Long Auguste Poems
Long Auguste Poems. Below are the most popular long Auguste by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Auguste poems by poem length and keyword.
[Poet’s Note : A SIGNATURE POEM : 2026
PUBLISHED: Edge of Humanity Poetry Anthology
Magazine: Auguste 26 ]
Second Placement
Poetry Soup Contest
May ‘26
Sponsor: Anoucheka G.
_________________________
dark silent night
crawling ludicrously slowly
a slug across cold tiles
umbra unfolds before embracing naked skin
an observant thief with black socks
whose holes steal my thoughts
as they slither white sheets
the more he steals the faster they come
round and round
a big wheel at fun fair
high they dangle at an angle
will pitch rolling eyes catch them tumbling ?
cathartic they swirl
then temporarily stop
listening to night raindrops
kissing corrugated roof
dripping sweat
a mongrel barks agitated
received no marrow bone in his bowl
fire eating amber-gold chimera
chained both her wrist and mind
as black cotton catsuit
jigsaw edited shopping ailes
….. raw silent night processing thoughts
a silver Volvo manifested like a manifesto
in Cabral’s war journals
when he tried to free a corner of Africa
sketched guarded car between his poetry lines
in sombre silent night fish moths crawl
children hunger for one wheat roll
without yeast and a dab of strawberry jam
stomachs rumbling across Palestinian fields
a jet flies velvet sky
knows not limitless of sleeplessness
sequins on wall tapestry glitter old age
like sequences of novellas read then analysed
for untied knots in buried psyches of
would be writers or neurotic drama queens
sit sullen night on cold dusty sill
raw like a snake mackerel just caught
waiting to be slit with long silver blade
a catastrophic tower melts in far off furnace
blackness dissected in splinters
pupils dilated as ophthalmologist
held her microscope
to peer at cataracts on lenses
cutaneous silent night
crawls ludicrously
slowly s l o w l y
as sinister cat jumps
her raw paws across dimensions
of my skull I see scribbled on coal sky
dog still barking…whilst scriptures sing opal songs
s l o w l y
_______________________________
Slaughter amongst the slag heaps
Bodies bowed over barb wire
Screeching, screaming
artillery arching above
soon to descend
amputating limbs
shattering skulls
blood and brains
splattering stains on
comrades too close
mixing with the mud
Grappling with grenades
Supplies short
London, Lancashire
and Lancaster lads
battling like beasts within
that Hohenzollern horror
hoping to hold it
Bayonets tear through torsos
Poison perfumes the air
wafting on the wind
back where it was birthed
menacing their own men
In Cite St. Auguste
citizens burrow into basements
as if Armageddon has arrived
or roam the streets like revenants
blank and bleary eyed
Their conscious mind
cannot comprehend
the malevolent madness of
what was once believed to be
a sane and civilized society
In the cemetery are set up
machine gun nests
among the monuments
As shells pound the ground
the dead are dredged up
as if to welcome the
new arrivals lying in piles
A sacred space sullied
by sadism
Schadenfreude
Flares flicker
Very Lights
to continue the fight
throughout the night
No rest for weary warriors
as no reserves arrive
to relieve them
Poor planning on the part
of generals pushing papers
and marking maps that
have no relevance to reality
ordering insanity
It has been more than
a year since Ferdinand fell
and Princip with his pistol
opened wide the gates of hell
Festive party
Celebrate something;
Warm humanity
~~~~~~~~~
One by one
People walk pass;
Lonely man waits
~~~~~~~~~
Dog walking fast
Master in tow;
Barks fine command
~~~~~~~~~
Two sparrows
Practice on wood bench;
Gospel of birdsong
~~~~~~~~~
Sea of faces
Hurry takes a break;
Crowded lift hijacks
~~~~~~~~~
Old shop houses
New paintwork shines;
Ancient looks new
~~~~~~~~~
River walk terrace
Rows of watering holes;
Tipsy aftermath
~~~~~~~~~
Financial centre lobby
Bust of The Thinker;
Auguste Rodin figures
~~~~~~~~~
Play primal proof
Watcher glimpses;
Stillness resonates
~~~~~~~~~
Sea waves bleach
Sand grains moist;
Salty gems sparkle
~~~~~~~~~
Telephone connects
Bridge distant spheres;
Familiar voices tint
~~~~~~~~~
Small little girl
Don't grow up;
Beauty is fleeting
~~~~~~~~~
Old hunchback lady
Lifetime of toil;
Time shows up
~~~~~~~~~
Moody man mumbles
Talks to a ghost;
Moving picture
~~~~~~~~~
Song of the sea
Windy ode unspoken;
Fleeting echoes
~~~~~~~~~
Morning psalm
Skyline hues delight;
God speaks in colours
~~~~~~~~~
Too quickly time fades
Moments on the wind;
Zen in bamboo
~~~~~~~~~
Do you hear
Whispers unseen;
Emergent rapture
~~~~~~~~~
Bougainvilleas here
Beauty in bounty;
Dazzling colours speak
~~~~~~~~~
Plumerias sparkle
Words cannot reach;
Soul wanders here
~~~~~~~~~
Tears in your eyes
Exquisite pain;
Etches new lines
~~~~~~~~~
Haunted house
Bizarre rumours taunt;
Unfinished business
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
24 May 2015
Singapore
Oh, Clown at the abyss;
We’re not laughing at you;
Not funny tis true, you're falling
This we do insist;
a comic entertainer one in a circus, you're falling
wearing a traditional costume and exaggerated makeup.
