Long Assortment Poems
Long Assortment Poems. Below are the most popular long Assortment by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Assortment poems by poem length and keyword.
If I was to take a word, say focus,
Stand it on its head,
And ask with growing sense of dread,
Why my friend did you just now,
Fly upon this particular
Moment’s verbal locus?
Torture I might answer, like waterboarding,
Might explain a thing or two.
Indeed the stakes are dear,
And the coast far from clear-
For foggy shores clarity prevents,
The utter contingency of cluttered events.
Focus is the mine shaft of the mind,
Magnifying that which falls
Into categories of significance:
Signs of a trance, a mental dance,
By which thinking signifies
The magnificent follies
Of a man upside down
In a world of lies.
No subtlety there,
Poet banging hair chest bare,
The mental frequency hertz,
Screeching, scratching, snatching,
Lose bits of hurt out of the air.
The mathematics of falling
Made clear by Newton,
His numbers uncovering
What was
Always there:
A god already in free fall,
The Fall, the autumn of our birth,
The forsaken garden,
Two dummies hand in hand,
An undulating snake,
A world of entanglement,
All fleeing into a desert dream.
For what? To where? And why?
The three double jews of the trinity
Which Law forbade no One to ask,
Yet no body did
Put focus to task.
She reappears all the time.
The rabbit hole stood for what was to come,
The worms therein what was done.
The trip down was fun,
Getting out gave more than the sum.
The prism diffracted the invisible
Beams of light,
An assortment of possibilities followed,
The world explained, the mind contained,
A boundless infinite void of space,
Surrounding us,
Disgracing us,
For we had to face,
The borders of our place.
Trapped inside
We looked the other way,
Attic floors, token doors,
A distilled virtue, forgeries for another day.
The sky was not the limit, we were.
The atoms of the mind mere reflections
Of our best guessing games.
There though, lay our best hope.
After the bloodshed
She reappeared again.
But only after.
Choices like Templars into the night,
Distracted the courtesies of a harmonious cosmos,
God had blood and died,
Men embraced humiliation and cried,
Change, the abomination of free will,
Altered the fabric of time.
Focus put by for a rainy day.
Distraction, the play thing
Of an unruly monster lurking in the shadows of thought,
Vomiting a pile of disassociations.
I am promenading in the woods
Whistling at the birds
The rays of the sun
Now and again interrupting my vision
Then something moves
Something- like a woman
Her glamour- what say?
I halt- the power attending
How very smashing
She moves, actually peacocks
Towards me; closer, closer
Now I am all smiles
All smiles and tears
Her arms outstretched
Mine, too, outstretched
We are now drawing closer
we are moving
Like we were on the moon
With a spring, bouncing
Slowly towards an embrace
Eyes, ears, arms and smiles
The whole machine feeling for company
Full of nothing but joy
As the distance between us narrows
I hear small bells tolling
I hear small babies pattering
I hear the laughter of maidens
And as we lock our arms together
In a violent embrace
There in the woods
I see beautiful nymphs
All around our embrace
Holding their parasols high
Dancing to the reggae
In the tropical sun
All this I see, and more…
I notice that while locked we stood
With my bountiful beloved
A thousand maidens emerge
All in white and with roses
And yellow scarves
In each hand a bouquet
Of the best assortment of flowers
On their lips stands a song
Which I know to one
Composed by a great poet
To all that trade in marriage
I smile at my beloved
The queen of my soul
And as we walk in state
I see gold in her finger
And more on mine
I kiss her brow and lo!
The perfume!
The diamonds surrounding!
Then the doors of the cathedral
Open in front of us
At the pulpit- the bishop
His eyes raised above us
The Holy Book in place
And on either side
The attendants:
All practitioners of the faith!
We step inside the edifice
The congregation stands
And sings a welcome;
The train behind us
The bishops and attendants
The tolling of the bells
The bride and maids
And I the Prince.
All these I see, and more…
As we seal the pact
And vow to God
To be, now and always
Till death do us part
And set our hands
To ‘these presents’
I see twins at the brook
By our country home
Playing hide and seek
And mother and father
Standing hand in hand
Watching them, bemused
And I see a house
Happy and prosperous
Where dwell two pretty maidens
And three handsome lads
And the greatest promise
Sealed in the woods
Is kept.
And I wake up
To the ticking of the clock
After the hour of eight
And all the sorrows of bachelorhood
Come knocking at my door!
I was remembering my father,
just the other day.
It’s been a lotta years,
since Daddy passed away.
My name is not important.
My fathers name was Jim.
He never called me by my name!
I was always Butch to him!
Fishing was his passion!
It was what he loved to do!
It’s where he’d be on weekends
and I would be there with him too!
Dad had a real old rowboat,
which had seen its better day!
