Long Centenary Poems
Long Centenary Poems. Below are the most popular long Centenary by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Centenary poems by poem length and keyword.
Although flowers bloom it’s awkward to say that they are flowers
because they are not flowers, but thorns disguised as yellow pistils
and stamens surrounded by the petals made of pieces of colorless
paper. Moreover, their fragrance bears no meaning at all because
they bloom in the night,
and each time when the scorching sun brands the cactus’ skin
it cries out loud from the pain of the thorns pierced through
it’s burning flesh to form renewed skin,
then, surprised by a heartrending cry,
the birds flap their wings to fly in the air abandoning the cactus.
However the birds may be, they only are lifeless drones
flying over a desert. And since they are lifeless, they
don’t know the meaning of life, and that’s why they only see
the thorny flowers standing open arms in the midst of the desert that is
filled with ashes of death—nuclear wastes, abandoned poisonous chemical
solutions polluted waters that drive lives to the edge of death.
To the saguaro cactus standing in the midst of man-made miseries,
nonetheless, dreamed to have an audience with
the mystic Queen of the Andes,
and in order for him to fulfill his dream,
to have a long journey toward the south moving along with the sun,
and then, after crossing the delicate line marked zero,*
climbing up the Andes for a higher ridge that is higher than the drone.
And as you go higher the wind starts to rise;
when the wind gets stronger to cut through the skin,
then saguaro’s thorns start to prick its own body from
loneliness unbearable,
and that is the time ripe for
the mystic Queen of the Andes to reveal herself
from the clearing fogs, behind the thick and heavy veil of clouds.
She appears in a dress embellished with tens of thousands of
not overly extravagant or pompous but graceful flowers that
bloom centenary.
She is the tree, immaculate and with inviolable dignity,
she bears the blooms in the serenity of the high and deep mountain.
Today too, the saguaro cactus under scorching sun dreams
a dream of seeing the elegant Queen of the Andes someday,
even afar it, stands as ever.
Enveloped in the cloud, though Queen hides her image
she has left her sweet scent behind,
in the sweet scent she left, the thorn flower saguaro stands
willing to wait another one hundred years to see her again.
*Zero: The Equator
Dear uncle , how are you and your family?
I thank God you did not leave us that day
When that fatal accident happened .
How would i have cried and weep for you?
How would i have danced that forbidden song
A song of sorrow in the market place?
Many had left without a glance and goodbye to their families
And never knowing God.
Yet you were giving a second chance to live and
Express what is in your head to humans.
To erase the ugly image of your wife from your head.
MY dear uncle,
Many things has happened here
so many Lives left behind weeping .
The goats have bore prematurely and
the cows in the whole street moo no more
The sun has even promise to visit us to increase our sufferings.
While the rain has stopped immediately.
I want you to remain calm and worry not.
Although i received the parcel sent to me by you
Asking about Our beloved country
I read the message there in and wept.
Don't bother yourself about Nigeria nor its government.
I could have discuss that with you but i need not to
bother your humble soul for that lost nation
Who celebrated its centenary with the blood suckers
When the innocent were left unhonoured.
You need to see our houses , its has been razed by fire.
A fire from the terrorist.
Our street filled with blood.
Dear uncle, it has been like hell living down here.
But we always pray for the massaiah to come,
Yet things seems very rough and tough each time we pray harder.
Take care of your children and crave not of Nigeria.
Tell Madam Rich That Nigeria is a terrorist center.
Explain to NIgerians Union in America that our mother, Nigeria is bereaved.
the leaders has done us no good.
Narrate to your children the Amagalmation of Nigeria by those who
Never look in to the future.
I would drop my Companion here
HE had tried and need compassion for his bravery .
Hope to hear from you soon not about Nigeria but
Of your health and family.
Nigeria will be built by Nigerians when they are Ready>
Jinxed jesting jejune junior jobber...
just jabbering gibberish (A - I)
Again, another awkward ambitious
arduous attempt at alphabetically
arranging atrociously ambiguously
absolutely asinine avoidable alliteration.
Because...? Basically bonafide belching,
bobbing, bumbling, bohemian beastie boy,
bereft bummer, bleeds blasé blues, begetting
bloviated boilerplate bildungsroman,
boasting bougainvillea background.
Civil, clever clover chomping, cheap
chipper cool cutthroat clueless clodhopper,
chafed centenary, codifies communication
cryptically, challenging capable, certifiably
cheerful college coed.
Divine dapper daredevil, deft, destitute,
doddering, dorky dude, dummkopf Dagwood
descendent, dagnabbit, demands daring
dedicated doodling, dubious, dynamite,
deaf dwarf, diehard doppelganger, Doctor
Demento double, declaring depraved
daffy dis(pense)able dufus Donald Duck
derailed democracy devastatingly defunct.
