Long Charmers Poems
Long Charmers Poems. Below are the most popular long Charmers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Charmers poems by poem length and keyword.
hereunder is served some poetry pouches full of love,
dear reader, stir them as you like,
if you wish you may crack them to pour into mouth,
you may smear them on your body
or you may sprinkle them on the ground
and then chant the name of god
with love and enjoyment
1.
the simplicity that rolls down
from the body of the sweet-meat
made by my mother
let it bring light
to our radish-red love-story
to hear or to notice
love
does not need
putting an ear on the wall
of the wall-street journal
the bottle could be filled
from the voice
when you go to fill the bottle
you would see that everywhere
the arrangement of picnic is ready
when i want to take part in that feast
my neighbours would drive me towards
the home
although i’ve spent all my life
running behind the love
2.
who’s won the muddy-battle
was yesterday’s politics
my addiction is actually to cater
the pouch of love
to develop all vitamins
and all bathrooms
people say you don’t love
the claps of the rats
yet i’ll come down
from the branch of a guava-tree
as a wave-of-shopping-mall
to the lake of your love
now i’ll jump out
from this computer screen
to register a kiss
on your lips
don't miss to applaud
by clapping the hands
3.
the heart is half-sunk
in the window
to some extent
in the lipstick too
on the dinner-plate
there is the feelings of the lord
that means
i’ve to be burnt more
i do agree
i would become
the sculpture of khajuraho
this happenings may have been
the right search for love
on either-side of which
a green is being worked out
by the nostalgic-cycle
whose colour-texture is very much harappa
which has too many geometric-memories
4.
an undertone is speaking
from within the solitude
now i’m in very much
distress
or i’m in love
i don’t know my love is what-for
may be that’s an arrangement only
so easily are those interactions
stitched with words
strenuous or effortless
in flight
initiated
with seclusion
but when in the sinking of the playfulness
i write the games of the street-charmers
the birds again and again
pierce the archery
thus becoming ashes
through travelling
in time-gaps still
the audacity to compose poems
on you
Two way street
a common road
so much esteemed on the way one go's
Those who build a world with hands
and the bodies beaten to build those plans
Others figure with minds of brilliance
while charmers amass financial assistance
Our world, our human existence.
Dividends balanced in skewed proportion,
like the honor of men who have heart or the hunt
those who are trained to be manly men
or the smooth handed man "that world" would shun
Judge not cruel your fellow mate
for side of track their life encamped
what label worn or charity paid
to each a lovesome splendor attached
Behold the child with silver spoon
who feels no affection by day
or the orphans hair tenderly brushed
for Samaritans pity long the way
There beyond thou mansion fair
a beauty is beaten, lonely and scared
but she who wanders without a home
can be cherished more than riches owned
Our world, our human existence
Forfeiture or dispossession
affluent or highbrowed
all the difference still remains
to be loved or disavowed
I've pondered the pages between their covers
'twas this simple fact I've found...
our world is a quilt stitched by cultures
a solitary thread woven within and without
The difference is no difference at all
except the heights from which one falls
seams tear apart and like fabric lives unravel
yet you'll never find a road left untraveled
Nothing exists beyond a need
and nothing is ever as it seems
Our world, our human existence
What then is that of highest value
that which sparkles or that which lives
The blessing found in every child
or how massive an estate can be built?
Traveled now in both directions
paralleling both sides of the journey
The greatest value one can attest
is to walk either road with mercy
Dignity lies estranged from pride
for pride is a predator disguised
One set in mind "I have arrived"
and shames the value of another's life
If on a one way street you'd rather
tread your way without your brother
go ahead
judge a book by its cover
Life is laden with countless pages
none void of feeling or untouched
Keep in mind the two way street...
where direction giving life is TO LOVE
Let me set something straight -
Right here, right now!
