Long Annals Poems
Long Annals Poems. Below are the most popular long Annals by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Annals poems by poem length and keyword.
House of commons, Quebec i think,? questions and
Odd answers; the air waxed thick..up to point..' debate
Was staged, till the veil of control, almost got frayed.'
Yet oppression was to carry this bout' the speaker flipped
And switched it out, on the un-reigned shouts, a little grim?Yet a smile indeed he wore, above the sober; gown of..
( Law?) The switch on beasts maybe is banned? Whithin
The border of that land.? If one is there it must belong to
Historys annals, and in real sad songs, owned by the folk
And not one man? An heirloom albeit not that grand.' I
For one observe such tricks, the denial of carrot
And the weilding of stick..Er i mean switch.!
They say that aliens once visited the earth
There's evidence that's been uncovered
Don't know about you but I'm starting to think
That one day it will soon be discovered
That we were preceded by superior beings
Capable of travelling telepathically
Not restricted by our earth like limitations
Looking forward to meeting them anxiously
No question it will be a momentous occasion
In the annals of all human kind
To actually meet beings from beyond the stars
Is surely going to blow our minds
How will they look, will they talk like us
Reproduce in our time honoured way
Or will their offsprings be genetically engineered
Our way's more appealing I'd say
Better get here soon as time's running out
Sure don't wanna miss their arrival
At the front of the line I'll be proudly standing
Might be the answer to our survival
© Jack Ellison 2013
April fools' day - ordinarily all manner of tomfoolery abounds
Written/updated since last year
unlike any other
when out of this world
outlandish accouterments
people did wear
hermetically sealed
of even faintest tear
to avoid contamination
against coronavirus pandemic
air supply difficult to spare
when wing and prayer
soul saving amazing grace
frankly against scalpers, marauders,
and fraudsters steeling
themselves to profiteer.
Pandemic straps tightly
plied girded beltway
unlike any other All fools day
in annals of recorded ("fake") history
western civilization tapestry doth fray
April first two thousand and twenty four
neigh, no time for horseplay
what with coronavirus (COVID-19)
boarded ship of jilted fools
(think *****sapiens)
barred courtesy omnipotent jackstay
furloughed workers analogous
grumpy minions lay
dwarfed by unfortunate global events, née...
germinating, jackknifing, and wreaking havoc
Mother Earth nonchalantly toying
(indiscriminately) regarding humanity
as bestrewing bajillion biohazards berserkly
bequeathing bedlam child's play
just desserts, she doth understandably repay
man/womankind flicked as flotsam and jetsam
vile treatment diabolically heaped,
jubilantly loosed, maniacally pitched
upon her terrestrial firma oy vey
she chokes, gags, laughs raspily yea
rebuffs, refuses, and renounces further abuse.
Nevertheless toothless gumption, albeit feeble
fighting spirit, her survival instincts assail
cumulative environmental destruction
triggered casus belli expelling deadly toxins,
when Gaia doth exhale
since onset of global interregnum
(think virulent spreading poisonous Kudzu
like wildfire biohazard)
since world wide webbed disease
brought grinding halt
consumerist paradigm in lockdown,
nonetheless within brief interim
noticeable clearer air to inhale
amazingly enough postal system...
intact voila... uninterrupted delivery of mail,
the daily highlight experienced
among people emotionally crippled
pasty faced and pale
finds quivering Captain Kangaroo
plus good n plenti proud primates
each dancing and quivering
like a captive dang gulling quail.
Line of inquiry:
“We have been here a thousand times before
Memory erased, each time we begin anew
Of hands held tenderly, we’ve lost the score
Each embrace virgin like fresh morning dew
To which image, oh dear soul, should we cling
For each heart was at some point of time dear
As we flow through life with zest, zeal and zing
In all forms we see God’s presence appear”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“As our soul passes through the annals of time immortal,
Each life I claim as mine looking through life’s portal.” ~~ The Poet ~~
As the perpetuity of an eternal flame,
My soul carries on, all memory I disclaim.
Each life fulfils a quest for human birth,
His grace offers breath and instils worth.
I believe then we come to know our Creator.
An inherent bond. No need for a translator.
Each baby has a God given virtue within.
The soul is pure and free from original sin.
This is the image to which we must cling.
Its inner existence is almost everything.
Over time the bond may ware on its edges.
Even veer from Him as we create wedges.
During each life at times faith may wane.
That deep seated bond can surface again
If we are able to cling to His presence,
Teachings of His love will be the essence.
We will make every hurt a stepping stone.
To joy such as we have never known.
Though life can be an arduous climb to bare.
We will reach the top, for God is there.
Every Saturday morning always begins the same for me…standing in the kitchen I’m flooded with memories.
When our children were little…and whenever grandchildren came our way…Saturday morning at our house was always pancake day.
Saturday morning was when my creativity and artistic talent was thoroughly tested…as I’d make pancakes in any shape and color our children or grandchildren requested.
Some of my creations were more Impressionistic…others were a little less than breathtaking…but I’m proud to say no request was ever rejected in all my years of pancake making.
I like to think that, every now and then, on a Saturday morning our children and grandchildren think of me…and think about the branch we grew upon our family tree.
And how that branch connects to all the other branches…back through the annals of time…helping to make our tree strong and transcendent…noble and sublime.
I hope they’ve learned this lesson…deeply rooted in our family tree…
that an adventure is exactly what a family is supposed to be!
