Long Cerebral Poems
Long Cerebral Poems. Below are the most popular long Cerebral by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cerebral poems by poem length and keyword.
Hour hands clock back sixty minutes of Autumn
Round about this same of month every year, what a bum
er, and inconvenient truth diverged from this chum
purposelessly manipulating a hold over
sans yesteryear doth drum
a sensation of jet lag (with earth in the balance)
as if flying within time machine at warp speed from
this station, where bumpy ride invariably finds me
feeling a bit ticked off and glum
and in no mood to rhyme, nor be leer re: cull
juiced barely tantamount to gather scattered wits
sin tide, and express mood as hoe hum
fortunate, this chronological seismic shift nada wide, ah assume
nonetheless, mein kempf cerebral hemispheric plate tectonics
comb pluck hated off jangling black keys helplessly boom
fancifully drifting and booring into quick ribald sand trap doom
ming an inducement for emergency convoy, when pitched from
sea to figurative shining sea – gram ma mother earth glum
where live yikyak wired vanguard trulia tried optimism to hum
nonetheless, swallowed down behavioral sink went – me mum
bling bloviation, once worth matchless peerage, now pitched numb
lee into morass of temporary confusion, where plumb
line delineating circadian rhythm offset, when athwart pilot rum
man strait ting and bickering with Lilliputians slum
bring within islets of langerhans defiantly thumb
ming nose, where body, mind & soul weeknd viz a bully did cower
hence mister clock, who got high-jacked 3600 seconds per hour
experienced head, thorax and abdomen diminishing in power
wrought indistinguishable Whitsuntide as sour
grapes imposing ill fitting sea legs, which folded like a faulty tower
crumbling skeletal carapace, resoundingly surrendered,
and back slid vis a vis space/time continuum did devour.
Black hole event horizon indeed kept lock step as das joint mill hoard
Sucker punched the band wagon of father time, whose riffs a silent chord
nsync with atomic fractional second bored
quirky shenanigans toying with chronometers
counter point of view shifted to oppose this minute accord.
The other members of the group would tease Lambent Shroud.
They’d speak in groans n puns too.
You’d sense lambent was a little uncomfortable with it all.
The other members of this amazing group were all tall, had numerous quirks, and spoke with crystal clear clarity.
They stood out even when alone.
Their high IQ, articulacy, and physical presence were obvious requirements for this enterprise.
They were constantly with each other hatching plans.
But Lambent may have had a begrudging “one who leads” complex.
But was the cordiality apparent and only for appearances?
Team leader Renee is Hazy and Albert is Rainbow.
The brain sessions were more often than not impromptu.
Hazy, Halcyon and Amber would seem like cerebral archers the way they bounced informal sessions off each other.
The other pairs, bright spark subgroups would have these on the spot conventions.
“Sparks would fly.
High IQ flashes sky high.
We never ever say die.”
Eerie notion, pie in the sky.”
The smart seven chipping in one by one generating a certain heat.
Even fleeting cabals.
Their brain cliques they nicknamed “Bouncers,”
Or “Pools.”
“Blessing and a boon. Under a shimmering moon. You’ll be lifting trophies soon.”
Lambent the awkward rhymer.
Wonder world had a strained crease on his face.
“Crackpot scheme, halbaked dream, eccentric team.”
In reply.
And so the banter used to go until someone ran out of ripostes.
There were daily meetings also on security updates devised by the team.
But there was much nod and wink, subterfuge.
Amber Leaf the accountant controlled the cash flow, dividends, “watertight insurance,” wages, general outlay.
But one got the impression that there was something afoot.
Amber and sylvan nudged;
“Should we rhyme as we speak or maybe tweak til next week.
Isn’t Lambent leaning a lot on his Shadow.
The Alter Ego.”
Who is this Shadow to begin with Amber asked?
An umbrella term
À propos preponderant passion penning poems...
posited puzzling apt aperçu...