Let me put India in the right perspective,
Let me banish some myths,
Some gross misconceptions,
And take you beyond elephants,
Sacred cows, snake charmers and yoga,
Beyond Gandhi, Mother Teresa, Taj Mahal,
To a civilization rooted for
over 5,000 years in the past
To a land rich - majestically rich -
In many cultures, customs and traditions,
In a bewildering variety of races,
Religions, languages and folk arts,
In a vibrant tradition of dance and music,
In religious festivals and traditional events,
In saints, sadhus, gurus and sages,
In gods, goddesses, munis and mahatmas,
In temples, palaces, shrines and monasteries;
I'll baby-steps you through a land
Of Vedas and Upanishads,
Of epic stories and incredible mythologies,
Of Ramayana, Mahabharata and Bhagavad Gita,
Through one of world's great spiritual sanctuaries,
Where religion is a way of life;
An overwhelming, complex land -
Its charm, its vitality and yes, its confusion,
Atonce alarming and enticing.
And that's the way India is:
Elusive, confusing, contradictory,
mysterious and exasperating!
Beyond easy description or analysis,
A phenomenal diversity of dress
and manners making one aware
of a different world -
A veritable fairyland!
No other country offers quite such
A spectacle of teeming masses that
continue to enrich the heritage of mankind,
Nowhere do the past and present
coexist in more colorful promiscuity -
An incomparable country,
Easy to love, hard to forget!
"There's only one India!" raved Mark Twain,
"A wonderland of fabulous wealth
and fabulous poverty, of splendor and rags ..."
"The cradle of the human race,
The birthplace of human speech,
The mother of history,
The grandmother of legend and
The great grandmother of tradition."
This, indeed, is my country
Where I was born -
An Indian at heart,
An American in spirit!
Namaste!
Khuda Hafiz, Jai Ramji Ki,
OM Radhe Shyam, Sat Sri Akal,
Jai Hind!!
~Love letters to the sub continent
contest by cyndi MacMillan
hold still, eventide ...
I am a capricious cad among wraiths,
waltzing with a mop in
a Marrakesh courtyard - catching stars
as they drip with waxy and
wild wonder, into the braids of my maudlin
noose, tightening
jangling, dangling ...
rose gold anklets, (wrapped 'round leggy perfection),
shimmer their hammered facets,
kicking smoke into toroidal hoops with
raw regard
while they spin, table-top, to a
Chaabi chant
candles waving their
flames to beckon the darkness close ...
notes from a punji weave
mystery thru the heavy heat, Henna-striped hands
cradling a bottle, jade green, as the
white flowers gush their cold, gold bounty
down a curvy thigh
wetly wrapping an unblemished
capuccino calf, Perrier-Jouët trickles off tender
toes to plop, warm, on my
tantalized tongue
I kiss the fuchsia-daubed nails to
show proper veneration, then spin back to
the murky music, mop-handle
lover in tow
down to the spinning
tie-dyed rugs and pillows, I surrender all to the
callow flesh there, wanting ... willing
her hair and hide and ebon eyes
dark as delirium, while the brass-headed
snake-of-a-hookah waits
for a kiss
long draws bring dizzy
dreams and hypnotic swirls from the lamp,
aromas and an opiate nirvana coiling
around my cares
lost as a lamb, to soft skin ...
and sweet smoke.
( Jemaa el-Fnaa Square in Marrakesh is one of the most active and exciting places on earth, with exotic foods, snake-charmers, clothes and antique vendors, magicians, dancers, haqle or street theater, storytellers, acrobats, musicians, comedians, water sellers, tattoo artists, carnival acts, even organ-grinders with monkeys, and yes, opium and hashish traders. It has remained largely the same for over a thousand years, and is indeed an important part of history, declared by UNESCO as a "Masterpiece of World Heritage" - if you're ever in Morocco, it is a MUST-see! )
Tobruk Siege
Rommel of the Blitzkrieg
had Europe overcome
With the Stukas and dive bombing
And the Tanks that overrun
North Africka would see his tanks
il Duce’s troops were beat
Aussies took 20,000 Italians
At Tobruk in stinking heat
In Europe when his tanks arrived
The captured did surrender
The Poms escaped at Dunkirk
The English well remember
Morsehead an Aussie General
He baited the trap
Strategic mines, artillery, cooks
manned Italian guns , and ack ack.
