Long Apportioned Poems
Long Apportioned Poems. Below are the most popular long Apportioned by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Apportioned poems by poem length and keyword.
Though not exceptionally
famished, I took one bite
after another until tureen
licked clean to the delight
of zee missus, whose tasty
two stuffed peppers numbered finite
adequately apportioned appeased
served December 26th, 2020
supreme supper highlight,
hers whose non verbal expression
translated high as kite
beaming satisfaction at husband
well fed fueled might
dare attempt to craft following
reasonable rhyme posted
for many readers onsite
passable endeavor hoop fully
buzzfeeding fanciful kudos - quite
acceptable to critique
mediocre outcome,
maybe ye suburbanite
dweller or thee might
perchance be longtime urbanite.
Nevertheless (me) de facto
de jure guinea pig cannot abstain
availing self as willing subject and feign
to gag on culinary entree with cuisine plain
no spicy food to avoid aggravating reign
of terror within
lower gastrointestinal tract,
a worse fate than being slain
in battle and/or
drowning within gravy train.
Most meals prepared courtesy thy wife
I masticate without any
(loose) indentured (sink false teeth into) strife
both of us quarantined as our typical nightlife
Covid-19 jazzmatazz planted
well rooted herbalife
such tranquility emblematic
when I become gratefully dead and
consigned to mounted afterlife.
Thus hoop fully
ye accepted poetic side morsel
(mine) somewhat wry
wordsmith (me) rather bland,
yet not averse to satisfy
merchant of Venice
much (moosh pit) ado about nothing, well nigh
preferring a midsummer night's dream afore
all's well that ends well
as you like it (poetry soup)
mine sense and sensibility doth defy
ratiocination minus any helpful alibi.
Methinks what future savory dish
the spouse might cook up,
what with an abracadabra
prestidigitation (Nike) swish
right before these myopic eyes witness
whatever mine heart doth wish.
Anxious in Ancona (2)
The Doge has apportioned a fleet for his use,
but is proving an Indian giver.
A pope with a navy (and with a screw loose)
is no-one’s idea of chopped liver,
so Venice, delaying and playing obtuse,
is selling the pope down the river.
A Christian army, devoted to God,
is what Pius imagines he’s shaping,
but this one is riding distinctly rough-shod:
Ancona’s awash with the scrapings
of Europe: and here, where the Caesars once trod,
they are busily looting and raping.
There ain’t going to be any ardent crusade,
and Pius is dying, for certain.
They’ve all came to nothing, those plans that he laid,
and his project has gone for a burton.
To stop him from seeing his “army”, his aide
has fastened the litter’s gauze curtain.
He thought to have fought at the head of a host:
but reality isn’t like that.
We babble and squabble, we brag and we boast,
but our fantasies always fall flat.
Poor Pius was no Alexander. At most,
he was sort of an Anwar Sadat.
We curse our ill fortune and, wringing our hands,
we wail at our undeserved lot.
But is it so rare, as we formulate plans,
to end up with diddly squat?
If that’s how it goes with the Number One man,
what chance have the rest of us got?
Our long time catered chef...
prepared a meal fit for (psst... me) a king
Actually professional cook
(trained since infancy)
long a staple of our family
since... oh way before
my bubba's zayda's time
naturally became (according
to rules of primogeniture)
the feudal rule by
which whole real estate
of intestate passed
to eldest son, i.e. yours truly
automatically included:
aide de camp, chambermaid,
essential frisson gourmet hotelier,
lion tamer, jack of all trades.
Thus surprise meal of
mid/late afternoon May 17th, 2080
constituted: gluten free pasta
(celiac raged rampant
one generation to the next),
vegan cheese, V8 juice,
diced onions and garlic,
and steeped with special
ingredient – namely tlc,
not available anywhere
but, just enough
tender loving care to buzzfeed
the whole mishpacha,
which gathered from far and wide
every Sunday afternoon
since Moses parted the Red Sea.
How glorious to feast upon:
delicious smelling than tasting,
humongous apportioned
splendiferous concoction
conglomeration ofttimes referred
to as popslop,
which general household name
lacks culinary delicacy,
and honorary specificity.
