Long Coddles Poems
Long Coddles Poems. Below are the most popular long Coddles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Coddles poems by poem length and keyword.
Elle laissa tomber une de ses pantoufles de verre, que le prince ramassa bien soigneusement. (Perrault’s tale)
SOUL SLIPPER
magnificent her slipper —
slender, arched, flawless,
resplendent of soul (embodied
the right) a drift of gentle snow
fell as the midnight hand stole
a moon-pale foot, forgiven
of its comfy glass —
with a swarovski sparkle,
possibility of forever-after,
if found and delivered
to the lass with platinum hair —
long and luxurious; diamondiferous
cascade of gown - ankle-sweet.
the royal hound buried it...well
he should have, according to
the snooty stepsisters and their
mother, but instead the perfect soul
at the top of the landing, reminder
of Ella’s smile that bewitched
the adorable prince charming.
curious, he coddles the scenic
looking glass of remembrance —
in love with her tootsie reflection.
the royal hound hunts her down,
sniffs out her kissable perfume,
snarls at the frankenstein-family.
a clever mouse knocks over
a lovely bouquet of wildflowers,
sheltered upstairs where nobody
cares, except the cheese nibblers
well cared for by the classy lass.
released by the princely command,
posed beside the wincing sibs,
she patently slides on hers.
8/28/2020
Contest - Soul Slipper
Sponsor - Kai Neumann
Afternoon ember flare coddles forest
Nodule noses, from dark bark eyes sap drips
Naked soldiers, Summer’s subside promised
Farewell foliage, spun fairy floss gossip
News spew swept red runaway train carriage
Ridiculed witches watch fireworks astral
Rudimentary broom aircrafts encourage
Twilight wake creatures creep from log capsules
Twitching whiskers, dusk susurrate translate
Trampled damp mushrooms mulch to mildew fleece
Orange fungi full moon balloon inflate
Hot flight flame exhales exhausting release
Grey limb wind tortured troops groan, familiar
Guards gravely wait for Winter’s insignia
31st August
Written for Contest:
Whispers of Autumn
Sponsor: John Lawless
II.
Then there are all the attitudes
you see taken up against men,
how the professors always seem
to do nothing but demonize them,
that we’ve done nothing for centuries
but scheme to ‘keep the women down!’
The great boogeyman ‘patriarchy’
must always be put in the ground.
But a simple look at history
renders all these notions absurd,
there was no plan to ‘oppress’ women,
it was just division of labor.
Seriously, before machines
it was all hard work, done best by guys,
brute physical labor that women
would not be long able to survive.
And since there was no birth control
women were pregnant all the time,
not in a space for crushing work
unless you want children to die,
And given how many of them did
before our modern medicine,
you had to shelter the females
or we’d be lost before life begins.
Women did depend on the men
for their protection and their cash,
but men depended on women
for a home and a future, in fact.
This simple truth gets forgotten
by the presence of the modern world,
it’s easy to scream conspiracy,
the way of the feminist churl.
But are men the monsters that
these damn professors all proclaim?
We built this world that coddles them,
that gives shelter to the insane.
We’re the lion’s share of geniuses
who move technology along,
we’re the ones called to be soldiers
to protect you all from the wrong.
And we are half of the parents,
and half the children dear to you,
yet academics call us ‘toxic?’
Your professors are lying to you.
C A U S A T I O N vs. D E T E R M I N I S M
Choices form towards our preordained trajectory
Decision built bricks stack factors progressively
Circumstancial pegs compile in accord to faculty
Dogmas of downtrodden clogged with profanity
Circles run rings around predictions, an equator
Divides same from same in symmetrical centre
Cogs who push their neighbours never blame us
Duration in environ expidited by wheel's impetus
Certainty occurs, journey obscured from turning
Decorum's shield prohibits peripheral discerning
Contingent coddles confederates, cave sedation
Dictated picture is droll pattern of premeditation
Character patter converses with class conducive
Dialogue delays, latitudinal liberal splay spruking
Concious diverges in a dual carriageway purview
Deliberation channels hairpin 's curve impromptu
14th February
Fortitude Breaks
Causation Chains
Irony an underdog in the high stakes of worth,
Slippery in it's anonymity,
Invisible to those who don't see its threat,
Dangerous to those affected by its hypocrisy -
Wielded by the powerful,
The oppressors secret weapon -
The weaponisation of indoctrinated control,
Of the ignorant and wilfully blind
Privilege defies the moral constructs of a biased world,
Irony takes place with the intention to control,
Based on the ideologies of the false superiority of the white man,
To control the world’s view of the black collective
A way to keep the oppressor at the top of the chain of social hierarchy
To fuel their crippled ego of self worth -
To seem better than the average black person,
To hide their desire for our blackness,
The one thing that is uncolonisable
Irony and hypocrisy go hand in hand,
A powerful duo, allied to the white man
A business venture benefiting of the downfall of a people -
They are threatened by,
A capitalistic greed used as an excuse to uphold racist policies,
And to keep the black collective in a constant state of povertous situations,
To continue the cycle of racist rhetoric and targeted propaganda,
A way to continue the biases they spew, with fabricated ‘facts’
Despite it not being the truth, but in return it coddles their insecurity issues
Memories like a Chinese dragon
fluid~~~multihued~~~rattling.
