Long Caren Poems
Long Caren Poems. Below are the most popular long Caren by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Caren poems by poem length and keyword.
Who is that brave and noble one I have heard so much about? I saw you standing right next to him in a newspaper report about him. Do you know his agenda, his intentions, and his mission? Where is he, from where did he ascend, and to where is he going? I have heard that he fears neither man nor beast, but has great respect for 'Laws'. Clouds of doom, fear, and gloom hang over our world. So take me to your leader.
I sense that the quest for unity of the 'citizens of the world' is abolishing 'Soveignties'. May our prayers ascend to heaven and may God free us from so many inequities, boiling pots of greed, overflowing pools of political corruption, debaucheries that permeate the atmosphere, and human behavior that's becoming too toxic for habitation. One sign of a good man is that he views constitutions and laws as instruments of sacredness. Evil men loathe laws, and perceiving them as restrictive, change or abolish them at will. I would be so honored to meet and dine with a good man or woman.
So please take me to your leader.
There is so much I need to know about him. So I hope that you have not been sworn to secrecy. He gives all appearance of a giant of a man who longs to be at peace. I have heard that he believes in freedom, justice, and prosperity for all. I have heard he's a good seed, has no greed, and cannot be bought or sold. I have heard that you are close to him, giving him counsel and godly wisdom. It is said of him that he bravely revisits history without becoming a revisionist. The future shall be paved with those who are unafraid of neither today nor yesterday. It seems our world is spent and spineless, and in such demand for true leadership. So take me to your leader.
You are a dear friend of mine, kind and true. So I beg of you, take me to your leader. He need not be grandiose or a wearer of haloes, nor superhuman or unusually charismatic. He need not raise the dead nor walk on water, but perhaps he knows the one who does. Perhaps his ears, eyes, and heart are opened to genuineness and tightly closed to hypocrisy. Perhaps he holds secrets whose revealing time has come, so please take me to your leader.
08042018PSContest, Take Me To Your Leader, Caren Krutsinger, 1stPl.
Amethyst shades dazzle her mysteriousness
hiding black secrets in vulnerable mellows
though recognized in the forgotten marshes
she's said to possess dark onyx powers.
She smiles at lost passersby in the red valley
aware of the myths bubbling beneath wet soil
and they disappear in unexplored forests
seemingly safer than her uncharted evil mind
every full moon augments her fragrance they say
her Carmen blooms to entrap innocent souls.
A thousand false alarms wrapped in assumptions
for they'd never know she's a trampled magnolia
tattered spirits in frayed rags was all she had
dried oceans of scarlet tears in enclaves of fears
humanity died on a full moon night under heavy breaths
her weakened screams muted with lustful arms
blurred visions of a forced conviction in blood
her faint shrieks died in this swamp of tragedies
till her blood froze beneath slumbering snow.
Her burning spirit simmered mauve mists
slimy seeds sprouted the dirty green marshes
spring bloomed her courage to recollect storms
crushed to sprinkle colors on heavenly topanga
diamonds in her mind shimmer as she laughs
sending ripples of valor in perturbed oceans
embracing her flaws she sings a folk melody
trances of whispers blended in mellow symphony
legends of crimson valley float with her flute
a goddess calming oppressed souls to breathe
they've heard stories of sapphires burning
splashing colors of freedom and kindness
but all they see on drooping moonless nights
her pious caricature coming alive in dark
magenta petals blooming in layered fog of storms
turning mauve then scarlet glittering ruby
spreading wings from green marshes perfumed flowers
on elevators of courage to save scarred souls
infant butterflies arise in lilac hues of whispering hopes.
July 4, 2020
A Contest About a Goddess or God - Not THE God Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
~Winner: 1st Place
butter flies and marshes mellow Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
~Premiere Contest Winner: 2nd Place
Looking at the mirror with good day’s pleasure
I see slothfulness’ glamour gripping me with delight’s leisure
Yet ready to attack my sense of honor for me to defy time-worth’s treasure
So defiant; not a generous donor offering me gift that costs much pressure!
