Long Bemoaned Poems
Long Bemoaned Poems. Below are the most popular long Bemoaned by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bemoaned poems by poem length and keyword.
This is what the wicked are like— always free of care, they go on amassing wealth. Surely in vain I have kept my heart pure and have washed my hands in innocence ~ Psalm 73:12-13
A wise man long ago bemoaned the thought
that those who seek the paths of righteousness
so often struggle mightily. Their lot
seems only to be wreathed in hopelessness.
Meanwhile, the wicked reap rich dividends
while disregarding others' poverty -
they'll use whatever means may suit their ends,
neglecting justice, love, humility.
Believers know "these three remain" to guide
up peaks appearing insurmountable:
Faith is that trust in Him who walks beside;
Hope is that blessed wealth uncountable;
and Love, which guides us to eternity -
For "God is love", the greatest of the three.
To love is to burn with passion, like flames of a fire.
~ by poet
On canvas, her loveliness was yet a vague concept
A beginning sketch in shades of charcoal grays
by the hand of one who knew her in greater detail...
the gleam in her eyes; curve of her lips when she smiles
Her pleading expression bemoaned when her lips parted
The artist's masculine hand trembled as he painted her
Tormented with need, she looked at him while in a pose
His eyes replied, "Not yet. I need to paint you in this light."
With brush, he quickly began filling his palette with colors...
peach blush for her cheeks, soft rose to tint her pouty lips
She opened her eyes to reveal irises dancing in hues of blue
He'd captured her beauty's nuance with the eyes of a lover
Disembarkment hearkened a largely unknown universe
Melbourne's sky lifting grid hidden partially
Behind rows of giraffe laughing palm trees
He dinged his car in the line to leave the car park
Home now to brazen 20 year olds, brought both cars
Had booked accommodation in suburb 5 miles north
She was staggered by intensity of Tuesday morning city
Swarming people made beelines to their business day
Several close encounters with trams saw riled passengers
Drastic traffic presented fresh dilemma, stitched thick
Mounting queues in right turn lanes, a phenomena unfamiliar
Billboards blasted big messages, brothels among them
Heavy clusters of vehicles became the pair's detriment
Hives of continued light intersections caused separation
Having easy communication not possible without mobiles
Deviations from course happened dozens of times
Midday passed in a haze of befuddled frustration
Bemoaned youth of 2000 had no GPS to guide their ways!
Satiated by their eventual arrival at accommodation
Sun setting on a scary first day, unwittingly touring
Seventeen suburbs of mayhem monstrosity Melbourne!
For: All In A Day Poem Contest
Sponsor: William Kekaula
27th August 2020
the candle snuffed out long before the night was gone
sent shivers of darkness from a cracked thin chandelier
bemoaned life’s brevity and then succumbed to slumber
a scent of yesterday perfused the room with fragrance
of wishes burnt at lightning speed and molten wax
whispered to a waning moon’s request to grow anew
obscured by clouds fully bestowed with heavy vapour
the harlequin chanted songs of wisdom and temptation
half-naked images of the fool’s physique oozed wanton
jaded milestones jingled from his silver-coated necklace
his nubile fortune proud in the beauty of a timid glance
cast an eye of passion now that the light had given way
a sconce invited the cierge to bequeath a drop of hope
from his sceptre as he followed the bouquet of her lips
that whispered without a blush and accustomed to delight
ambrosia flowed from the flute of devotion as if to dance
within the shadow of a blossom ripe to spill and savour
their kisses forewent innocence to raise sweet sinless veils
01st November 2020
You've read it correctly,
that's what the directions said directly
but
it's not some innate random homogeneous gift
that encourages and displays these internal poetic rifts,
we are somehow blessed,
betrayed, besieged, bestowed, beleaguered and bemoaned
by words, phrases, unmatched rhymed teasers enthroned
upon some grandiose display of mismatched garble
a picture, an image, a brain's ensemble, quite remarkable,
the integral, seamless agreed-upon selection
of who or what could be prisoner to our dissection,
there within the confines of heart, body, and mind
lay hidden pseudo images soft, hard, vile, and kind,
therein those coherent enigmatic systemic wholes
buried, shaped, unseen, rhythmic whispers of our souls,
the center of our individual, molded, subservient whole.
Life gives to each a whisper of her medium,
A plastered palace, on which to post all dreams.
A shared air, to pause each hungered reach;
In praise of steps, accomplishing by each.
A rouse of sympathies, for the melancholy few;
Who test their fortunes with the best, as many do..
Allowing a power to close the door, to every madness come.
With weightless dreams of dreams that overcome
Each hurried mind bemoaned in kind and sum
With fractures turning palaces to slum.
