Long Chides Poems
Long Chides Poems. Below are the most popular long Chides by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chides poems by poem length and keyword.
Beside the great titan that shadows the grass,
Where coastal cliffs shatter and tectonic faults pass,
The field-logs record a spectacular sight:
The Pterostrix cryptica rising in synchronized flight.
A feathered reptilian, slender and sleek,
With a needle-thin crown and a glittering beak,
It populates rocks where the ocean spray chides,
And sails on the thermals of gravity tides.
Its anatomy breaks from the terrestrial mold,
With a skeletal framework of carbon and gold,
Designed to withstand the fierce atmospheric strain
When midnight storms batter the Vaelorian plain.
Yet its greatest marvel is not how it flies,
But the canvas of scales that it wears to the skies.
Each dorsal plate acts as a crystalline prism,
A living display of deep biolyscism,
That shifts in its hue with a fluid design
To match the twin guardians' heavenly line.
When the primary moon casts its crimson jade glow,
The flock turns to scarlet over fields down below,
And when the small sapphire twin claims the high peak,
Blue rings of cool lightning flash bright from each beak.
By mirroring moonlight and celestial rays,
They vanish from sight in a shimmering haze,
A cloaking technique that their ecology made
To drift like pale ghosts through valley and glade.
The purpose they serve in this delicate sphere
Is a long-range migratory weather-frontier.
With sensor-scale clusters along their long spine,
They track barometric and thermal design,
Detecting the shifts where the storm-fronts convene
Long before clouds disrupt the gold sheen.
By sweeping in flocks through the coastal-rock air,
They guide the migrations of herds gathered there,
A shimmering beacon of crimson and blue
That maps out safe paths for the wild avenues.
They are the sky-guardians, graceful and bright,
Weaving the threads of Vaeloria's night.
Just Because I Said I Do
Oh this war tween man and fem
Makes so many lift the sword
Turn it into poison pen
Telling all is their reward
He done me wrong
She will say
He wasn’t strong
He had to stray
She left me for another man
I was good, I wasn’t rough
I try to do the best I can
But in the end not good enough
Is always out with his mate
Leaving me at home alone
Coming in, drunk and late
Telling me, not to moan
Always late with my meals
Oh was she a big mistake
Never puts out what appeals
I live on cereal and cake
I wish him, I’d never chose
Is plain for anyone to see
Chides coz I don’t iron his clothes
And loves the dog more than me
All she thinks is, self, self self
While I’m working really hard
Forgets I took her off the shelf
She won’t get no Christmas card
He thinks that I can’t drive a car
Always saying what to do
Someday he’ll take it way to far
I’ll look at him and say, “Screw you”
It started off in wedded bliss
Now it seems there’s no discourse
How could it have come to this?
See you in court, for the divorce.
I’m having the dog.. No you’re not .
Yes I am. No. Yes. No. Yes. No…………
This is purely fictitious and I have
never said she can’t drive a car, at
least not while moving in a
forward direction … hahaha
VISITING WITH THOSE DARN SHOES
accused of goodie two shoes
“why are you so darn honest,”
a wild cousin once quipped,
as she helped her son with
cable wires as doorbells drilled
in our heads, hiding evidence.
the bells of saint mary’s church
a holy honest place, tinkling
with grace and hiding fugitives.
one shaking in her quaker boots,
leaden legs sent to deal with
the establishment, that
mental place, a quickening of
sick. and laughter ding dongs
in the rafters, quilts on
the wired clothes live lies.
later to return to the scene
where a peep is heard,
“turn me off” – a vibrating toy?
my cousin chides,
“well, at least it didn’t say
turn me on”
two shoes step lightly,
across the squeaky floorboards,
two shoes left outside,
two in trash disposal,
two feet missing from a beat,
cancer had the last laugh
boy, do i miss her!
Kim Rodrigues © 2017
In loving memory of my cousin
I wake up with her,
check myself,
eyes creaking like blind stars.
She’s strange, she’s yesterday,
I remember us the week before;
wonder if tomorrow
will fade us both out completely.
We don’t get to know them -
the wives I mean.
Living together we grow
too myopically tangled, and the vows,
the wild love with a facsimilia of what
we thought they were,
the sharing of a frowsy bed,
a grody toilet,
the live-in tales of indifferent playwrights.
We forget to know them
and forget that we never really did.
An ex-wife chides me in my sleep now,
but occasionally I dream of erotic sex with her.
If she had not assumed that she knew me well,
we might be still turning around a togetherness
like hands on a clock, instead of just
doing this body-mike thing to each other.
Those long-ago girlfriends are sweeter now.
There is no landscape for love or hate.
I cherish them
for enriching my mellowing libido
with their nomadic loneliness.
Some I collided with gently, we were jellyfish
from a strange planet,
some did damage and got damaged
in youths hexed stockcar race.
I am up making coffee.
She comes into the kitchen
deliberately brushing her hip
against mine…nothing strange about that,
but I do wonder if sometimes
she thinks I am someone else.