Now, I challenge you, my indolent suitor, upon your procrastination’s grandeur
I’m aware of your wastefulness’ color since my schedule you want to injure
I fight you for putting me in meaninglessness’ rigor against unjustified torture
Dampening my work-ardor by your entertainment-indulgence culture!
Face now my determination fervor straightening your laziness-posture
I vanquish your terror that’s underestimating my devotion-measure
See how I combat fruitlessness’ horror in striving for a productive future
While trusting God with His grace-anchor, I press on by His might so sure!
Don’t shake me with doubts’ tremor; I confront you upon truth’s nurture
You'll be overtaken by my Conqueror… just prepare for a painful capture
Never dare me; you’re a deceitful actor trapped inside reality’s exposure
I’m controlled by the Victor Who has mastered very well human nature!
Along my stewardship’s armor, I smite you with discipline-censure
Having the Lord’s good favor... I win against your lethargic displeasure
Upheld by His strong succor, I subdue your destructive gesture
Trained by my champion Mentor... I arise toward faith-performance venture!
Thus, by diligence-motor, ...you, spirit of the sluggard*, I adjure
Yield to the task-commander’s tenor …follow work-ethics’ procedure
Escape from vanity’s galore …be prodded to toil and endure
Girded by hardships’ candor …stand up with zealousness-feature!
Opponent of losing savor, Surrender your worthless seizure for healthy cure
Accept that you’re beaten by genuine labor midst your impatience-tenure
I thank my Savior for righteous valor making me win on persistence juncture
Guided constantly by the Director, I persist in His triumphant service-pasture!
*Proverbs 13:4 The soul of the sluggard desireth, and hath nothing: but the soul of the diligent shall be made fat.
June 11, 2018
Edited on December 18, 2018
1st place, "Bunny Jump Honey Lump Funny Chump" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger; judged on 12/31/2018.
Every morning at a quarter to six, I can hear my he him trotting down the hallway to the bed where I lay, shriveled up under my weighted blanket, so fat and un-tall.
There’s a part of me that should feel sorry for my little Cowboy husband Joe, but the other part is as angry as Sophie Dog, who snarls and snaps when she hears him in the hall.
“Time to get up!” he says in a sing-songy way, being a nice guy, who truly, only ever wanted to be a child, outside, who could laugh and play like a kid with honey bun food.
“Son of a mule’s *******,” I say, in the kindest cowboy-kind of way, knowing he’s going to feed Shark next, and he’d better tip toe as I am in that kind of I-HATE-EVERYBODY-KIND-of-Mood.
Big Joe.
Big Joe.
Big Bad Joe.
“I saw that the baby opossum on the porch was out of food again, so I banged on the window, and he ran off with that little hop-skip he has,” Joe babbles on. “After he left, I took some cat food out. He’s eating it now.” Joe is wearing his best hat, and boots, but I don’t give them no mind.
Son of a horse’s behind, does he always have to yap like a coy dog? I think as I try to get a growling Sophie dog’s butt off of the covers I’m trying to put back over my head, so I can have some peace and QUIET; “Get OUT OF HERE!” I yell, I’m 11 minutes behind!”
Big Joe.
Big Joe.
Big Bad Joe.
Sophie and I get woked up three more times by him, and we chase him out each time, baring our teeth. It reminds me of my early days with my mother who used to be just this damned happy and annoying in the morning. She used to give us pancake rolls. Which means she used to jump on our bed and roll on us making us extra angry before we left for school.
