Long Blare Poems
Long Blare Poems. Below are the most popular long Blare by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Blare poems by poem length and keyword.
With unmerciful intensity is the ringing,
the sound of my voice but I'm not singing.
No music in delightful chords do I hear,
Only incessant echoes play on in my ear.
Over and over, are the diminishing sounds,
Like the baying howls of fox-chasing hounds.
What words are those, so repeatedly given
until to the brink of insanity I am driven?
As in a canyon, whose walls reach so high,
I cannot staunch the words that I hear cry.
They blare at first, then gradually drift afar
repeatedly saying, "Scars from the warrrr."
Such sinister words, 'scars and war,' an eerie pair,
Why does hearing them cause me pain and despair?
There they go again and again, but why should I care?
Echoing, "Scars from the warrrr, more than I can bearrrr."
Fear reached inside and nearly consumed my heart.
I had a memory of a death, forgotten, so I thought.
Those echoed words were the ones I had cried,
when I heard the reason why my husband died.
"Scars from the warrrr," the last words I remember,
echo inside my head; an eternal smoldering ember.
December 12th 2015
Where Echoes Hide
Sponsor: John Lawless
He flops at rest stops
hid by other sleeping truckers.
He likes the loneliness
as the cab windows gradually mist over
with smokey stars.
Rolling on,
cities of light flare upwards
and beneath them
are the unseen, the dead eyed
that hide under a metro-glare.
Amarillo, Detroit, Tacoma, Richmond,
places packed and stacked
with broken dreams and loose ends.
Just driving; hauling and honking.
No one looking.
Launderettes and liquor stores,
five finger fandangos in the back,
chicken wings and Jack D.
Atlantic City, Apalachicola,
soaking in the slipstream
while America looks somewhere else.
What are you watching America?
Sometimes he thinks
only the coyotes are paying attention.
Roads thread through his fingers.
The Great Lakes shimmer,
Rockies rear-up and ripple,
all those dust painted
played-out rural towns,
the roads are his tunnel
through both beauty and depredation.
Old men on roadside benches
stare unphased by his air horn blare'
as if he himself were an 18-wheeled
rolling exhibit of America itself,
yet no one looks long enough
to care.
we did not Dye in vain!
from “songs of the sea snails”
though i’m just a slimy crawler,
my lineage is proud:
my forebears gave their lives
(oh, let the trumps blare loud!)
so purple-mantled Royals
might stand out in a crowd.
i salute you, fellow loyals,
who labor without scruple
as your incomes fall
while deficits quadruple
to swaddle unjust Lords
in bright imperial purple!
Originally published by The American Dissident
Notes: In ancient times the purple dye produced from the secretions of purpura mollusks (sea snails) was known as “Tyrian purple,” “royal purple” and “imperial purple.” This dye was greatly prized in antiquity and was very expensive according to the historian Theopompus: “Purple for dyes fetched its weight in silver at Colophon.” Thus, purple-dyed fabrics became status symbols, and laws often prevented commoners from possessing them. The production of Tyrian purple was tightly controlled in Byzantium, where the imperial court restricted its use to the coloring of imperial silks. A child born to the reigning emperor was literally porphyrogenitos ("born to the purple") because the imperial birthing apartment was walled in porphyry, a purple-hued rock, and draped with purple silks. Royal babies were swaddled in purple; we know this because the iconodules, who disagreed with the emperor Constantine about the veneration of images, accused him of defecating on his imperial purple swaddling clothes!
Written: February 25, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In a scene of singing sunlight.
They claim it blurs our sight.
Shall we dare gaze at the sky?
Through dread, the stars fly.
Stoking in a vacuum sway
Beaming banners blare boldly.
A pair of piranhas are plunging.
It is superb, grasping a bright shine.
Love's charm—how do you draw it in?
It makes the task of daring thrilling.
In my fearful forest, I fight forth.
As eyes fry with frantic flutters.
In this twisted yearning, I abhor.
Yet, embrace insight with ease.
Never linger in distress.
Pondering peace without being alone.
Under a moonlit night's shadow.
Thaw flows glide as strings in a ballet.
Words crumble amid stillness.
Fighting a flourishing fear.
Behind your silent mind.
Mute menial mutters manifested.
Crashing curtains once.
Craving to roam free despite caution.
Stripped yet surged by Sibylline.
Serious sunlight speculation.
It could be aggressive and harsh.
Life is devoured without a swash.
It all started with a raw sheet.
As dunes, our tales might alter.
A dichotomy of bravery and intimacy.
In life's transient elixir
Time sands and heroic melodies.