It had a couple of minor leaks,
but we used it anyway!
He got the rowboat from his father,
when his father passed away!
So, he named the rowboat “Pappy”,
what more is there to say!
We always took some snacks along.
They were part of our fishing “gear”!
For me, there was a couple of soft drinks,
for Dad - a six pack of beer!
Winona Lake was where we fished,
which wasn’t very far.
We always had to walk there,
cause Daddy didn’t own a car!
Winona offered an assortment of fish,
like Bass and Trout and Crappie.
It made no difference what he caught,
Dad was always happy!
Our fishing gear was a basic pole,
a reel, a hook, and worms for bait.
No fancy casting rods or expensive lures!
But our fishing trips were always great!
Dad loved to tell me stories,
much to my delight!
I never tired of hearing them,
while waiting for the fish to bite.
We didn’t always fish from “Pappy”
as I had said before!
On hot and humid days, the trees gave shade,
so we did our fishing from the shore!
Dad had the patience of a saint,
as that old saying goes,
which is a very handy virtue,
especially when fishing, I suppose!
Patience is a strength I also have
which helps me cope with stress!
Where does this patience come from?
From my father, I would guess,
My father, to me, was an Icon!
My teacher and my best friend!
He taught me how to deal with life.
Advice, on which, I still depend!
Yes, how much I learned from his advice,
it’s hard for me to say!
But, because of his love and wisdom,
he made me who I am today!
So God bless and keep you Daddy.
I pray the angels will tell you this!
My fond memories of you help a bit,
but it’s really you I miss!
RIP Dad - love, Butch
Ralph Taylor
12/21/19
I divorced the cirrus heat
that once laced the sky with fire,
carrying searing sins of
the scorching sun ~
burning the soft bronze of my melanin;
an unabated rage,
a labyrinth of blooming lilac,
an assortment of angst,
a library of healing lullabies
homed beneath the glass-skin silence
of my quivering chest~
like wind through cathedral clusters,
a poison to my psyche,
too bright for the darkness that dwells.
But perhaps it is in eclipsed spheres
I thrive in comfort~
attain nirvana
through sketched peace lilies
drawn in stillness.
Now I’ve found inner
nectarine ingredients~
a recipe for resilience
to pollinate my passion,
to compose myself,
to uncloud storms
by marrying the
moon in my conscience~
painting citrine and topaz
on the pillows where I weep,
in seclusion and solitude.
Here, stars of solace ~ I do breathe~
a self-consolation that needs
no granular words scratching
the inner walls of the throat chakra.
O beloved, forgive my need
to see through the haze
that has been fogging
the fluorescence of your aurora horizon.
My woe ~ a broken vow,
my ache ~ a bleeding wound,
my grief ~ your scar~
a suffocating scarf,
a burden I relieve you of with severed ties,
letting go amidst the love
that still flutters in Luna sparkles…
You were a hallucinatory
hymn of dawn ~ beautiful, yet bruised,
and I am silver thread
tied to the oblivion of diamond dusk,
basking in the raining remedies,
seeking floriated meadows,
lost in the breeze of
sea-kissed azure~
an awakening: to trade venom for vigor,
like the unfurling of sakura
in the warmth of spring’s splendor,
brushing away crystals
of mulberry-black ice
when cold are the conversations
left unread and dried
between misinterpreted metaphors...
Sometimes, farewells are healing,
moving on ~ a contemplative prayer,
the spiritual pilgrimage
toward embracing clarity and zen.
For there, in the vintage
forest of forsaken violets,
wilted petals are watered
with tears and roseate radiance,
and, in the ruins of
pixelated promises,
we will learn to linger in
the luminous reveries of love ~ evermore...
As they hurried to the door, the sounds of laughter and shouts from outside faded but never completely disappeared. They could still hear the teenagers chanting and the Bunny making sarcastic comments to keep the situation wierd. Their distraction technique was working, but they knew they couldn’t linger. Gus looked at Penney, who farted
again, because his berating look, lingered.
Gus inserted the key into the lock, and with a satisfying click, the door swung open to reveal a new challenge: a room filled with sparkling lights and a shimmering floor that looked like a galaxy of stars. Hanging above were various musical instruments—an odd assortment indeed, from ukuleles to maracas to instruments of torture and bdsm.
“This place is amazing!” Penney exclaimed, her spirits lifted by the sensory overload. “But how are we going to solve the next puzzle?”
Suddenly, a loud thud reverberated from the room they had just escaped. Michael's voice boomed through the door. “You can’t hide forever, Penney! I’ll get you, I'll get you a free bus ride to Butler Pennsylvania!”, it blurted.
“Time’s running out!” Gus said as a tingle of panic shot through him. “We need to make music together!" Penney's eyes lit up. "Maybe that’s the key!”