The last time, the final time, the I mean it this time, he brings me my usual Chuck Wagon Caren is hungry as a giant Stegosaurus on speed breakfast. Five pounds of hash-browns, a three egg omelet with bacon, and it damn well better be the exact temp I like, he has learned the hard way Sophie and I are
Very particular about the temp of our bacon. He takes off his 10 gallon hat, sitting it on the bed, and says “anything else, my ladies?” Before we can speak, he magically produces my jalapeno peppers which we dump lavishly over our hash-browns. Yes, he is the perfect cowboy for this fool.
Big Joe.
Big Joe.
Big Bad Joe.
"Dammit - I take your advice seriously!" Puggily said,
Squeezing as much water as she could from her tiny red pinafore,
(Looking rather embarrassed and dejected).
Twinkles, her prettisome guru, still could not speak a word,
As he/she, (gurus are asexual, you see), rolled on the grass, laughing -
'Laughing' being an understatement - clutching his/her stomach in hilarity ...
"Oh, gosh, my ribbies are gonna split!!" roared Twinkles, "Make it stop!"
But Puggily was not amused, her furrowed brow deepening ...
"I do NOT see the humor in this situation!" she said, shivering in the breeze,
(Smidgets are small, impish creatures, but they have a fierce sense of pride) ...
"Your wings are stuck together!" Twinkles roared, now turning red,
Puggily spinning on her toes, doing her best to dry out ...
She was also turning rather crimson, though for different reasons,
Her anger rising, along with chilly bumps on her skin.
"You might toss me a towel!" she cried, but Twinkles was lost to laughter,
Rolling and giggling, trying desperately to catch his/her breath.
The guffaws continued on for a good twenty minutes, then started to relent,
At which point Puggily had partially dried her diaphanous wings.
But when she tried to use them they just made a wet raspberry sound,
And this, of course, set Twinkles to laughing hysterically again ...
"Great Floppy's Flidgeon! You sound like a fart!!" Twinkles howled.
Well, poor Puggily had had about enough, and turned to leave ...
"Our hour is UP!" she yelled back over her shoulder, tossing a doubloon.
Normally she'd just fly off, but her wings were still too sodden,
And she wasn't about to make any more raspberries for Twinkles' amusement.
"It's just a saying ... a colloquialism!" Twinkles forced, between gasps ...
He/she never thought she'd take him/her seriously, you see.
As she disappeared into the purple mushroom forest, Puggily yelled back,
"Well, the same to YOU, then - go jump in the lake!!"
She strained to hear a splash,
But the only sound was Twinkles ...
Roaring with laughter.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Smidget Puggily And Her Prettisome Guru" Poetry Contest, Caren Krutsinger, Judge & Sponsor.
I must think fast. My house is on fire and I'll have 16 minutes at the most
to decide what I will save!
For sure, I will rescue the computer, or the flash drive at the very least.That is number one, for this represents a great number of hours I have spent creating poetry.
The second thing is my photos. I've saved most of them in albums, and there are many! I'll have to grab them up in armfuls and make two trips back and forth to get them out!
Third, I really should not forget paper documents: proof of birth and house ownership, certificates, checks, etc. To get those things redone is a huge hassle, and luckily, I have them all in one big box.
What next? I think I will grab up my jewelry, especially my rings with precious stones that I love so much. Bracelets, earrings and necklaces too. I'll toss them all into one big bag and worry about sorting them later!
I've used up at least ten minutes of my time by now. Next I will try to rescue my clothes. There are too many of them to save them all, but I will grab up my favorites, yanking them from hangers and taking them to my lawn in big piles. I'll use the hamper to carry them in!
After clothing comes shoes! Of my many pairs, I need only to save a few which are my very favorites and my two most comfortable pairs which I wear the most often.
Finally, I have arrived at the final thing! Most of the sixteen minutes to get stuff out of my house has disappeared by now, so I will run into my kitchen and grab up my supplements along with any healthy nutrition bars and dark chocolate, all kept in my pantry. I will just shove them all into a large box and get my butt out of the house.
