Long Assuage Poems
Long Assuage Poems. Below are the most popular long Assuage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Assuage poems by poem length and keyword.
A dress blew up the internet: a fact that's strange but true.
It seems that some saw white and gold, while others, black and blue.
For nearly one full day or more (a web eternity),
On Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, ’twas all that one could see.
The cat memes and the llamas too had to take a backseat,
And ISIS, CPAC, trending down, did scarce receive a tweet.
The fabric of the universe was nearly ripped to shreds:
A world divided into camps by how they saw these threads.
Some, like a double rainbow, trip; they ask, "What does it mean?"
And others know we're all quite mad; the dress is orange and green.
The world itself could be on fire, in greatest need, distress,
But none would care until we knew the color of this dress.
The physicists, psychologists, the learned men of science,
Unveiled the doubt that shadows cast on visual reliance.
The theologians and the priests assuage our image flawed,
For if we cannot trust our eyes, can we believe in God?
The wise man knows this too shall pass, finds comfort mid the rift;
The silver lining in the cloud: the dress presents a gift.
For when the dreaded question's raised, he knows he's off the hook
When asked the no-win question, “Dear, how does this make me look?"
But if he's feeling spry and young, ambiguous but clear,
He'll say, a twinkle in his eyes, "No dress improves you, dear!”
----------
I wrote this a few years back when the image of the blue/brown dress was all the buzz on social media. Still trying to collect and get some of my earlier stuff over here to "home".
Soul Sanctuary
Wandering through a moveable museum of memories columnar
Dusting off exhibits of moments held fast in watercolors gossamer
Milestones chiseled into fleeting moments of atonement,
Soft edges of first love painted in golden moments –
Brushing aside gauzy cobwebs on photo negatives confessions
Blushing with pastel transparency of opaque blended impressions
Images emerge into negative space awash with nude opinions
Perspective layered into hard edges from edgy palette dominions;
Meandering through silent salons shaded dusky murals in shadows of rose
Lending sienna tints and hues to luminosity’s prisms in afterglow;
A sacred place vibrating in clear cerulean hues –
Holy space of signed wax relics - a chancel of still life in blooms;
Drifting through galleries of jigsaw puzzled passages
Fantasies spattered in bold black and white sketched with color assuage;
Visions staring back unblinking at lost victories buried in the abstract
Untouched prints, tattooed in rust, restored –restoration intact;
Still furnishing this sacred place
With an ever expanding collection displayed
Fragments of umber magic captured – deckled grief fading –
Portraits of choice set in unforgettable, studies of raw strangled cries invading;
Browsing hand in hand with free form time -
Lost in mazes of archival, acid free, displays in fine lines;
Within twisted illustrations featureless faces hidden -
Born out of the gasping barren abyss of flat washes in rhythm;
Framed in this breathing womb tiny points of pigment wait
Nurtured! Protected! Nourished! Building up a portrait;
Unfinished infinite design revealing watermarks
Cherished by the eternal conservancy in soaring arcs;
And in the brush strokes of this secret sanctuary place
Abides the master plan of the divine intimate grace.
Version #2 of Sanctuary – 7-27-21
The majestic eagle preens itself as a brilliant new day is born,
Flexing its powerful wings to prepare for its daily bourne.
The rising sun enhances its magnificent plumage.
Gentle zephyrs will uphold its wings, its flight to assuage.
From atop a craggy tor where reposes its rustic aerie,
It surveys its domain, rugged mountain and verdant prairie.
From its lofty perch it spots vistas no mere man will ever see.
Anon, to ride the surging winds, its earthly bonds at will to flee!
Stretching its lithesome wings ready to begin the day,
It sets about that eternal quest to seek its daily prey.
Aerobatic savvy it will use and hunting skills it will test,
To fill its needs and the gaping mouths of eaglets in the nest!
Other creatures flee when its clarion scream is heard.
'Tis perilous to invade the territory of this raptorial bird.
The august eagle displays a most imposing aerial ballet,
As it swiftly and silently descends upon its hapless prey!
It is apt that the eagle is the symbol of these United States.
There are so many venerable traits that in each equates.
Cleared-eyed vision, firm resolve and imposing nobility,
Meeting all challenges and dangers with stalwart versatility!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Was round about the 60's
And I a budding teen
Was influenced and touched
By a program I had seen
Rod Sterling was the narrator
Of a series quite well known
With weekly visits to a world
Named the "Twilight Zone"
And to this day one episode
The best without debate
Has taught me 'bout the frailty
Of Man against his fate
A short meek man from Queens, New York
Henpecked by his wife
Found his joy in reading books
To assuage a bit his strife
Voracious was his appetite for
Tomes and all that's written
Yet blind without his glasses
He's as docile as a kitten
In the vault under his bank one day
While making a transaction
The world above was subject to
A nuclear reaction!
When he surfaced to the top
To view the mass destruction
He found that only he'd survived
And came to this deduction
No wife! No rules! No one to shriek
Or tell him what to do!
Only stacks and shelves of books
To read, peruse and view
Paperbacks and hardcover
Pamphlets, primers, scrolls
The whole damn New York Library
With him at the controls!
Then as he pictured life
In a world with voices hushed
He bent his head to grab a book
His glasses broke..........................
All crushed.............
And in the well-worn ache
of turning mourning,
there are no more tears-
for all is beauty-lathed
misery, held unswathed,
without fearing to uptake
hope's new sculpted shape.
A changeling exchanged
while flailing naked
in it's abyssal state.
And wholeness excises, to demean
only fruitless shoots, now seen
to sow what has no further meaning.
And in the ague
of restless morning's
fitful, nude, new break
from dim, unsculptured yaw-
fretful feet leave
dark, wet indents in dew.
