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.
Simply to put text that we cannot cover anything complex
There was a simplified version of every object-- an annex
The loss of everything to put it understandable; loosing context
Was like cutting all of the trees just to portray land like Lorax
Though, where we put things behind the bars is just the manifesto
Everything could be described out and reasoned with a memo
I was warned by Spinoza, that not everything fits out and can be a reductio
So, would a man be reasoning out of everything killing complexity would be a maestro
A virtuoso indeed, to be smart that it leaps every precautionary never stumbled
Wish I was that man to hide complexity, to assign simplicity-- oversimplified
But, I would lose the essence of dopamine in searching question categorized
As I would never understand if short text means something to unconcealed
Form:
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?
They deliver me
Swathed in fiber pages and hired into a fair case,
As my body reposes like a sack of raised morsels,
I effortlessly fit the “box!”
And not even a bit lingers out,
In its annex death swept me clean
Like a waged drought
As mine sing in despair
The weepiest hymns of my knowing;
And their eyes out in sour tears as systems
Handle down the confinement into the pit
They deliver my simple bones
Into graves of one kind,
Setting every practice they (will) mind
But I smile in my further place,
Though I have none skin nor face,
I have no wit nor tears;
But I smile still in my further place
For my soul is all that remains.
The touch of imperfectionality on some naked truth.
It burns deep into the flesh of happiness,
Yet stands smiling at the laxity of frailty.
A drop of legality would have seared the ice.
Some degree of excess consciousness couldn't avail indiscretion.
So selfish I was, struck the baton to revealing.
Tore down the garment of wonderfulness.
If only it had wrath a shield against grievous consequences.
Strayed from the bareness of my palms, my cherished secret.
Caved in the passing-by of history, are acts and actions I adore.
Regrets bid me awareness but I annex consolation in satisfaction.
Springs of flowing emotions seals my loosed heart.
I'm hung to the persistence of negativity.
Sunk into contentions so absurd to gamble worth for kinds.
A tiny little surgery garden so charming and attractive
with its shrubs rooted by garments, gold, timber and fish.
Lush tropical Islands, stretched by
lengthy, sweeping fluffy white sand beaches,
with densely but well spread pillars of palms’ radiance
and fronted by crystal clear acquamarine waters;
wet beauty in beach seduction, mobile cocktails, balmy evenings,
vibrant coral reefs and an irresistible breath of calm
at a gradual gorgeous sunset.
One out of every three of its over three hundred boundaries
making up its map
is embraced by Life and blessed with living activities.
It’s the sole owner of the red and white
so familiar to the hibiscus
and an annex to the dwelling of Indians.
Ruled by simplicity and affordability in lifestyle,
yet twas amazingly once a jungle of warfare and cannibalism,
all thanks to the re-modeling from Christianity
to bring out this light once hidden
in the stinking jacket of barbarism.
Rome wasn't built in a day
When the Romans themselves
arrived to annex Egypt claim
it for it's Empire
And seen the Pyrmaids for
the very 1st time
They had been built and
stood already
Longer than if you or i
or anyone of us present day
Went on pilgrimage to view
them today
Because in fact they would
have already been in existence
For about nearly a millennium
before
You or i or even the Roman
empire was to set foot upon
The Memphis Plateau
Where the 3 Pyrmaids of Giza
Still reside till today
The 1st and 7th Wonder
of the World
With certain of it's sectrets
still safely intact
Least of all
How they in fact
We're able to be built at all
The most intoxicating mystery
Since stepping foot on the moon
An elixir of grail proportion
Thanking you once again
Sir D.K for
posthumously bringing
this to my attention
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 Grand Fond 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.
~ 'Rap-Style' ~
Freedom from Hamas
Freedom from Abbas
Eliminate Sinwar
No more war
Redevelop Gaza
with kosher shopping plazas...
From Transjordan to the sea
All Israel's territory
Annex it 60 years ago
Defy the ‘status quo’ ...
Israel stands unbowed
~ Israeli Jews are proud
________________________________
How about a little rap to remind the
radical left, the White House, Congres-
sional Democrats, and the world of the
true and just war Israel is fighting
against the monsters of Hamas, against
Abbas with his 'pay-to-slay-Jews' program
for 'brave' Palestinians, and against Sinwar,
who promises thousands of October seven
massacres/holocausts - 'til every last Jew
is dead. Sinwar is this generation's Hitler...
Moortje was left behind
(Anne Frank's poor sweet feline)
It'd be hard to keep her
plus without her, cheaper
--to take care of the folks
but she'd miss Anne's soft strokes
--and all her loving care
though they were not aware...
...They'd never meet again
yet Mouschi's safe within
their secret annex place
(in Peter's attic space)
they could've been cat-friends
not long, before it ends
Do kitties understand
the suffering of man?
My cat knows when I'm sad
comforts me, til I'm glad
My heart's depressed for Anne :(
and their doomed hiding plan
(but previous to that
I'm sad she lost her cat)