Whew!! The fire truck is here now. I am praying all my favorite nic nacs, books and old records will somehow be preserved! I can always get new sheets, blankets, furniture and televisions, but the things I most cherish are the things I grabbed first to take out of the house, especially those things irreplaceable such as photographs and my poetry!
And what did I learn from this little exercise? Well, I really need to have all my favorite things previously organized into big boxes which are easy to carry!
Feb.21, 2019 for
Caren Krutsinger's Seven Things You Would Save If Your House Was on Fire
Azure-accentuated ambiance awaits aspiring artists
Baby’s birth brings blessings, blowing boredom-blues
Cool calmness charms circumspect chefs to create cuisine cravings
Daybreak dos and don’ts discipline drivers from direction-dazzles
Enlightenment-exercise empowers engineers in their endeavors...
Fiery fluorescent fearlessness fuels firefighters’ faith-fortitude’s fervor
Glowing grace of God gears guardians for guiding governance
Hope highlights health-helpers’ handlings midst heightened heaviness
Illumined instructors inspire with their influence-iridescence
Justice-jubilation juxtaposed with jurisprudence-judgment joins jury...
Kaleidoscopic kindness-keys keep kinship’s knot kindling
Light’s luster leads liberation-lovers to lift the lamenting and lowly
Morning’s majestic magnificence moves mothers with mercies'* might
Nourishing nurses’ nurture and nature negates night’s negligence
Overwhelming opportunities open officials for output-optimization...
Peace-packed period pulls prayer-partners into Providence presence
Quality quotes quiet the querulous' qualms and quixotics' questions
Redolent reflections refocus reviewers against regretful reveries
Spiritual songs by soprano soloists shut silence-stillness
Triumphant thanksgiving tops tight timetable of tenacious teachers...
Ultimate urgency upholds undaunted umpires unto usefulness
Verses vanquish vanities vying against vision of the victors
Watchfulness warmth wakes the weary to welcome words of wisdom
X rays of ‘xpertise ‘xamination x-out ‘xpectations for a Xanadu
Yes-yells yearn for youth yielded yeah-yowls from yesterdays’ yets
Zion's zephyr zooms the zealously zestful to zenith of prize-zillions!!!
*Lamentations 3:22-23 It is of the LORD'S mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning:
great is thy faithfulness.
Abecedarian and alliteration forms
July 28, 2018
Edited on May 19, 2022
1st place, "ABCEDARIAN POEM" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger; judged on 6/4/2022.
when I go to the cemetery to visit the tombs of the dead
and I leave the world by stepping through the ornate gate
that leads me on a winding road into the stillness
of scampering squirrels and chipmunks and hidden bird songs
I first arrive at the tomb of grandpa . .
.
oh, he was a wonderful man, I can still hear his laugh
I loved his farm and all the animals and his joy of life
but he died too young . . .
beside him lays grandma, she is the reason I am a writer
she said write it and I never stopped, she thought a cup of
tea would cure anything, a broken heart or whatever, one day
grandma we will be drinking tea up above, she died at ninety-four
I have to take another winding path now, deeper into the quiet
and I come to the tomb and place of tears quietly serene
fitting it is shaded by a weeping willow . . . .
this is where my sister is in repose since she was a child
I will never forget our play and her smiling, happy face always
I have asked God why a thousand times . . . .
Dad, the day you died I was shattered, my whole life crumbled
I never wanted to let go of your cold hand, but I had to let you go,
I came home and wrote a poem about you and that was the beginning,
a poet was born that day . . . .
Mom, there is not a day that I do not think of you, at dawn and when I
seek rest, you are with me always, you were my best friend, when you left
I became a balloon floating in the sky with no anchor to hold me in place
I have things to tell you mom . . . .
and the newest engraving in stone, my baby boy, who never saw the sky
who never took a breath of life, people say God needed another angel,
did he have to take mine, each time the dagger plunges deeper into my
heart, and each visit leaves my heart broken again . . .
my life is ravaged with death, the garden of my life weather-stained
but I am a survivor and as I step through the ornate gate, I re-enter
my reality mourning death but determined to go on . . .
