Long Cloy Poems
Long Cloy Poems. Below are the most popular long Cloy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cloy poems by poem length and keyword.
"Eons back, we feared the petal's grace,
called beauty pride, and named it place"
"Mistakes were made, but wisdom stayed"
said Thallorin,"not every path must be replayed".
Each bloom now understood, but still
Knowing alone could never kill,
The monster born from rootless scar
who thrived when petals turned to war.
So, stem by stem, with colors waned,
they sought the one their fear had chained.
" Rose, if ever grace was yours to wield,
then raise your thorn and be our shield."
said Marigold with her petals bowed
In repentance plain, no longer cowed.
For breathless beats the ring stood bare,
no bloom dared move, no scent would dare.
Then Rose, still rooted where they’d fled,
unfurled her thorn and gently said:
"I was not grown for war or crown
but truth endures when petals drown".
"If now you stand as one, not few,
then I shall bloom, and bleed with you."
She stepped, and stillness parted wide,
with the ring pulsing, open-eyed.
And in that moment, the garden knew,
the thorn had come to see it through.
The thorn slid like a whispered flame
Unspooling the rot from root to name.
Its shadow curled, then cracked apart,
as thorn met truth, and truth struck heart.
The canopy breathed, and light withdrew
Muir stepped forth, veiled in silver dew.
He bore a petal, faintly burned
not with fire, but beauty earned.
"Strange things, these mortal hearts," he said,
"They chase what wilts; and crown what's bled.
"Rose, you’ll be their ache, their art
the symbol pulsing in the heart.”
Blooms cheered her name with joy.
"Is this happiness or just a cloy?"
asked lotus with eyes that mocked
“Or truth’s fierce root, the garden blocked.”
"Let’s bloom our best,” Sunflower beamed
golden and tall, her brightness streamed.
"Welcome to the ring" Lotus said
"May the peace shine and spread".
Daffodil smiled with glowing petals.
For now, everything settles,
until it rebels.
“Jealousy is a poisonous seed,
it grows wherever hearts feel need.”
They heard a voice beyond the reed.
Low and distant, like a buried creed.
Author's suggestion - goes best with http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZfKA4b5SFq4 as you read. Don't forget to continue to "Götterdämmerung Part 2"
He sees her in his thoughts his dreams
Haunting long after he wakes, writes reams
Yes, she's always there, so fair
carrying on his hopes, despairs
Together they were glorious, a match
Apart he creeps, just newly hatch't
A match made of steel and fire and forged
Now he stares at fate, a long-drop gorge
They clashed and sparked and were hell bent
They were but life, rage, magnificent
They roared and screamed as they strove and loved
His confused anger, her cold sweet dove
We gloried in their fury, tempest
We knew it would come, only held our breath
They heard it not, only held cool hands
As they carved a world in their quicksand
It took a year to build it, a bulwark
An empty beach where two gamboled, a lark
There they resided, two titans beached
And there they loved, far from others' reach
One more year they stayed, unmoved, unmoving
They lambasted and fought, strange portrait of loving
Laughing, crying, helpless, sobbing
They clung to love, while hearts beat, throbbing
Sniping, diving, swooping, reaching
Embracing, soaring, cringing, seeking
Dragging, pulling, swelling, creeping
Surging, pushing, shrinking, leaping
They set about them the limits, the bounds
In arrogant splendor, claimed all around
In their kingdom they ruled, dictated
Two Sullas Proscripting, in love with their hatred
They raised their hands and shouted their joy
To thrust all away, to embrace dark cloy
Their eyes flashed as one, they clasped in glee
Their lives were perfect, thence did light flee
....Continued in "Götterdämmerung Part 2"
Love isn’t amorousness,
Nor is it hunger nor thirst,
With vehemence, I insist: Love is a perpetual motion machine
O! Break! Break! Break! My Hardened Heart!
Be shattered by Love,
And let all your disquietude be shaken out of you, like candy out of a pinata!
E*very time you sacrifice something lesser for something greater, that is Love
From the beginning, nothing you were taught will ever matter more
Find in your heart the beginning, then work Love into practical things
Erupt! With Joy! At the presence, near, of the Beloved
Receive Her as though this new day will be your last
Veneration may be for sillies or fuddies but DO it
Elopement is all the way for the strong of heart
Sight fails, and then the hands learn to know the face of the Beloved
Crying verses with bell-like tongues fly out of those who yearn for Love's Purity
Energy-in-motion is never big enough or beautiful enough to sing Her Name
Near-to-Death, no heart, ever, does not prize it most
Clearly, clean clinical classifications cloy, clot and clutz the fervidness of Love
E*very time you sacrifice something lesser for something greater, that is Love
And now, to the subject of reverence…
When her body is a holy temple before you,
When you must wash your hands and feet and face before you approach her
When you joy to fluff her pillows or your breath catches, when you touch her
face,
When all of her is Divine unto you, and Delightful, and Dear
THEN
That is the beginning of Love!
