Long Choruses Poems
Long Choruses Poems. Below are the most popular long Choruses by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Choruses poems by poem length and keyword.
As mortal veils dissolved, our bodies merged in the ossuary's somber symphonies, two mistress awakened by the velvet-wrapped cadavers, our disinvested hands tracing syllabic patterns across the olive verdure of our skin, as maelstroms of lipstick tormented our intimate geometry. Kissing amidst ribcages and scavenged lullabies, our filial ***** tingled with an unresolved finitude, lost choruses awaking from armature wounds as compatibilities laid bare.
The azure gemstones of our sweat-drenched pores harmonized with the relics scattered about us, a Kolossus of Korova consumed by the clingy threads of our detachment. Quivering heartbeats elevated the ambiance, suspending the predisposition of neglect, while scratches on the cryptic monument inscribed our entwined destiny. I sulfured lips, poised at the sorceress-close mic.
A snarl-like grin spread like a firebrand, smoldering with provocative ferocity as I ravished the venue with tongue-flicked promises, conjuring the haunted echoes of our ecstatic love. Ghosts of our abandoning, whispers of our surrendered reveries, and shadowy allusions to lost frenzies began to undulate, like an eerie tide, through every crevice and cavity of the place, leaving only the acrid tang of our desire and the spectral whisper of "evermore".
Laughter and teardrops entwined like conspirators, as our kidnapped captives, vacant-eyed and warily bound, cringed within their gilded cages, their suffocated pleas dissolving into silken suppliance, amidst this twilight tableaux pyxis o madness, we beheld each other, our psuches conflated in a whirlwind of circumstance and whimsy, our gazes piercing the veil of regalities, and our breasts, beating in tandem, like a tempo of tender complicity.
Fore in that golden instant, innocence and abomination, zero and infinity, coalesced, and we knew, without equivocation, that ours was an amour born of estrangement, grotesquery, and co-creativity. In the subterranean realm of our laughter, a spangled whirlpool stirred, drawing all else, including reason, into its poisoned vortex, as we whispered, like doomed refugees, into the bitter wind, "pour l'amour de tous les diables".
Fervently the serrated teeth on the saw rang the death knell, twisting countenance rictus, then close casket, we heard wedding bells, as we crafted a hellhole requiem of faceless visages.
Boom.
Some things are lost along the line
Some things, beautiful and fine
Driving down the lone road to the stream in my hamlet
It’s like yesterday; like catching birds from their nest
I giggled as I drove by
Mothers breast feeding babies and singing lullaby
Naked boys rolling condemned tires, and
Ripped virgins with little cloths coverings, as attires
I giggled as I drove by. It’s just like yesterday
I remember Jerome and others as we gathered to play
There was the moonlight rendezvous
Where we all gathered, boys, and girls, all of us
There was the tales by the moonlight,
Ancestral heritages, sacrifices and the Lion’s might
The Lion’s might, yet he falls beneath the crafty tortoise
I still can hear the choruses; I hear my youthful voice
I loved folklore songs. Wars songs for strong sons
Let me try seeing if I can still sing one more;
Yes! I still can sing “Omalingwo”
Omalingwo, Omalingwo tee …… Omalingwo
Omalingwo, Omalingwo nwam…… Omalingwo
Omalingwo, Omalingwo dia …… Omalingwo
Nne nei di na Otutu-aja-o………..Omalingwo
Elikwue ma yu atuna ngwo ji ……Omalingwo
Ngwo, ngwo onye oma………….Omalingwo
My God, I feel new!
I can still sing it! Oh God I knew!
Omalingwo! Story of the child of a deprived mother
Jealous king’s wives over ready for murder
Murder and deprivation if that will give them a son
To sit on the king’s throne and shine forth like the sun
Story of good over evil. Omalingwo!
A deprived mother’s son.
I giggled as I drove along,
Remembering my tiny breasts, when they formed
And more fortunate girls laughing me to scorn
I remember these things till sadness beclouded me
I am fully grown now; nostalgia overshadow me
My age mates, plus me, all gone to the cities
We can’t assemble again, just like broken pot in pieces
Oh! The Eve’s tempting apple of white collar jobs
I heard Jerome lived and then died in Jos
Killed by religious rioters with missions unjust.
I heard Nwasombia is a head dresser is Lagos
At 52 and still searching? Celibacy is obvious
I heard Nosike is in aviation, head of pilots
Even Chima is now in parliament in Cyprus
Chima, who spoke big English like “opprobrious”
My age mates, plus me, all gone to the cities
No more gatherings, just like broken pot in pieces
Still driving along the lone road to the hamlet stream
Still thinking of beautiful things
The beautiful hamlet serene things.
