Long Beguiled Poems
Long Beguiled Poems. Below are the most popular long Beguiled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Beguiled poems by poem length and keyword.
"recently scenes of early life have stolen into my mind, like breezes blown ..."
Quote by _Samuel Taylor Coleridge (from his writings)
I fondly recall the innocent days of my childhood,
playing hide and seek among the backyard boxwood,
and life as I knew it then was sweet and good.
Country life was always fun.
I treasured Christmas tree lights glowing in the dark,
family gatherings each summer in Audubon Park.
In my younger years I was as carefree as a lark,
enjoying days in the sun.
With my little sister beside me we made mud pies
and didn't see anything wrong with little white lies
or that dancing like ballerinas in the rain wasn't wise
until our pirouettes were done.
I enjoyed having an allowance that I could spend
and sharing whispered secrets with my best friend,
wishing our playing time outside would never end.
How I loved to run!
In sweet memories I recall swimming in the lake,
helping Mom in the kitchen when she would bake,
and eating more icing than I had put on the cake.
Having fights with a water gun.
How wonderful were my days spent as a child,
Dad called me a tomboy because I was a bit wild.
I was happy and content with life, always beguiled
with everything I'd done.
My braided pigtails were yanked by a silly boy in school.
He giggled like an idiot thinking he was so cool,
til I fought back with a fist and called him a 'stupid fool.'
That battle I had won.
If memory serves me well, I remember not liking boys.
Always wanting their way and making too much noise.
I preferred playing house with many of my stuffed toys.
Boys were creatures to shun.
I was very competitive and wanted to win every race,
and didn't care much in those days about ladylike grace.
I recall being angry with myself for falling flat on my face
and not talking to anyone.
I've photos of me since I was born and it's plain to see
that my childhood was a very delightful time for me.
With a loving family like mine, I grew up quite esprit.
I love them all, a ton!
October 8, 2022 - A Constance La France Contest
Writing Challenge - Past Memories - "T" Forms Poetry
Once, A Time, I Was Accused To Be
Like A Siren of The Sea
As Ones In Ulysses’ Odyssey
but, No … That Was Not Me …
Those Sirens, Lured To Death
They Were Lethal Temptresses
Like Myth of Cursed Lilith
Or Like Real-Life, Eve Transgressed
They, With Beauty, and Beckoning Ropes Hung
Bound, Beguiled-Men in Rose-Blossom Arms
And Spoke with Honeycomb-Tongue
But Whose Hearts, Held Hidden Harm-Swarms …
No … I Should Not Be Compared
To Those, with Honor So Blurred
I Have Only Shared and Cared and Bared
… So, In What Way, Have I Erred ?
It Took Many Years To Be
And Much Salt-Water To Rinse Free
From What Others Say and See
And Drown Out Complexity
Yea, I Do Call, I Do Agree …
but, I Sing To The Brave and Eternity
And When I Pray … It Is Holy
And for A Soul's Safety, Only
Oh Yes, I Whisper, Clean and Sweetly
And My Tone Thrills or Trills So Softly
And My Voice Can Arch With Ecstasy
Or Timbrel in Throes – Dawn to Dusk, Sultry
And I Speak Words, As Perfumed Nard
Speak Words, That Leave A Silken, Silver Cord
Or Speak Words of Double-Bladed Sword
… After All, I Am A Female-Bard
And I Want To Learn and Recite More Victories
And Teach Each Other’s Verbatim-Stories
Discover Each Other’s Verbal-Mysteries
And God and My Lord’s Vocal-Oratories
And With The Moon, As Symbol-Shield of Light
Yes, I Rise To Conquer Oblivion-Nights
I Keep Faith and Courage, In Sight
Aglow for Good-Guys and Cowboy-Knights
I’m A Sensual-Woman, and of Sacred-Things
I’m Emotional, Yet … Aim For Deep-Think and Dreams
Now, Some Called The Lord A Glutton, for Eating and Drinking ( Matt. 11: 19 )
So Some Call Me A Siren, ‘Cause They Want Me To Stop Speaking …
But, Worthy, Be The Ear, That I Speak To
And Shyly Cry and Whisper … My Secrets To
And If Only A True-Higher-Calling, Will Do
Then, I’ll Sound, That Siren, For You …
This Is The Siren Song, You Hear
Not One, For You To Fear
My Volume, is not Too Loud, But Clear
Singing, Avoid Shadows, Avail Cheer ! !
