Long Annex Poems
Long Annex Poems. Below are the most popular long Annex by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Annex poems by poem length and keyword.
I hardly brew coffee alongside the metaphor of
English mornings blended with summer’s febrile breath.
But, on this occasion, I did....
It was a stifling moment on television.
The social media was abuzz with the hiss of
Integrated journalism. I hated this moment I failed to believe myself
Upon the altar of this recent toponym. BREXIT.
The name plinks with resounding voices, exerting that energy of
Political consciousness.
Lexicographers must hasten it into the dictionary
Before the return of Christ.
Must be cooked in the crucible of NOUN and
Heavily spiced in VERB.... And then, play host to nimieties.
It’s plainly a matter of exiting the circumference of a common, dancing market,
Where freedom of movement spins the web of twinkle-toed arachnids.
My coffee whiffed with the Brazilian hegemony
Upon the Indian scheme of teas and secular drams of rum,
And Iran’s love for green tea.
Summer’s mornings are difficult, I must remind you.
Waking from the posts of work and a bivouac
Stretches the eyelids beyond groggy eyelashes
With the haste of a speeding dawn.
But the TRUTH remained salient and voluble:
BRITAIN HAS VOTED TO LEAVE THE EU.
And it’s not a hypnagogic matter.
It has no business with amphigoric journalism.
It’s a British-fried piece of truth.
Are you kidding me?
I find it totally execrable when people say what they do not know,
Rather than ask what they do not know.
Sunday Times spread its pages to annex some truth.
So did The New York Times and Washington Post and the
Community of tabloids – all tried to
Squeeze out the sprinkles of the matter from collapsing firths.
There was no trace of Churchill in this BREXIT fiesta.
Even de Gaulle exuded remedies of a fractured Europe; he remembered
The WAYWARD WAR, whose frenetic winds blew us no good.
My coffee, black and gold, with the supple bubbles and yellow froths,
Welcomed the degree of weather forecasting.
Will it rain?
Will there be isolated thunderstorms across the EU?
Will BREXIT brew some heat? Slanting showers?
What Celsius does a degree reach before there’s a
Pandemonium?
DID YOU MEAN POUND-EMONIUM?
HAVEN’T YOU HEARD ABOUT THE CRASH OF THE POUND?
I remember the land of drums I was born
bedded beneath great hanging nets;
the sound of the conch and the horn.
My blue suitcase filled with stuff,
the red tricycle and pedal car
that made me race and made me puff.
I remember the hounds of revolution nightly howl
on the streets of my island home.
Now I reign afar in the land of my exile
as might a king given up his throne
I remember my first day of school so bleak,
a gingerbread house on Picton Street
where I first kissed a sweetheart cheek.
Hearken tales of men in Sherwood,
Nelly Stone in her rocking chair
reading The Adventures of Robin Hood.
The loud guttural yard turkeys’ gobble and flap,
and kids singing their songs of joy.
I remember the year, the girl, the songs
in all its virtue when I was a boy
I remember the front yard we would play
and the annex rooms we called home
watching The Riki Tiki Show at 17 Gray.
Waving at the Queen’s royal parade
down on Saint Clair Avenue
in the crowds following her motorcade.
I remember huddled around the old valve radio,
long siestas in the hot afternoon
till late beneath a corner streetlight halo
raving drunk slumped Blue Moon
I remember sticky chewy peanut brittle
with my cold Nestle chocolate milk
while gorging my tummy little by little.
Behold down-de-islands dashing
in a pirogue out on Staubles Bay -
the sea spray across the bow crashing.
Watching as darkness fell on high moon and tide
shining on bay and jetty so bright,
when as young eyes grew weary I would
rest at peace all through the night
I remember all dressed for Sunday School
and afternoons at the Country Club
splashing around in the swimming pool.
And at sea playing captain and sailor
on board a ship Panama bound
in my cabin with my toy boat and trailer.
I remember the ports and voyage of no return
into the yonder crossing the equator,
when old Neptune rose from the undersea
to bless our ship and navigate her
Written: September 1990
You refuse, refusing the salvant call,
laying there in fetal position,
enthralled by my hex of vinegar and scrawl of liquids release that just seem to pour out of me organically.
