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.
if zee al chemist trump doth win go hide in the bunker
to save your ass
brace yourself as this don holed
confabulates that gold iz brass
and conjures prestidigitation
like spinning false hoods in2 truth - crass
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
a synonym force head fabricator -
will threaten democracy, thus be afraid
as this pompous voice quotes
from hiz playbook, which = a charade
the hard core truths, he
(who i liken to the plague) doth evade
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
and dreams up fault of Barack Obama
for extinction of dinosaurs,
crucifixion of Jesus Christ
down fall of the Roman Empire,
or far tethered Fred Flintsone ca fetching an escapade
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
yea...this rip pub lick'n presidential contender
evinces a psyche that did brexit n got frayed
building and monopolizing castles in the sky -
nonexistent as a grade
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
school fib - or donning role
as play ground bully teaming with ivan
the terrible to dominate the greensward
in the above fiction, but...man
that loose canon dressing his
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
"make america great again" gag line - whar i ran
and mid eastern countries will rise
as one cheering him as star of global hit parade
despite any raging oppositional pandaemonium
birth er ring a conflagration
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
kenya believe the world acquiesces
to thine projected masquerade
blocking im grate shunning crowds -
which number of people rival in size
taller (if stack one atop thee other)
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
than the trump tower casino or high rise
with his signature - hm...mebbe funds provided
by drug lords, the swedish house mafia
or terrorist ties???
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
whom security details silence by tossing a hand grenade
sham on you Potemkin village people for quaffing draughts
from elixir purportedly to transform visage with trademark
swept back, wavy and coiffed hirsute.
Form:
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.
Villanelle: Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon
for the author - male or female, prince or pauper, playboy or priest - of the
THIRUKKURAL*, the reputed "bible" of the Tamils, the principal Dravidian race credited with having engendered the first literary heritage of the Indian sub-continent. Only one thing might be said of him with certitude:
he tamed the language like none other and was more alive to his "times" and his literary, inter-personal, romantic, religio-philosophical and political environment than any prince, philosopher or priest ever since. In my view, whoever he may have been, he was an unjustifiably oppressed individual like King Wen who wrote the judgments on the hexagrams and provided the explanations of their images and the Later Heaven arrangement of the Yi Jing, the Canon of Change.
Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon
Words come asunder blown on road side-table
Debris of wanton collisions intone
Long-gone ages singe the stylo his work shone
Who knows what diamond crumbs spill disable
Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon
Sans case-endings morphemes participial pun
Regimented feet in seven steps enable
Debris of wanton collisions intone
Who confined meaning in drumbeat phoneme moan
Lest envy upper-caste knowledge expose enable
Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon
None know who he was nor what age saw he sun
Savants pat cheeks his lines to render readable
Debris of wanton collisions intone
While lordly conferees seek to feather nests own
His sculpted riddles tease meaning and jumble
Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon
Debris of wanton collisions intone
* Thiru=Sacred; KURAL, meaning "short" or epigrammatic composition in the form of couplets (1330: ten kurals allotted to each topic in three books with a short introduction), composed and ordered according to the rules of a strict classical prosodical pattern: the "venba" metre while adhering to complex rhetorical features, such as, alliteration, assonance, initial-rhymes and ellipses. The author was known as Thiru-VALLUVAR. One of the earliest commentaries on the Kural, still extant, was made by a Tamil scholar PARIMELALAKAR during the 13th century.
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
Its the last minute of the 11th hour
I have seen a demon wondering searching for a soul
A priest coveting the ass of another man's woman at church
Convince people you have a speed dial to God's Kingdom
And they will take any theological theories given to them
They worship sophisticated stone deities.
Emmanuel TV, electromagnetic Gods in static images
Composers of the reverse version of the Holy grail
Cursing God, misquoting scriptures and reversing verses
Misleading women like Hershey's Kisses and forbidden pleasures
The fabric of our species is a loose canon
The revelations post-predicted by the real Mayans
The apocalypse.
