Long Clambered Poems
Long Clambered Poems. Below are the most popular long Clambered by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Clambered poems by poem length and keyword.
Rapacious Itch
It felt things coming,
The undeniable bottom feeder reality,
Where thought had no credulity,
Where irrational emoting ruled,
Void of mind’s prep,
Blind of light’s revealing purpose.
Such remained
This well-rehearsed and produced
Pulp life infestation.
It remembered…
Once many clambered to the marble steps,
Where dreams born of teachings
Promised delivery of reward.
But today…
All that is found
Is perpetuation of schoolyard practices,
Where bullying,
Mocking,
And “my dick is bigger than your dick” war-cries
Intimidate life’s playground with slippery slopes.
Down 5th Avenue,
Up Park Avenue,
The viral contaminants parlay their wears,
A far more contagious disease than Ebola.
And it knows…
Unlike a possible cure for a biological virus,
This consumerism equation seems without solution,
Given little of non-material worth remains
Visible on the species’ blackboard mess.
Today’s squirming parade of absence
Is dominated by the pounding of urban-warrior chests,
Of Armani jackets atop unlaced “made-to-look-raunchy” boots,
Ken Doll fantasies courting the strut of Barbie Doll dreams
Clicking attention with stiletto heels
Beneath ripped shorter than short-short insecurity.
On it spreads,
Past the Wall Street reviewing stands,
Where unlike the fickle nature of society’s infection,
Market makers understand a fever’s ups and downs,
Vulnerability’s capricious norm endorsing today’s
Debauchery fashion to Trump-taste,
Loudness to drown out worthy music,
Shock to shatter the true awe of discovery,
And the drowning of excellence
As it continues its desperate clinging,
All while mediocrity’s narcissistic sell-off
Creates another closing-bell windfall.
The pestilence holds firm its lock on discernment’s immune system,
Mutating daily into a mind-shrinking captivity,
A synaptic virulence rapidly rendering this once simple discomfort
Into an insatiable itch that will never realize its pursuit of “Ah!”.
Listen, my dears, and I'll tell you a tale
Of a princess, a pirate, and glory.
There's a shipwreck, a rescue,
A romance, a ransom,
And a handicapped whale in the story.
There once was a princess, fairest of all,
But also quite vain and spoiled rotten.
She had a semi-private
Affair with a pirate
That would be but for me now forgotten.
The pirate, Mad Jack, was bloodthirsty and crude,
When upset, he'd explode, blow his top off.
Merchant vessels he sank,
Made their crews walk the plank,
Or, more rudely, their heads he would lop off.
One day Princess Daphne set out to sea
With her maid, they were bound for Majorca.
But the maid, in a gale,
Was swept over the rail
And inhaled by an asthmatic orca.
Lifeboats were lowered, the crew clambered in
And rowed quickly away, only thinking
Of saving their own necks,
Not the princess below decks
Left alone on a wreck that was sinking.
Then through the storm a ship hove into view,
At first Daphne thought it would dodge her.
But before she could hail her,
She felt courage fail her,
From its mast flew a vast Jolly Roger.
When Princess Daphne was brought before Jack,
She was haughty but thought he was handsome.
But to his greedy eyes
This fair royal prize
Represented a shipload of ransom.
But Jack was still human, Daphne was too,
And soon they were sharing their privates.
To his quarters she moved
And his crew all approved,
No one loves a love tale more than pirates.
But what of the ransom, yet to be paid?
Well, here the plot gets even deeper.
The stingy king said to Jack,
"No, I don't want her back.
It's cheaper for me if you keep her."
So Princess Daphne became Jack's sea wife,
And though common, but not mandatory,
When they became parents
They stopped being pirates
And passed peacefully out of the story.
For now then, my dears, that's the end of my tale,
An adventurous one hard to equal.
But, if I may be so bold,
And there's more to be told,
It may one day unfold in a sequel.
Wombles In Space
(Split Into two parts because I suddenly got all Limericky )
Part One
The Wombles are not worldly wise
They look to the ground not the skies
They got on a train, which is hard to explain
Cos the train they got on was a plane
Eventually back on the ground
Uncle Bulgaria frowned
How could it be, that all he could see
Was a sign saying Cape Kennedy
The small telescope in his pocket
He took out and saw a space rocket
He said to his wombling clan,
I’ve spotted a big old tin can
It’s stood there as though we’re expected
Just waiting there to be collected
And while it’s a hell of a can
Am I not a wombling man?
