Long Canon Poems
Long Canon Poems. Below are the most popular long Canon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Canon poems by poem length and keyword.
On this the fourth of the month of May
aboard Slave One or the Millennium Falcon
we step inside a galaxy far far away;
Nostalgic like a big kid at play
with a call sign like Red Five or Echo one,
on this the fourth of the month of May;
Cinema trip to Hoth and decide to stay
longing for the Wampa or a Tauntaun;
We step inside a galaxy far far away;
The characters tag that tv tray
with views that exceed a million;
On this the fourth of the Month of May;
Escaping to a new world without delay
‘Obi Wan Kenobi’ or ‘The Mandalorian’
we step inside a galaxy far far away;
Proud to be a rebellious fangirl everyday,
celebrate the new breed and the canon;
On this the fourth of the month of May
we step inside that galaxy far far away.
The theme park was crowded. Elephants on roller coasters, mosquitos bracing the water slide, ferrets enjoying the ferris wheel and leopards shooting crack in the gallery. A myriad of personification and abundance of fairy tailed suggestions. ‘Its a small, small world’ blared from Magic Mountain as Cinderella dressed up as an indentured laborer in a fancy shoe shop. A comedy of terror ensued in the ghost train, conducted by a retired wall street banking giant resuming the corporate identity of a demon slayer. seemingly seeking redemption, but of course, he had another ace in his sleeve.
All animals were equal but of course the apocalypse had struck in 1984 and the Lord of the Flies was buzzing disguised as an orange clock, collected tickets and sold strawberry ice cream.
An English patient from a nearby lunatic asylum, thought he was a beetle, but Kafka had married Mary Antoinette and was sipping champagne from her braw. She, for once was not eating cake and was thus unveiling the myth of leavened bread at her altar. A merry go round of deception in the snake pit in which a contortionist was trapped in limbo and loin cloth from hell. Mary Magdalene teased him with with a vile of anti venomous serum and soothed his wavering agony in anticipation of saving the world.
Hot cross buns offered cold comfort, but the world was on withdrawal after management had banned coke as a sugar substitute. Sweet dreams were made of lactose free roach skin and the party dwellers reveled in aspirations and nightmares, elevated to prime position in the national canon. A truly amazing ode to joy and poignant distraction from the pawn shop of modern living.
But when the bell struck midnight and Dali melted his digital clock, all went back to the nothingness of the human condition. ‘Your shift starts in eight hours, nothing has moved because of a little fun in paradise’s ante chambers.’ Thanks God the crowd were already wearing their flannel night gowns. ‘Gotta live life to the full and heaven can’t wait.
'Twas the twilight of the year
a twinkling tiara.
December 31st, digits dancing dunes
in the Sahara.
One, two, three, one, two, three,
it's a prance.
A numerical Irish step dance
given a whimsical chance.
In the calendar's corners,
a magical mystery unfurls.
As the date spins and swirls
like a jester's jingling twirls.
One, two, three, one, two, three,
in a line.
A date so divine,
it deserves its own shrine
so fine!
But wait, what's this? A satirical twist!
The date's just a number
it doesn't exist!
One, two, three, one, two, three,
what's the fuss?
Wait… all dates are human-
created
YES, by us!
The numbers are shocked
feeling quite superfluous.
In the grand scheme of things
oh so ridiculous!
So here's to the New Year
let's raise a toast.
To the date that we've come
to boast the most.
With champagne that sparkles
and tastes like the sun.
2023 is yet undone
run from the old
to the new one,
run, run, run!
In the canon of the digits
a lesson we see.
Time is a construct
as fluid as the sea.
So let's celebrate the moments
both big and small.
For, in the end
they're the most
precious of all.
A faint hearted silhouette,
Of a life once thought,
Surveyed the silent terrain
Of a forest plot.
Searching for creeds
In the bones of deeds
Her net came up empty
Only whispers were caught.
A canon of dreams,
Battles of air,
Toothless virtues,
Knuckles gone bare.
Damning a fight,
Stood a farmer trembling,
With fear he looked
At a rabbit’s cold stare.
A word adorned
In glory diamond frill
Longed for a text
To shine upon its bill.