I'm a speech punk; kind of a menace
Not sure if the word is permissible in these parts
But that's the word I need, life's a furnace
So flush that. Gosh, you leave me no choice
I'm trying to speak, hear my voice in the whisper
Through the walls of disparaging noise
This is the true genesis of your lyrical nemesis
Within the lofty walls of these subliminal premises
So join me in these choruses
If you are tired of all those empty promises
I know some will hold on to being cynical
And insist that so and so is not tyrannical
On the offensive, trying to sound authentic
I’m getting tired of these old nonverbal diatribes
Untried ideological theories from war times
Self-proclaimed superheroes asking for more time
Descending heavily on dissenters
I find it interesting. You insist on destruction
But cry foul over the consequential sanctions
Questions leading to more questions
Your overarching approach is nonsensical
You're overreaching, overreacting
Flashing knives and talking peace treaties
I choose reason, so I'll be philosophical
Through and through until people know the truth
I'll show you who is master in this class
Through the looking glass, looking straight ahead
Hard forehead set against their hardcore hearts
Delicate apples of eyes rolling upon these surfaces
Don't forget light shines in the darkness
These are obviously obnoxious princes of madness
Gospel hardened bumpkins, hard of hearing
Pluck off their ear muffs and remove the earplugs
I don't know, it's the starkness
Of their skewed vision and aversion to reality
Posing, for whatever reason, as minimalists
And all of us losers attempting to look strong
Strolling roughshod on dog dump filled terrain
They say without travail there are no babies
So, I'm caught barefoot in this hell of a place
No name, upstart among folks with no faces
Clasping hands holding back nervous chuckles
Upon the sight of my adversaries' bleeding knuckles
Section such and such paragraph this and that
Yeah, voiceless man quoting verses
Telling the man with the pitchfork to get lost
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Saw-an older-yet still-rather now that I think-of it-quite-young looking-physically
and-mentally... disabled-person get on-the bus one-afternoon-as I was-riding,
Joyous, stagily boisterous... !"
Believe-he-had-of-the-purest-right-to-be... !""
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
""Beautiful yes I so happy;
he-said,
"
"First-time riding on bus-yes... .
he-took his-time... .""
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Some-never make it this far.
Again-my-heart soared as it cried so proud yes-so proud you-bet I sure-was for-him... !
"I heard those whispers you get you-know, whatever color, race; "Gee, oh-man, good-God I
just-got off work-now I have to deal again with this... is this going to take all day... ?"
"This grand example of God's mercy, the time-with another spent to support this innocent
walk he carried well yes his burden the-prudent-culmination-on this given-day of their
faithfulness... illustrious!"
"Yea-no judgment of himself-another I bet-even crossed his mind-probably I felt he
striving for his-own he finally got it."
"I feel-it was the-freedom of his independence through His individuality-offered to-him
like-it just-could be like this with-all of-us... ."
"He-new anything less than this surrendered to something-far greater than the-heckling
he-received, I believe borne this way He-was offered to all of-us only and maybe just
alone for this very-reason-that day... ."
"Matters not the indifference, feel-it'd be a far-sight-better without it, believe they
remain as-such all-to teach us, I know their all sweet-lullaby's of-surrender if-truly;
tuning into their-song; we-all-might-just take a small-moment and-look... .
In-fair-support-unified bound; our hearts soaring taking in the faithful choruses,
bellowing out loud together their-grateful songs... .
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aXq-C6nDpmg
Mission of the Yellow Songbird
A long highway road stretched its legs before me,
In a place where tumble weeds were conceived,
December evening chasing daylight back to morning
Dusk robed in faded colors starving out the sunshine
Miles put themselves between me and home
With thickets of brier brambles cradled between north and south
Alive with vesper choruses of tiny songbirds.
A gentle tap on my front fender
Roused me from hypnotic highway stupor like popping thunder
I shuddered deeply as possibilities shook my soul;
Maybe one of those gigantic bugs – maybe? Maybe?
But when I stopped my heart seized to solve the mystery
A tiny yellow songbird plastered to my grill wings still open to flight.
Gentle spirit of eternal compassion touched, caressed, my wailing sorrow
Then guided me to a desert tree with perfect boughs,
That welcomed songs of matin mornings from a tiny bird,
To lay to rest God's tiny messenger beneath his favorite tree
Songbird with perfect pitch would no longer sing praise into Heaven's face.