And how a family, again like my pancakes, on this my children and grandchildren would agree…is never flawless…never perfect…but…they don’t have to be.
You see, no pancake I created was ever perfect…but they did have a kind of flair…and as long as they resembled the request…our children and grandchildren didn’t care.
Because when it comes to family, just like those pancakes made every Saturday morning throughout their childhood….
It’s the time spent together in their creation…
that makes them taste so good…
Ode to President Jimmy Carter
The Georgian sky turns red and a man softens his gaze,
as he lets his thoughts drift. Images of his life and times,
play against the crimson clouds, to live them once more.
The love of a good woman, can soften the edges of life,
and spin the fabric of its repose, to weave a tapestry,
that tells the story of a good man.
Who hasn't looked up, unblinking and played out
the story of their life and wondered if it made a difference?
There are some whose lives are an open book,
yet the cover will be awash in its simplicity.
History will declare its place in the annals of time,
as one where the hero is fulfilled with their love,
or lost under the blanket of obscurity. Yet this man,
who speaks with the sky, I suspect can already hear
the echo of the song the heavens sing,
of one whom the Master is well pleased!
I tune in to the channel coming forth & then
present what's coming through
A train of thoughts move like locomotives only
stopping for a few
From the ethers they descend like falling rain
precipitating flow from the sky
When they come all are drenched in declarations
bathing in the waters of divine
Surfing the annals of the mind can cause historical
waves to erect
Tsunamis destroy paradigms in a flash before
proceeding to redirect
By many it's seen as a disaster but viewed as a
blessing by a few
Sometimes we have to destroy to rebuild again &
make room for the new
Your ships may be docked for a spell but will sail
again when weather breaks
The will can be an unstoppable force to behold
moving like a train without its brakes
It's wet after clouds formed & quickly passed bringing
out the sun after the rain
Tears fell from the heavens to what's below washing
away the dirt & the pain
The eye in the sky sees all in one take illuminating
what's low from a higher place
Open channels flow with higher purpose seeking their
level & making waves in another space
Your love, my
Darling,
Miraculously, it has transformed me into
A poet,
Not to any poet
But
To a special breed of the sort,
The winged one
For
Free to be, away at will to
Fly,
Unimpeded by space or time,
To lands unknown
To undiscovered shores
To unconquered mountaintops
Where the grandeur of your
Beauty
I could observe in blessed silence,
In utmost concentration,
In absolute reverie
So
Able would I be,
Undisturbed, your splendor to adore
And
By doing so, inspired would I be,
A worthy poem for you, my love,
In
The annals of eternal beauty, to
Engrave!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
01 OCTOBER 2014
* This poem of mine that was well-received, unfortunately,
was deleted by my computer; therefore, I post it again.
'Twas the night before Christmas and I was still shopping
when I would much rather have been bar to bar hopping.
I juggled bags of presents that cost far too much dough.
The sidewalks were crowded and then it started to snow!
I scowled at a chubby fake Santa who kept ringing a bell.
'Twas another Christmas Eve straight from the annals of Hell.
I stopped for a coffee at Starbucks and got a leaky cup.
I've had just about enough of this mayhem. I'm fed up!
But I couldn't go home, not yet. I had more gifts to buy.
A guy bumped into me. My patience was in short supply,
so, I pushed him back and ducked inside a jewelry store.
He came after me with clenched fists, and ready for war!
A security guard leaped into action and threw him out
I stayed put for a while because I knew without a doubt
that man was waiting outside, and I wasn't ready to die.
I sang, "Oh, you better watch out, you better not cry..."
Since trapped for a while, I thought I'd get my wife a ring.
Emeralds or sapphires would do. She'd like a little bling.
The price was exorbitant, but I wasn't ready to leave.
How much worse could things get on this Christmas Eve?
A question I should've never asked, and I'll tell you why...
There's no Moana Dolls anywhere for my daughter. Sigh.
Santa was coming to town but beneath our tinseled tree
my kid would cry out, "Santa didn't leave Moana for me."
"Sorry," the saleslady said, "I'm afraid I sold the last one."
Tis the season to be jolly, but I'll be glad when it's done.
What's a dad to tell his kid about the flaw in Santa Claus?
I bought her a little puppy and named him Santa paws.
I walked down a slippery street with a dog on a leash.
What a sight I must've been; a grown man crying, 'SHEESH!'
But I was headed home and in need of a shot of whiskey
because Santa Paws was beginning to get a bit too frisky.
'Twas a wretched night before Christmas I'll never forget.
I waited too long to shop and paid the price with regret.
Santa's elves make his toys and reindeer pull his sleigh,
but next year I'll be doing my Christmas shopping on Ebay!
November 24, 2022 ~ The Night Before 3 Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
I am the master
of my fate,
I am the captain
of my soul,
Shackled and bound
naught pensive mood,
Errant thy mind
unique ahold,
Gift naught against
thy solitude,
Further addressed
words oft betold,
Thine wounds convey
said blood doth shed,
Thine consequence
freedom commit,
Inscribed in blood
their conceits fed,
Thy testament
thee naught submit,
Thy body broke
thy skin be bruised,
Thy dogs licked wounds
thy name tainted,
Yet, albeit,
chose naught be used,
Nor to be
manipulated,
Annals of time
should fortune find,
Sorted soul
of true conviction,
Should paths be crossed
be thee unkind,
Thank the gods
thy valediction.
2020 February 02
Howmanysyllables;
18 lines x 8 syllables per = 144 syllables total