Long Caricature Poems

Long Caricature Poems. Below are the most popular long Caricature by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Caricature poems by poem length and keyword.


Premium Member Imaginary Incidents

IMAGINARY INCIDENTS
an ivory tower
  forever diverted
in an explanatory text
persists
abandoned
  to provoke an intrigue
a caricature swivels
  facilitating deception
larger-than-life
impeccable
yet impassive

upight&
beautifully
   detailed
a symbol on the brim
of boredom
a liberating temptation
 unique&
  unrecognized

THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
Form: Other


At the Edge of the Precipice

I do not know how men many we were
or how we went, what we saw on the way 
nor do I know for what ungodly purport was ours
or what goaded us on into deeper uncharted territory 
despite our tortured souls and aching bodies protesting to refrain .

I vaguely recollect through my befogged mind 
some arcane words like Shoggoth and Mi- go and Dagon,
so much gibberish and blubbering babble of deranged minds
gone at once numb and addled with sights and sounds 
forbidden to man in his wildest dreams and thoughts.

Through crenellated valleys grey misted in their troughs
and crests and covered with slime or ooze as from some
white-wormed denizens from unnamed and should-not-be-named
lairs in regions in deep damp grottoes of infernal charnel mounds
did I and my ill-fated team wander wild-eyed and unkempt.

Do not ask me what we saw when we reached our goal
for what my skulled orbs beheld or what my brain deciphered
I know nor remember not all semblance of sense and sensibilities 
having fled with a volition not my own but driven by transfusions
of thought telepathically imposed from without from the miasma.

I know not whether to thank those who found me in the sorry state
that they did - a blathering caricature of the human form more ape,
nay, an ape has more intellect and dignity, than man- a creature more
fit to dwell in the mire and morass of a cess-pit than tread the same
hallowed soil or breathe the self-same vapors as civilized man.
It was far better still that the group of kindly souls, most rightfully,
had left me to my own contrivances and let me wander in my unknown
quest for unknown and mysterious things best known to myself once 
but now lost to me forever.

I find myself in these padded and strait-jacketedand dreary halls  of Arkham
standing at the edge of the precipice of an insurmountable mountain with
an abyss at the foot, both of interminable depth and dark as the devil's heart.

I have leaped from this vertiginous height perhaps a dozen times to end my misery
but having felt all the terror and thrill of finding absolution, I find myself here again,
and again.
Form: Narrative

Premium Member Keep Walking

“spell of maya, induces a stupor
luminous self, fallen caricature”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pouring our aliveness into the dream,
that each pulse therein we vividly feel,
delusional agenda ego streams,
hypnotic illusions having appeal,
compelling us by contraction, to kneel.

Our choiceless choice to create a dream world,
wherein amidst our own thought forms we curl,
per say a play of innocence harmless
but for indulgence in cravings unfurled;
in stagnation, feeling separateness.

Duality pulse births polarity,
wax and wane, attraction and propulsion;
our anxiety and serenity,
between which there is void of cessation.
Dwell there, oh hermit, in meditation!

We are and be as our attention flows,
stupor by pausing, self inflicted blow,
for otherwise, presence is always free,
imbibing divine bliss in stillness slow,
enjoying gift of life, with childlike glee!

23-December-2020
Form: Dizain

Whispering Wings

      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

Premium Member Anna and the French Kiss

“If God omnipresent, He must be resident within
We must feel then now, bliss tremors on our skin”

__________________

Been there, done that
Fleeting pleasures fall flat
Mitigated pleasure of intimacy
Foiled by stuporous delinquency 
Where may be found zenith rapture
Raising stature above body caricature 
Where peaked ecstasy each throb renews
Climax unending as soma nectar bliss spews

Restless Anna set off on an adventurous world tour
Lifestyle bohemian, French-kissing many a boor
She tried Kama-Sutra, frolicked with Shamans
Finally all proved to be ephemeral liaisons 
Her heart burning with ardent yearning
She found not that ecstasy enlivening
Upon reaching point of exhaustion 
Surrendered, entering meditation 

A voice then broke the silence
‘Choose divine entwined parlance
Here and now, in this feeble mind-body
Meld head with heart resting desires shoddy’
Anna did as was told and in timeless time, behold
Polarities within form manifested ineffable bliss untold
Hidden conduits throbbed with magnetic electricity
Radiating from within, climaxing joy in continuity 

Anna now knows, in being and so becoming
Vibrant blissful soul presence scintillating 
Bliss bubbles burst, quenching her thirst
From head to toe in bliss so immersed
Thunderous rapture within pulsates
To the music divine her heart gyrates
Moment by moment, all moments be one
Her aura radiating glow of the spiritual sun