Old soul trails beneath gift's gape-
heaven's gate, just ajar,
seeps, speaks healing wreathed
in Love- the writhing heart agape.
And thr dry-cried throat
too friction ground to speak,
slakes it's thirst on dew-
Heaven's assuage tempers, cools.
And in eyes' age
of blinding burnings-
forceful, rude muckrake,
there are no more proud airs.
For eyelids pasted shut, caked
in self- molded clay's despair,
felt insightful incision
draw sharp truth's decision deft-
knavish knots excised, reveal
man's Sculptor knows justly how
to grave His image.
And seeing is only believing,
when believing is cleft open
to high insight's slice and sculpt
understood, read, spoken.
02/12/2017
Argh... dog dam mutt
(boot exhausted tending Milan Collie)
If only father time could... but
yea right Matthew Scott cut
your losses, accompanied
with sinking feeling in gut
ready to vent off steam
start fire next time and burn
(billy me I merrily Joel King),
down house i.e. mancave hut...,
in tot, while yours truly emulates
one among many talking heads
with tongue doth jut
out mouth making nasty facial feature
at reflection nut
tin much else
except, perhaps try to put
gear into overdrive any
remembered magmatic
lava lee fragments
to pull this mad man
out of figurative rut
nothing gainsaid verbally taunting self
with expletive epithet
more colorful than tut...tut... tut.
Chalk permanent heart wrenching
pinteresting kindling horrifying
devastating loss regarding
opus magnus extremely cross
at yours truly, nope no ace
in the hole, hence best bet to
down bottle of tranquilizers
with swig flask of booze to brace
transcending after life netherland,
where angels plucking harps
magically can exorcise
Manhattan goose stepping
quite pheasant hunched mountebank
Norte worthy dame
giving bankable chase
courtesy cloistered chaste
siren of Titan (on the
order of Mrs. Doubtfire)
hoop fully abducts me than
willingly, meticulously,
and compliantly doth erase
every vestige of writings.
Thoroughly cooked duck, dogged
dully dilly dallying gent
realized errors of
his ways, where bent
crooked right hand pinky the chief
hankering provocateur leant
admission (for one adult) cogent
tam o shanter donning Brit with scent
tum mental affectation unable to console
yours truly, who feeble
effort non poetic event
merely hoped to muster
even lame to assuage
smoldering ire, wherever
sense and sensibility went.
Sunset casts no shadows on the damned
Ignores the pleas of beggars seeking light
Grants the world its darkness - slowly dies
Nestles in feigned light of feckless moon.
Oh, to but grasp the fervor of its fear
Fury, long lost among the stars,
Tribute paid nightly to assuage
Harsh demons that consume the living stage
Extracting from each petal - flowered death.
Take heed, contentment leads to apathy,
Icy ideologies glazed lies
Mocking the light of long dead moons.
Error, though not the bane of truth,
Serves notice in the beauty of death’s sky.
©4/22/2018
submitted to – Sign of the times – Poetry Contest
sponsor – John Hamilton
Echoes of the Heart
I’ve walked this street before, through slick remnants of rain,
Where gas lamps flicker with desire, casting shadows in disdain.
Their dim glow dances upon the uneven cobblestones,
As echoes of footsteps resonate, hauntingly alone.
Through labyrinthine lanes, narrow and winding tight,
Where buildings loom tall, blocking out the moon’s ominous light.
The air bites with a chill, sharp and keen,
As whispers of strangers echo, unseen.
In the icy grasp of night, beneath somber skies,
Haunting laughter echoes, devoid of truth or lies.
Like a black rose unfurling in the night,
Love reveals its beauty, both dark and without sight.
I’ve tasted the bitterness of love’s solemn demise,
Yet still, I cling to hope beneath the stormy skies.
For amidst the deep cuts and lingering remains,
Love’s touch may yet assuage, the chains that pain.
In the depths of the soul, love’s icy hands embrace,
Imprisoned by the links, a fractured heart awaits.
Bound to pain, in a relentless hold,
A soul laid bare, love’s weight bears down, in sorrow untold.
Though loss may loom inevitable, a specter in the gloom,
I’ll find solace in the memories, within love’s darkened tomb.
For in the realm of love, there’s a beauty profound,
Even through loss, its essence forever bound.
Thus, I wander the city’s desolate streets,
A seeker of love’s ethereal feats.
With passions ablaze, though my heart’s torn and sore,
In love’s haunting embrace, I’ll roam forevermore.
-Edward
MEA CULPA(CA)
It was an auspicious occasion;
The wedding of the year.
And, afterwards, the guests murmured
Aaah!
When I told them how,
At our very first meeting
I had fallen for your allure.
So how, after so few years
Has everything gone awry?
How has love turned to anguish?
You don’t need to answer.
I know you have no appetency
For discussion.
The fault is mine alone.
Nothing can assuage the guilt I feel
At my atrocious betrayal.
It happened only once,
And I was drunk.
But that does not absolve me
From responsibility.
I cling to the hope
You will one day forgive me.
I love you.
20th October 2019
Crazy A's contest
Sponsor John Hamilton
October turns another numbered page
Act three of nature's seasonal ballet
While dreams of summer gradually assuage
Bright dancing leaves now star in autumn's play
Chilled mornings waken to a heavy dew
Cold mercury begins it's slow descent
The sun pulls closer for a better view
And blankets thrown on beds wear moth balls' scent
But spirits are not dampened by the change
Young children's dreams grow sweeter by the day
While mothers clean spare rooms and rearrange
As they prepare for coming holidays
October means that festive times are here
Let's grab ourselves a bratwurst and a beer
an original poem by Daniel Turner