Lo! Grecian fall unsophisticated rustic;
Falling...
Zanni yonder foolish fool rustique;
Keeper of, costume competitions;
Zany fool jester falling so fustic,
Clown at the abyss;
We’re not laughing at you;
Not funny tis true;
This we do insist;
Not laughing
Clown falling down into the opera pit so mystique,
In addition, while in transition stamp;
Dressed White face, Auguste and Tramp;
All three clowns take a bow fall into the abyss
And just what is this
Still you falling...
Abyss a place where rustic fools fold and fall
Clown at the abyss;
Down into an clevis;
You falling...
We’re not laughing at you;
Not funny tis true;
This we do insist;
You’re a clown
And you’ve falling down;
No one laughing anymore;
Cause ya, not funny you’re a bore;
Harlequin comedian;
Merry Andrew takes also a bow;
As the demon boo those falling clowns;
You see when you’re not funny you fall;
Clown at the abyss;
You won’t be placed on a second stage call;
You’re a clown
And you’ve falling down;
No one laughing anymore;
Clown, clown at the abyss;
2/29/20
For Clown at the Abyss Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
when on a lark, this primate shut his eyes
until sight formed slits doubling up as a wink
this earthling stared hard and scrunched brow
unintentionally mimicking,
the familiar Auguste Rodin statue
likened to a pose when one doth think
perhaps said captive pose pondering
(similar to me) about life on other planets
while I stared at lunar surface
akin to a disc or dime sized skating rink
awash with luminescence
and imaging himself whisked away
by an alien, synonymous
to the peculiar millions miles distant pastische
manifested entity than didst slink
a non hue man feline looking cat in the hat
comical creatures decked out entirely in pink
soft halos conjured up saintly mink
or...a far fetched thought suddenly
came to form in my mind,
that this har creature a found missing link
whose nocturnal glowing facade exploding charade
possibly a message
or motion nothing more
than routine smoothing out an anatomical kink
on front and back oh head resembling
a Doctor Zeus characterization,
viz a harmless rat fink
hm...maybe a vestigial progenitor
of former birth by Gaia now extinct
though from afar, the b52 shaped being
aye espied as fur ball affixed
with a long elephant like snout to drink
and appeared to lack occipital orbs,
yet evinced possible mode to see via a chink
impossible to restrain me noggin
appearing to nod and blink,
--------------------------------
hence entranced my attention fixed
from faint (perhaps a feint)
flickr ring meant as playful faux
role playing lunatic humorous acting wry
impossible to decode explicit antics
(of spacial cosmic guest),
no matter eyes nearly shut tight visual
wondering if non verbal communication
of mine correctly interpreted
meant to kibitz and vie
despite impossibility to validate,
a continuous effort yours truly did try
fixing thy gaze, nee straining
with alm aye might to esse spy
if cheap trick concocted entire visage,
which might not constitute life form
(admitting this chap to prevaricate,
and be full of baloney),
himself prone to confabulate
(dropped one to many times on the head)
when this rocky lunar image,
a moon scape comprising nothing
boot ham and cheese on rye.