The meal made manifold more appreciative
after a hard day's night sleeping
within an ornate bedchamber
comprising our lofty abode
upon groggily awakening each morning,
I betook sweeping view
out uppermost bay window
pleasant view of Schwenksville proper,
(which I accomplished
with flying colors
eight days a week)
experiencing vibrant dreams constituting
living social the life of Riley.
After adequately supping on repast
which if any leftovers got repurposed
for next sumptuous meal,
either one prepared later that same day,
or come the morrow promised taste buds
to experience out of this (Martian) world
another savory experience fit for none other
than king of schnorrers!
Contrary to popular belief
hen pecking mother goose,
nor her ilk of coterie of four
and twenty blackbirds
purportedly baked in a pie
completely groundless supposition
crust a stale rumor
circulating courtesy deluxe
twenty first century technological
and ecological (of course)
invidious rumor mill.
Sunlight beams on streets so mean..' As Love reaches out.'
A lonely widow toils unending, till day it fades then shares a morsel with her pet..'
Love aspires... a lust rages, and goals are pursued.' As Love reaches out.'
A man beats his family unmercifully..' A sweet rain falls, and tears flow..
Mists shroud the land, a baker makes dough fires an oven as Love reaches out.'
People plan wars, lies are circulated money is apportioned, deaths are reported..'
Storms batter, economy's teeter politicians smile sweeter. as Love reaches out..'
Women cheat on their partners, inflation is raging..' As Love reaches out..'
Love is patient, Love is kind, it does not envy it does not boast, it is not self-seeking,
It is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs' Love does not delight in evil
but rejoices with the truth, it always protects always trusts, always hopes always perseveres..'
All children, all people..' require true 'Love' in order to grow as individuals to attain
their best potential, why is it the world is a consumerist, indifferent model at best
and at worst a short selling warring divisive entity, and yet we have highly educated people running things, purportedly for the benefit of all, what's missing here.?
Is it the innocence of true Love..?
Suburban Mindmelt
You and I know what it takes to make the sky turn around.
We still know when to stop in our tracks,
To look and smell and pause; we must, if we can,
For we are sad souls in a suburban mindmelt;
We know the numbers but not the rules of return.
We must daily continue on and go our wearisome ways,
Opening metal doors to various offices,
Housed with experts we pay to rid our lives of the various afflictions and maladies,
Acquired in divers ways, during esoteric transactions,
Privately and publicly exchanged, apportioned properly and lawfully,
before dinners in dark dives, with candle-lit apparitions traipsing on the walls,
and ketchup bottles jostling in the middle of large tables.
We have seen the stars, mad as dancers twirling sur les pointes in the dark.
We have seen them startle us with their consistent placements and positions.
We have heard the stoned sounds of a multitude of vibrating cymbals,
Slicing the suburban mindmelt, with the notes of mayhem, madness and redemption.
You and I now know what it takes to lock a door and turn out a light, just before midnight,
When the earth demons go on the prowl for lost faces and young sadness.
We know what it takes to change a record, or the sound of our voices at noon.
Be quiet as you speak when it is midday, for the fishmonger and his boy have big ears.
Be still and do not breathe.
You and I know what it takes to make the sky turn around,
For we are sad souls in a suburban mindmelt;
We know the numbers, but not the rules of return.
When I met the world on a tour,
It introduced me to a sunrise from the eastern province,
Why will I not cast back my mind?
Maybe that was because of your absence,
Butterflies cry when I seek for my soulmate in darkness,
Due to my hopeless walk in madness,
You've gone far predicting the downfall of our love walls,
Return to me with two rocky stones,
So much do my whole being yearns to feel your touch,
When the stellar opens voluminous gap,
And my tongue can't wait to lick the edge of your lip.
Which will place we two in apportioned flip,
Making darkness an intoxicant when it sees our affections in a flip book,
It will then fill its own mouth with every drop of his vain sweat,
After we ignite the candle in our simple flet,
The world we'll see our love on a candle light.
To impress the formless night with our might.