Tobruk the Panzer tanks came in
The rats went down their holes (Desert Rats Aussie Diggers said Lord Haw Haw)
They rose behind the tanks
Wehrmact soldiers bullet holed
25 pounders fired at just point blank
with cooks and Pommy Armour
Were thinning German ranks
true blue these little charmers
So they blew the turrets off
16 of the best
Unbeaten until this point
A trace of fallen crest
8 long months they dished it out
Though Rommel tried again ……….(lost just as many tanks again)
He had to wait till the Aussies left
To take Tobruk from them
Don Johnson
70 years ago, the Afrika Korp would attack the 14,000 Aussies and Tommy Tank men, Also known as Rats.
The Tanks rolled into the perimeter, Aussies sprang from their holes and fought the German Soldiers behind the tanks, “We shut the gate behind them” the Aussies said.
This thorn in the side in Rommel ‘s mind allowed time for the massive replacement of
armour destroyed by Rommel, with American tanks. The siege held for 240 days in
what is now today’s , Gaddafi’s Lybria. These Aussies were used to living rough
sleeping on the ground
walking from town to town in the great depression, they were brought up on roo or pig shooting and the occasional rabbit.
She (For Whom the Snake Coils)
Does danger dance to flutes played by your breath,
emerge from basket’s depths to haunting tunes?
It’s superstitious myth that weaving snake
can hypnotize and freezes victim’s feet
when cobra rises writhing like a fiend!
The woman is attracted, not to death
but life; divines snake charmers aren’t buffoons.
Snakes do not dance in time; their eyes track shake -
some hint of danger (or flute’s sway). Where’s feat
of mystic wisdom ancient shaman gleaned?
A thornless rose stares back from vase on ground;
slight nod suggests snake’s safe; bare hand slips in!
Snake’s skin feels rough, quite dry to touch (though scales
look wet); her gentle strokes provoke no hiss!
Most snakes are shy, and few will launch attacks
(though cobras will defend their eggs!) Their backs
are where life’s mongoose strikes that ends snake’s bliss,
ends slides through ‘Leaves of Grass’ (1) on nature’s trails.
Split tongues taste air: sweet rhyme considered win;
great metaphors quite rare but sometimes found!
Brian Johnston
13th of October in 2020
Poet’s Notes:
(1) Walt Whitman’s book’s title, “Leaves of Grass,” suggests
a hidden modesty. “Leaves” refers to pages in a book
and “grass” is a word used by some as a label to describe
the work of an immature or less gifted poet.
My poem was inspired by and written for a woman friend
from college days, Michaelyn Shelly-David, who had an
unforgettable encounter with a snake charmer’s cobra
on a recent trip to India. She told me she experienced an
in-depth, intimate connection to this potentially deadly
snake as a living entity that shares our world.
I have seen them stand outside my door,
pleading mother to help stage their show,
on our verandah with stony floor,
tattered clothes, hungry child, wife on tow!
dusty robes speak of miles he walked,
two woven baskets on wooden yoke,
usual wares with which he embarked,
a venomous trade to feed his folks!
with widened eyes I saw him sit down,
his sweat pouring down in summer heat,
mopping face and brow with long sleeved gown,
asks favour of water, food to eat!
rested and nourished his show is on,
a crowd of urchins get a free peep,
melody like from an old car horn,
he blows sharp and sweet but yet so deep.
speckled cobra nearly five feet long,
rocks in anger with an open hood,
heat of summer is no time for song,
disturbed from slumber, how very rude!
As child was overawed by his skills,
such deadly snakes controlled by his Been*,
there is tragedy behind each thrill,
truth of life, often hidden unseen!
snake charmer’s life is twin tragedy,
education denied from a child,
for snake it is to be in custody,
to lose their freedom to rule the wild!
let’s solve this tale with education,
help their children go to a good school,
use their skills to help conservation,
so the snakes roam free, the wild to rule!