Called to the road again, tears raced down my cheeks
As numb miles raced by with a litany of why in each drop
Time came to take a mountain road from fertile valley to foggy ocean crest -
Screaming round a sharp curve to a screeching stop
Accident, I thought, of two cars only six cars ahead of me –
No ordinary scene -two burned out fiery shells one atop the other!
Realization, like a candle in the darkness, sent out sharp beams
I would have been in that accident had not a precious songbird
Given me a second chance to sing in ministry and embrace this grief;
In the deepest part of my grieving heart, I know our precious God
Gathered to his heart the mission of this tiniest crushed warrior
Who now sings beneath God’s window in the eternal day.
5-17-22
Contest: Divine Intervention
Sponsor: Chantal Anne Cooke
12/14/22
Contest: Poetry Marathon Mile 23
Sponsor: Mark Toney
30 Lines of a 30 Line Limit
Finding Presence
Night sky beckoning dawn
Gentle sensations
Early morning walks
Empty avenues
Central Park breezes
Village cobblestone streets
Wet with glistening reflections
Accompany the seeker’s every move
Citified whispers
Discordant choruses
The street cleaner
The sliding steel-front security doors
Excited canines straining leashes
Open casements echoing emphysema-regrets
Merging with the early morning smells and start-up images
City’s reality mix awakening
Conscious-walking shakes loose somnolence
Opening eyes to the gargoyles atop historic landmarks
Their stoic residence mirrored in all-glass surroundings
Urban growth towering over huddling addicts of all types
Weary of sleepless nights
Enjoined by occasional pouting mannequins
Dressing light-starved windows
Poised to portray tourist-trap knockoffs
Rayon for silk
Fantasy for verity
Predatory “going out of business” choices ubiquitous
Shut down shops—beaten
Barely open shops—clinging
Wanderers drifting listlessly
Rising early by guilty conscience
Some prodding their welfare bodies to move
Others fearing unfaithful one-nighters become known
Old widows lean from their tenement windowsills
Having endured another sleepless night of heat
Too poor to leave the city
Too proud to ask of children
Soon
Sunrise bathes the grayness with color
Subway entrances congest
Yellow cabs begin cacophonous warm-ups
Like an orchestra of out-of-tune instruments
Their blasts are met with the inescapable “Taxi!” “Taxi!”
Deli workers spread cream cheese
Warm Bear Claws
Brew bad coffee
Wish their customers “have a good one”
Keeping secure their jobs
For another day
Returning home
Five flight walk up
One’s feet beg relief from the morning roam
A pull on the carton of OJ
A flip-on of the two-burner
The water to boil
A drop into the drug-from-the-dumpster-couch
Chock-Full-Of-Nuts in waiting
Want ads front and center
A few deep breaths
Just another day
Surviving the city
(Dedicated to one of my childhood friends)
You were one of those charming lilies
that bloomed, so fresh, in my springtime pond;
when my homesick wings of longings flutter and soar,
and my mind alights
on the periphery of the playparks of the past,
I reminisce all the little fun we had
along with our other friends -
as we strolled through the narrow trails
in the verdant flowery meadow
that sprawled near our school
during the tender years of our lives.
The giggles and the laughter
the chuckles and the chatter -
those shrieks and the squeals
that baffled even the needles of time
to forget their own pace
and hop and waltz along with us.
Then roads diverged, new air we breathed
as we took new paths to pursue our purposes in life.
Years later, you arrived once very near my place
yet we could not connect and get ourselves to meet.
That day when we talked on the phone
and I heard your voice after a very long time,
my mind leapt for joy and soaked for some time
in a summer drizzle of rainbow memories -
of those I had long forgotten
as you reminded them to me in our chat -
they linger on like pleasant petrichor.
Later, I tried to recollect and sing our childhood songs
rhyming it perfect with the
unrhyming clamor of our choruses.
When commitments in work and family responsibilities
seem to have rusted the gate to my nostalgic dam -
your call was the key to open it - and when creaking opened
wistful emotions gushed forth
to form an ocean of yearnings
to be a child once more.
You revived the puddles of my mind with paper boats
that carry leaves, stems, and flowers of fond memories.
I felt like a gleeful kite in the vast blue,
fleeing for a moment from the humdrum day.
You will forever be the same charming lily
adorning my little lake of most treasured blossoms.
My bestie, my soul-sis.
86
86
CharlaXFabels
American Christian
True Story
A Homeless person is nothing but a distracting sideshow on the sidewalk to
most people they can not help them ease the misery of the alcoholism or even
feed them and yet iff ewe ask them are all of you a Christian they would ring
choruses of resounding yeses in choral verses posted on the internet in three
part harmonic glee club performances. Eye have seen some bad men posing as
people. A man walking to the mission once his duffle causing him to shuffle eye
asked him to let me help him and this is what he told me. He was very angry and
he was posing as a human. This will now become his story.