Its the last minute of the 11th hour
This poem is not against the church
It speaks for Rhodes, Selassie and Robert Moffat
New disciples that walked the deserts of Africa
The founders and architects of God's synagogues
Scribers that wrote covenants in caves at Timbuktu
Puthadikobo, Livingstone, and Thabanchu
Monasteries with no Automated Teller Machices on their walls
This poem is not against Anglicans, Catholics or Apostles
Its an allegory against those that spit on the chapel alters
The bishops and priests with their filthy urethrae
Their genitalia submerged in the oral cavities of alter boys
Seeking head in return for blessings, deliverance and confessions
Fake Joshuas who plant placebo demons and exorcise them for fame
The same devils that preach at the podium of cathedral portals
Dangerous men, listened and worshiped by millions
I m not against the church.
I believe in Muhammad and Jesus all the same
And the sacred message they bring supreme
From Judah through Jordan and the rivers of Ethiopia
I stand firm against Lucifer's devices.
In the face of damnation an entire nation has succumbed
The devil puts in more work than Jehovah's witnesses
Such a beautiful genus undone at the seams by its own beliefs
Victims of natural selection and ever-upgrading IQs
Each generation figures they can be better than their creator
Separationists led by confused evangelists
I m not against the church. I m against religion
I have seen a demon at church searching for lost ones
A priest coveting the ass of another man's woman at church
Its the last seconds of revelation's last moments.
Canon Beach Oregon
Present Day
Silver rain wrapped her following fingers around Douglas Firs.
Ocean was the ballerina dancing.
Flash after flash she took pictures of nightfall landscapes while hanging upside down on her third story deck.
Suddenly to her haunted horror liquid landscapes froze.
Full moon traced Death's skull while his eyes floated as clouds and his ebony cloak saturated night.
Oh the sight!
Oh the sight!
Nightmare night!
She slipped into her home and hoped to be unseen for she knew what would transpire...
Death strutted towards her in his skeleton stride.
"Pinstripe mouse, my beloved Cassaro I have a mission for you. You are..."
Cassaro drank hot whiskey from her hidden flask.
"You drink too much cheese!"
"You need to polish your bones."
Death now reiterated, "Again, I have a..."
Cassaro ignored him and drank more. She placed the empty bottle on the counter.
"Now I desire steel cheese." She whipped her jade covered stiletto and climbed upon him with eye to eye contact.
"Go right ahead and de-claw me,"
"Oh Skeleton Cat..." she sighed.
She threw her knife down as if it was a dirty rag.
Death firmly stated, "Cassaro, you need your plethora of pills"
She languishing released herself from his bony frame. Then clasped the bottle and shards slid down the wall.
She screamed, "Let my mortality melt into mush! Let my skull sink into the afterlife sands!"
Death slammed his scythe into the carpet ground slashing everything in sight like an earthquake. He throws his ebony cape onto the wall. It became a screen television. Seething with fury he threatened her, "There are 20 children that will perish if you die!"
Happy laughter with smiling faces were the moat around her island heart. Tears rushed as a roaring waterfall down her face.
Death with his ruby halo recognized that she finally understood.
His skeleton frame filled with human flesh, climbing bone after bone.
A crew cut of bronze brown hair framed his forceful face.
He reached out his human hand to her.
She glanced into his amber eyes and immediately glaspsed it. The harmony between the two of them was in full regal reconciliation.
They both turned into steam and disappeared.
December 27th 2015
don't even think about it
a bucket of motel ice in the face
proving the thing in itself does not exist
because he registered all the meanings all the time
with a nausea so profound
the retching never ended
rearranging all my proteins
in a hypnotic anarexo-bulemic frenzy
I marched to the beat of crawling flesh
an x-rated dermatologist tattooed Celtic blue
in an idiot ritual purification
couldn't find a long-haired dog for winter
settled for an inferno of intrigue and dissipation
in a tin shack at the edge of an endless swamp
it wasn't serenity that's a rock solid fact
the horse hairs stung across his butt
Mistress Cheetah grabbed the microphone
she had saved him from pointlessness in the past
weaving many paths upon his terrain
in a fairy tale about fairy tales
fear swept the land as a craving for snacks
the ones who get no peace rose in rebellion
ridden by that cancer of abuse
the great canon that we are but animals
the Brahmins and their bullies faced extinction
so they cut a deal to escape the cro magnon hordes
coldly calculating the cost to nations
in a curious mix of apoplexy and daring
trying to duplicate the distortions of time
a grandiose epic on the nature of Nature
and the desert of human intellect
clanked and hummed into bloom
an infectious enthusiasm swept the palisades
curing the sick and raising the dead
bypassing the humiliation of needing to lie
now if that doesn't please your ghost
here's something that will
I'll give you the formula now
in a dance of erupting minutae
if the West is decadently feudal
the East is feudaly decadent
this is my message to Earth
multiply yourself by yourself
and avoid counterfeit soothsayers
like you avoid a broken pin ball flipper
in a sea of hard financial assets
some of the angels are stuffed dolls
and confabulate without knowing it
where everyone is a game piece
tell me what is not measured
like wild geese honking through the night
part of a vast migration of souls
with the moon low and full
in a time of riches and knowing
in a teasing ****** of ignorance
in a power surge that spiked through the wires
the closer to the pillar you stood
the more transparent it all became
end of transmission
From chaos to cosmos
From cosmos to Barbados
From Barbados to Cricket
Fifty odd years
CAT EEG Resurrection
An original me?