Soon they had clambered aboard
A rumbling sound left them all floored
Orinoco was starting to drift off
And somehow he’d started a lift off
Bulgaria sported a frown
Lord knows how we’re gonna get down
But since were all stuck in this can
I’ve got an exiting new plan
They found a box full of space suits
and one full of magnetic boots
The mission: to gather space trash
To trade up or sell it for cash
Part Two
Then Houston said, we've got a gremlin
The crew ain’t the crew we’re rememberin
A furry ensemble
Each looks like a Womble
Perhaps snuck aboard by the Kremlin
Uncle Bulgaria’s explaining
Orinoco, asleep, ain’t complaining
There’s rubbish to get
They’ve not been beat yet
The cargo bay soon would be straining
The craft dragged a net round the Earth
Catching up junk for it’s worth
It then tried to swallow
Some bits of Apollo
The net didn’t have enough girth
Tobermory’s big invention
For over-sized space junk retention?
A sticky harpoon
A scrapyard on the moon
So that’s taken care of his pension
His plan for retirement luxurious
Was blocked cos the Clangers were furious!
So what could he do
Except grab some glue
A womble space walk is quite curious
He glued all the rubbish together
Which seemed really simple but clever
He made a new planet
Of metal, not granite
Which really was quite an endeavour
On Earth there was mass womble mania
Those wombles, it seems, had got brainier
The latest new game
Was to think up a name
For the planet we now call Womblania
Walking down a beach in Jamaica
Sipping on some local rum
It was that moment when I fell and my head
Became imbedded between the cheeks of your bum
I knew nothing would come between us
The look on you face told me I was a winner
I clambered to my feet feeling like a knight
That is when I asked you out to dinner
Although you smacked me loosening my teeth
And been call an over sexed pervert
The sincerely look on my face captured you
And I knew your misconception would revert
My lips need not speak any longer for the words
From my heart were said through my eyes
You would be my summer love
My life long, love giving prize
I had to turn this unfortunate situation quickly
To do it I would need to use my charm
For the pain was not only hurting in my heart
But from the twist your boyfriend placed in my arm
I bumped into you in the eve after I returned from the hospital
I remember I had my arm in a cast
You came to me and apologised with a kiss
It was then I knew our love would last
We lay on the beach watching the sun set
Then we made love on Poseidon’s sea shore
I knew it wouldn’t be just a night of steamy sex
It would be that and a lot more
*"STEAMY SUMMER LOVE" (4 MEN ONLY)* There we go My Sweet
Selene was smoldering, the shadows shrouding Her face.
Alone. I crept through limp leaves and decaying debris.
I felt grim fingers grasping, gripping, slowing my pace.
Faint flickers filtered through gnarled trees like fine filigree.
I wondered why I am here; I wondered where is here?
I stumbled over shallow mounds, smelling the stained soil.
Alone. A putrid presence charged me with fetid fear.
My queasiness convulsed in a turbid, rancid roil.
Murky dampness clambered over clammy, flaccid flesh.
If this were dream, I prayed to end my nightmarish plight!
A chilling calm came over me and I feared afresh.
Alone. Selene hid Her visage and sheen from my sight.
Alone. The noxious night darkened, enveloping me.
Notes:
1. Selene, Greek goddess of the moon
2. 13, symbolic of rebellion and lawlessness in the Bible
3. 13 syllables in each line
4. 13 lines in the poem
5. today’s date, 13 October
In the slate horizon static like a slab of rooted rock,
charcoal clouds clambered from its convolute edge
with the storm that rushed with the gruelling gale,
carrying the cascade of the melted splintered sky.
The mesmerizing music of the whistling wind,
the symphony of raindrops on the shaking leaves,
drew me out to the backyard veranda,
where I stood enthralled by the sonata of shower.
Wanting to join the concert I turned on the tape recorder,
played the classical music of Megh Malhar*,
the melody mingled with the echo of the remote thunder,
and with the mellow tune resonating in the strings of rain.
The wind-swept raindrops splashed on my forehead,
dripped down the closed eyes with the touch of weird silence.
In those mystique moments of captivating exhilaration,
I was lost spell-bound in the amazing realm of frozen time.
As the alien wonder of fidgety waves crept on my body,
my rapt voice quivered with acronymic shriek, W T F W T.
