Long By and large Poems
Long By and large Poems. Below are the most popular long By and large by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long By and large poems by poem length and keyword.
The museum is full of gangs,
child gangs that roam sneering at the 70’s people.
The 70’s people live now in a diorama.
For the most part they are cheerful,
they cut grass with push mowers,
swim in above ground pools.
By and large they don’t kill each other
or pillage the Malls.
Some are vets with grey ponytails -
they ride to forget.
The 70’s people that lived in New York
pretend not to have been there back then
and take long meditative soaks in crude
high rise jacuzzies.
Behind the glass
the 70’s people mechanically wave
at the hordes of sneering children.
A young questioner asks his handler
why the 70’s people are not all dead?
A reasonable question
which the handler deflects
with a long tale about dinosaurs.
Meanwhile the 70’s people
peer out of their mid-century homes
and watch the foot traffic
as if it were an older black and white TV.
The young are getting bored with the 70’ people.
they move on to stare incredulously at a representation
of humankind back in the 60’s.
The handlers also cannot quite believe their eyes,
they explain that though there are many artifacts
of that previous civilization
experts disagree as to origins
and the strangeness of their bygone lifestyle.
Salem Alabama and Woodstock
are small print on a sign no one reads.
The kids are hungry and whine loudly,
the school-outing is a bust so far.
Harassed handlers usher them into a cafeteria
where they slaughter the air
with a wolfish glee.
A few Jeer at an 80’s person
who has wandered into the wrong room.
Hear ye all, henceforth, Let it be proclaimed,
the first five books are synchronously known
as The Pentateuch. Leading faiths acclaimed
to be Christian and Jewish drawn from stone.
Claimed author, by and large, flight stareway
to wings and hauls swarthy locked dominion.
Greek pente five teuchos book, or crock-clay
to bear volume. Congruence brand common.
Transcend sanctioned, chosen by the divine,
retrieve and set free, quagmire pre-breakout
--God's Law Giver, ... Hebrew Torah enshrine
Moses. Collective's command role, no doubt.
Numbers, *** Genesis, **Who?** Leviticus,
Deuteronomy, *****Mosheh,***** Exodus.
a trilonnet
Take honesty, really does it matter?
By evasion truth can be suppressed.
Lies are critical in the new world view.
If it serves the cause, who cares if it’s true?
How do you expect one to keep abreast
with all that’s on a partisan platter?
Changing the question with so much natter
has thrown me when I’ve cheated in the past,
leaves a gut feeling that threats will ensue.
Though I have not always thought this one through,
by and large, candid stands up to the test.
Cunning or candor, I'll take the latter.
I know, and I know another who knows;
when life is over, it’s truth He'll expose.
by Reason A. Poteet
revision of an earlier 5 minute challenge piece - Honesty
written with more structure as a triolonnet
for the final piece, see Honesty, Take Three
San Gabriel Refrain
Take honesty because that's what matters;
evasion is the truth - suppressed.
Lies thrive on corrupt laws, noisome splatters
that cannot get past the smell test.
What happens when guilt, gut feelings ensue?
If it serves the cause, who cares if it's true?
Take honesty because
lies thrive on corrupt laws.
Corruption takes advantage of the man
who can't be bothered to check out the plan.
Changing the question, bah, just more glitter -
no one knows who, nor what they knew.
Talk the truth, man of straw, lead-off hitter
of political games seen through.
Read The Patrioteer,(Der Untertan)
written by German author, Heinrich Mann.
Changing the question? bah!
Talk the truth, man of straw.
Mann writes of a fictional "brave coward,"
suppressed by the one he has empowered.
Though I can't follow through on the chatter
by and large, candid stands my test.
With guile or candor, I'll take the latter,
gauging winds offered by the rest.
My eyes see through the hollow of their veil
when politicians lie beyond the pale.
Though I cannot follow
my eyes see through hollow.
I know. And I know Another who knows;
when all is done, it is truth He'll expose.
I was in my sins being seemingly without hope and saving
But God the Father granted me His son Jesus endless mercies grace
Now I am clean completely copiously more or less
quite perfectly wholly repented, renewed heavenly bless
utterly fully all halleluiah
entirely thoroughly absolutely
O’ My father found me
Now I am gladly Oh so madly, now I am
Perfectly Totally found
exactly
altogether all over heartily
at length in whole substantially
through and through generally
Out of the blue
Skies shining brilliants hues
predominantly greatly unqualifiedly
O’ My father found me
Now I am gladly Oh so madly, now I am
Perfectly Totally found
downright to the max
categorically to the hilt
down to the ground down the line
infinite, limitless, boundless tilt
O’ My father found me
Now I am gladly Oh so madly, now I am
Perfectly Totally found
primarily principally extensive innumerable
generously abundantly predominately halleluiah
overall hands down by and large vast unlimited
immeasurable illimitable measureless fathomless
unmeasured inestimable incomputable
O’ My father found me
Now I am gladly Oh so madly, now I am
Perfectly Totally found
unbounded unfathomable
immense inexhaustible bottomless indefinite
abysmal incalculable
immensurable exhaustless halleluiah
O’ My father found me
Now I am gladly Oh so madly, now I am
Father, Father I thank you Lord God I am Perfectly Totally found
4/7/2023
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
From SpokenWords Anthology
" I BEEN WORKING ON ME ME MR. JAMES "
They're known by many names - taters, potatos, pertaters and spuds.
As a Hoosier lad I toiled hoein' taters and flickin' bugs off their buds!
So I was very well qualified when I entered the service, by and large,
When 'volunteered' for kitchen police to peel taters by a mean old sarge!
