Long Appraise Poems
Long Appraise Poems. Below are the most popular long Appraise by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Appraise poems by poem length and keyword.
Acta Non Verba... Speaks Volumes
The above ad hoc Latin catchphrase,
(concatenated with two English words),
I regale chance reader
immediately sets ablaze
title of poem with timeless adage,
aptly suits this solitary
older male, whose daze
spent on planet Earth
aimless curriculum vitae
configures a zigzag maze
significant blocks of time
poorly aye now appraise
and rue so little forethought
wrought starry eyed glaze
amiss to any Amish,
colonial, horse drawn observer
passing by in their chaise
puzzled, asper my
doggone catatonic gaze
indicative as if me mind
lost in a foggy haze
yours truly attests,
concurs, he now flays
chastises, fulminates, lays
hard and heavy lament,
albeit cloistered frivolous,
lackadaisical, unproductive... ways
apathetic, estranged, indifferent...
ambivalent state comatose phase
toward life, when at young age
lacked joie de vivre evincing braise
zen lee oblivious zombie behavior
upon quick observation displayed craze
zee demeanor synonymous
with institutionalized craze
zee wardens of the state,
and at present realize futility to raise
hullabaloo, when 20/20 hindsight
shines figurative light on
how appeared to laze
about lost in space,
within outer limits
of my own twilight zone ways!
ENOUGH!
I felt deaf from the ‘noise’ of information,
constantly butting, buzzing against my mantra of:
“The quieter you are… the more you… hear!”
At present, my lifestyle felt media manipulated:
tv, radio, newspaper, mobile, computer.. ad infinitum!
Besieged by endless emails, monopolizing mobiles,
beset by frenzied yaps from apps!
Enough is enough is….. ENOUGH,
I have to escape from the unrelenting hullabaloo.
Can the human brain endure so much information
and who am I, an individual thinker or group dancer?
However, relief sat just around the corner
as next morning I boarded the flight to Reykjavik.
A three-hour taxi journey with a taciturn islander,
people and communication diminishing by the mile
until finally a twig of a boat out to Ellidaey Island.
Boating and bobbing towards the uninhabited …hideaway,
an isolated jigsaw piece of land
off the southern coast of Iceland,
I appraise a small-boned building clinging to its side
with ‘RIDICULOUS’ scribbled all over it.
Someone had said Iceland was a niceland
where you could float free, peace and tranquillity!
But someone hadn’t warned me about…Mr Loneliness
Who was soon tapping me sharply on the shoulder.
So here I sit, three days into my week’s stay
in the island’s lodge, dubbed the world’s loneliest house,
where the only neighbours are passing ships and puffing puffins.
No internet, no tv, no electricity, no running nor strolling.. water
just remote, alone and contemplating my countenance
while wondering if God is lonely too!
Suddenly, clouds bump and bruise against each other
as they race away before the darkness snarls in.
Soon, night has sent in its stormtroopers
who land and splinter into shadow groups
while wind angrily sprints up to the house
bombing it with blockbuster punches.
Then rain happily joins in, machine-gunning the house
until the building begins to stagger and stumble.
I check my face and it is still in the same place
but I sit timorously trembling, tyrannised and terrified
while my eyes follow the house’s dimly lit path
as it wags its tail to the cliff’s edge
and jumps into the void of darkness.
But this poem is a broken wrist, with a twist,
as suddenly, my bones brittle and inside myself…..I faint!
What possibly could happen now?
But there it is..
the knock at the front door!
Ian Souter
I pawn my prayers for a handful of hunger and the clerk calls it salvation.
One's halo's on hire purchase cracked chrome still sticking on the devil's desk.
I trade mercy by the minute marked down,moth eaten!,mislabeled as hope.
My heartbeat haggles with hell drumming debt into my desperate dawns.
My tears come with interest,each drop a receipt stamped *Final Hell.*
The Spirit goes AWOL on paydays,replaced by plastic faith and payday psalms.
Heaven's door has a coin slot but my pockets cough only dust.
I'm a ghost on consignment groaning in gospel tones for one more breath of grace.
Angels appraise my agony and cry,"too used,too human,too late."
I sing in chains proud and penniless,a prophet of pawned redemption, my soul on layaway.
Spring
A refresh of rain, falling down on them all
Un-quenching each leaf with tilt refrain
Linden shaped blossoms in spring do install
Such beautiful heaven that no one can maim
The burst of an orange, a tulip in bloom
Infusion of flowers, by meadow's festoon
The shine of an orchid, ever so stark,
It stays on my mind, long after dark
The Rose brings her beauty, as I swift appraise
And summer goes trailing with fever, her blaze
Summer
Heat waves arrive, wearing red flaming scarves
Bronzed cherub angels, by cool fountain spout
Yellow kissed flowers by summer's head count
The dahlias in love, with passions, don't starve
Bikinis and tank tops with summer tanned legs
Atop the hot board walk, skip trampling keds
Bleach blonds and ravens in tune with the fair
Coasters and bolsters and times without care
It's all in the season of sunshine and thrills
Where fireworks burst, o'er emerald hills!