We weave our myths.
with untamed minds and brave hearts.
The sun burns our fragile vision.
Stars glide through the darkness of night.
A sea of absence in their bright blaze.
Intense and vivid as a crocodile swarm.
Love and strength are a delightful test.
In my dark woods, I stand firm.
Yet your eyes wiggle with fever.
Stirring a desire I loathe but crave.
Predicting, a glove well-woven.
I don it with hope and dread.
Suffering from a wild yearning agony.
Serving solace sans seclusion.
Twists of gloom below the moon.
When wind waltzes with woolen wires.
Words wobble with weight of wrath.
Silence deters us from soaring upward.
And decry your vacuous diction
Awaiting unfurled sheets.
So anxious to be heard and set free.
The draperies previously yielded.
Fetching for freedom to flourish.
The pulsing redness of the dying sun,
Began to prevail into nothingness.
Yet all around the promenade
Bright lights shone from the business venue.
They sat on a bench, close, whispering sweet nothings.
The night was young, and they had much to say.
Would they wait for dawn?
Lights shimmer on the quiet sea,
like drifting dreams that never fade away.
She was tired and rested her head
On his shoulder as he held her close.
Then things began to shift.
Around the bay, bulbs were now in full light
The brass band began to blare.
Everyone was happily singing.
And in the depth of the bay
Fireworks cracked upwards
Sending sparkling stars above
It is a journey of excellent exhibition.
The two lovers stood up hand in hand.
And began their walk far from the crowd
Towards the quiet, where the moon had arisen.
A lovely red moon that was their wonder,
The air is heavy like a dirty woolen blanket
each colorful strand pulled through the warp.
Horns blare and traffic skids and screeches
as unborn accidents are aborted
by fancy-pants cops.
The city slickers in their posh clothes
zip along toward the outskirts
avoiding those in dirndl-shaped, Polleras skirts
and Monteras hats, as if ashamed,
either of their own roots, or of the neglect.
The road to El Salvador* is long
weaving along rough pacific shore lines
wefting past fishing villages,
and cement factories with tangerine groves,
each lane bringing the colors of modern life.
The oranges, red and pinks of fine fabric repeated
in on the metal surfaces of trucks, buses, and motor cabs.
Each person’s destiny pulled and pushed
by the action of man, earth and tide
forward, ever forward..through
the dunes of Lima’s desert.
The invaders hug the hillside,
thousands upon thousands, of rural poor,
driven from the teat of the mother by earth quakes
and the terror caused by The Shining Path.*
Mao lives on in the upheaval caused by his ideology.
Yet, so does ayni*, the helping hand of neighbor,
the brown-skinned hand, more used
to the bobbin than the gun.
Here they have come in oneness
a finished soul on a back-strap loom,
dyed and drying in the heat
of Lima’s desert
they bloom.
*El Salvador- a shanty-town 45 min outside of Lima
with 350,000 residents. This community was nominated
for a Nobel Peace Prize in 1986 excellence
in social work and community growth
**Shining Path-The Communist Party of Peru
is a Maoist terrorist organization in Peru.[
*** ayni- Quechua culture is centered upon community
and mutual help (“ayni”). Their social system is based
on the principle of reciprocity: helping a neighbor
to be helped in return.
Written: June 14, 2023
Pick-A-Title, Vol 37 - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
______________________________________________________________
Amidst the rolling hills and verdant green,
Lies a land of arcane, almost Xanadu if seen.
A place of ariose where dreams are born,
And the sun rises each day as an auric crown.
In this Elysian land, time seems to stand still.
Worries and troubles fade away, as if by will.
Here, one can find peace and tranquility.
The beauty of nature is its canorous serenity.
Glory in magenta and gold hues in the sky
The birds emit an opera of tunes as they fly.
The aroma of fresh flowers floods the air.
Trees soar high, their limbs rising in a blare.
Going upward, I have faith in my heart.
Through gloomy slopes and twisty parts.
The peaks are starting to come into sight.
Their tops were aurified with golden light.
I wander through this nebulous land of bliss.
And fathom a sensation of perspicuous peace.
I realize that I have embedded my idyllic place,
An oasis of diaphanous passion and grace.
Almost akin to Xanadu, an island of dreams.
It motivates me with whispered schemes.
The seal of the blessing of a utopian paradise
A realm where loveliness is eternal never dies.
This Bard Doth Drink From The Same Well As Thee...