No … I’m Not Some Fish-Tale Mermaid of The Sea
More Like A Lighthouse, Guiding To Rock, See: ( Deu. 32: 4 )
Ever Glowing, Ever Orbing … Audibly …
The MoonBee - Siren Odyssey
Once, A Time, I Was Accused To Be
Like A Siren of The Sea
As Ones In Ulysses’ Odyssey
but No … That ' Isn’t ' Me …
There was an old cowboy named Claude LaFeet,
the scourge of the western plain.
A Frenchman by birth and a man of some girth,
he limped and carried a cane.
He had been to the 'Pen,' had put in his time,
was now ready to settle the score.
To hunt down a Man, a coward named Stan,
this time it would be war.
But Claude was flat broke, he needed a stake
and was in a great deal of pain.
He had sold his boots and needed more loot,
he'd have to rob a train.
He went to a bar where the liquor flowed cheap,
'Fellas, I'm in a bind.'
Claude was hoping for more but he got only four,
they were the worst men he could find.
They set their trap for the 'Tombstone Special.'
he was told it carried a vault.
They began the attack by blocking the track,
the train came to a screeching halt.
They found the safe and blew open the door,
and there in the morning light.
He had been told... there might be gold,
it looks like they were right.
They divided their booty, he thanked them all,
they asked what were his plans?
'To scour the plains hopefully not in vain
for a coward by the name of Stan.'
One slowly piped up,' I know that man,
he lives in a nearby town.
He's dating a girl by the name of Pearl
with hair colored chestnut brown.'
Claude hopped on his horse and found the place
but remembered years ago.
When in a street one night they intended to fight
but Stan had failed to show.
Tired of waiting, Claude returned to the bar
and was walking through the door.
He heard a loud crack, he had been shot in the back,
he lay bleeding on the floor.
Years had passed with the bullet still there,
he was thinking Stan might flee.
When on the walk he heard Stan talk,
'I hear you're looking for me.'
They went for their guns in a blinding flash,
it had all come down to this.
But Claude was beguiled when he saw Stan smile,
the coward hadn't missed.
An old cowboy dies remembered by none,
a man extremely flawed.
But it was his gain now no longer in pain,
he would answer to his God.
Legends die and stories are told
of men who can't be beat.
How that hero Stan... shot his Man
...the coward Claude Lafeet.
The Voice…
On a dark night that was darker than my pain,
nothing was there for me except to complain.
I hid myself in the emptiness of bed.
Nothing was there except loneliness instead.
I heard a sound that was not like any sound.
Joyously called my name, sought me, and then found.
He told me to get up, wake up look at dawn.
The darkness of the night soon will be all gone.
The voice told me that morning dawn, full of light;
has the power to wash darkness from its night.
The voice asked me about the days of my youth.
That I am old and grey, with forgotten truth.
I asked him that who are you, and what are you?
I don't know you, didn’t see you passing through.
Who are you that suddenly came to my room?
Aren’t you God, and I am, meeting my doom?
I called your name many times when I was young.
I prayed your name day and night with broken tongue.
Now, you are calling my name in this day and age;
not worth talking to you; anger creates rage.
I am too old, and I had too many sins,
Living is the only game that nobody wins.
Go and bother another soul beside me,
I am tired of you; you shall never be.
The voice told me that I was out of my mind.
And I have been beguiled, as though I am blind.
He told me that he was with me the whole time.
He let me to fly in this paradigm.
He told me that he is the end of a start.
He is the love that cries from an aching heart.
He told me that he is water in the spring.
He is those nightingales who so blithely sing.
He told me that he is bottom, and he’s up.
He is grapes, and he is wine in the same cup.
He told me that he gave feathers for a flight.
He made it so the sun shall set within night.