Autumn
The seasons pass as my eyes behold
Soft change in hues when bending limbs grow bare
As colored leaves turn brown begin to fold
To finally scatter into Autumn's air
These days remembered on a road of leaves
Traveling aspen groves ablaze in gold
A Winter's chill before the Autumn grieves
Reminds that all life ends before its cold
And calls in voice its yearly subtle dance
As songs from birds now give a quiet note
While those in love hope colors will enhance
To feel chill from Winter when color dies
To bless the fallen leaves with sadder eyes
Winter
The Winter's cold comes dressed in velvet white
And spills its unique flakes upon the Earth
Scenes of beauty calm, open eye's delight
And cleanse the ground before the Spring's rebirth
I'll walk upon the freshest fallen snow
And see the trail of prints I leave behind
While knowing it reveals the path I go
I'll make a snowy Angel some will find
To cross the banks of white where depth is low
And sit among the quiet, Winter's brought
To see the landscape clean with softest glow
Shall bring to me another gentle thought
I'll lift my eyes to find a pictured scene
And marvel at the white that is pristine
written by Mystic Rose & Frederic Parker
9/20/14
Blimey it’s hot
Though moan I must not
As to see the sun high up above
Evokes wonderful memories of summers gone by
Of weeks in the sunshine and temperatures high
With no sign of clouds in the stunning blue sky
From May to September, wearing summer attire
And not till November did Mum light our fire
Spending days on the beach building castles in the sand
Eating nice juicy peaches mixed with sand from our hands
There were days when we had too much sunshine
and Mum put us to bed, bathed in cool Calamine
Our scarlet red arms and our scarlet red legs
Made it painful to sleep as we took to our beds
And the sunshine brought out my freckles
Sun kisses, is what my Mum said
The sun she liked me and kissed me all over
From my toes right up to my head
Now moving towards my twilight years
The finale draws closer, but I have no fears
'cos inside my head I am young again
Reliving those wonderful carefree days
Though now looking back through my memories
they often appear in a rose tinted haze
As my time runs out I try to live
my life in every moment
Not wanting it to end just yet
I've requested a postponement
I enjoy each day
each hour
each minute
not from the outside
but from within it
So gratefully I will end my days
Recalling my memories
I assess and appraise
My next journey onwards
for me holds no fear
Finding peace from the sea
how I love living here...
Contest Brian's Choice 8
Sponsor Brian Strand
2nd PLACE
Countless in our days
Of lives seize with easy.
Alas! Guns off fashion
For many of them
Fathoms its symptoms.
Enters the Polished clean hands
Reddish with stabbing ,
Answers they have not.
Dollars dump in bin
In search of them
With forensic eyes
And better long nose
To sniff out the doers.
With fanfare, we welcome the
Three wise men from white color above.
A vote lost in confidence
To them of our kingdom
For ceaseless lives snuffed off
We , to them . . .
Is hiss of no confidence.
In a while, the drama begins
With impotent synonyms and faces
The black men with rod unveils
Parading them the unkempt
Before our very eyes . . .screen
Sown them a toga of suspects
A little while off,
Breeze blow it off rough
And end comes for the drama.
Alayande Stephen .T
6.14pm
Tues, August 1st, 2006
It was packaged specially to appraise
The incessant political killings in our land,
With the piece emanating from the death
Of Engineer Funsho Williams.
Initialising silhouettes submit to midwinter dawn
Beginning willingly to swallow colour of choices
Fledgelings' flamboyant campaigns display oblivion
Audacious adolescents distribute chafing thoughts
Attach entire esteem to securing peer approval
Frivolous get transfixed in youth's lurid allure
Bustling balloons launch from high vaulting hearts
Adventurers revel in joy during jaunty occasions
Concerned observers avoid havoc's banquet
Money cascades proportionate to patrons' appraise
Circumspect travel with kaleidoscope analysis
Attentively pensive address torrid scheduling
Pallid consideration accompanies shaded misers
Assorted sections bolstered by merciful sharers
Principled accord favoured by fate's ultimation
Aura of agitation promotes copious desires
Hushed heeders find freedom in relinquishing
Dilating ease determines to exit temptation
Plethora of pleasures pledged by reoccurring sunrise
Replenished spirit operates as a doting shepherd
Validates delight in desiphered silence
Supreme reckoning denounces pretentious credentials
Clarity invades tainted captivity's insatiable tirade
Mortal manuscript mirrors sequel's assembling
20th April 2020
Submitted to Chantelle Anne Cooke's
Best NA Poem 2020 Re run
Words reside alone in time and space;
Only sentient minds their roots trace.
Etymologists bring accents, forms to the surface;
Lexicographers establish a chronological base.
In dark, library basements, archivists file in database;
In academic institutes, linguists their value appraise.
Calligraphers, Engravers with artistic touch glaze.
Phrases the syntactical bridge brace,
and cultured interlocutor platforms grace.
Idioms the colloquial strains do lace;
Sages their poignant advice encase.
Ethnographers stride where lingua francas interface.
Truisms sculpt a vernacular face;
Politicians their trite maxims raise.
Thirteen is a baker’s dozen,
Or a scary Friday night.
Missing in an elevator,
Or a 12-year-old’s delight.
Rite of passage from a tweener,
Cooler in so many ways.
Does it bring a new demeanor?
That’s for others to appraise.
An impish grin and razor wit
Make it hard to guess the years.
Daddy’s girl still loves to snuggle;
Raging, crying, full of tears.
Thirteen is an awkward age, yes,
Not a child, but not yet grown.
A scant few years, she’ll spring the cage;
My oh my, the years have flown!
So here is our birthday prayer:
May your year abound in glee.
Careful to avoid the pitfalls;
led by Christ, our precious Ree.
----------
(a birthday card inscription on the occasion of Ree’s 13th birthday, so, a few years ago)
Oft solitude's a gift I need to seek
when life becomes a circus of events.
And oh, how precious are those few unique
hours I can spend alone as time presents.
These days, this treasured solitude's reversed;
commanded to stay sheltered, safe in place-
away from family and friends- submersed
in finding how I can survive with grace.
This challenge offers time to find new ways
to shape stiff patterns into supple ones;
use well this stage alone to think, appraise-
live calmer days before my time outruns.
With grace, I bear this solitude prolonged-
now righted as a gift- not feeling wronged.
April 29, 2020
~2nd Place~
Congest: Brian's Choice 8
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Judged: 05/10/2020