Gus dashed to the nearest instruments. Penney a bit bummered out, grabbed a maraca while Gus took hold of a be-dazzling tambourine. With an improvised beat, they tapped and shook, creating a rhythm that filled the room. Just as they began to lose themselves in the music, the room responded; the walls shimmered brighter, and notes floated into the air, intertwining with the delicate air raisin like sounds they created.
Suddenly, the floor lit up, revealing a beautiful pattern that corresponded with their tune. It was clear now—they needed to hit the right notes to unlock the next door. They took a deep breath and focused.
With every shake and strum, they gradually deciphered a melody, one not only full of life and attention but filled with intention—an anthem of escapism against Michael’s looming threat. As the final note echoed, a door on the opposite end of the room slid open.
No one knew his background, he did not speak of family
Not even the one left, whom he felt was a burden
His younger sister with whom he’d been out of touch
Financially, he was doing alright, handsome and perfectly fit
Friends wondered why he wasn’t dating
When asked, he’d merely laugh it off
If they only knew the burden he bore, haunted by his crippling addiction
A demon that had seized his body now hungered for his soul
Making its lustful demands at will by day or night
At first he seemed to keep his secret well, appearing as, just one of the guys
While apart, he rode the subway daily
With eyes of a hunter he surveyed
A different girl he took each time, In his home or some dark street corner
When he had no access to girls, alone, he’d easily play “solitaire”
Or browse the magazines and internet
Secrets like acorns take a while to grow, his were no different; just biding
time
Til the day of discovery arrived unannounced
Hidden files on the office hard drive
Confronted, he walked away in shame, and some ray of light seared his mind
At home he bagged and trashed his toys
Especially his favorite, the laptop
Temptation came fiercer and with maddening force, took him on a binge
That night he sank to the lowest belly of the beast
Ignoring his sister’s desperate call for help
When he'd had his fill of a sordid, assortment of lust, a flicker of conscience
emerged from within
Off he ran in the cold, pouring rain to find his sister alone
Alone, in the bath with her wrists cut; her precious life slowly ebbing away
It was mercy which kept her alive, barely, and by her hospital bed he sat for
three days!
Later, outside her room in the parking lot as he left, beyond broken he fell
upon his knees
And through his tears and the rain, he cried out loud , “God have mercy!”
That’s how a man, bankrupt; without love or self worth gained a second
chance...
At a most pivotal time in his life; in need of redemption
The shackles of addiction laid broken in torrent rain...free once more to be
himself.
~*~
02/25/13
Inspired by the HBO movie, "Shame"
A deep wooded valley, heavily condensed with enriching moisture, and more importantly, teeming with an assortment of life, of every size, shape, and species. One such life just awoke and has spread its delicate see-through sheen-like white wings. It is looking up at the star-laden night sky. It oo's and ah's at the splendor of it. Out of nowhere, a dragonfly says his name is Draco.
The little one said that she was Dolanica, and he told her that all of her kind was named that. Like all of his kind were named Draco too, and that they were a distant cousin. He said that his name was actually, Draco the pesky and that she is a Mayfly like her second cousin, but then she was the rarer ones. She said that someone is here for her and that she'll be right back, and in a flash, she returned. Draco asked if she was done and she told him that there was one more thing.
Then in a flash, she was all done. Draco asked where she put them, and she pointed to a large turned up tree trunk. She told him that they are all safe and sound. Draco told her, he will be with her second cousins, a bit later. She asked Draco if he can hop on his back cause she was too weak to fly up over the top of the trees.
So up they went, then in a weakened voice, she asks if that was the moon, he told her that it was the moon. She told him that she was glad to spend her entire life with him and didn't find him to be pesky at all. Lastly, she told him that she will see him on the other side, and he told her, "you too kiddo!" A dragonfly is seen hovering over a large fallen tree trunk, whispering that they are all okay.
A body draped under two folded wings is seen fading in the distance as a dragonfly part.
*Dolania americana: Have no digestive system because of their five minutes of life on Earth, too short of a life span to eat or drink, for their sole purpose is to breed for the survival of their kind.
There is no rightful measure to live,
not in its length,
not in its brevity,
but in its right to be.