I asked him if I could see him with my eyes,
I will be like the moon, lighting up the skies.
That I looked for any sign to believe him,
with just all promises, dreams maybe all grim.
He told me to wake up, open up my eyes,
and see what is to see, a blessing in disguise.
I did open my eyes saw a glowing bright,
like a drifting shadow, in an ocean of light.
I saw my son saying, "Wake up! Wake up! dad",
What’s the matter with you? Are you going mad?
5/14/16 Haloo
In the rocking, rolling surf I picked up a random seashell,
And just listened to the sea storms lullaby, the curling of
Spray urged a hushed soft whispering echo, what an ear
Fulfilling symphony impressed my vivid imagination of
Fertility!
Sweeping this beach combing land locked refugee, to
A distant place beneath fathoms briny deep, an aquatic
Paradise shined in brilliance before my pondering eyes,
I’m beguiled by the opulence emerging, to the life
Surging all around me, this spiritual dreamer on a
Vision quest under the big blue’s sky scape!
Just then I pause to hear all the sounds around me,
The whales trumpeting, the waves crashing against
The rugged, craggy shoreline, and the rushing undertow
Smashing on the coral reef below!
Blending in perfections melodic curve in successive
Musical notes, are the distant sounds beyond human
Comprehension of the unknown, unexplored discovery
Zone, yet what beautiful music this unwater world
Makes, for all the senses to in drink and partake!
Squalling seagulls screech above, as a swelling tornado
Cloud of silver Minnie fish form in twilights shifting
After glow of the mid-afternoons light!
Textures aquatic sound waves lull me in tune
With natures under seas ambiance, giving this
Mystical realm in exotic feeling of transitioning,
I’ve been transported beneath, and dwell as a
Part of this magical sea scape captured in it’s
Vast beauty of light and sound, lost an
Inspirations muse!
Suddenly the tones change as the storm winds
Blow in, the sea orchestra refines unto rages
Thunderous climax shattering the peaceful silence!
It is the sea storms lullaby, rocking the rolling surf,
To destructions ultimate rheum, awakening this
Day dreamer from slumbers awakening shifting
Drift!
Lord Titans waving his mystical trident, lied’s this
Classical chorus of mariner’s tragedy, set to destiny’s
Thunderous overture of aquatic rapture gone airy,
And here I’m standing alone reveling in the musical
Hail storm spell bound, in awes after effect!
Listen to the sounding sea, can’t you hear its sweet
Melody’s lost within the hushed silence of the seashells
Mystical song, in essence spray it awaits thee, come
Along mystic dreamer and know the true essence of the sea!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Wisdom and understanding do raise their voice
On the stands beside the paths they yell that you make a choice;
At the gates of bazaars both do cry hoarse and loud,
And wonder how orderly the world would be if all fools vowed
To live according to their simple dictates,
And leave all evil and unwholesome tastes.
When shall the simple gain understanding and prudence,
And the unknowing embrace a life of sense?
The Almighty detests deeds devoid of reason,
For His perfect nature is never perverse
But just and fair in His rule over the universe;
He thus like Him wants all men to be
For nothing short of this can His heart please;
Not even valued incense offered my men of hearts remiss!
Choose understanding over quick silver
And understanding over choice gold;
All who these chose in the world of the old
All possessed and lacked not a single thing,
For nothing desirable can be compared with wisdom;
It is the ferocious guard to watch your home,
And your delicious meal in the face of hunger!
Fear the Lord and hate all evil
And it shall not destroy your grain any weevil;
Hate the perversity of crooked and warped speech
And among men of sense carve yourself a niche;
Let counsel and sound speech be yours
For these alone are limitless power
To wield for help in the need's hour;
When troubles and adversities betide,
Wisdom is a sure place for you to hide.
In wisdom are enduring honor and prosperity,
Truest valor and freedom from all forms of temerity;
It's the only scape from all shackles that engulf,
Amnesty from all follies that grind!
They rule with justice and without fear of overthrow
The wise kings and princes who fear the Lord,
Who marked the boundaries of the seas
And demarcations of the dry world!