Eccentric, edified English exile,
effervescent, elementary, echinoderm
eating egghead, Earthling, excretes,
etches, ejaculates, effortless exceptional
emphatic effluvium enraging eminent,
eschatologically entranced, elongated
elasmobranchii, emerald eyed Ebenezer,
effectively experiments, emulates epochal
eczema epidemic, elevating, escalating,
exaggerating enmity, enduring exhausting
emphysema.
Freed fentanyl fueled, fickle figurative
flippant fiddler, fiendishly filmy, fishy,
fluke, flamboyantly frivolous, fictitious,
felonious, fallacious, fabulously fatalistic,
flabbergasted, fettered, flustered, facile,
faceless, feckless, financially forked,
foregone, forlorn futile fulsome, freckled
feverish, foo fighting, faulty, freezing,
fleeting famously failing forecaster, flubs
"FAKE" fundamental fibber fiat, fabricating
fiery fissile fractured fios faculties.
Will I live longer than I suppose to be living...possibly a centenary,
and struggle on a cane to sustain my weakness?
Those beautiful and vibrant years have fled to impose fears,
making my presence unattractive and more blowzy,
and in the present time, I am isolated and frowzy;
a deteriorated mind feeling the burden of senility?
My motto wasn't " Conquer and be invincible!" No-first mistake was allowed
to mar my perfect character; body and mind in full accord, blending together,
so obstinate in defiance to obstruct any possible pleasure...
was it a deference to holiness? Everywhere explicit posters encouraged promiscuity:
an indulging nation...diverging from the concept of morality!
And however strong was urge to indulge in wrongful acts incoherently,
my doubt gave no indication...that I would have gained from my inequity;
and ruin would have wrecked this conscience and wrenched my spirit;
alone to face the sure wrath of the Divine...while wrestling with my lost worth!
One-stand night didn't nurture a sensation so momentary and insipid,
many times, staring in the cold darkness, I was glad that my behavior wasn't lurid!
And today new pills promise to give more virility,
causing blindness and a probable, sudden death;
and Lord, my intention is not to use them to harm myself,
the gift of longevity was well-received and is well-kept by me!
Unlikely the times past, when my doubt gave no indication,
now it does so plainly and clearly... not swaying my attention!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Perdition Be Damned!
Body electric zapped
lower gastrointestinal tract
wracked with wretchedness
pitted, rocked, and tortured
severe muscle spasms cramp
deathly hallowed deliverance
beseech divine creator to exorcise relief
any panacea trumpeted vetoed
pestilential nausea diarrhea
wreaks relentless havoc
horrid ordeal twists insides
lack strength to live
breathing a laborious effort
bedrest temporarily alleviates
generally healthy ironclad junket
weatherbeaten rickety ship of state
restorative sought trouncing unwell
corporeal self against torture
assailing, castrating,
and drubbing existence
avocations ordinarily promulgating
resplendent joie de vivre
squelched, scotched, and sabotaged,
courtesy minuscule mailer daemons
emotions unlikely culprit,
though times gone by anxiety
tindered, pitched, and kindled
abominable irritable bowel syndrome
prescription medication tempered
badgering, crippling, and debilitating
panic attacks plagued this primate
manifesting feeble endeavor
to experience poignant satiation,
asper simple pleasures nonexotic
endeavors merely passively living
as one organic carbon based
human being finding fulfillment
meditating, reading, and writing,
now fleeced, deprived, and blitzed
suspicious disagreeable provender
perhaps lactose intolerance
after enjoying pizza birthday
fours days prior
celebrating chronological centenary,
sans one frail resident here,
Highland Manor Apartments
suddenly, I feel chill o' rigor mortis!
1907, Saw the begining of forthcoming,Glasgow`s Sir.Willam Arroleco`s company
were credited, structural errecting of twas to be,Middlesbrough`s emblem,The
Transporter Bridge.Replacing the steam ferry,shuttling The River Tees.
Opening ceremony being October 17, 1911. Prince Arthur of Connaught, the chosen.
a delightful heartwarming structure,spanning The Tees 259 metres,an amazing view
from a height of 49 of the same.
An achievement,in itself as second largest of it`s kind.
World war 2,a bomb caused minimal but,effective damage.Gondalar hanging
midrift,waters lashing.
Folk crossing the high walk path, to reach Port Clarence,vice versa.
However,1933. A phenominal recognition, recieved highest honours. Institute of
Mechanical Engineers shone. A true sense of pride for Tessiders,alike.
Epic television and films alike, attracted our humble creation.Boasting Billy Elliott to
Spender and Aufweidersein pet.Dramatics and comedy on a worldwide wide stage.
