before a self-centered poet
stood cold.
tend your side of the forest
avoid contests with borrowed words
but if you enter a collaboration, I'll cheer
your trophy as loud as mine.
which means I'll likely not mention it
if you know me—I'm loathe
to leave comments,
not for lack of seeing the talent or
appreciating recognition,
but like my poetry, I fear
misunderstanding.
I view my hand. I see an ancient land.
A melanomic crater, deep in the desert,
Speaks of greedy sun-soaked days.
Wanton then. Gone now.
Sparse wispy palm trees cluster,
Storm ravaged, angled randomly,
Now almost invisible,
Now silver in the light.
Ravines compressed in lines
Symmetrical, as from space,
Appearing geometric,
Requiring translation,
Needing understanding,
Awaiting exploration.
Ahead, beyond the fault line,
Mountains expand and converge,
Blue-edged and rising high
Above the sandy plain, sinuous,
Majestic, uncharted.
Stretching and contracting
As wrinkled parchment
In a shoreline breeze,
Pointing the way to the long journey's end.
Translucent and, yes, still beautiful.
A multitude of moments
Have slowly wrought such change.
Soul-stirring eloquence silently tells
Of times and deeds long past,
Though yet concealing secrets deep,
Of silken dreams within a lover's sleep
And memories of a sweet caress.
Planting a seed of deceit to escape the blame,
Even the blind could see the trick in that dance.
Tangled deep in the web of truth-coloured falsehoods,
Dodgy as a broken glass that reflects beauty.
Only the trueness of its heart sees clear the truth~
Giving its forked tongue some time to rue its regret.
Care nor love enough to make a pet dog a pet.
Attention to fakeness won't turn it to truth.
Nothing but pure honesty makes truth a belief~
That deceit has only a few nights of good rest,
Before the truth shatters it into smithereens,
Ensuring lies don’t last beyond dawn’s first crow.
Only truth-coated innuendoes could fool so much,
Unless the ears that hear are clogged with thick wax~
Rolling out deceit as though not meant to deceive;
Pretending it wasn’t intended to sound absurd,
Ensuring that its belief was clouded by lies,
That made a lifeless toy believe it was a pet.
It had been years since the seasons changed
Then the Monarch butterflies
Shook from a blue sky in July
Like a box of colored confetti
Re-appeared a miracle atop the sticky meadows
And the day before was so hot
That on my morning walk
I found tree frogs glued to the pavement
In mid-hop
Paralyzed with eyes looking up
Clay knickknacks belonging to a shelf
In an Elk Rapids gift shop
People around here are buried in their graves
Sitting up
To stare out forever upon Torch Lake
Tombstones angled against the hills
Last ever to see
The blue of this Earth
The lake of sunsets
The mirror that shows us all
Who we turned out to be.
King Leonidas 300 and Counting
It was 480 BC
King Leonidas with 300 Spartan warriors held Thermopylae Pass
Fought against the vast immortals horde of Persian forces
Lasted and endured the Xerxes army
3 days with 4,000 allied strong for Greece
Resisting the first 2 days in mighty battle
With only 1500 strong
The third and final day belonged to Xerxes
Leonidas lost 299 of his men to battle
His allies also perished
In the Persian wave of death that day
The Gate Awaits
Derivatives of angled forces bent on destiny
Armored warriors spears and shields in hand
In V shape lined to face the demon foe
With swords extended confront a morbid horde
Certain death to follow
They stream upon their vile inhumanity
Through history and to this very mortal day
Nourished ground with noble blood
To spring our civilization forth
That which flows through time forever in our veins
For freedom…. never sleeps…but pulses toward the light
That final perfect design which defines us
They are the souls of history
300 marched and died there in the sands
Xerxes in his promise to erase all memories of Greece’s fame
To destroy all poetry and poets (for that alone he should die)
Now sleeps, the demon that he is, forever
In an unknown grave
And even I cannot pronounce or spell his name