Long Cede Poems
Long Cede Poems. Below are the most popular long Cede by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cede poems by poem length and keyword.
Old Bald Frog and a toad named Ander
saw Sally wander down by the road.
Said Frog, "Now Sally, me and Ander
been wondering where you do meander?"
Now, Ander was a three-toed toad,
had four before that Sally strode
upon his feet, a feat that slowed
and hobbled Ander’s hopping mode,
and took him longer when he mowed.
See, Frog and Ander, seeding sod,
done seen a scene they are thought was odd.
Miss Sally Mander did meander
on their sod with horse unshod.
And furthermore, she spared no rod.
The more they rode, they trampled, trod,
the more the sod got ample flawed,
a fact that gnawed, till with a nod,
Frog hopped the road with Toad in tow.
He looped his shawl and roped the rod,
and to a crawl, that horse was slowed.
Say, what’s the matter, Sally Mander?
Why you race the grass me, Ander
Working so to get to grow?
O, Froggie, don’t work up a dander,
I’s just taking me a gander.
See, I’ve a plot to buy that plot;
By Jove, I plan to pay a lot!
How’s we deal instead of grouse?
If you and Toad will move my house,
including all the stuff I’ve cached,
I’ll even plan to pay in cash,
and you’ll be rich and maybe hot,
you slap a toupee on that spot.
And so, he’d cede the sod he sowed;
she’d sew the shoddy shawl he showed.
Then he, that three-toed toad, they towed
her new abode down by the road;
the cattle lowed under their load.
Then, since they had no grass to mow,
they ambled by another mode,
There on the lake by her abode,
‘twas not a road and so they rowed.
Truth told, too old, he rode, toad rowed.
And with this cache of cash, he near explodes.
With tears, he tears the note he owed,
the last that lien is ever seen,
leans back his head and sings this ode.
----------
for the Homophone Rhyme Poetry Contest
sponsored by Hat Bueckert
written on 10/11/22
may not be exactly what was looked for since a lot of
the homophones are used as inner rhymes,
but it was a fun write, so there's that!
Well, Gypsy Guy would rather die than hunker down in chains,
be ridden south with bit in mouth, or heed the hold of reins.
The ruling lot are in a spot, the boss man he complains:
“The gypsies’ soul, I can’t control, my patience wears and wanes;
they will not cede to common greed, which conquers far domains
and furtive spies and news that lies have barely baked their brains.
“But in the court of last resort the final fix remains:
in boxcar bins with violins we’ll freight them out in trains
(should one ask why, a quick reply: ‘It’s that which God ordains!’),
and in the bogs, they’ll die like dogs, and everybody gains.”
Sintered from the dust of dying stars
This vessel of mine was,
By hands that reached down
Through the veil above,
And together with one generous breath
Bestowed upon it
This uncanny spark—this soul—
That man so very hubristically
Dared to name so.
From the tenderest of age,
I felt a magnetic pull—
A silent tug upon my heart,
And upon that uncanny spark—
To cede way to the craving of the day,
To wield this vessel as I chose:
This great gift of free will—
To speak, and act, and squander it
As I so pleased.
And in so doing, unbeknownst
To my young heart—
Though surely not to He
Whose hands, within the gusty gale,
reach down through the starry veil—
This truly splendid vessel,
Sintered from the dust of dying stars,
Bestowed with this wondrous spark,
Echoed each day more...
From a hollowing dark,
Within its mined-out core.
I felt so weak
That first time on my knees—
My first admission of regret,
Fingers knit in sacred weave
Upon the edge of my tousled bed,
Still warm, still rich with the aroma
Of a woman whose name I hadn’t cared to ask.
Toward the leaden clouds I cast—
A weary sigh into the stormy sky.
If miracles are truly real,
They're surely cellared with great zeal,
And left to age like vintage wines,
Until the Heavenly Divine
Before the worthy sets them forth,
Conferred upon His fruitful crop,
Whose future hopes now shine on high,
Not hurled into the muddy slop
To bless the vile swine—like I.
I've watched my life pass by
Like a slideshow of selfishness.
This vessel defiled,
By rapturous chemicals,
This spark,
By the whims and wants of an imbecile.
On my knees, so many times, since that first regretful night.
As I am now, chin down, under the moonlight,
Here with no right, begging of his might—
A humbled man's intent, a stirring,
This cherished spark, with its God conferring.
Cherry blossoms stargaze as spring air comes;
East and west cross at Bells of Ireland: warm and calm;
Welling slowly to cede: tender sage thoughts,
Upon two hearts link, after hundreds of sought and fought.
Cathedral posts accent with ribbons of violets.
Congregate white orchids grin alongside the aisles,
Roseband sings tunes: forget-me-not to highest.
Wearing her lavender gown,Heather walks with smiles;
Clasp in her hands,tulip bouquet, guests she stun
Her Lilac in tuxedo waits: eyes locked tight in knot
Gentleness bestow from heavens, ever won
Their iris fuse glued; love radiating allot
Matching band's inscription: embroidered golden rings
Baby's breath, a grand wish soon very soon, will spring.