16-August-2021

Anna And The French Kiss Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Form: Rhyme


Premium Member Magnificent and Malignant Other

Malignant and Magnificent Other,
I must admit in this moment sway of peace and waves of grandeur,
That I misjudged you,
I mistook your malice as a defect in your character, 
When in essence it was circumstantial,
For we all victims of this confused uncertainty,
And as I see you in your habitat,
Mighty and Calm,
Peaceful and Gentle,
I am tempted to revenge,
For I ask, “Why would she be so kind to others and forsake a kindness to one 
such as myself?”
For I ask, “How can he show such empathy, when toward me all he showed was 
judgment,”
But as I see you in your habitat,
I realize that you never really knew me,
I realize that you never really saw me,
All you saw was the caricature that a perverse and fallen generation had taught 
you,
All you saw was the myopic vision of a backdrop which knows only of black and 
white, Only of friend of foe,
Only of villain and hero,
And now though tentatively,
I outstretch my hand for your embrace of fellowship,
And if you reject it, I will feel no sorrow,
For I realize that it is your eyesight that fails you, and how can I be angry when my 
eyes see clearly?
How can I hate you for a hatred that does not afflict me and in truth only blinds 
you to a joy immeasurable,
For if you could see me in my habitat,
Surrounded by this sound of beauty and a wife and daughter that adore me,
Then you would know of my sound,
And from that euphony of reckoning, you would embrace my soul.

Premium Member The Man of the Hour

The caricature of a gentleman, nameless, scorned,
The infamous savage of the famous street was wobbling:
Scruffy, shaggy, ruffed beared, tousled haired,
Disheveled,
there went the odious appearance, bumbling.
Soubriquet: lunatic, fierce, rowdy with murky torn clothes,
Was sitting stigmatic with grubby means,
Was teased and thrown stones,
To drive away from the decorous street!

He was spotted pitied with meagre chuck,
While feeding a destitute;
Taunting and sneering didn't perturb him,
Gave his share simpering, only to be starved!

The antithesis of savage, the man of the hour,
Silently paved his way then, bare footed tottering,
To be again the savage of the decorous street!

Until the End and Even When We Ascend

when i look at you,
i see a reflection of myself
i never want to pull down the shade
and block the light

when i observe your
caricature, i am reminded of
the content of my character
i never want to hit the mute button
to silence to beautiful noise

when i am being loved 
by you, it feels like i am
actually loving myself with
openness....i never want to
fall asleep or even imagine 
the end of every single day

forever is like a warm blanket 
of love, hope, faith, and works
consuming us in unity....know 
that i love you more and more 
each day....as you love me....
and i will take that and the pure 
sincerity of my heart all the way 
to Heaven when my time on this
here earth is done....................
© Marty King  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Broken World

The world became broken
The moment words were spoken

An eradicating epiphany
Or perhaps a silent symphony

Life is simply a caricature of death
We're dead with our very first breath

With red tape wrapped around our minds
We're hindered by beliefs like blinds

For in this world there is no haven
Only a fiery pit for the callous and craven

And if I spark a brazen phrase
To light the path through this darkened maze

Perhaps I'll burden your illusion of life
By raising the curtain on a world full of strife

There is no justice for the homeless and poor
Because we wear injustice as if it's de rigueur

This world is just a playground for despair and wars
When corruption and greed are the government's favorite whores

All of my life I believed myself a pacifist
But in reality I was just a manic masochist

With an eradicating epiphany
Or perhaps a silent symphony

The world became broken
When inhumanity was awoken
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member The Star of My Avatar

My avatar is simple; I’ve not got
a special symbol or the picture of
my pet or of an actor who is hot
nor some poetic quote or sport I love.

No parent, sister, friend or spouse is shown
like some might post up as an avatar.
No special plant or flower have I grown.
So what or whom have I got as my star?

It’s not so hard to guess what’s showing there.
It’s me and not a caricature.
It’s from three years ago, so it is fair
for some to say, “yes, that still looks like her.”

I had some older pictures up before.
But as the years progressed, I took them down.
The days I dyed my hair blonde are no more.
I always wear my smile though, not a frown.

My picture’s not the greatest, but I say
you’ll always get with me just what you see.
My hair’s still dyed (I’ll tell you by the way).
I love my avatar, for it is me.

Feb. 3, 2019 for
Mark Massey's Who Is The Star In Your Avatar Poetry Contest
Form: Quatrain

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