There's even a National Potato Day observed with tumultuous celebration,
With a Potato Queen, parades and other such nonsense across the nation!
Politicos pontificate about the virtues of taters 'specially in Idaho and Maine,
Where they transport them to our kitchen tables by truck, plane and train.
There was a national debate on how to spell potato with or sans an 'e'!
Dan Quayle didn't know how but I would've spelled it 'tater' if it were up to me!
Some taters have a patriotic bent since some are called reds, whites and blues!
Other varieties are yellows, fingers and russets from which you may choose.
To fill a feller's paunch the lowly tater can be mashed, diced or sliced.
You can make a tater salad or tater soup though you'll want them lightly spiced!
Taters roasted on the grille or scalloped tater casseroles will go with anything.
Barbeque tater chips or French fried taters with hamburgers are just the thing!
Mom would've been horrified to find lumps in her taters when company came!
In cafes today lumps are cela va sans dire s'il vous plait and is their claim to fame!
No matter how you slice 'em, taters are savored by commoner and king as well!
And you can argue 'bout the spellin' of 'potato' but 'tater' you can easily spell!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
A weary way-fairer all lost in wood
One dark night fending for food fell in well—
Unused and dry— it left him fate to brood,
But clutched on still to Banyan roots that fell
Into well, half awake hanging midway,
Spending the whole night praying for a ray
Of hope, precariously suspended;
And dreamt he was lifted out, not yet dead.
In trying times, as sole lifelines from blue,
He wondered: what man would without dreams do.
Never in life had he dreamt for dawn more,
Which when came, came to spell disaster—
There growled at the well's mouth a mighty tiger,
Greedy that stared, hunger writ all over;
His only chance now was to go deep down,
Hanging for life, letting the danger go,
But no, he heard a python hissing— brown
And big, tongue twirling, ready to swallow,
Lifeline-like roots beginning to give in,
When destiny frowns, one’s luck too gets lean!
But when his faint vision began to blur,
And tired brain lost of starch to think,
He felt a cooling, sticky little stir,
Dripping from nose to lips, slowly to slink
Down to his mouth; but how, how can it be?
A few drops of heavenly sent honey!
Above, he saw a bear seated aplomb
A tree, grabbing on to a honey comb!
Maybe, his grave fears on fate were not fair,
Life after all has fair for all to spare.
Well, waiting he was his life’s dawn to be,
Hoping, those hungry mouths would go away,
Waiting now for a few drops of honey—
What looked like an eon— that half night's play!
And it dawned to him: life nigh like that is—
No more than just a few licks to relish
With hitches, glitches, catches everywhere,
And yet, freedom still smiles, to us that tells:
In life, plights come with pleasure, how so bare,
Wisdom's to weigh: how long to wait in wells!
_________________________________________
This poem is allegorical on life's long journey, which by and large littered is with agony, with a few drops of honey thrown in by destiny here and there. Man lives amid hopes of better times.
Reflections | 03.01.12 |
_________________________
Childhood being a period of innocence by and large is quite blissful. The old age also can be quite so if it is truly treated as a second childhood. Life and death are equal journeys as death happens right from birth— why this sonnet is equally divided in two sestets followed by a couplet.
___________________
Thou art to soul as sleep is to my strife,
The cheeks when look rosy nor either full,
Lips red nor knees so supple as a rule,
The flesh when falters, wrinkles roar, get rife,
In feeble frame and grey forgetful brain,
And mental will when far from firm does reign.
So, come O Death as lingering night's sleep,
Come to me cooling smooth like a winter,
Or sallow, smooth like a softened summer,
For a soul that has lived full, well and deep,
To whom life seems like a day's work well done,
A night's rest well-earned to face morrow's sun.
In glimmering sunset's withering glow,
O let my old age be somewhat mellow.
___________________________________________
Sonnet |03.01.2008| life, death, old age
________________
Heroine content with her beloved’s
love, affection and dedication,
one with her own mind.
____________________
Heard had I tales of male malefaction
By and large true, far from fiction,
As happens oft, one out to prey
Gets hunted O to be the prey.
Full of hopes I’m your spouse,
Not filled with any grouse,
For, you my love belied this old wisdom,
I’ve been a free bird in your kingdom--
A truth that needs no proof,
Nor display from a tallest roof.
Lifelong shall ye be my temple’s deity,
We shall be together for life
Lived forever and rife
If not for eternity.
_______________________
Natya Shastra |08.02.2025| Free verse,
Note: This is eighth of Ashta-Nayikas, eight heroine types, as classified in a Sanskrit treatise on performing arts in Bharata’s Natya-Shastra. The state (avastha) of the eight romantic heroines widely themed in Indian paintings, literature, sculpture, classical dance forms and music. Swadhina-bhatruka is the eighth of the eight such heroines depicted here in poetic form.
My Garden
Poem
Lionel Derbyshire
My garden I want it best.
Rain makes it unforgettable.
Your memory there should last forever.
My garden should be a nice guy
Like the bosom of a lovely lass
I want to touch.
Sunflower formely seed ..
Oh sunflower yellow bright treat.
Eden I defy my jasmin is choicer
Lillys peeled and spread in ringent white
Agapanthus devoir and set in blues of wonder.
Roses colour bloom and ready to jab
All along the daffodils waiting to thrill.
Crimson carnations no regrets of love lost
Just a new flame in me and passion wise.
Strelitzia magnificent in a kaleidoscope of five.
Hyacinth by and large how high will you grow ?
My garden a mix bouquet of anniversarys
A showcase in celebration.
If my imagination behind these bars
Let me touch them .. once i was free.
Free to wander
How wonderful my garden ..
Free to ponder
Or nothing.