Hissing in Wormwood's frequency dwelling, Hollywood "your signature home" learning-annex-auxilliary.
My park and recreation facility.
Reserved, this space taken.
A dump, next to unopened salve
and not knowing your own, side-bar-by-law$.
An unlived, contrived existence, of litigation before dawn.
So shine on, shine on,
Dear: ) (Newton Star blink out before the gravity of
persistence, taken aside, the watchtower of your keen eyed media straddle, beacons a distress
call, to your final hour.
The time your nightwatch is voyeur
procured.
Humpty Dumpty asses with sulphur in their saltwatering laffy Taffy maws, fixed, agape, ajar."Give me some sugar baby."
Jezebellians, you shunned, the truth, when it was audio visually- bore.
Gored yourself on the posts of a grinding of mandibles and dripping blood upon the crucible stone and forbidden bindings.
No white night when a guiding light
doth shine on dead eyes.
No silver linings filling those cavities.
Only self, depravity.
Will be mouthed from the still-shine forever moored.
Uttered where windmills churn electro
Codes of algo-executionary tables
to turn.
Churning the butter of temptation
with pouting maid determination.
Mitigated, my starlings it is for,
the ungrateful scored.
Cookie cutter milkmaids of
factorized words.
Music for Nations.
A union of the snake said Plato.
Fall from the night.
As an Nova of unbeknownst, essence,
implode yourself of something more,
lost in the mire of the ignorance of indifference, onloaded to fill an emptiness void of frivolous showroom and commercials shined core.
Enjoy the aftermath in my garden.
Take another bite of my lore.
Rise, a new creation, in new age culturism,
the retro- reel of Humanism, of illusionary-fusion of pride and behind the scenes thrones.
Slavery algorithms,
my Holograms of flesh and Bones.
Burning out on the Threshing floor.
Therewithal, profluent life ettles it's while.
Thitherward, from Death's bleak campanile
Grim antiphonals serenade.
A capriccio, the slashing swipe of the reaper's scythe
will serenade.
Stringent Death forthwith anoints the mithridate to
Life's cantankerous and rankling ado
Hither now come, anon recondite Azrael, neither protend
nor annex this throttled contretemps.
The antiphonal of the reaper's cavalier scythe
Shall now serenade.
Awhirl, like kerfs demarcated
Years, bollixed, muzzy and brattled
shall holus-bolus expire.
No retaliation to death's gloomy surcease
No ingenious riposte to the reaper's final cleave.
Bootless now to don the amulets,
squeeze the jujus,
Kiss the talismans,
clutch the periapts or
Attire in steely cataphract.
The serenading of the reaper's scythe,
it's efficacy shall blithely cleave.
Bedim mine eyes from life's assailing
Bedim mine eyes from life's poltroonery
Vocabulary: barghest-a goblin fabled to portend misfortune; monody-funeral song;
antiphonal-chant; protend-to protract in time/lengthen; riposte-n. in fencing, a quick
return/thrust; brattle-v.-to make rattling or clattering noises;
cavalier-supercillious/disdainful/haughty; muzzy-hazy; attaint-v. to condemn; rankle-to
give pain/nettle/gnaw; contretemps-untoward accident/hitch; throttle-v.to
choke/suffocate/strangle/stiffle; bollix-v.-to bungle or botch; holus-bolus-adv.-all at
once/altoghter; mithridate-antidote against poison; cataphract-suit of armor for the
whole body; poltroonery-n. cowardice; a capriccio-musical piece characterized by
improvisation; ettle-to intend/to prepare; campanile-free standing bell tower; kerf-a
groove or notch
Azrael-the angel that helps souls from living to enter the afterlife; recondite-not
easily understood/abstruce;
periapt-a charm worn to ward of evil; juju-object believed to contain magical powers;
contretemps-disruptive unforeseen event; protend-to hold out or stretch forth
MOTHER NATURE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
ladyship, mother nature, in her prime,
observed where ever one looks in summer.
woodland glades, wildflower meadows in time
explode with life, sound, song, buzzing, colour!