He who fixed the clouds and the firmaments,
Has with Him all treasured endowments;
Blessed be those that keep His ways
And many shall be their days
That hearken to His wisdom,
Obey His decrees plain and clear,
And His hallowed name fear!
Be not beguiled by the cacophony and the hubbub,
The law of the Lord remains unshaken and superb;
And the fear of the Creator remains the only refuge
In the face of disaster and drowning deluge!
With the melodic cadence of my fervent heart,
pulsating with the charming tinsels of mesmeric night,
gleamed my love for you with the enticing tinge,
suffused with the sequins of the argentine moon.
I felt in a trance the sweet touch so tempting
of your captivating charisma intangible,
but you drifted away from my engrossed perception,
like the chromatic cloud wafting in the twilight sky.
In the blooming valley of flowers my cataract heart
cascaded as a stream of embedded melted emotions
through the turquoise course of lingering longing,
and on the plateau of yearning I wandered beguiled.
From the ebony edge of the fallen gloomy night
the storm clouds surged with blades of shearing pain,
lacerated the lilting facade of the sky, I called my heart,
where the shards of dream sank in the tears of despair.
Losing the desire in the debris of the broken heart,
I sauntered sullen to the shore of silent sorrow.
My infatuation swirled away like dislodged surly sands
in the remote time’s tide when I thought you were mine.
The transient trajectory flame of devoured desire
furrowed in my marooned mind a blazing trail of longing.
I couldn’t trace entranced the track of the spurting star,
it drifted away like your love, for I didn’t dream enough.
From the ebony edge of the opaque night of despair
storm clouds surged with thunders of tearing strife,
splintered my remnant dreams dispersed in debris,
and I then realized my heart couldn’t yearn enough.
The sound of your voice in the avid air of my yearning
echoed with melody in the void of my lonely heart.
How complete I was as it delighted me to the core
to get the feeling of togetherness, I couldn’t let you know.
When you left tracing the trail of the melting mirage,
I felt deserted like the desolate sands in the dry dune.
My pent-up words ‘I need you’ remained sadly unsaid,
floated way in the whirlwind of sandstorm to oblivion.
Your essence stays with me as an indelible image,
fused with the onyx motif of the abyss in my heart.
I’ll light there a million candles of love for you,
so, you’ll find the lost way to return, and be mine, forever.
You feed and live on lies and malice
Deception is the cloak you wear so elegantly
The crisp white robes, expensive suits or
The everyday clothes of the working class
Your hands... your blood-stained hands you wash
‘It is clean’ you think because you cannot see
Your eyes, they are sealed! Blind to the simple truths!
At meals you sit in the company of your cohorts
Devouring dreams and futures of the young
You breathe the foul stench of murderous deeds
Unending cries of the dead echo through the universe
Reaching high to the throne of the one Creator
Who is this god that you serve?
Under cover of night at clandestine forums you speak
In villages, towns and cities where poverty strangles
Where hatred, intolerance are inherent
Where vulnerable young men and women, beguiled
Brainwashed to hate and destroy their own lives
In light of day in the presence of strangers
Your words flow free like fresh golden honey
Rich and thick with lies and deception
Making incredible promises you could never deliver!
From lips perverse and pregnant with deceit
And who is this god you serve?
You may attempt to hide what is written in your heart
'Though quite often you succeed, yet never without a struggle
For truth and light are "alive" and will not be buried forever!
In this universe created out of order, be assured, there is an appointed day
When all men will give account for the time spent here on earth
The enemy, you claim, is anyone unlike you
Whether it be !in color, religion or race or whatever!
Stop! We would all do well to look deep within,
Past that mirrored image is you... your "enemy"
The one who murders with intent
Who is this god that you serve?
Who is this ‘god’ that you serve so diligently
This ‘god’ that requires mere mortals kill one another
On his behalf, and to accomplish what goals?
Implicitly I believe in the One true God
Who made everything out of nothing but His Word!
Who forbids pride, greed, hatred, lies and murder!