While pondering particular
theme to address
amidst tangled wide, whirled
webbed mental skein
today November third
two thousand twenty two,
unexpected Möbius strip
tease conundrum unforeseen,
yet as avid aspiring wordsmith
only now I became keen,
which unflagging vexillological,
theoretical, rhetorical, philosophical...
narratological, linguistical, judgmatical
historical, fantastical, didactical,
and bibliographical predicament
may not suddenly find me
flush with green
i.e. profuse legal tender,
but merely thought provoking
puzzlement addresses following quandary
stuck within gray matter of pate
impossible mission to differentiate
jagged fine line between
passion and obsession
case in point strong
affinity to write of late,
cuz yours truly susceptible
toward compulsion that doth not abate,
and mind boggling to wed healthy
love of language analogous as mate
nsync with psychological trait,
viz excessive compulsion
diagnosed years gone
by courtesy professional
mental health specialists, did annotate,
and I admit behavior impossible to satiate,
thus generating aforementioned query
how does one (me) segregate
productive interest versus excessive,
née fanatical all consuming -
affinity towards English language
I loopily, quirkily verily narrate
oft times burning midnight oil
(albeit figuratively alluded
to wicked mister Arson Wells) witness
as logophile doth painstakingly toil
bajillion cerebral threads to uncoil,
whereby utilizing figurative tweezers
uprooting, untangling rhyme I embroil
(even using Scooby Doo conditioner)
metaphorically beneath mine royal
hirsute (Scottish) matted topsoil
ultimately bringing in top gun
uncannily resembling gargoyle
shape shifting between
comical characters such as
Popeye and Beetle Bailey
at lightspeed as if
greased with Olive Oyl
so watch out Bluto,
get ready for turmoil!
It has been twelve years
Every one of those years
I have been turned away
by officials of the city
Twelve long years
of being on the housing waiting list
Being the only breadwinner
Times got tougher
To my children I imagine
that to them
I am a failure in many ways
No where for me to seek refuge
The only way is inside my head could convince me otherwise
What do you say to a
man living with cerebral palsy?
Who has to proof himself on all fronts
Spiritually it becomes draining
in a one room flat
He becomes out of touch
with those immediate loved ones
Wife then kids or vice versa
All freedoms are compromised
Specially the kids
As a physical impaired man
I am not much affected
Considering my boarding school days
It becomes tough
when it is an all female club
And I am the only male
and physically impaired
Mentally the impact takes its toll
There is a heaviness within me
I cannot seem to find an outlet
That's why I'm living on a page
Out of control
I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liars chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
If you see me smiling
It is a front
this is how I deal with my pain
Many second job attempts fail
I am beginning to doubt myself
I sometimes stare at myself in the mirror
My wife's take on it
is that I am full of myself
That may be the case
It runs much deeper than that
Maybe I am taking her
too much along with me
But I can't help it we are close knit family
The Lord has blessed me
With three daughters
They could write
a book about me
one day if they are aspiring authors
along with my wife as their editor
Poetry is my only sanctuary
My world in black and white
I silently wish for all those material things
Things that is out my grasp of understanding
Why some of us
gets it easy and others hard
Is there a lesson
to us that are disenfranchised
or are we nearing our expiry date?
Hey, it is just a thought
along with my perception of things
Who gets to build us up?
When you hit rock bottom
What is the bottom line?
What if we get to that helpline too late?
What will they say in your obituary
Were you worthwhile living with
Or were you known to be a prick
Only time will tell
Poetry is my only sanctuary
My world in black and white
Coverage was so much easier in the past
Liberal press could spell it in a flash
Covfefe with donuts is not the same
When drinking beer all night
Should someone go covfefe on the grass
In a fever researchers find new diseases
Are allergies caused by Covfefe seizures
or sneezes from the media
Nothing but confusion comes streaming out
On television there are doubts about the future
About a word not ever seen or published
Now tattooed on every cell inside the brain
In the cerebral cortex or is it out of context
The republic and the public hold their breath
My cat and dog are named covfefe
Go fefe figure that one out without a stutter
Covfefe sayings from the leader of our nation
News coverage will never be the same
No matter what he utters late at night
(hub bur rigid version.)