Where yet forbear spider hides, fairy chides
Shall dare taunt and tiptoe on spider's web
Silvery string hang and swing amides guides
Slack-lining steps along until the ebb
From fairest creatures’ spirit free clamor
Mice perch on grass blades cheer excited squeals
Tear drops of lilies stoke scent enamor
Butterflies wings flitting springtime wind reels
Sunlight shining hedgerows rainbow shades
Contained by spring blooming emerald grass,
Dragonfly's gossamer wings weave and fades
Fairy Queen’s daisies blend when beetles pass
Bloom clusters flourish tremble in the breeze
Of amber, wild cherry, wine, daylilies
Bluebell, buttercup bring bees to their knees
Far-off silent buzzes and hums sillies
Where yet forbear spider hides, fairy chides
From fairest creature’s spirit weave cobweb
Sunlight shining hedgerows rainbow shades
Fluttering wings hover on silver web
9/19/2016
Poetry Contest: Strand Select 5 Any Form,Any Theme
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Line of inquiry:
“feeling not thinking, soul with love linking ~
we attained God consciousness unblinking”
There are times I'm torn between feeling and thought,
consciously aware of a dispute between mind and heart.
I become anxious when I realize there's a power struggle
and my doleful soul seeks a tranquil place to snuggle.
Somewhere deep inside of me where it's more docile
until my heart and mind call for a truce and reconcile.
Unfortunately, that's short-lived... a temporary thing.
Until again, they'll fight like pugilists in a boxing ring.
Rodin didn't sculpt The Thinker inside each human mind
but the psyche often chides the heart, "Love really is blind."
Divine, are those gifts God has so generously given to us
but they don't always come to terms, and it creates a fuss.
The heart yearns for love, the mind searches for a reason.
Scripture says the heart is treacherous and commits treason.
My mind stands guard, to prevent my heart from breaking
but despite the risk, my heart finds it worth the undertaking.
A logical mind weighs pros and cons, thinking pragmatically
Bah, cries a heart, "Life should be lived more romantically."
They grind on each other as if one a mortar, the other a pestle
And so, the mind and heart will continue to quibble and wrestle.
The soul always reappears when a modicum of peace holds fast
but the truce between heart and mind is destined never to last.
Although instrumental to a soul's well-being, they will disagree.
Mind rules a heart, or vice versa. Que sera sera. What will be will be.
An earthy smell with whiffs of evergreen
greets my nose as I stroll through Autumn woods.
And the scented breezes smell fresh and clean,
unlike the stench of city neighborhoods.
A pathway of pine needles and green moss
leads me to a grove of ancient oak trees.
And a chipmunk chides me, like it's my boss;
upset, that I come and go as I please.
I wade into a sea of crumbled leaves;
that crackle and crunch with each step I take.
And watch bushy-tailed squirrels, Nature's thieves;
steel from stashes before the first snowflake.
And a murder of crows, cawing above:
seems apropos, for the season I love.
Push you up against the sink,
Nibble your neck until you can’t think,
Skin burning as resistance flies,
Leaning back, close your eyes,
Lips parted heart in mouth,
Tongue teaser, come out, come out,
Ravishing until lack of air,
Arms around neck, hands in hair,
Legs parted, hip against hip,
Into forbidden wetness, searching fingers slip,
Moans hasten indecisive chides,
Unbreakable rhythm of the sweetest ride,
Embrace tightens, almost there,
Plunging deepens in love’s lair,
Soaring higher as madness descends,
Lover’s rest as time bends,
Nerves shattered breathing slows,
No words needed, no place left to go.
. for public domain
Where talking descends into mere decoration,
like ornate glass reflecting pretty wallpaper,
I yearn to walk through an arid desert a mute
and savor the pure and honest silence ringing.
Where gestures are bound by the polite customs
taught in finishing schools of refined behavior,
I stand there statuesque to avoid offending
practitioners of the craft of fine movement.
I lurk off in a corner beyond all the chatter,
not knowing my words, or in what ways words matter.
I become the mark of amused titter-tatter,
not knowing my hands, or in what ways hands matter.
I offer the best excuses I can gather,
slink off onto the patio and into the wood,
draw a deep breath of the fresh mossy, musty air,
a roguish and languid unchained solitaire.
Here I am my familiar self, rough as oak bark,
a soul soiled with our most original sin,
with no desire for baptism or the Lord's blessing,
with no desire to know myself more than I am.
"Come back to the party. We all want you there."
My mother gently chides me, combs back my hair.
"Your cousins, your uncles, your aunties are there."
I shrug and I smile at her, "I just needed some air."
175.
Worthless Workless
Day by day as I wake up in the morning
Knowing that I prepare for nothing
Makes me to rise up unwilling
It's hard being workless
The air whispers I'm worthless
My inner stamina depresses
As the hands of time pass by
And I do nothing but standby
My soul chides me, I just sigh
Being jobless makes me feeble and fat
Becoming disgusting to look at
Like a weak-limbed fattened rat
Without a job, I feel unworthy
To take in meals three times daily
Consumed by aura of lethargy
Oh Lord, deliver us from this abeyance
Give me business or work by chance
Lest I be caught by an ambulance.
-07/18/2012
(Dumarao)
*My Dark Poems Collection