Long Browses Poems
Long Browses Poems. Below are the most popular long Browses by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Browses poems by poem length and keyword.
Mind paints canvas of life as amateur
Some hues taken from palette of events
Some contributed by human nature
oozing from emotive urge at moments.
Heart gallery frames happy happenings
Those turn weepy are mercilessly torn
Ugly chapters showing spastic paintings
Some to erase and some get forgotten.
Brush browses on multiple episodes,
Patches of pigments collide in collage
kaleidoscope of memory decodes
Some pictures go hazy, some to enlarge.
Throughout life did ‘Mind’ the painter paint well?
Canvas of life with overlapped hues can't tell.
Jesus Christ and Karl Marx seek lost children in the City of Gold
In shackled shack with weight of broken bricks on tin roofed promises
she rest her head against the precious paraffin cooker empty and cold
Five children to feed no milk in once beautiful breasts life sour and rancid
abused and battered and her husband long gone in yesteryear’s crossfires
‘Tulinagwe’ is free from luxurious troubles plods on no fancy resides in
her township a voyage no carrier of progress and a storm with no sail
‘Mawuli’ lives close liberated from hardship quite posh in his mansion
a world away in marvellous marble box tree hedges protecting ascent
He rose manicured hands roses lawns perfumed clothing no sweat while
his gardener reaps thorns and oppression from inside walls’ dwelling
Born free after the fall of Apartheid his stars and his God have sheltered
adorned crowned zenith’s success a story from another page in the book
‘Mawuli’ lives resolute on ‘Tulinagwe’s shoulders brethren in union while
her dreams have dissolved and yet my free flight of fancy calls resurrection
For both in their names Christ shed his nails for Christ’s sake or for their
blood so let us be reminded that revolution does never start at the top
Has either read Shakespeare or for that matter the bible when ‘Tulinagwe’
has no privilege to read while 'Mawuli' browses his browser brokers his shares
Two sides of a hopeful reminder that Marx still inhabits money and freedom
and that the burden of change contains a message for all children of God
06th May 2017 written for ‘Fancy Free’-Contest
Within the shadow of the crystal spires,
Where plains are painted by the frozen fires,
The field-logs track a monument of mass:
The heavy monarch of the golden grass.
Magnatropis vitreus is cataloged and known,
A living fusion of the quartz and bone,
A mountain walking on a six-fold frame
Of polished obsidian that no tool can tame.
Its segmented chassis, wide and heavily set,
Is wrapped in a translucent exoskeleton net,
A diamond-hard carapace, shimmering clear,
Through which its strange organs and vitals appear.
Its blood is a coolant of sapphire sheen,
Pulsing through valves that are easily seen,
While its eyes are bright clusters of compound gems—
Red ruby lenses on low-slung stems—
That do not track distance or predatory flight,
But map out the currents of deep quantum light,
Perceiving the drift of the space-time strand
As it sweeps through the grass of the perfect land.
Yet this titan of armor and crystalline skin
Is not built for malice, for war, or to win;
Its purpose is vital, a biological gear
That stabilizes the local biosphere.
Along its ribbed flanks, where the plates interlock,
Are rows of deep pores carved like vents in a rock.
It breathes in the nitrogen mists of the night,
The volatile vapors that choke out the light,
And filters the toxins through chambers of stone
Deep in the vaults of its vitreous bone.
With every slow breath of its massive domain,
It breathes out sweet oxygen over the plain,
A massive, organic, atmospheric pump,
Clearing the air with each heavy-set thump.
As it browses the plains where the light-flora grows,
It crushes the minerals left by the snows,
Its six grinding hooves tilling silicate sand
To scatter the nutrients across the ground,
A peaceful leviathan, quiet and grand,
It is the gardener-beast as it moves around.
A busy bee browses the lavender bush
Collecting sweet nectar no doubt
Visits loads of blue flowers
Goes on round about.
Some distance away tall buddleia blooms.
Its long purple blossoms in spikes
The butterflies love it and never give up
Its nectar is vital for life.
The soil underneath is full of life too
Worms, woodlice, and beetles and plenty of bugs.
Some nice things, some not so
No-one ever likes slugs.
Oh thank you, yes, thank you, God, your precious plan,
No part independent though millions of bits
Each needing some others, some sharing of life
Each particle useless if just hit-or-miss.
Hearkening to community's notion,
confines himself to violent commotion;
Mumbling as though stricken by demotion,
stumbles to fathom out his emotion;
Hence, rumbles to drink an energy potion,
which could empower him to submerge in devotion.
Sailing upon the journey of solitude,
embraces the high altitude;
Possessing the mental fortitude,
counters the disputes with great magnitude;
Masking the rage through aptitude,
He shrinks bitter attitude~
for squeezing out some warm gratitude.
Wildly swimming into the tunnels of dark hollow,
he persistently pleads for lamp light to follow;
( swish... swoosh... whoosh..)
Oh Great, looking out for her companion
appears the angel of destiny!
She browses & scans to spot his brow:
bandaged with thorns of sorrow.
At once approaches him with an aim to borrow
Tiny little golden finger traces his forehead furrow,
Eyes offer him illusioned syrup to swallow,
assuring that his woes would not exist up to morrow.
Then, rapidly brushing the needles of pain aside;
She promises to stay beside~
alerts him to no longer bide,
demands him to confront the tide,
comforts him to go down the slide,
For which, he earnestly tries to abide
by relishing the deep glide,
treasure hunts his lost poetry pride,
which later becomes his daily ride.
Travelling in it he feels cured and satisfied!