Who still, by the way, stays His mighty hands
Being desirous that no man should perish
His Word has gone out and will not return void
Patiently he's waiting our repentance,
Rest assured He will not wait forever!
Inspired by song "Mystery Of The Heart"
of Hughes Turner Project (Album 1)
In the flushing garden path
we walked entranced,
the scarlet sun with the spectrum of dawn
held us within the sequined mist
of the sparkling sky.
You saw my heart contoured
by the crimson curves of mystique cloud,
but not for very long,
for the rainstorm dissolved the sky,
you disappeared beyond the rainbow arch.
Over the waves of the desert dunes,
we trudged with rhythmic excitement,
until on reaching the verdant oasis
you melted away like mirage,
swept away by the desert storm of yearning,
stowed in opaque oblivion.
On the silver sands of the deserted dunes
we traced the entwined fervent footprints.
The rolling sand waves adorned
the pearly lattice on your ivory feet.
As the tide of time erased my trail,
you now walk with poignant impulse
through the miasma of cascading moonbeam
that has enveloped my love for you.
The dazzling dawn of my desire veneers
your heart’s horizon with halcyon hues,
spreads the sunburst tinges
of my timeless longing for you.
Your emotive spectrum of colour
painted a long time ago,
the panorama of the golden garden
in my heart’s canvas,
blooming with the luster of love, now lost.
Flowing in the captivating current
of your magnetic attraction,
my possessed passion sails
to the moonlit bay of beguiled splendor,
where your elfin image embroiders
the constellation of stars in the sky
of my furtive heart,
where I preserve the stellar shine.
On the trail of sorrow I trudge my life through,
wander aimlessly in the wasteland
of waning memory of the time past.
The splinters of my mystique heart sigh silently,
searching for you in the ruins of crumbled dreams,
as the sparkle of your smile
still lingers lighting up the desolate garden path,
wrapped with the wilted leaves of winter.
Their rustle echoes your songs for me,
long lost beyond the still shore of silence.
When in the seraphic spring
you’re embraced by euphoric exuberance,
you will never know
the secrets of my pining furtive heart,
how much it misses your world,
where I want to be before I walk the last mile.
The birds of pray are on their way, in every beak the Word
(of ptomaine tomes by gnarly gnomes) whose meaning is obscured;
they roost aloof on every roof, obscene but always herd,
to tell the tale of Jonah’s whale and other rhymes absurd -
with shifty eyes, they’re giving whys for living life deferred.
While jackals lean, hyenas mean, and hungry crocodiles
feast in the lounge and never scrounge, lambs languish in the aisle.
The naive dare to say “Unfair, let’s try to reconcile.
We’ll all relax and weigh the facts, let justice spin the dial.”
With jaundiced monks and minds pre-shrunk, the jury is compiled.
The Rulers meet, First Ladies greet, the Kings appear in style.
Before the Court, their sins are short, they’re swept into a pile;
with diatribes and petty bribes, the jurors are beguiled.
The Herd entreats, the Shepherd bleats the verdict of the trial:
“You have no face. Stay in your place, stay in the Rank and File.
And wait instead, for when you’re dead, for riches afterwhile”;
Aristocrats add caveats while sailing down the Nile:
“If Minds are mugged or simply drugged with philtres in a vial,
then few indeed will fail to feed the Pharaoh’s Crocodile.”
The wordsmiths spin, the bankers grin and politicians smile,
the riff and raff, they never laugh, they mark a martyred mile.
The rituals are finished, all, here comes the Reverent Priest.
He leads the crowds beneath the clouds, and there the flock is fleeced
with crossing signs and bloody wines and consecrated yeast,
“The last are first, the rich are cursed.” (The leached remain the least.)
His step is gay without dismay before his evening feast;
he thanks the Lord for room and board and bows to Eden East;
he doesn’t sigh or wonder why the sins have not decreased.
The sinking sun is now undone, the sky is fading red.
A spider black hides in a crack and spins a silken thread
and babes will soon collapse and swoon, on curbs they call a bed;
with vacant eyes they'll fantasize and dream of gingerbread,
and so be freed, though still in need, from anguish of the dead.
Continued