Weaving in grammar,
With vain notes of a stammer
A loin cloth, a rag,
A fettered letter’s
Poisoned pill.
An immodest figure
Of hair-chested speech
Watched over squawks
Of birds on a beach.
Steaming in smothers
Of mosquito-like brothers
A bellicose vein
With nothing to leach
Bled profusely
For compassion to teach.
A steely vow thunders
At the grimace of night.
Speechless candle sermons
Brightens the light.
Wondering if dead means
Off with the head
A guillotine’s guilt
Came down from its height.
A voice of timber
Stood alone
Upon earth’s stage,
A guard with silent strength
A worker of our age.
Holding a wounded dove
With flower power
Tears of love
A woman revealed
How truth is concealed.
Daring to design,
At great risk of a fine,
She wove a garment
For our age:
Eden’s dress in brutal rage.
I can not overcome
the problems of the world
but each person
can overcome
their own problems
You can teach
your children to hate
or you can teach
your children to love
you can build war
after war
or build city's
and playgrounds
you can argue
fight and bicker
or build smiles
love and trust
working together
saving together
you can build jobs
for your people
or watch as people
starve and die
you can create wars
create refugees
drive people
from their homes
or work together
to make a better life
you can teach
your children to hate
Americans
teach you children
to become bombs
use your children
as canon fodder
in a never ending war
or build a world
that loves peace
with jobs and hope
for everybody
one man can't
change the world
but each individual
can change themselves
Elusive pursuit endeavoring to craft a great poem
I (analogous to a rolling stone)
confess, no deliberate intent, yet often wonder
what spurs me to nudge, goad, coax, et cetera
semblance of reasonable poetic rhyme
despite modesty regarding
ably linkedin words for others to ponder
more often than not experiencing nonresponder,
nevertheless share mine writing
with folks cyberspace out yonder
or aliens occupying
beyond the pale of outer limits
amidst the twilight zone,
where dark shadows
looming near the edge of night
hint of spooky forebodings.
Without lofty literary ambitions,
more so stream
of consciousness abandonment,
yours truly rests content
to cobble, gamble, noodle... courtesy
swifty tailored stylishly harried element
mild mannered modest gent
bumbling along boulevard of
broken (po' whet) dreams intent
far less superman than Clark Kent
exercising mental cogs and wheels meant
merely to liberate momentary overconfident
zealous spontaneous inspiration,
albeit ordinarily quiescent
ex post facto concluding
equals time most salient
direct object lesson learned
lame, insipid, feeble resultant
effort generates undercurrent
aghast how rapid
(think lightspeed) went.
Yours truly his own worst critic ad aware
how avast mein kampf replete with bare
inducent to tap into latent fledgling clear
propensity to express creatively, I declare
bonafide potential to join pantheon excelsior
reserved for established authors within their
respective canon, genre, league...,
nonetheless an obvious flair
seemed evident perhaps coalesced
when in utero biological gear
yielded wiggly, ugly, scrawny,
quirky Harris heir
(sole son and second of three offspring)
an older and younger sister,
which introverted brother bullies
did constantly jeer
token scapegoat suffered
one after another kingly leer
pushing psychological state near
precipice off into dock side of moon,
who sought
(wharf far art grim reaper) to pier
without naked qualm evincing
one very bony rear
without sympathy for the devil
merely spells severely
pockmarked psyche therefore
impossible mission to set tattered self esteem
tacked toward in opposite direct where
dark shadow of doubt doth not veer
me into apathetic, horrific, pathetic...
suicidal mental state of yesteryear.
I am a son of the dark continent
By conception and ancestral offshoot
This black earth,
Where my dark ancestors deposited
The birth right of my life
In the dark bowels of our black sacred earth,
As the Canon and cradle of civilization;
The Land where my dark nostrils
First embraced the dark air in my dark lungs;
Which my dark ancestors bequeathed me;
The sacred ancestral black air which saturate
My dark back bone and black spinal cord,
Ensuring the purity of oxygenated black blood,
Meandering inside the black bowels
Of my black body and dark soul;
Galvanizing sacred ancient wisdom
The bloodshot ebony retinas
Of my dark sacred ancestors foretold
Time yellowed corn from afar
Blazing tobacco pipes competed fiercely in the twilight
For supremacy of sacred African nights,
With African Moon and unyielding black stars
Of Africa
The sweet aroma of embellished palm wine
Buried in the bowels of countless kegs of sacred African calabashes;
Roasted yam dipped in sacred palm oil and African pepper
Teased their black taste buds, stretching it to the boiling point of saturation;
Bonga fish and soaked garri was their appetizer,
As my dark ancestors soaked in the dark skin of black pride,
Battled to determine whose black skin was darker
Than the pitched black nights of Africa;
And whose black blood aligned more with black Africa's clay earth!