*Been a musical flute made from a coconut shell used by snake charmers to distract the snake
Premier contest winner (3)
Written 4/01/2021
9 syllables each line except one that has 10 syllables
‘The Snake Charmers’ poetry contest
Kai Michael Neumann sponsored
Like me, you surely know about the history of our island
You surely know of the time when it was being colonized
When it was still a dark and green forest
With dodos making everywhere their careless nests
If like me, you are also a dreamer, then
Do let yourself rise
Like me do imagine the time of long ago
When the western world was just beginning to land here
Imagine the beauty then, the freshness of the island
Trees, dark and deep, ebonies
Rivers, seas, birds of all kinds
Plantations everywhere, animals of the most gentle kind
I am sure, then, the time was right for love
Maidens dressed in lovely dresses
Would waltz at the hands of handsome charmers
Whether under the gleam of the silver moon, or on the crystal clear beach
Imagine kisses shared and stolen
Imagine love as yet being forbidden
Imagine the beauty of the surroundings
The lovely parties done on the cool nights
Imagine the toils the first people had to go through
When they did start to build everything
When they did choose to place the foundation stone
When they did fight off the first horrible cyclone
Maybe I was here living as a fresh maiden
Newly snatched from my homeland
Having been brought to the land of burden
Meeting then, here, the love of my life
Making then of my island, the worldly paradise
Making here, like the dodos, my nest, my prize
Well of all this I can only allow myself to dream
A dream of love it is, in a most ancient setting!
Listen to what the snake charmers say:
We be sulfuric scaly bellies,
flicking poisonous tongues on the telly
Idoly speak pure Orwellie —
Down is up ... famine be a feast sup
Tell money hungry fools they’re full of it,
when their ears drink
from our lung vault empty purse cup
Listen to what a snake charmer spray:
Me leprechaun lips
speak titan talk ... phat pocket swellie
I spit brass piss,
and call it golden rain,
on your lemming brain grey umbrellie
These cobra eyes
tell a little robbing hoodie lie
each bent cross day
Then me boast the Big Lie,
sell it at bottom feeder price ...
make dim blind mice pay
when they look the other way
Me cockatrice cries
fill your belly full of lies
Empty turtle shell truth
is the swastika soup
I love to pour in toilet bowl mouths
Hateful language is the milk poppy hex curse
that I sugar Cain bosom fed mules
from their piggy snout Balaam Iscariot birth
Us posh puff adders
love sending toadies on a hallucinogenic,
golden goose leap ...
Flying locust pestilent blind onto the dung pile
Pot belly boa roil bad luck ...
paper chase pillow tucked
Cannabis dreams sucked in by serpentine wile
We scaly belly anaconda roll sway
with a slithering smile ...
Giving foible fools a terrible tummy ache ...
tasting maggot foul, constipated lies
boiled cannibal style
Look at the politrick pretty boys
painting the green
on their flypaper sticky lips
Making plenty cold eureka noise
Pluto eyes winking barren Mars tomorrows
Uranus pocketbook sorrow withdrawals
Saturn smiles ... Jupiter dead ringers
Little green men talepipe spinning
man on the moon getaway
Dark Earth angels with dirty wings
got an Icarus itch for the Venus sulfuric green —
Golden liquid asset on a Mercury bleed
Notice the pretty lawn chair slick boys
dressed in spiffy, emerald jump suits
Snake in the grass shifty ... illegal green light,
no stopping the taking all there is to cobra get
Green lipstick charmers six finger
slithering across the telly screen
Pretty silent night nodders
ain’t saying a single mannequin
mime thing
Politrick Pinocchio posers
alova styling in pretty jade lumberjack boots
Chisel slicing the thin wooden chips
into their purse billfolds
Putting green lipstick kisses on the stolen loot
Look at the pretty painted face boys
batting their greenback eyes at mesmerized citizen you
Camera blue tears and yellow fears ~ panic room hue
is the toxic mixture of the moist mint green
glossy coin sheen
Deadly lipstick colored hypnotic green,
has a poisonous
gamma-ray
serpent sting