KISS OF RODIN
My body rages with your close proximity
You heed the heady breathing of my heart
A lover’s touch, rose petals of magnanimity
The Kiss of Rodin’s rapturous sculpted art
You heed the heady breathing of my heart
Becoming vulnerable with aching breast
The Kiss of Rodin’s rapturous sculpted art
Limbs wrap around me, our lips pressed
Becoming vulnerable with aching breast
Voluptuous emotions, a mind-blowing high
Limbs wrap around me, our lips pressed
Rhythmic movements of the earth and sky
Voluptuous emotions, a mind-blowing high
A lover’s touch, rose petals of magnanimity
Rhythmic movements of the earth and sky
My body rages with your close proximity
5/30/2017
Pantoum Form
*The Kiss was sculpted by french artist Auguste Rodin
The Tower was engineered
by Monsieur Eiffel in Paris
the Wheel was favoured
by Mr. Ferris
Michelangelo in Rome
contributed St. Peter's Basilica dome
Eddystone Lighthouse the first
was constructed by Winstanley and
in St. Paul's Cathedral
Sir Christopher Wren had a hand
the seated Thinker
was carved out by Auguste Rodin
the Taj Mahal (Mumtaz') tomb
commissioned by Shah Jahan
all roads lead to the Colosseum
started by Emperor Vespasian
Borglum executed Mount Rushmore
while Hadrian gave us the Wall
and Ferdinand de Lesseps
secured the Suez Canal
in Byzantine Constantinople
Justinian I built the Hagia Sophia
in Italy Bonanno Pisano began
the (later leaning) Tower of Pisa
the Egyptian Pharaoh Khafre
inspired the Sphinx
but in Scotland who designed
the Musselburgh (golf) Links
It was the late 18th century and Abegail was twenty-one years old,
She was about to be married soon to an older man of thirty-four;
Her family was considered middle-class yet they owned a lovely home,
A gothic residence and nestled within was an large dusty library.
Abegail had a deep love for books and she found a secret way,
A passage was hidden by bookshelves to a labyrinth of books;
Women were discouraged from reading, it would damage their mind,
She should concern herself with needlework, marriage and music.
The library was full of books of all descriptions, some just old,
Some were rare and some just interesting with fiction stories;
The books took her to far off places and to tales so romantically sad,
Abegail loved the aged and yellowed volumes with tattered pages.
Sometimes she would just walk around touching the volumes,
It was an impressive collection with books in wooden shelves;
A place of acquirable knowledge, of deep discussions with her mind,
She loved to snuggle up with some books and just fill her brain.
Oh the library was utterly gorgeous to Abegail with its collections,
And not just with books but musical manuscripts and photographs;
She found old diaries of her ancestors and was full of book enlightenment.
But, tomorrow was her wedding day and motherhood and wife her fate.
______________________________
August 1, 2015
Poetry/Narrative/Abegail In The Library
Copyright Protected, ID 15-696-539-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Inspired by the painting by Auguste Toumauche
Dans la Bibliotheque or In the Library
For the contest, In The Library, sponsor,
sponsor, Isaiah Zerbst
Second Place
Sculpture ~ The Thinker ~ Auguste Rodin
What's life for?
"To be or
not to be",
sums up me:
questioning
everything.
Should I go
or say no?
Do I fight
or take flight?
Close my eyes
or apprise
all that's swirled
in the world?
Go outside,
take a ride?
Or stay home,
write a poem?
Read a book?
Take a look
at the news,
or refuse?
Leave my job,
be a slob -
or work more
at each chore?
Help to feed
those in need?
Answers come,
but where from?
Deep within,
where it's been
waiting for
"To be or
not to be",
now I see:
always start
with your heart -
there you'll find
peace of mind.
written 7 Sep 2020
Poe the master of the macabre &creator of the first fictional detective, C. Auguste Dupin with much to say in his essay 'The Philosophy of Composition' It is said Poe viewed poetry as his true calling and highest art form, seeing it as the rhythmic creation of beauty.This long poem reputed as his poetic masteriece is full of dramatic dialogue thus reads more as a prose poem .I prefer his shorter 'eap' style list cinquain where L1 is a statement followed by rhymed L2-5 that amplify the statement with words introduced by 'in the' by the ' of' inspired by sililoqy in this form in the conclusion of his essay Poetic Principle.