Walking the steps to windy heights.Views a pleasure for the eye,the distance,Eston
Hills to Roseberry Topping.Foregrond,steelworks, hotels,dwellings,but standing like
a Mecca Shrine,The Riverside Stadium.( Our local football stadium )
The blue lights,reflecting every gurder every beam,at night
coming home is such a heart warming sight.
To commemerate the 100 years centenary of, THE TRANSPORTER BRIDGE.
.
Famished and flagging footsoldiers;
formerly fitters and farmers.
Facing fatigue, fitful fever,
faeces and foul, foetid fungi.
Fostering feelings, frustrated,
for this faraway, foreign field.
Forsaking fissures and furrows,
forced forwards with fleetness of foot.
Firearms flash and fragments fly far,
feigning the firmament aflame.
Fighting so fierce and ferocious,
fratricide set free on this field.
Fuelled by freedom, nay, falsehood;
for their fellows and friends, foremost.
Forays so fraught with fine failure,
fatally fettered from the first.
Forged by such fatuous fawners,
focus firmly fixed on this field.
Forfeiting furtive and fiendish,
fulfilment was falsely forecast.
Fate flexes her fickle fingers,
future’s foretold and foreshadowed.
Faustian favours forthcoming,
for folly to feud for a field.
Families of fine forefathers,
fought fiercely, for fear we’d forget.
Forthright and filial feelings,
forgo fun and frivolity.
Familiar flora forms focus,
for the fallen in Flanders Field.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
8 syallables on every line (www.howmanysyllables.com)
November 2018
(This is my original / extended version)
I wanted to do something special - and a bit different - to mark the centenary of the end of The Great War (11 November 1918). This poem is dedicated to all the brave souls lost defending freedom during that terrible conflict (and all conflicts since).
I never thought to see a man’s bones glistening white.
Nor see disembodied limbs flying left and right.
I never thought to see mud the colour of red
Nor see young men blown to bits or laid dead.
The rain isn’t water its blood mixed with tears
Trenches full of bloated corpses, lice, fleas and fears
No time to bury them all, but those that receive an earth overcoat
Are disturbed, exhumed by bombs, thrown in stagnant trenches to float.
Blown from their resting places scattered far and wide
Dodging, not only bombs and shells, but limbs landing by our side.
Men caught and ripped to shreds with razor wire and tracer shells.
Left to die hanging there, moaning, screaming, no funerals with church bells.
I never thought to see these things; I just thought victory, honour and glory
Not see death, destruction, waste and sights so disgusting and gory.
I only wanted to fight for my King, family and country
I never thought it would end, this massacre, mortal eyes should not see.
© 27/07/2012 ~GG~
It is the centenary year next year of the beginning of the Great War, I was inspired to write this after finding out I had a great Uncle that signed up for the Army, for King and Country .. he died at the end of September 1918 in France, never to return.
They answered the call,
From afar, they came one and all.
Young Lions, they came to give chase,
On the fields of Europe, enemies they faced.
Murderous fire rained down as they came ashore,
Thousands lay down, their lives were no more.
Fields soaked in blood, of both friend and foe,
The young men died as they fought toe to toe.
Streets were covered with rubble and blood,
Places where houses and folk once stood.
Blasted by shells from tank and plane
Many died there, never to rise again.
This hateful time of war with it's tragic waste,
How long will it run this terrible disgrace.
Is war here forever? Are we doomed to fight?
Men & boys in their fear, die, both day & night.
Kill or be killed, you hear them say,
Kill or be killed, just to last out the day.
That boy over there, shooting at you,
Cries for his Mother, just like you do too.
Oh please stop the carnage we see through the dust,
Lay down your arms, say enough is enough
Let quiet descend on the killing ground,
With a tear filled cry let peace be crowned
My Centenary poem for the Fallen in War 1914-2014
© Dave Timperley October 2014
Famished and flagging footsoldiers;
facing fatigue, fitful fever,
faeces and foul, foetid fungi.
Fostering feelings, frustrated,
for this faraway, foreign field.
Forays so fraught with fine failure;
forfeiting furtive and fiendish,
fatally fettered from the first.
Forged by such fatuous fawners,
for folly to feud for a field.
Forced forwards with fleetness of foot;
firearms flash and fragments fly far,
feigning the firmament aflame.
Forces fight so ferociously,
fratricide set free on this field.
Forthright and filial feelings;
families of fine forefathers,
fought fiercely, for fear we’d forget.
Familiar flora forms focus,
for the fallen in Flanders Field.
- - - - - - - - -
8 syallables on every line (www.howmanysyllables.com)
November 2018
Entered in Brian Strand's "Contest No 515".
(1st Place)
I wanted to do something special - and a bit different - to mark the centenary of the end of The Great War (11 November 1918). This poem is dedicated to all the brave souls lost defending freedom during that terrible conflict (and all conflicts since).