NOTE: All bold words are different flowers.. :) I always love flowers. I am always fascinated of their beauty and charm but more than these I am inspired by them: philosophically and emotionally as well ... :D
(c) Olive Eloisa
11:45pm
June 24, 2014
Sponsor Cyndi MacMillan
Contest Name GARDEN PARTY: VERB-alized NOUN-sense with FLORAL ACCENTS
placed 2nd place.. :) to God be the greatest glory :)
Hear the buzz
Do not disturb
The hornet's nest
Don't cross the line
Where right turns wrong
And tact criminal
The path is set
Each to a fate
At many fork roads
There will be time
For frustration to blame
Guilt and regret
Be steady now
While you are here
Mix and mingle in grey shades
Yet black is black
And white is white
Feast appetite with peace
Drink your own cup
Lest thirst breeds poison
In avaricious strides
If you must live
Live a good life
Evil is loss of ease
If you must die
Die for a cause
Bigger than you
Beyond human laws
Of right and wrong
Innocence seems weary
Guilty until proven
Innocent or whatever posture
Swings the other way round
Do not cede to temptation
Insidious violence grins
Control is in vain
Walk then the way
That middle path
Where life is found
Live simple substance
Beyond the sad buzz
Of cynical hypocrisy
If cynic or skeptic fits
Yet be true to your soul
For earthly days are brief
Do not be afraid
For fear is a trap
For the wrong reasons
Live with stern love
That your days somehow
May be a blessing
To each a precious gift
Given that you may
By choice give to live
Seek then and be bold
Walk the narrow path
Where grace funds love
Do not let fear
Make you feel lost
Life springs hope eternal
If you must pray
Be beyond reason
Let faith fund fest
Make your words simple
In poise, choice and voice
A simple prayer echoes:
"Thank you God.
I love you God.
Show me the way."
Simplicity is subtle
Plain and effective
A cause that works
Then rest your soul
Cast off your burdens
Be enlightened, set free
Beyond cause and course
Truth speaks sternly
For beauty is pure
No need to worry
Just feel happy
As you can be
No fuss needs no buzz
All things happen
For a good reason
Be content
With being
A becoming
Leon Enriquez
28 September 2014
Singapore
He was an old male with some years still to go.
Testing the air he could smell something alluring
that heated his blood and sent him into must.
Thick mucus ran from his eyes and other orifices
and at full speed he followed the scent,
other animals fled as he trampled by.
Intent on only one thing fifty miles away
he crashes through all in his way.
trumpeting his desire as he goes.
On arrival the other males cede
as he charges through them to her.
She has waited refusing all others.
Knowing that he was on the way
an awesome sight as dripping he mounts.
At last done he is soon again on his way.
His must will last several days so time
is against him as from female to female
he goes leaving in them all his seed.
Henry blew off swimming
But was scheduled to go.
Daddy wasn't happy
So of course he let him know.
We're here to spend the weekend
While his mommy is away,
So ultimately only Daddy
Has the final say.
If he stuck to his decision,
Henry had to make a choice -
Give up something, maybe Nana -
Hearing this, he found his voice.
"No, I will not give up Nana!"
Daddy, hearing that, agreed,
So his tablet and some special books
Were items he did cede.
Still, he stuck to what he wanted
And avoided swimming chills
Though he may regret it later
At the time his tablet fills.
But to me, it was amazing
That I played a little part
In the bargain, for my grandson
Proved I'm tucked inside his heart.
Take not for granted mercies near and dear
nor cede to a careless pride, but rather
incline yourself to elemental care
and honour true your mother and father.
All I ask from the sinews of my heart
is not live a fool and think yourself wise,
and that our two swords never smite apart
or we laud ourselves too far in God’s eyes.
Fear not this life, this world, this mortal end
for both its burdens and rewards are great -
follow its road wherever it may wend
and I hence from shall on your return wait.
With all I am I’ll love the son you are
no matter how old, how close, or how far.
Written: March 2016
November! When the auburn autumn leaves
retard the tinkling brooks of Vallombrosa,
and kitchen chimneys draw the old ones closer:
when timid fieldmice nestle in the eaves
and oaken chests give up our longer sleeves,
and finer fabrics cede the game to grosser:
we close John Grisham, open Vargas LLosa:
Orion rises, and Arcturus grieves.
But sometimes there’s a gracious interlude.
Though winter waits offstage with all its lines
word-perfect, still a kind of summer shines.
The breeze feels older now, of muted mood,
not so disposed to boast its vital signs,
inclined to amble through the golden vines.
Sonnet composed: 10 November 2019
New Fall Sonnets Poetry Contest 2019
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
My eyes grow heavy and my sight is blurred;
I fight for wakefulness but steadily cede ground.
I am being drawn down,
seduced into the abyssal realm of sleep.
Wandering these moonlit halls
I stumble upon oddities unending,
my slumbering mind rife with mysteries,
falsehoods and problems; no solutions in sight.
Scene after scene plays out across my field of view,
colors and sights impossible and astounding.
They obstruct my battle for consciousness,
my struggle to escape this nightmare landscape.
On the off chance I win and make my exit,
the awaiting reality grants no reprieve,
no relief from the hell
that stalks my every motion and thought.
When even the eclipsing state of sleep
provides no rest, no sanctuary,
and awareness drains you of life;
what is left?