I confess, no deliberate intent, yet often wonder
what spurs me to nudge, goad, coax, et cetera
despite modesty regarding
ably linkedin words for others to ponder
more often than not experiencing nonresponder.
Without lofty literary ambitions,
more so stream of consciousness abandonment
yours truly rests content
to cobble, gamble, noodle... courtesy
swifty tailored stylishly harried element
mild mannered modest gent
bumbling along boulevard of
broken (po' whet) dreams intent
far less superman than Clark Kent
exercising mental cogs and wheels meant
merely to liberate momentary overconfident
zealous spontaneous inspiration,
albeit ordinarily quiescent
ex post facto concluding
equals time most salient
direct object lesson learned
lame, insipid, feeble resultant
effort generates undercurrent
aghast how rapid (think lightspeed) went.
Yours truly his own worst critic aware
how avast mein kampf replete with bare
inducent to tap into latent fledgling clear
propensity to express creatively, I declare
bonafide potential to join pantheon excelsior
reserved for established authors within their
respective canon, genre, league...,
nonetheless an obvious flair
seemed evident perhaps coalesced
when in utero biological gear
yielded wiggly, ugly, scrawny,
quirky Harris heir
(sole son and second of three offspring)
an older and younger sister,
which introverted brother bullies
did constantly jeer
token scapegoat suffered
one after another kingly leer
pushing psychological state near
precipice off into dock side of moon,
who sought (wharf far art grim reaper) to pier
without naked qualm evincing
one very bony rear
without sympathy merely spells severely
pockmarked psyche therefore
impossible mission to set tattered self esteem
tacked toward in opposite direct where
dark shadow of doubt doth not veer
me into apathetic, horrific, pathetic...
suicidal mental state of yesteryear.
Death is nothing at all,i have only slipped into the next room.I am me and you are you.
Whatever we were to eachother,that we are still.
Call me by my old familiar name,speak to me in the easy way you always used to.
Put no differance in your tone,wear no forced air of soleminty or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we always shared together.
Play,smile,think of me,pray for me.Let my name be the household word it that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effort,without ghost of a shadow in it.
Life means all that it`s ever meant.It is the same as it ever was;
there is absolute unbroken continuity.What is death but a neglible accident?
Why should i be out of mind because i am out of sight? I am waiting for you
an interval somewhere very near,just around the corner.
All is well.Nothing is past;nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of partying again when we meet.
Canon Henry Scott- Holland.
Script on Richys condolance book table.
AUDIO: Vienna Boys Choir, 'Pachelbel's Canon in D Major'
Trees II By Alfred Joyce Kilmer's Admirer
Methinks thus I
shalt naught e'er see,
A poem lovely
as this here tree,
Doth sun thus shine
its countenance,
Gift tree whose loft,
spreads its expanse,
Its girth above,
neath midst remained,
Flicks of light burst,
like windows stained,
The trunk weighs down,
the cradled youth,
Internal weave
exploits the root,
Limbed tree who hath,
purged forth hugged vein,
Thereon, ventures
long with its frame,
Styled tree stabled
in wonderment,
Our learned life begs
our testament,
The tree tilled naught,
nor didst we toil,
Providence hath,
sprung from the soil,
God giveth life,
sips and savors,
Graced from seed thus,
tree He favors,
Seasons race on,
timely fashion,
The Divine hath
shewn compassion,
A poet writes
in praise of trees,
Songs made of these
sweet melodies,
'Tis well-rehearse
endowed in verse,
Fool cool's elbows
and stubbled toes,
A quill at ease
a chapter seize,
Joyce 'Trees' as goes
only He knows.
2020 December 23