meadow grasses, sway to her scented breath.
pollen, lifted as directed, in depth!
she reigns supreme, her nurturing, well kept!
survival of the fittest, her concept.
instilling instinct, natural reflex.
sight, sound, she ensures all mammals, adept.
no reasons yet, for her to vent her vex!
summer waning, nature changes palette.
harvest, her ruse for us to gather fruits,
to store for spring, preserve, circumvallate!
she shares amongst us, always contributes.
harvest festtivals, once pagan tributes,
oh, yes, some still believe, there's no disputes,
what ere is thought, no, she cannot be bought.
mother nature, no lessons can be taught.
she can always adapt, nowts to complex!
mother nature, at time looks to be fraught?
no reasons yet for her to vent her vex!
autumn her palette now of golden hues.
to her, her royal season, all pure gold!
on her vast estates, tree lined avenues.
where leaves fall, hiding secrets, yet untold.
not hers! the sou west wind was screaming out!
we the the seasons bowed, blew away doubt.
she called come hither all bar you winter
in my tender sides you are a splinter
ere there was a chance no romance, my ex
sad plans fail to have him, yes reinter
no reasons yet for her to vent her vex!
nature let winter have free run, fickle
land controlled by he who holds the sickle
unlike nature so not very clever.
forgive me seasons while I endeavor
to winter, winter in, yes, an annex
mother nature has dealt with that creature!
no reasons yet for her to vent her vex!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wistful is the heart, silent the walls
where the gambols of youth echoed.
A return tale’s sentimental journey
inside the gates of Sweet Briar Road
Long it behoves me my thanksgiving
to you, aunties Yvonne and Jocelyn T.
For all the love you showed withal
and for all the good you saw in me
Hearken the jumbie bird in the night,
the heat of day and smell of rain.
And QRC bell tower sombre tolled
the hills and valleys of Port of Spain
The crowd’s roar filled its cricket halls
on window row to a grandstand view.
And an open door its gates would be
to weary travellers passing through
By candlelight on evensong sabbath
I saw hands petitioned in God’s raise.
And among portrait, altar and chattel
an old ne-gro woman chanted in praise
Downstairs eating pepper mango,
salt prune and sweet preserved plum.
And upstairs the ghosts of the dead
a trickery of wind and light become
With long treetop fruit picker in hand
softly chorused the sound of Greyfriars.
When joyfully as I picked to my ear
sung the weekly Church Group Choir
Up creaky staircase bedroom chamber,
pantry annex and old livery quarters.
Home to where my grandfather lived
with his wife, eight sons and daughters
In Christian soldier evangelical prayer
waited I for sleep’s silent lull perchance.
O but late by BBC midnight wireless
did growl the dogs in lunar trance
I followed the trail back to its past -
a prodigal son on long returned stay.
When time and fate and the risen sun
dawned upon a much younger day
Written: January 1993
To aerate, babble and procrastinate
decluttering man cave rubbish
welcoming this temperate
(Billy me) idle March thirtieth
tooth house sand nineteen
eventually to accomplish
sorting thru lifetime
worth miscellaneous
papered material former
rainforest, I banish
to the shredder repurposing
once upon a time
stately majestic humongous
dignified cub billed bearish,
yet stern silent taskmasters
razed forest mongers left blemish -
fueling the roaring engines
of western civilization
paper products service
material world feeding bookish
appetite, sans (ironic
knotty twist) printed
hot off the press bulletins,
bestsellers inform boyish
wordsmith, how vast
treeless tracts hasten
global abomination, chopping
degradation, lamentation... brownish
blotches encompass inert naked,
torchered, and zapped
originally pristine realms
overrun by sawyers brutish
Paul Bunyanesque (sporting
as good) fellas carved
cleared, and cropped enormous
swaths back when bullish
intruders displaced indigenous
peoples crowing manifest destiny
as mantra to appease expansionist
predilection frenzied cultish
zero sum game to annex
unbroken wilderness promulgating
feverish gold rush to demolish
wantonly scorching Earth,
whereby present day burgeoning
population irrevocably establish
ruination ushering ominous augury
permeating mine mortal mutterings.