______
* NOTE: 'effervescence' is spelled out, like in an acrostic poem
2/8/2019
Submitted for: Free Verse On Love -- 10 Words Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Lu Loo
This poetic blurb not meant to annoy
divulging, when just a whippersnapper boy
me late mum and octogenarian pop agreed
without questioning why doctor best remove adenoid
pat response told less to prevent sole son tubby coy
than fear Harris heir, would not inherit carnival throne
sidestepping 3 ring circus, and not becoming an android
dreaming of electric sheep,
a disagreeable prospect that could hoof happened,
aye shear with you especially
in tandem with predilection tilting tubby goy
fated outcome unfazed this herbaceous rooted lad,
who idolized captain crunch (before childhoods' end)
hoping seaman tic wood beckon with “A HOY”
mollified parents blithely steered son clear into
psychotic outcome delivering obliviousness
that brought inner joy
anyway, this peculiar male progeny
believing himself to be just another brick
in the wall of Pink Floyd,
tripping with comfortably numb skull
found himself evicted from the hall of the mountain king
and in sore need of deep psychoanalysis, hence didst imp ploy
therapy in orifice er office of maudlin Sigmund Freud
whose nose bore striking resemblance,
to a fleshy phallic shaped trumpeting toy
pud dill, this mental analysis delved into past – outcome
induced feint to faint, while cawing boss addressed
as Oedipus Rex, which verbal homage did cloy
dredging layered past devoid of love
flush with malicious predatory abuse
from Lloyd Lavinsky, an Audubon Elementary
grade school male lore demon bully
sanity of mine he almost destroyed.
The breaking,
the shaking;apace
my king's fall is rise
my land is anon taken.
The antic,
the discholeric;as
albion her age;as
arras on her skin.
The abstract,
the seas;our compact
heartless disease;
let's decoct,
let's not calm
The beaver,
the savior's hand,
she will for aye crave
for her not a bedlam;
she is sane.
The cautel,
the hidden truth;
Cadent ties;fret
channels in her cheeks
frail less chuff.
The voidness,
the lifeless mess;cloy
there wines of death;
there ciphers;there empty,
shut their tomb.
The wall of wails;
the jews.
the rock that never fails
the doors.
The breaking
the making;apace
enough;her surfeit
her swain eternal
remnant of no transgress.
The maker,
her end;Yeshua,
truimph of her;
light in the cautel,
my messiah;so i break.
This erstwhile avid poet stir "boy"
prone to hyperbole in a "man" newer
(manure) of writing about his foie
gras bulls, (which matter of fact
happen tubby Ruby red)
redirects his gripe, how
he no longer doth enjoy
sharing his rhymes without
(poems), resorts to joy
full tongue in cheek humor to
lament, harumph, decry...
a source of annoy
ants, sans how nearly every
one of my satisfactory
albeit "FAKE" Hiam
Bick Penn- -Tam Meter
most definitely did perturb,
irk, and displease to cloy
administrators regarding gamut of
various and sundry writing groups,
(yes specifically geared to poetry),
(presuming me in cahoots with George Soros)
I suspect did employ
secret double agents groomed by
Mark Zuckerberg, and/
or Sheryl Sandberg deploy
ying ambiguous reference did not tow
arbitrary guidelines to cite nearly each
endeavor of mine as discrepancy
causing equivalent as digital row
points of view not
countenanced from this bro'
penniless, nearly without dough
nuts to dollars, thus to assuage ego,
(which rejections of sorts)
did rankle at first, hence
explanation no mo' crow
wing (except on my homepage),
an abrupt end explains absence
in case any readers did show
interest can still peruse yo
yo wing unstrung thoughts
from this average joe
by enclosing a blank check
addressed to this wise
acre and silently assertive bozo,
who will express how ire doth flow,
yet tactfulness and diplomacy
kept in mind before I go
ranting and raving like some roe
ving madman wading in deep water!