I wrestle my brain,
p i
i t
n
n d
i o
n w
g n
until I find the origin
of its negative thought.
A hall of mirrors
w a n
r n e
i d b
n u
k l
l o
e u
d s
scuttling toward Winter’s age.
Underscore of pinings
thought to be important
…….and they are…….
sculpted scores of Octoberfest.
I Spring’s zephyr
s )
( )
w )
( o
i )
( n
n )
( )
g )
======
releasing endorphins
from my carefree childhood.
Warmth under my mother’s coddles,
my shell well cared for,
!
( )
( )
( )
( )
*************
as I care for her now,
as her casing fills with chemo drips.
I ponder the seasons of life,
snaking inwards ~ ~ ~ ~
peck at the visceral shell.
Summerhouse warmth, waterborne-eyes
closed in hibernaculum-chrysalis.
0
0 0
0
I shall not ponder my death!
Nor shall I write a sonnetbituary.
10/26/2020
Inward Reflections Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Cooke
He studies the dinner card,
ticks off the boxes for Jell-O
and fruit cups; anticipates a deliciousness
that he will later swallow mechanically
on a plastic spoon.
He’s fascinated by his own breath;
tasting it on the exhalation, savoring a coolness,
as lungs struggle to filter
the chemical soup of the ward.
He imagines sipping an effervescent sky,
pouring it through a revitalized body. Shivers,
as fingertips recall tactile experiences.
He turns on his side, curls up into himself.
The skin of his curved spine delicately corrugated.
A nurse checks his chart, adds a note.
She does not record
a swaddling pall covering his flesh
within which his wife, dog, even a 1958 Plymouth
coddles him in a chrome enclosure for memories.
At night, he enters a potting shed
A place evolved from sweet tobacco, string
and dark red begonias.
From a gun-metal tin,
he takes a small Swiss Army knife,
scrapes a yellow clay from under his fingernails.
He waters psychic seeds
with the milky drops of his dreaming eyes.
By dawn plasmid tendrils will have sprouted,
they will bind up all his loose ends,
then he will drift like a gibbous moon
over the rib-sprung hollow of his bed.
A lovely lady beguiles a luckless lad
Of unwitting others she might have had
The fairest face may be foul of heart
Deft deceit is how now it shall start
Like fated moths drawn to the light
Novices can't tell wrong from right
This lady then connives confusing witch's what
Spins spells that do convince what is not
She conjures him to shirk sacred duty
So sure he's blinded by her beauty
She coyly coddles this beamish boy
His twisted thinking in frabjous joy
He peers deeply down into her soul
Seeing darkness finding blackest coal
It hearkens back to Eden's first sin
Stirs silent shadows sunk long within
Beware that all's not as it seems
Beauty's illusion can change what it means
Purpose or pulchritude which will impress
When next we witness a damsel's distress
This little voice keeps telling me to
keep my head down and plow forward.
The further I go, the more debris clogs the road.
It is broken in some places
Gale-force winds are ever-present.
Sheer drop-offs on either side.
The sky spits blue ice most of the time.
The voice also tells me to dress the soul in layers.
But one can only layer up and plow so much.
The heart will overheat
and the soul comes to an abrupt stop...
When the voice becomes too hoarse to comprehend.
Maybe this is when God coddles the reins.
Guiding this swayback toward the light
and toward St. Peter's gate.