If you know
The fundamental difference
Between 1 and 2
First comes the moon
Second comes the yellow
Last come the clouds and bats
They move cannons
Blasting chicken fodders
Canon of polite society
The sun moves
From east to west
From Angels to Demons
12 billion years after
Jesus rose
To shed his blood
Shadows and the lights
A road between, a pass
Tomb and randomizer truss
F=(x, y, z)
Collectively
Mistrustful
Since x=y
Earth exists
And will be
Ghewroucvsf
Chaos?
Right?
1123!
A big number
But small
Translation x
Interpretation y
Transportation z
There is no one like you,
And there is no God but you
Why kill?
The arrows
Earth
And a Japanese welcome
Ängsälvor
Swedish meadow elves
Warped, frame of reference
We are in God
Dead shall come alive again in God
There will be one house, hearth, Lord
11.2 km-secs
Escape velocity
To earth, to earth, to home
Blowing out a candle
Heaven interpretation
Nirvana, a candle
My opponents
Brought an oxymoron
For me, pretty ugly
p
A mirror
q
Lost in translation
Nothing lost in mistranslation
But you
Pigs are social insects
Bees are feral pigs
Cats are ants in a defense colony
Women in default mode
Susan, Mary, Debbie
Shower love on everybody
Bats and beeps
Critter’s wings
Pandora’s pigs
They smashed squirrels
It had happened, to a great extent
With us
If you need fire
Go to a dragon
A female dragon
With all calculations
I could not find
Her hemming and hawing
They died in summer
Drove car in winter
And married in fall
He misspelt 'love'
He was dead fifty tears back
In the act of correcting
Some chimps
Some elephants
Some ants
Let's go out to the field
And then and only then
Cain slew Abel
Note: They are not Haikus by form or convention but they are not null-haikus, non-haikus, proto-haikus, pre-haikus,rogue-haikus,rig-haikus or anything like that. They are haikus by " spirit".
©RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY
15th October,2015 19:35:29
It all starts when your 13,
and all the girls they want to be queens.
They all wanted to have crowns of gold and steal.
They wanted to rule kingdoms that were their body’s and it all started out kind.
I mean we were all just our mothers children,
learning to love castles which already had canon holes that shattered our foundations and this is the age where we learn to walk home.
Where our mothers sit us down and tell us about angry men
and their hands and their words.
Where my mother gave me a can of pepper spray and said Incase,
she said
incase.
The first time I walked home with a tiara balanced on my head
a shadow of a man followed me back
and whispered ugly into my ears,
and I believed him.
So my crown fell,
the jewels shattered on the ground along with my teardrops,
my silken dress exchanged for armor,
I wiped of my smile,
and cleaned the blood that crusted my knee caps.
I, I had to get back up the next day and do it all over again.
But,
I whispered to all the silent sins make me queen or I’ll make you scream.
And they finally bowed down until their knees scrapped on the ground and bled all the horrid broken syllables that they yelled at me from the streets.
I am not a whore,
or a pretty little thing,
or your “baby”,
I am neither a **** nor your plaything,
or something you can grab at with your grubby fingers as if I’m a toy.
So I try and walk away now with a crown of broken mirrors
resting gently on my hair.
I hope that you see yourself in them,
I hope you swallow your reflection,
it mirrors your ugly crumbling hands that seem to shake when you drink your alcohol,
it shows the reflection of your mother who still wonders why you sit on the streets when you could have been home helping her make dinner.