“She lies in the western region of the black race territory apportioned back from generations,
Within the 11th century era,
Filled with typical black men with strong melanin,
Who lives semi-primitively to satisfy the necessities of their dreams and aspirations,
Under the rise and fall of the sun, soundly…
A land raising walkers from different routes permanently,
Deepening and sharpening the definitions of social culture at highest peak,
Profoundly marked upon the Gulf of Guinea,
Acclaiming the recognition of undeniable reputation,
Her heart dripped with blood in the course of human trading,
The historic period where hope and self-realizations seem to never return for formal grading,
The blood of her forefathers through the purpose of mightiness erected her back magnanimously,
She is clothed with discipline and self-actualizations,
Shaping the conspiracy arrayed in her senses to meet everyday determinations,
And it`s steadfastly concluded by the views of observing neighbors and willing spectators,
Possesses cherishable name highly distinguished,
Subbed with riches bridged over an expandable range,
And this proves the result of past event which left her offspring anguished,
They conformed to shame, just to get the inspiring tenets of their motherland among headlines on global page,
Which brought about the achievement of independence…
Based on the ideologies and firmness of the Kwame Nkrumahs and the rest,
If probably you`re not figuring anything out,
I mean “GOLD COAST”,
A unitary presidential constitutional democracy,
The present “GHANA”,
Meaning “Warrior King” in the Soninke language,
Home of peace always deserving honor,
Who always stand against a sign of savage,
Indeed, the land is full of courage”
“GOD BLESS OUR MOTHERLAND”
Why will He sit back and watch me go wrong?
Gamble on choices yet remain on the villainous path.
Why will my thoughts of being perfect melt sour?
When He has a plan He wishes I follow.
I am left to flesh to argue, Left to self to embrace.
He wants me in the right, yet turn blind to my flaws.
He stands distances away and let me err,
Gives an apportioned missile to my discretion,
Leaves me in the mystery of the yet to be,
While in time He promised my boat He will paddle.
I am the apple of His eyes and never the less He chose to watch me fail,
Classed me reprobate when He can force righteousness on my chest.
Why do I have to make a mistake first to be learned?
Whilst He in superiority can stamp me in appropriation.
But then, He said life and death He has placed before me.
The essence of common sense He has dignified to my appraisal.
While He ushers me to life, He cast me an agent of self-will.
In His image am I created, The weight of His perfection I am to carry.
As He called Heaven to witness in His favor,
The wheels to my destiny He placed in my hands to wield.
Can't I event stand up to my wrongs and robe them right?
Can't I prove to Him that His breath in me isn't a waste?
I am faced to worth the life I will live as a proof of an existence,
Therefore I will throw sentiments away and risk all in expedition.
Romance craves wide enough space to dance,
Neighbours as need betwixt them good fence,
For love is a river, pool nor pond,
Apart stand banks though each to each fond…
Let breeze from heaven blow ever hence.
As two mutual cups fill, drink from own,
Let love leave leisure time all alone,
Though close by, alone stand strings of lute
To quiver quite in sync or all mute,
Harmony hails one’s very own tone.
Together, but hang no close to heart,
Pillars of a temple stand apart,
Oak, Cypress that so taller are made,
Seldom can grow in each other's shade,
Stay apart, playing apportioned part.
____________________
Musings | 05.03.2006 | freedom, love, Quintain
Note: Original by Kahlil Gibran, interpretation done in anapaest meter, Quintain (limerick) in construction, not in mood.
Yea if a man labours in pain
If not in the Lord, he labours in vain
But whatever a man finds to do
Be he even unto his master and to God be true
Even in his ministry to God above
Let it be cheerfully a sincere labour of love
For Christ laboured even to wash feet
And Paul condemned he that labours not to not eat
And ye are called into heights above the surface
In unity and maturity towards works of service
For even faith without works is dead
For by a working Master we are led
We are called for such a time as this
For works prepared aforetime and with apportioned grace
The will and the ability also built in us
That our days be spent in the pleasure of bearing the onus
For the awaiting judgment will weigh the deeds
A presentation of harvest, not of unsown seeds
HAPPY LABOUR DAY