Everybody sharing planet Earth means,
they moost breathe
the same befouled air
encircling the webbed material,
physical, and terrestrial wide world,
where noxious poisons get spewed
from industries,
that wantonly belch and blare
seemingly, indiscriminatingly,
and deplorably - toxins affecting
all living organisms - care
lessly damaging, harming,
and extinguishing offspring
at reproductive stage
of Mother Earth, who dare
ring lee fight back with tooth,
and nail despoliation polluting,
unleashing, and
zapping sea and sky e're
decreasing biodiversity necessary
ditto clear cutting,
encroaching habitats,
and killing off vital
linkedin ecosystems fear
row huss lee trump glare
ring depredations here
and now exacerbated inhere
rent lee by overturned
ecological/environmental
bulwarks jeer
ring lee scrapped by a president,
who stole winning ballot
springing trapdoors to garrote
legislation supporting
jerryrigged oblate spheroid,
with mean temperature so hot
to evaporate flora,
and fauna protections
eventually rendering *****sapiens
a metrical footnote
with only an umlaut
to punctuate how greed
spelled what their
own extinction wrought!
Written: August 06, 2023
______________________________________________________________
I evolve at my own rate; I won't be defined.
By the expectations that others designed
In this journey, I'm the one who decides
To spread my wings and let my spirit glide
I am elated and pain-free, my heart is light.
No longer burdened by darkness or plight.
I've learned to let rove of what doesn't serve.
And embrace the love that I truly deserve.
I do what suits me; I follow my own path.
Not swayed by opinions or society's wrath
I listen to my intuition, my inner voice.
It knows what's best; it's my guiding choice.
Angelic and improving—that's who I am.
Constantly growing such a blooming dam
I may stumble and fall, but I rise again.
Stronger and wiser, ready to transcend
I evolve at my own rate. I select my time.
Not rushing to fit into anyone's rhyme
I embrace the beauty of my unique pace.
On this journey, there's no need to race.
Love holds and supports me as a gentle breeze.
Wrapping me in warmth, putting my mind at ease.
I am surrounded by those who truly foresee
If I ever reached who you wished me to be.
The beauty within me, the worth I ping
Their love lifts me up, makes my heart sing.
I sieve happiness and control my emotions.
No longer controlled by external commotions
I release negativity and blare off the weight.
And embrace the joy that awaits.
The universe's words are being heard today.
I am unsealed to its messages, ready to obey.
Being appreciated and worthy is my claim.
No longer seeking validation or fame
I cognize my worth; I am beyond my blend.
I am a butterfly, ready to ascend.
Artless to healing, I spread my wings wide.
Embracing the light, letting rove the tide
As a raw day begins, I am optimistic.
Not as tied as the ties that were once so intrinsic.
I grasp possibilities, the endless skies.
I am ready to soar and reach raw highs
Unleashing the inner butterfly, I cast flight.
Leave the darkness that gripped me tight.
I soar through the clouds, my spirit set free.
Embracing the beauty of my own evolution
I am a masterpiece, a symbol of revolution.
Unleashing the inner butterfly, I am reborn.
No longer constrained by time and space,
I evolve at my own rate, with grace.
No need to rush, no need to flee,
I am blissful and pain-free.
An unexpected burst of energy
helped fashion a second poem he
ving up from deep within the key
per of Matthew Scott's ideas - nee
i.e. unexpectedly manifesting que
cull lee coalescing, buta not three
endeavors crafted since quota we
kind to exhaust passion before zee...
land revisited, when
a call for shot eye
guarantees, a dearth of ideas
will no longer fly
with plentitude, whereby
exertion from this guy
will necessitate to type
briskly before hie....
ah...whew...just when
I felt at a loss what to write...
bitta bing bitta bang
(optional chitty at no extra cost),
lo and behold ear splitting,
appalling sounds did in vite
until dusk hands clapped
over each ear tight
to muffle noise pollution spite
fully generated by
rambunctious youths,
who know no right
that gunning engines quite
obnoxious, and that conviction
edited (by me) tubby polite
buffer this chap hunkers
down for the night.
the following constitutes the e-man
soup pay wanton declaration
emphatically, independently,
and obnoxiously
transmitted thru ether
these loathsome roar of dirt bikes
punctuates the formerly quiet air
where local high school
teenage mutant ninja
male turtles blare
(an educated presumption)
at top notch threshold decibel
definitely inducing deafness,
which will soon be clear
to those motorheads
flooring accelerator scaring deer
and other sparse wildlife,
whose engines I hear
miles away, cuz this bard ****
got extreme (ear river rent)
hyper sensitivity to sound
perhaps linkedin
tummy predisposition,
could allow ma