Long Claret Poems
Long Claret Poems. Below are the most popular long Claret by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Claret poems by poem length and keyword.
Mrs. Lightfoot had taught music at Talbot Elementary School for years.
A couple of her pupils excelled in music but most became engineers.
She sat at her desk to muse upon the past after another trying day,
Recalling events that had contributed to the 'dyeing' of her hair gray!
She remembered concerts when the cacophonous din made her wince,
And Mrs. Lightfoot approached such musicals with foreboding ever since.
But beaming parents saw their prodigies destined for musical acclaim.
(Only one she knew strummed a banjo at the VFW with a modicum of fame!)
Tubby Aruba wrestled with his tuba, ever out of step in the marching band.
Sissie Pyaner tried to emulate Liberace but she battered the concert grand.
For some reason one of the valves on Clyde Crumpet's trumpet always stuck,
And the trombone players could never harmonize - such was their bad luck!
Pat Claret could never adjust her clarinet reeds to eliminate the squeaks.
'Tyke' Biddle fiddled with the bull fiddle but never mastered its techniques.
Hubie Crums thought he was Gene Krupa and went crazy on the drums.
And when it came to playing the French horn, Sydney Corne was all thumbs!
Many times Mrs. Lightfoot thought she'd chosen the wrong speciality path,
And oft' wondered if she should have majored in history or maybe math.
In a couple of years she could lay down her baton one last time and retire,
To reminisce about fatal concerts, bleating horns and inharmonious choir!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
Boys turned into men
Acting chivalry needing to defend
Thackray who never was
Due to the wasp woman wanting buzz
Gunners waited for Watford to arrive
“Foul!” they did claim in a cry
On target goal after the penalty try
Followed by one then another
Sunday’s mother
Agree those went in
Later on Arsenal committed an innocent sin
Deeny connected
Shot was not protected
Three one at the break
Story brewing about the yellow jacket relegation wake
Being well back
Singing stingers put together an attack
Calling upon Danny to give a whack
A nice song he did bellow
Not enough to save the hives, dear fellow
For the longest time
In her own mind
Mrs. Harris
Just home from Paris
Thackray did not cause any trouble
There was no reason to blow any bubbles
As time ticked away
Grealish earned his claret blue army pay
Slicking it through the post
Mrs. Harris a few seconds later returned the gesture with a kind toast
A draw
Was the call
And Aston’s Villa would not be sold
Since they did not fold
“Send down the Honey Cherry Buzz flavor”
Second tier league requested as a favor
Mr. Bourne with toffee candy in the mouth
His cherries ready to head south
But today he enjoyed a sweet victory taste
Wasn’t showing ill feelings or haste
Instead filled with Goodison’s grace
Citizens on the other hand made the canaries look like nothing
Man City netting five which was something
Four sixes were on the executive level table
Two were issued to pensioners writing a Chelsea fable
While the Red Devils had a pair
Enough to scare
That pesky fox
Now having respectable stock
“Worry about a single commitment next year
And enjoy that cheer”
Was the message
About priority addressing
As for Thackray, the west ham
Romantically united Mrs. Harris succeeded in her plan
Next time a gale force winds come through
Infecting play asking ‘what are you gonna do?”
Do not put the season in the hearses
Just be sporty write creative poetic rhyming verses
The End
I bravely gird myself again
to do battle
at morning’s first light
Unsheathing my sword
to take the field alone
for I have no allies
A warrior weary of the fight
my armor dented and rusted
having long ago lost its lustre
I will gain no ground
There will be no conquest
no prize
no golden crown or throne to win
Victory is what it has always been
since the moment of my birth
Surviving another day to stand
despite my many wounds
my blood like claret
from a broken bottle
dripping in the dirt
where every flower I’ve
ever planted in my life
has been trampled
before they could bloom
by the enemy rushing upon me
determined to strike a blow
from which I will not rise
No one will tell tales
of my glorious deeds
long after I am dead
When the day is done
I’ll lay this battered body down
to rest in an empty bed
An antique shovel pushes into sacred dirt,
sprinkled with cinnamon and crushed obsidian rose petals,
while a blazing bonfire roars,
lighting up the night sky.
Ravens watch with intense scrutiny,
the voices in my head quieting,
as snakes slither around my neck.
Opening a weathered pouch,
I remove ceremonial offerings:
bottles of blood-red wine and pristine garnets.
I place them among shedded snake skin,
gingerly replacing the earthen soil.
The intoxicating scent of dragon's blood surrounds me.
Orange flames crackle, mutating into the deepest blues.
Claret clouds partially cover the full moon.
Shadows of ebony horns dance within the in-between.
Melodious gothic hymns fill an anticipating soul.
Warm breath flirts with the back of my neck.
Razor-sharp nails gently glide against pale flesh.
A beautifully savage silhouette forms in the corner of my eye.
Tonight, I dance with Lilith
among the ashes of glorious destruction.
From the north he came nimbly in the night
Softly silently bombing blanketing buds
Saturating each single stem
Snowy sneak attack barraging bombarding bark
Wracking white war-like wonder
With relentless wrath and rage
Cardinal calling watching in wonder
Bright crimson claret buried between alabaster boughs
Chipmunk and squirrel shell-shocked
By snowy shrapnel scamper to shelter
Relentless yet irrelevant retreating rush
Futile effort from frosty frothy forces
Spring stands inescapable
Flowers and flakes conflicted
Spring snowflake and spirea stand strong
Bravely bearing banners high
As if to say, try as you may
Your day has passed ‘tis spring at last
Ol’ man winter wanes wails and warns
I shall seize the season someday soon …
Inspired by the 5”- 6” snowfall we have on March 26, 2011
after we had 80 degree weather last week.