Whether virtual or actual paths cross,
aye great thee ahoy
no fear Mademoiselle or Monsieur,
thy harried style haint cloy
rather, when embarking
on introductory acquaintance
ship, aye employ
swiftly tailored indistinguishable,
asper this wordsmith mebbe goy
or Jew, yet genealogically
thine Semitic lineage,
unknown descendants begat,
one generation after
stitched another thread,
whence warp and woof, sans dat
(moth eaten tattered wool worth
coat of arms), twas slim and/or fat
chance biologic dice throw
adumbrated me Matt,
a skinny, quirky,
and nerdy kid, who sat
alone during lunchtime
at school pained, plagued,
and pronounced with extreme,
where introversion didst agitate
chronic state of misery being alive
immobilized, hogtied, and forfeited
natural predilection
to discover and create
heterosexual relationships,
viz interpersonal experiences
re: raison to date
initial intimate rapport
(anxiety fraught) fate
full situation with a gal
giving her good grief great
(yes, twas Maryann Sage),
who understandably became irate
predicated on lack
of mine demonstrative affection
quickly becoming an unsuitable mate
though now in retrospect
(hindsight always 20/20)
a sudden resurgent spate
finds remembrance of things passed
(with her) engendering
cerebral tete a tete
rankling memories,
hence for death aye cannot wait!
By Humber in a drowsy afternoon,
When for my love long lost alone I pin’d,
My heart itself did sing a saddest tune
For woeful swain I was to be destin’d.
And I in pain then lov’d this timid croon,
That disposition of mine redefin’d
Against the verdure that beside had grown,
And yon bare land where Autumn crops been mown.
Th’ immediate surface expos’d a tiny fish,
And came thereon somewhence his entire train,
That blur’d my eyes, did vision diminish;
In azure ripples solace I did gain.
And every bird that flew out of his niche
Demulc’d mine ears that on the bank had lain.
I think of her and of the friends that me
No more confront and give me company.
My head upon a tufted ground takes rest,
And sees the pallid clouds stoop’d from above
To obfuscate the Sun that veers towards West;
These equalise the woe of futile love,
Thus empathise with youthful mind deprest,
And slothful healing thereto do they serve.
And lo the Hills! whence wafts the coolest breeze
The sole wanderer’s weary limbs can please.
The Lark so tiny that a blob he seems,
For he hath sor’d in unrestrained joy;
And scoffs the pensive man by blithesome whims,
That his gay mind with exultation cloy;
Flutters his wings ‘neath sudden Phoebus’ beams,
That through the pregnant clouds have found their way,
Like beams of Hope enkindle morbid heart,
O lucid Stream, now jocund as thou art!
(Theme--Oblivious)
7th May, 2017
What kind of heaven do you shadow
there beyond your gathering cloud of mist and haze?
Just how do you define a paradise of yesterday
(and dare I toy with it and say)
when luxury begins to seem passê,
and just a bit too tired not to cloy a little?
Is all that mystery a barrier to a romance
that brought the ages to its knees; it seems
like only hours ago the trumpets sounded
for the conqueror, the pounding drums,
the royal colors flashing victory again.
Again! The victory is ours.
Never mind the cost.
Never mind the fading poor
who showed their wounds before the mist came in
most mercifully to hide them--
hide our memory of all the rags of poverty
with which they stubbornly adorn themselves.
What kind of heaven, indeed!
The evening with an unseen stealth
advances with a shadow of its own
let not the trumpets fade away.
let not the glory fall
Spill not the choicest wine of all!
Bedeck with finery, and adoration
our resplendent queen who rules us
though we do not understand quite how,
her powers altogether not assumed,
for we bestow them readily.
All hail, The Queen of Night...
What kind of heaven? Why, it is
the one that we have chosen,
and...it seems we have forgotten
if there was a reason why.
~
THE DEEP OCEAN OF THE MIND
The warm pebbles touch my foot, my sole,
In the turbulent shallows of tide and wave.
My waking self feels the moon and sun pull.
And hidden in shells are beauteous oyster pearls
Of a magical lustre seen in watery dreams:
Galleon bullion from a billion seagirls.
But in murky muddy layers, the hates and loves
Of embedded past events undisturbed
Cloy the skeletons in cupboards of past lives.
Pressing my sleeping soul on the seabed dark:
Beyond the headland and my protective shell,
Cold-blooded reptilian monsters lurk.
In this unmanned land far from the help of mermaiden,
Tentacles grope up from the bed trying to reach the surface:
Threatening to expose what’s hidden.
Grand dreams are ground down, drowned, and end as sands
In a dark land oft-sifted by watery muses,
Where new events sink to be added as new oozes to old beds.
In these sands of time of the weighty deep sunless,
The tide of current events has no pull.
Only memories exist : the fossil remains of my history timeless.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
(Form of this poem is tercet with slant rhyme)
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