All la names bespeaking deity froom
Noah Mo' Room India Arc
of Covenant to Blood
(sweat and tears) of
San Gennaro devout wowed,
and/or Turin shroud
consonantly demonstrably,
desperately, faintly, glumly
yet plaintively, muttered aloud,
no evading the steadily avowed
Atheist approaching funnel
(dum mental) stormy cloud,
cuz far as the eye could see -
at least by this Beatle browed
bipedal hominid (north, south,
east, and west),
the conical, demoniacal,
and elliptical endowed
sky high reversed cone, bow wowed
wailing 10,000 maniacs +
same number of banshees
wove weft and white
across wide whirled web
whereat, the black vortex
vacuumed everything
in sight (chowed
down) with loud violent row
dee earsplitting sound everything
within a vast path got plowed
obliterated, and annihilated proud
lee into bajillion smithereens,
hence mine entire being
held spellbindingly agog
frozen in place ruff akin
to well trained dog
without a chance to bark a blog
mired stock still courtesy, sans
extreme fear comp
pounded (zero apr) via
quintessential supreme tear
roar immovable paralysis
plus helpless as pollywog
lacking seizure of critical
whatsapp cerebral cog
as if blinded by a mental fog,
cuz nothing withstood
the incalculable suction
emitting barrage of sounds -
hmm...methinks or imagined,
I heard cry of a hog
amidst the pandemonium,
plus uproarious, ominous,
and insidious howl,
though still some
scant miles removed,
the deafening roar
felt like top of my head
blasted unable to jog
free (like a bajillion trained
thundering monsters at log
er heads) these screaming
quasi nemesis seemingly
horrifically, and directly
into my tender ears.
The other day a memory I hadn’t thought about in years came to me
from wherever my memories are stored…
as I helped push a man in a wheelchair in through the hospital doors.
Back when I was in college (and I had a lot more hair)
I heard about a boy with cerebral palsy confined to a wheelchair.
Bobby was homeschooled but he and his parents thought it would be cool
instead of being taught at home…if he attended his local school.
Everything was arranged…all that needed to be found
was someone to take him to and from school…and when there…to wheel him around.
I volunteered thinking it would be a good experience for me…
besides…wheeling around a young boy in a wheelchair…how hard could that be?
And it wasn’t hard at all…it was a piece of cake…
as long as I remembered once I sat Bobby in his chair
since the school sidewalk sloped…to set his parking brake.
A couple of weeks in…we arrived at school…it was like any other day
filled with anticipation, excitement and hope…
until I heard Bobby scream Jiiiiiiiiim! and looked up
to see him rolling backward down the slope.
Luckily the slope was not to steep and pushed by the forgiving hands of Fate
I easily caught up to Bobby…before it was too late.
Once I caught him…I apologized profusely…but he was laughing…then
he looked me in the eyes and asked, “Jim, can we please do that again?”
And that became our morning routine…for me and Bobby, my little friend…
I’d set him in his wheelchair take off the parking break…let him roll,
then run beside him and catch him in the end.
I’ll never forget the happiness on his face…the joy…the smile the laughter
as he rolled backward down that slope…while I came running after.
When I look back now I’m glad the way it happened…glad for my mistake
for Bobby might never have felt the freedom nor I his joy
If had remembered to set his parking brake.
I can hardly wait reading welter of books...
courtesy Karen Windle a gift horse
ponied up late afternoon May18th, 2020
over roan nay bore lee volition.
Unbeknownst how she raised (cane),
and loudly wrapped outside the door
every ounce of her eighty plus pounds
slip of elderly lady petite bow legged
spry late 60's though older looking gal
argh – I expect unpleasant fallout after
piercing eyes unexpectedly discover
references made regarding aged waif,
who inexplicably signalled presence
in toto i.e. presents to comprehend, a
bounty, nah, not worth causing mutiny
nevertheless heave on lee delight hup
pea zing helter skelter discombobulated
alienation courtesy coronavirus lockdown
concomitantly venues to borrow books
puts serious and perilous bind aggravated
assault upon cerebral cortex regarding a
forced hiatus deprivation to binge read
reduced to peruse the daily toilet paper
no stimulation for imagination to indulge
magical mystery tour thwarted helter skelter
ye silently ask rather infer "what me bored?"