Date: 08/21/2019
The Tortured Poets Department has a writer's division that has to approve every poem before it goes out
And my mind is tired of being held hostage
A loose-leaf definition of writer's block was once defined by the utter of: I don't feel like writing, this isn't good enough, my hand only works for the remote today
Then she interrupts my train of thought to ask: why have you never wrote a poem about me
It's not that I haven't
There are 100s getting as comfortable as you can be in the waste basket
The last poem I Kobe shot, Melo made, and Curry posed to the trash can started like this:
An eye lash is trying to make your cheek more than just a Sunday service sanctuary
It wants a home
I know you'd like me to remove it
But who am I to destroy a home
I can't help but think how beautiful you look with that eye lash
As it rests there like a pair of doves flirting on a branch not far away from me
What are you starring at, she exclaims
Oh, nothing I reply, today I'll let the eye lash remain
On
Your rosy cheeks, kissed by my dead rose petal lips
Reminding you of the time we went camping and you hated that you smelled the outside
You hated that you smelled like outside
And I kept teasing you but hiking, visualizing, and tenting next to nature is maybe the closest thing to
Falling asleep to your beautiful
Falling asleep to your beautiful
Falling asleep to your gorgeous
Ugh, I can never find the right words to describe a tenth of your gorgeous
And it makes me want to drop dead out of frustration
Because the writers need to feel exactly what I do when they read:
Holding her hand is to get a glimpse of forever before I die
Holding her makes my heart resemble the flight of a butterfly
Holding her hand is to hold my battles in the palm of my hand and make them cry
The writers consist of a delicious various assortment of personality; often referred to as me, myself, and I
Every time I get ready to seal this poem to you the writer’s block me from letting you receive it
p.s. I haven't learned to love myself enough to love you...
I attended a large gathering and took some time
to observe the great assortment of shoes stacked on the racks
I saw new shoes, pricey shoes, and shoes not worth a dime
and shoes that seemed to have crossed many paths and tracks.
I saw dainty sandals and flighty high heeled ones too
I saw sporty sneakers and rough and tough trainers
I saw both the laced and the leathery buckled shoe
Then I saw the humble yet hardy pair of slippers.
I saw pointy shoes, furry shoes and flatties as well
I saw flowery ones and those studded with trinket gems
Some stacked neatly in pairs, others thrown about pell mell
Some recently repaired, some coming off at the hems.
I saw long boots, rubber boots and
there were glittery Indian styled stilettoes
I spotted fragile glass sandals and metallic brass sandals
and soft comfy ones for comfort of feet 'n' toes.
And while I was thus lost and engrossed
in watching the great assortment of footwear
The old caretaker, to me, a cheap pair tossed
saying, ' here's an extra pair if you've lost your shoes.
She was too busy and distracted to be in my shoes of muse
So I'd to slip out thinking of some quick excuse
She didn't even notice I wasn't actually barefoot
So I had to take them elsewhere, both my muse and my boot!
Ah, and long ago when once we could afford only a 'shoestring' budget
I once hadn't enough bucks to replace a worn out pair of shoes
I was sad for not having even a good goody two shoes
Then God showed me a wayfarer's shoeless pair of barefeet
and then one hapless one with no feet at all!
So I could imagine life being in their missing shoes.
(Footnote*
Wonderin where I saw so many shoes off peoples feet? Well, in our religious gatherings say for prayers in the mosque hall or even the religious lecture hall, we've to enter barefooted and sit down crosslegged. So that's where you come across all kinds of shoes on racks provided in the cubicle.
Actually in the Disney movie, 'THE PRINCE OF EGYPT', i marked that even Moses took off his shoes before talking to God.)
An excerpt from my new short story:
Contributing factors, however, are deemed as an assortment embracing negativity and were reinforcements for the young idealist. Granted to resonate by the dark lord was his underlying purpose. The premise has been appropriated. Likewise, the preceding groundwork was properly shoveled underneath. A particular young idealist realigns his outlook and foresees his fresh novel and still sought-after directive. Politics was a voracious subject, not so much academically, but it's a side subject welcomed by scholars considering it just as an extra curriculum. The topic may have been reworded, but his inner values sustain him representing his singular verbiage that goes on unwaveringly. As his agenda gathers momentum, attracting newcomers who realign their political views with his, draws the attention of the local region. Soon thereafter, the rest of the country will be on the ball, by way of his name. His political point of view which framed him since birth, now frames a country. The dark lord is on the rise bearing gifts purposed for an original firstborn. Introduced into a split family valued life of pluses and minuses, and compounded with his educational woes, evil's birthright was given a unique name. Historians, during their early stages, were amidst the golden glow of a virgin Europe, circa 1900.
It would later serve as a guide for his yet-to-be, future. WWI military losses for the Central forces were; 4,386,000, with; 3,700,000 civilian casualties. The Russian Empire conceded to the Bolsheviks Revolution who then executed the Imperial family. Military losses for the Allied forces were; 5,525,000, with; 4,000,000 civilian casualties. The German Empire ended after Kaiser Wilhelm II abdicated his throne on November 9th, 1918. Two days later on the 11th of November 1918, The Peace Armistice was signed by the newly formed, German Republic, and the Soviet Union. The end of WWI left a highly decorated Adolf, wholly confident and sharply experienced.