(*Megh Malhar is the melody of rain in Indian classical music)
BYLINY: a nostalgia form'that which happened '
ADOLESCENT SCENES
during the Forties
I was just a lad
growing up
was not so bad
Summer evenings
lengthened long
clambered trees
with birds in full song
across nearby fields
&over the brook
studying in nature's
real-timebook
scaled branches
for my egg collection
wild flowers
then pressed to perfection
fishing for stickleback
with jamjar and net
oftimes slipping
&getting wet
boys' club
in the old school hall
indoor hockey i
with a ragged ball
gathering conkers
on Chestnut Crescent
for annual contests adolescent
blue-paper fireworks
fifth November,
baked spuds
in glowing ember
around the streets
carol singing
boxes rattling lanterns swinging
indelible magic memoir
remembered scenes from afar
Year first Posted 2007
Through the days of blistering toil.
A murmur of spirit after a blissful
trial.These were the emotions on this
endless day.Minutes later in single
file, were prints from hoofs in the
muddy soil.While easing toward
drudgery and withdrawal.The amazing
thoroughbreds entered their stall.
Jockeys clambered onto their colts.
As they were trained superbly, for
the oncoming derby.While over the
loudspeaker the narrator spoke.
Calling out numbers for only who was
there.Consider a victory and the
triple crown.Ready to gain-gain an
inch of ground.Thoroughbred racing
was the name of the game.Where
hesitating was nothing, and no
one to blame.Where multitudes of
spectators impatiently waited, for the
master racers to open the gate.A
photograph finish ended the race.
Beaten by a length-a length out of
pace.Was the thoroughbred racer
in second place..
The Derby Poem By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1982,1987..ALL rights reserved..
He tipped his hat and he said to her:
“Ma’am, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.
Can you kindly tell me why those whores are out,
has no one taught those girls a lick of sense?”
She chuckled softly, and then said to him:
“I see you haven’t been to L.A. for a while.
They’re not prostitutes, just dumb teenager girls,
aping the latest in Hollywood ‘style.’
“I don’t know what they see in that stuff,
you’d never catch me wearing that dreck.
Like great-gramma Norma once said to my mom,
‘A woman needs to have her self-respect.'
“But you yourself are dressed unusually,
are you in the middle of some sort of L.A.R.P.?
If your trying to look like an old-time cowboy,
I must say you’ve really nailed the part!”
Linton smiled at the friendly woman and said:
“I’m not exactly sure what you mean—”
Then came a flash of blue and of red,
and an auto made a metallic scream.
Two men emerged from a dark blue car,
dressed up somewhat like the city police.
one shouted,”You on the horse with the two guns,
you throw up your hands and you freeze!”
Linton saw them pointing what looked like pistols,
though they strangely had no cylinders,
panic set it, and he kicked hard on his horse,
the mare racing at the touch of the spurs.
The men behind then did not start to shoot,
but they brought their automobile to life,
he heard it’s engine, but the road ended soon,
his horse cleared it’s metal rail in flight.
The police clambered out, and followed on foot,
but they’d no chance to catch up with him now,
he raced for the light, squinting as he neared,
passing through as fast as his horse would allow.
He opened his eyes, and saw nothing but scrub,
his heart still a-pounding frantically,
glancing over his shoulder all Linton saw…
...was a dry ravine running down to the sea.
CONCLUDES IN PART III.
I met you amid the branches
of an old, evergreen tree –
we were wary at first,
dangling like flushed and obscure fruits
from twisted limbs;
exchanging precious gifts
of blue-black berries and tentative smiles
until we gained the other's trust.
We clambered ever higher,
full of that clumsy grace
that comes with youth
and the thrill of a secret shared.
From atop the highest branch
we surveyed the kingdom we had conquered,
and swore to rule with fairness
this world of wood and wind.
Palms were scratched and roughened
where they lay, clasped together,
and the sunlight left dappled laughter lines
upon our upturned faces.
Our subjects were the fickle white-eyes,
darting overhead like leaves given flight,
chattering charming nonsense in our lordly ears.
Somewhere, adults laughed,
but we could not see them,
so we listened instead to the bees
who brought us tales of lands afar,
and our own laughter was lost
amidst the rustling of the leaves.
We wore crowns of purple flowers
in hair still wild and uncut,
and I showed you how to swing
with no hands
from each lichen-covered limb.
Later, we crouched hidden
among the roots of all we owned,
and listened as discarded names
grew closer on the breeze.
There was a brush –
clumsy, but not unwelcome –
of lips on dimpled cheek,
and the promise we would meet
a day, a week, a year from then,
amid the branches
of an old, evergreen tree.