Eye am an American Christian, eye do not need the help you have offered just
leave my fate to me eye suffer an old war injury the knee cap it is plastic not
meant to be abused but eye can carry twice as much as you. Even with my bad
leg eye can get where eye am going if this bothers you then hide and watch my
passing. He had to be hiding something and this is later to be revealed. The offer
of help was the Christian in me just reaching out to someone less fortunate and
needy. The thorns in the people you meet can make the fellowship falter and
miss and make a man wonder at this life time to come. Now when we had gotten
where we were going and he had made me belittled all the way the real long day
was over and he still would not shut up so hear what he now had to say. He said
you be quiet in that bed or eye will shoot you full of lead and that is when he
pulled a pistol from his bag and that must be why he has so much trouble with
the weight it must have weighed a ton there is not another feeling in this world
my dear and gentle reader as laying in a MISSION bed just waiting for the sound
of that dropped hammer on the gun he must be the American Christian.
BAT SONG
(This Song was written in 2009 for a dramatised Rap Music & Dance Group in Rural South Africa. They wanted an amusing song with a message incorporating an unusual rural image. It unfortunately was not performed on stage, but the young teenage group had great fun practicing the drama-song.)
[TWO CHORUSES]
She tried to fly
was too blind
Up she went, fell, fell
flapping webbed wings
in a dirty night
[CHORUS 1
Dark dank night
Not knowing when
not knowing what
Blind bat, bland bat
blank bat]
On electric pylons rested
she was persecuted, prostituted
they stalked her, sallied her
stoned her
in a dirty night
[CHORUS 1
Dark dank night
Not knowing when
not knowing what
Blind bat, bland bat
blank bat]
Sirens screeched, screamed
What are you ?! Who are you ?!
you simpleton sleazy bat
we will slice your wings
in a dirty night
[CHORUS 1
Dark dank night
Not knowing when
not knowing what
Blind bat, bland bat
blank bat]
THEN came beckoning
Bella, Bella, Bella !
abating abating
up on electric bars
a fast bat out of bell
out of bell
not batting a lid
singing batwing
snippets
[CHORUS 2
Velvet night, vortex night
knowing when, knowing what
bold belly bat !
bold belly bat ! ]
No fear she fluttered and flew
I’m flaunting soaring strange
no slicing webbed wings ordained
me no belittling blind
crazy as a dime
[CHORUS 2
Velvet night, vortex night
knowing when, knowing what
bold belly bat !
bold belly bat ! ]
A scavenger slunk away
sirens slipped into sewers
cities in distress
raised up their brows at
beckoning bats doing
a bogey woogy
doing a bogey woogy
a batty bogey woogy
[CHORUS 2
Velvet night, vortex night
knowing when, knowing what
bold belly bat !
bold belly bat ! ]
©GhairoDanielsPoetry
&Song2009
Changing Seasons
In a burst of color and animal choruses
Sovereign sun heralds in a golden morning –
The air was delicate with the perfume of cherry blossom
Blown in from the hem of pink rows that lined the
driveway on Grandpa’s farm
I looked across at hay stacked verdant hills that were
Tossed with yellow daffodils, purple crocus and white snowdrops
They danced to the baton of the breeze and the
Hidden orchestra of lilting bird song of that fragrant spring morn
Grandma sang to me her songs of childhood
As we walked arm in arm amongst beds of fragrant roses
and budding fruit trees that whispered promises of full baskets
that would soon be heavy laden with the Summer fruits, preserves,
Pies and jam of a bountiful harvest, a few months from now
Summer came rich with its harvest, merry hearts
and long hazy, lazy summer days and nights scented
with wisteria, frogs and cicada, chirping and croaking
their melodious summer anthem of ‘All is well with the world’
as we toasted to our full and wonderful life
Autumn brought in a more somber note and amber tones
though warm and restful, they soon told me - life is changing again
time quickly moves on - it prepared me for the winter and
the chill mirrored in the face of the full moon as it lit a silvery path
to my next season’s change
The cherry trees glowed white against the dark night sky like iridescent bones along
the snow covered driveway - they waved their bony fingers goodbye
as I crunched solemnly down the long white corridor with slow steps and a heavy heart that was beating to the mournful dirge of hoot owls and creaking limbs – I blinked back tears under that star kissed sky and full moon that lit my path
The moon reminded me- each season has its bounty that I can treasure -I held those memories close to my well seasoned but thankful heart.
Brenda V Northeast