The quiet heart departs rudimentary tasks, idle-fast in what it asks
content as a former-charlatan, like leaf and bough,
tree, root and earth, joined to wisdom at birth;
it has learned to keep the tongue still 'til the mind is glad
To wait unwanted and celebrate the yearning thresh
the gratutious peal longing within; a gabled-Gabriel
heaven-sent,
trumpets pounding ------ violins and strings screeching
hallowed silence...
the drums, arising, so arising ------ pittance proud
Arising, arising...
The Lady...
from the dark
And Aloud; my name echoed as delicate and soft,
so teased...
as the friendly hand of embrace so well known
He, I awaited, the old friend never alone, and she
whom never delayed to leave me be; the dreams of her
exalted amidst shadow among light, the old friend assures again
the Ancient Kiss...
She shall return, sayeth he ------
the light from the dark, and bring thee peace
In the leaving shadow prevails, the old friend departs
the return of rudimentary tasks, still silence shatters as glass;
drums too loud ----- rich with deceit, clamoring and toiling
incomplete
Replete: the old friend and she, painted in thy soul
never to forget
A Rendevous without exit (the annex)
BLIZZARDS PERSISTENT FOR SEVERAL DAYS , HOSTILITIES BEGUN BY CONSTANT CEASEFIRES .
ENEMIES STRIVING HARD TO OCCUPY NO - MAN’S - LAND ,
IS OF GREAT ADVANTAGE TO ANNEX AND BE WORTH.
HUGE CORPS DEPLOYED , AIR – BASES SET UP , ANY MOMENT WAR MAY DECLARE .
COLONEL ORDERED TO INFORM RELATIVES , ON A SPECIAL TRAINING , MOBILES NOT ALLOWED .
SIX PERSONNEL MARTYRED – INCLUDING A MAJOR.
RHANDRA , A WEEK LATER , MARRIAGE WAS FIXED , TWELVE YEARS OF INSEPARABLENESS , DEVIATED BY A BULLET .
THE ONLY BREAD WINNER OF FOUR SISTERS AND OLD PARALYSED MOTHER , NO MORE WITH US .
BODY DROWNED BY SNOWY LAYERS , FUTILE TO UNEARTH .
I OPENED THE CRATE , SAW THE BARBIE DOLL , MY DAUGHTER ASSERTED FOR ,
A VALIANT MILITARY BRAT , SELDOM WE CAN FIND .
PROUD OF HER FATHER , BRASH AND MIGHTY ,
WOULD NOT SHADE TEARS IF I DIE ON DUTY .
MY WIFE WILL CRY , BUT NOT TO WORRY ,
I HAVE A SCION , AS BOLD AS COURAGEOUS ,
IN MY ABSENCE WILL BRING HOME THE BACON .
WITH INJURY IN LEG TODAY I MAY REPLETE , BUT WITHOUT DEFEATING THE ENEMIES WE CANNOT SUCCEED .
I AM A SOLDIER – AT – ARMS , BORN TO PROTECT MOTHERLAND ,
TODAY I AM BREATHING , TOMORROW MAY NOT SUBSIST.
It was a hot day, I was on my way back from Spar, carrying a bag of groceries. I walked past the lilac bushes in bloom, past the annex to the medical centre with its small car park, rounding my house. From the side of the old red-brick typography building I heard an incomprehensible sound, like a tuba from underwater, the sound was muffled, even and deep. I immediately identified a C minor chord. Prolonged, devoid of modulation, the sound lingered in space as I walked across the ramp past the lilac bushes. It was impossible to make out exactly what it sounded like. As if from behind, there was some tenor sound in the background, but it was so faint that I could barely hear it. No one sat on the benches at the entrance to the house. The sun-drenched ramp area, the faded walls of the house, the bright blue sky. I went up to my flat, and went out onto the balcony. From the balcony I could hear nothing, there was the dead silence of a summer day. It's evening now, I'm writing this worthless story, but I can't get over the fact that I couldn't identify the source of the sound or its purpose. The only thing I could make out was an evenly sustained, deep C minor chord.