Burgundy
My dear Burgundy, I heard a purple, splendid tapping
Burgundy you color my heart, my soul
You, Oh!, so you said only this you’re in trappings red
I crave the crimson, cerulean canary yellow this I dread
And the rubies never overdrawing
And the rubies always daunting
Ever so settle,
I am shorn of my bedfellow
Violet. . .
Burgundy you color my heart, my soul, you’re the water in my veins
Sweet purple haze
Remembering many colorful, striking roses
The chromatic colored cultivating
Arose so illuminating!'
And eyes have all and augmenting
As myrtles came launching invigorating
This and a beryl
I have dreamed of the stems
And so I screamed, 'Is that brown?
Burgundy you color my heart, my soul you’re my flower
Eagerly I looked for the claret the pea coat laughed
Orange bled red as brown embraced them
I stand by burgundy she’s all that…better than any fine vintage wine
8/24/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
Rumors abound
All around town
Lily White
Needs a knight
She is tangled
Being wrangled
By the tricky trees
Planted by Peacocks from Leeds
Wolves are down under
Hearing wraths thunder
Drinking Burnley claret wine
Getting ready to do second tier time
In comes the Hammer girl
Wearing expensive pearls
Bought using Gallo credit
Wondering, ‘will anyone get it?’
Message, ‘relegate’
Easier opponents await
Fans will have reason to cheer
Dousing the same expensive beer
As players work on maturing skills
Crunching numbers, paying the bills
Oh yes, who is going to get dropped
Commentating, ‘our season truly was a flop’
Officially closing the show
Taking the athletic production to parts unknown
Goal now ‘will want to come back’
Claiming healed healthy, surviving a relegation attack
Bereft and alone since love was lost,
she sits in deep shadows
humming the same song
sipping claret from a Lismore goblet
Day and night, in silence she dwells
Time no longer sifts through an hourglass.
Heartache has cast a wicked spell
cursing her into a void of loneliness
She's drawn the drapes,
praying an eclipse will fill the abyss
into which she's fallen
Hoping it will swallow moonlight's glow
keeping it hidden from sight
Entombed as though in a sepulcher,
her insipid soul sits spiritless
on this night, cold and bleak
No spark of life can be roused
in her vacant eyes
as if blood no longer flows in her heart
Naught but darkness does she seek
Only that and to be left alone
away from pitiable stares
She sits in deep shadows
humming the same song
sipping claret from a Lismore goblet
After taking a shot of claret wine
Thackray on a mission to find
And she was not going to be declined
With a blade in hand getting a goal
Thackray did not look old
Spirits very high
Headed to the new castle in the sky
Deciding to meet and give a good try
Seeing Antonio no longer bitter
“I remember you were my movie costume fitter”
Laughing Antonio had a goal
And an honest soul
“Thackray I made you look good
As you should”
Hearing the remark she flashed a smile
And that image is still in her professional file
“That is right we are West Ham United
Ready to handle modern day fighting”
Letting her go through
Hoping today’s royals are cool
She stood before them
Ready to defend
Her influence on men
“You are no longer seventeen
In those dreamy
Blue jeans”
Royals stated
Then waited
For the answer
From the dancer
“I still got the look
Credibility in the modeling book
Relegating zone is following me around
Trying to take me down
A source I was able to contact
Said I still have a contract
I as a West Ham can still get another goal
And would be favorable to the modern royal public poll"
Modern royals looked at each other
Wondering if they were Thackray’s Mother
“We royals truly listen
And concluded you do not need our permission”
Thackray thanked them for their two pences
Accepted this draw ‘as making senses’
Later in the day
Aston was challenged to stay
With a point would be made
Receiving a nice grade
Went to Anfield
To check on a deal
“We are still number one
Writing paperbacks for fun”
Hosts did comment
Hotel rented Aston got it
Drama did unfold
Aston was still very bold
Yet Reds put one in
Stayed back for the win
“Mommy” Aston did say
“I need to talk to you about the Villa today!”
While Aston began to leave
Reality started to breath
When another one went in
Securing the Liverpool win
It was a civil ending
Honesty pending
Modern royals still nice
Gave the West hammy some advice
“You never stalk alone
Just answer the text or phone
Paperback writers are still out there
Needing west ham united to give audiences a scare”
The story of dory
And the story of John
Could be glory
Could be wrong
Dory was a Gent at heart
Dorian was the birth mark
John preferred the Dory part
As was his name from start
A younger brother with might
John enjoyed a good fight
Dory had no choice in life
As his brothers fire reignites
Sat in constant silence
In denial of the violence
Seeking the vengeance
Of a brothers pretence
To the viewer looking in
There was no sin
No bullying of the sibling
Feelings was kept within
But poor old Dory
Was more than a story
A tale as gory
To make the devils glory
A knifes sharp look
Sharper than a serpants tooth
No more playing by the book
Dory looks to end the snook
Waiting for the right time
To end his eternal prime
Lifting up his knife
Here's to you and life
Claret filled the room
With no time to gloom
The blade spun with a zoom
As Dory fell to his doom
A story of brothers grim
A story of feelings within
A story of lifes sin
A story we need to bring
So the masses will see
People hide their grief
From judging thieves
Who steals from realities