But it doesn’t matter cause my mother will sit at home and her words of “be careful” will still echo in my footsteps on my way home,
and I don’t know if anyone will hear
them except maybe the pepper spray that guards my school bag
and the girls that whisper of their fear in the locker rooms.
I will walk a little faster,
glancing over my shoulder as I go
and I’ll wonder if anything will ever
change.
Akin to a journalist (hoofing
NOT huffing on the beat)
heedful, mindful, and pain fully aware, bleat
me, asper caveats help me set sights
tacking within parameters of lawfulness,
when questing without sparking browbeat
upon my person, or worse...proceeding toward
said abstract destination until...
impossible mission complete
for verity from figurative horse's
mouth without defeat
dogging this astute brute, destitute, flute glute
hirste human institute irresolute
kickstarting little feet
essentially persevering acquiring,
amassing, and adducing
for instance enlightening
fierce interest how greet
American foreign policy
provokes bristling heat
particularly sinking cerebral teeth
into tomes written by Jeffrey Sachs
(one of the world's leading experts on
economic development,
and the fight against poverty) racks
up with unassuming dignity, grace, integrity,
and prestige in my book -
for birds that quacks
without question, his expertise packs
a punch (Judy be careful),
he earns accolade to the max
factor, and rightly so, asper one of the world's
leading experts on economic development, and lax
global fight against poverty,
yet also in mine reading material canon includes:
TIME Magazine, The Nation, and now imagine klax
on (trumpeting) for Mother Jones, a six month
subscription bringing to alight me to do jumping jacks
(no doubt you remember those vigorous movements),
but tactics to expand learning I put in Italics
if only to maintain alternate rhyming pattern,
which tenebrous, superfluous,
and ridiculous poetic hacks
meant add a little playfulness,
solely intending to bloom forth
with illusory "NOT FAKE) flax
seeding, an ongoing inquisitiveness maybe last
ting influence to ferret out
off the beaten track less broadcast
revelations, since this apt cast
off firmly believes the educated people denied
knowing how government (namely
military industrial complex) past
(and of course present) involvement blast
ting away innocent lives, and/or funding
subversive activity most likely fast
intervening across the real world wide web
to coerce, force, and source vast
suppression jeopardizing United States economy.
Preacher E. Lye
He wears his white collar backwards
Piggy attenuated pagan wives’ tale
say the trigger Finger Man
has snake eyes in the back of his head
Got a gravelly-low, porcupine voice
that is cobra flatline prairie legendary
Using a lethal eighteen-wheel
hydraulic tongue roadkill,
he sermonizes with casket authority
Preacher E. Lye got one good eye,
and a black patch over his hollow socket
The last person who asked
what happened to the missing retina,
got buried
in an unmarked, dry gulch ravine pocket
Preacher E. Lye low rides
with malevolent, maverick posse power
Mister Pus Papal Evil Eye
walks double cross with uno orbital pallbearer pride ...
Hanging eulogy twine ties
from the BP church steeple belfry tower
His barrel jaw revolving lies
keep his baron territory on a fear cower
Terrified bottomless pit cries
of the weak townspeople reign hope sour
Preacher E. Lye loves to spew verbal caustic speech:
Potassium hydroxide vows
fire hot lead, full of lung roulette chambers emptied
Mister Pulpit Evil Eye, on the sulfuric snide,
preach yellow-belly worms give-it-up or die:
Collection plate extortion on the cactus side
E. coli talks with snow collar pestilent pride
Black Plague canon cloaked in blue gunsmoke attire,
Chesterfield veiled threats
got the long gun branding irons set in brimstone fire
Preacher E. Lye got one good eye,
and a black patch over his hollow socket
Bottomless pit bull preacher,
bullet lung blasting pie-in-the-sky,
got his casino hands deep in pew pockets
Lupus leper lip E. Lye
tear sow scorpion alibis,
thru his planted posse of doppelganger sons
Wil E. coyote clan cries —
dirt devils on a slithering bandito desert run
Preacher E. Lye got one good eye,
and a black patch over his hollow socket
Preacher E. Lye blows a dust tide
with malevolent, cougar bloody paw grit
Red Barren hope
flows down a cemetery canyon
White flag mope
leaves nary grave task undone
Blue metal smoke
is Preacher E. Lye’s kill clarion
Preacher E. Lye stalks the widows
with his condor one eye
Devour their body-and-soul vittles,
then bury their dead cry