_________________________
November 4, 2020
Poetry/Free Verse/six above
Copyright Protected, ID 11-1300-223-04
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for the Standard Contest, Six Relatives
sponsor, Caren Krutsinger, Judged 11/30/20
Third Place
My words come from an innermost and secret place within me. Hidden feelings
that I have veiled and concealed over the years. Words that bleed with emotion
and speak of deep-seated pain and weep with tears. They spill onto my white
pages. All those inward words that I have held for years come dripping.
And I know that I have mastered my writing, I know my poetry is meaningful.
I realize that some may not like my words but it means nothing to me. For my
poetry is not measured by others or by being acknowledge somehow but by the
words that take my breath away. I have that kind of wonderful inner knowing.
sad words are falling
all the red orange and brown-
a feather floats by
I am absolute and certain that I am meant to write pain and definite death,
and my aboriginal heritage with boundless and unrestrained passion. I give
totally to this path. I am fixed and clear and infallible. Seems I am on a
mission to utterly enlighten others.
And when you read my words you will feel my compassion and empathy, my
love, sorrow and affection. You will glimpse and get an inkling of my journey
to the here and now, the rocky road that I have traveled. But, that road has
left me with feelings of absolute beauty, so I write poems beautifully sad.
and hidden birds sing
a song so melancholy-
calico cat stares
I feel we writers have to be mystical and in touch with our mysterious spirits,
there is a magic when you can connect with that otherworldly place deep inside
of your mind. Some may call this connection their spirit or their muse, or their
soul but when you find it, you will know and it is from that place you write.
For inside of self is your ego, your I and yourself. It is your essence and vital
force, it is your poetic heartbeat, it is where your mournful dwells and your
memories linger to be retold, for me it is my vitality and my journey that I
share, and it is where I keep my HURT.
the rain is falling
as I stand beneath the tree-
my tears fly away
___________________________
June 9, 2018
Written for the contest, An Inner Knowing,
And Absolute Feeling, My Mystical Soul/Self
sponsor, Caren Krutsinger
First Place
The day my life went ape ‘chit’ in no more than three-hundred words
Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch counts
And pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis works wonders
When I am asked to write a poem that is either precise or reductionist
Thus I report from my personal lock down epicentre of home isolation
With free advice to conquer the gremlins of free speech and contagion
Firstly pretend you are German because one compound nouns fills a page
Then rediscover hyphenation and have a match with auto-correct settings
Or pick up the challenge and find those scrabble pieces under the couch
Next to valuable coins a few toe-nails or belly-ring to gather your thoughts
Pasta shapes with letters and letterpress cookies are essential food items
You will find them on shelves in shops where the loo roll had previously been
On that delicate matter it might be worthwhile to consider what colloquy
You can fit on a single ply sheet used sparingly on both sides in dire need
Word counts are useful to pass the twenty seconds it takes to wash hands
But remember to spell hyphenation-control-centre with a dash of content
Consider that a pencil is sharp on one end if you poke fun on the toilet
My wife still bears a charcoal tattoo from when a soft roll in satin sheets
Gifted an indelible reminder that pleasure and pain work hand in hand
A carefully calligraphed dot to dot surely trumps auto-generated novels
Unwrap fortune cookies and proof read for the true meaning of spells
Whatever tickles your fanny until cohabitational glow fades in the face
Of adversity calling for regaining control over figures of speechlessness
Blank page …?
One last piece of counsel and guidance for a true minimalist poet or scribe
‘I love you’ works well all you have to do is repeat one-hundred times
28th March 2020
Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogochis the name of a
small town in the North of Wales
pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis lurks in the shadow of corona
Poem written for Caren Krutsinger's contest 'The day my life went whacko'
Word count exactly three hundred words