Left behind, as though one might be freed.
When thou art all there is, for every need.
Emptying all footsteps into sand,
To ends that cannot be, whatever planned.
Cracks remain, from those who dictate malice
Graffiti gifted to the plastered palace.
The place that is the middle of all things.
When I gasp for the last of breath
And take tentative steps to death,
Way-lost, unsure wither to go,
Baffled, fallen short of your faith,
You will then miss me.
And when sweet breeze begins to sing
A well-metered sonnet on spring,
Floral fragrance shall when unfold,
When you recall my short inning,
You will then miss me.
Recalling our paper-made boat
Set in street’s rain-rivers afloat,
And you feel sad of your bad mood,
Your boat did when no farther float,
You will then miss me.
Over poets far better known,
Fearing, people would t’me get drawn,
And all else appreciating why,
When you recall why you’d bemoaned,
You will then miss me.
When the melted frost memories
Of mine would still waft as fresh breeze,
And feeling that long suppressed pain,
Contrite, you try, straighten old crease,
You will then miss me.
_________________________
Musing |07.11.2024| love, remember
A scream awoke those in the churchyard,
a mad scream from the maiden lain there
From death she awoke in the dark crypt
From cold death and so full of despair.
Shrouded she’d lain ‘pon altar of bone,
So deep in her dream darkened repose,
She was startled awake by a Godly light,
Sure ‘n startled by His light she so rose.
All alone,
All alone, all alone……
Tear drenched, she ran from sanctuary,
through the church up the stairs so steep.
Stout souls who had stirred from their slumbering
Rose up and listened, as on did the fair maid weep.
She bemoaned her roaming most unbidden,
toward the curs’d cross guild of the Moon;
through ash darkened paths ‘cross the midden,
she stumbled blind ‘neath a maudlin red moon.
In awe she entered the maze full of wanderlust,
She’d trespassed though to her ‘twas unknown
“Trespasser!” screeched the mad man so feverous.
As he wildly lifted his bolt to his longbow.
“You must go, NOW!
Go now, JUST GO!”
“But where?” said the wane wandering maid.
“Where shall go, I’m so lost and so alone?”
“Just GO!” said he, raising long bow high,
“Just GO! Just GO! Just GO!”
So, she was struck down in full moons light.
like a doe had she tarried to long their;
As the fletched bolt took flight and ended her life,
in a wild torrent of her auburn brown hair.
All alone, all alone all alone……
So, forewarned be thee in the full moons light
All forewarned so thee be though alone
N’er walk thee alone in the mad Moon’s maze
Or thee’ll be raised on an alter of bone.
When relationships face
an uphill slog and bike's
battery is flat as well,
take on the four spokes
real deal, bespoken.
The first to speak is 'what'.
What is it, that makes you
want to shout out such abuse?
Describe it in a 'matter of fact' way,
in a single simple explicit sentence.
The second to speak is 'meant'.
What does this misdemeanor mean to you?
What are the consequences
in the tragic story-line, and scream play's script?
The third to speak is 'felt'.
How did it make you feel as the wheel turned?
What did the gravel scrape of tires reveal?
Did it make you feel less happy, sad,
frustrated, demeaned, misunderstood,
left hanging in the lurch, besmirched in some way,
belittled and bemoaned, unfairly ignored, left out perhaps?
Lay your raw emotions out on your sleeve,
revealed to be how they make you feel, deep within your being.
The fourth to speak is 'move on'.
How do you suggest we move on, to get the wheel
turning again, to recharge the battery,
and face the hill climb together.
How can we get all four spokes back in shape,
back in place, all four in turn bespoken.
'what', 'meant', 'felt', 'move on'!
'I think I can', 'I think I can'.
'What', 'meant', 'felt', 'move on'!
meant
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what----|----felt
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move on
Had some pictures on my iPhone,
But they’ve somehow disappeared.
Since I’m not so techno-savvy,
This was something that I’d feared.
‘Course I didn’t have a back-up.
Could have sent them to my mail;
But I let procrastination
And some laziness prevail.
I bemoaned their disappearance,
Thinking them forever lost
And, most likely, in my furor,
There were several curses tossed.
So a friend who overheard, said,
“All this moaning’s not allowed;
For your photos haven’t vanished –
You can find them in the Cloud!”
What this means is quite beyond me;
Sounds like Esalen or Zen.
I rejected those some years ago
And would do so again.
But though I don’t understand it,
I believe the Cloud is real;
And if it returns my pictures,
Oh, how happy I will feel!
So tomorrow I’ll hit Google
And I’ll find the code to crack
That I need to fly up to that Cloud
And get my pictures back!