Despite severely circumscribed choices
whiling away hours, who knows lockdown
courtesy coronavirus (COVID-19)
warrants near indefinite closure accessing
literary material buzzfeeding noggin,
an egg gone eye zing torture rankles
healthy predilection to binge osmotically
passion for written word all the while
authors unbeknownst evoke quintessential
pleasant provocation dredging up
10,000 leagues below the jewel bedecked
cease son bewitched (Alder time) tremendous
metaphorical pristine hinterlands
Matthew Scott's vernacular semantic
hodgepodge orientation withered away
figurative gripes wrath and rail against
series of unfortunate events ala defiant
Lemony Snicket, when despair plummeted
to all time low, who should unwittingly
telepathically hear plaintive SOS sent
none other than intrepid Karen Windle,
who's mysteriously rapping announced
dog send appearance bore deliverance
(cue Banjos), where ecstasy didst delve
where still waters run deep, nevertheless
welcome respite when printed material
weekly magazines offered scant respite.
As long term aspiring
gurgling (stream of consciousness)
paperback writer, there doth appear
an imponderable quandary
most likely experienced
by fellow neophyte authors,
one pesky bugbear
that just dawned, (within the mind
of this former tony
MainLiner) crystal clear,
i would bet mine
bottom dollar and declare
unequivocally established writers
mentally tussled (or still do),
how to accrue “Art of the book writing deal”
contract subsequently endear
an increasing number of people,
that definitely feel drawn
to thy unique flavonoid flair
with words this scrivener displays,
where oft times decrypting
(mine block chain) dost jam
at least one cerebral cog and gear
no matter how far away from me,
this mind can telepathically hear,
colorful epithets, thus
seriously considering donning,
summoning, and trumpeting
his swiftly tailored,
harried styled interlinear
difficult to interpret ma Bella cos
mean mien, thus ready
(lock, stock and barrel)
to ship me on a one way junketeer
attired in a combination
all force he zen,
(and Caesar) knitwear
and (thrift special red tag sale) leisurewear
oh...preferably gender neutral,
or specifically frilly pink menswear
which could be either
day or nightwear
yet absolutely non gaudily
outlandish most unlike
thine convoluted other worldly
unfairly punishing stentorian
verb hose noun sense sic cull
idiomatic ling goo whist tricks
driven by a harsh grammatical taskmaster,
(nonetheless one
gentle non-slavish overseer)
summoning positive
feedback to reap peer
burgeoning my popularity,
yet without being *****
yule us, yes...of course retaining rear
penchant inventively steer
ring an unsuspecting reeder
agonizingly testing their
pay shunts, perhaps inducing her/him
to race out the door like a a mad person
clad with (impeach 45) underwear
calling for men/women in white coats
to lock up Matthew Scott Harris
possibly commuting his
long runonsentence tea
ching fellow inmates without ten year!
My RightBrain disconnected
oft neglected
cerebral gooey problem
is an up front noticing
then forgiving
part of LeftBrain rebalancing
then reconnecting
natural/spiritual
noncompetitive dual-
patriarchal-
capital-
bipartisan-
bipolar-isms
Over riding
striding nondualistic
nonviolent
co-passionate eco/theo/dia-logical
indigenously panentheistic
resonant experience
Detoxes statically
statistically
three dimensional
dominantly predative
systematic
monotheistic disempowering
monopolistic unenbrightening
monoculturally dull and frightening
transcendent
non-fractal prime dimensional
fourth revolutionary
spiraling regenerative
extending health
wealthy logic
Not so sunny
or funny
as inter-religiously green
polyculturally woke
and multiculturally seen
LeftBrain healthy identity resilient
is also
RightBrain wealthy integrity
resonant
Best praxis
dipolar co-arising axis
for spiritual muses
of co-passionate natural music
For regenerating EarthTribal health
is also
resiliently felt safety
wealth
BiCamerally intelligent
therapeutic re-solving integrity
more peacefully elegant
for great therapeutic
win/win co-passionate potential
As found
sadly unwound
in original RightBrain disconnected
and neglected problems,
Prickly deductive wealth
engaging gooey inductive health
newly just now rewound
more elegantly profound.