Long Coinage Poems
Long Coinage Poems. Below are the most popular long Coinage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Coinage poems by poem length and keyword.
Into the lane
come wind, impetuous rain.
Trees are now a threat,
gesturing wildly, angry,
promising to snap,
eager to pounce,
to crush in an embrace
of leaf and crusty bark.
The village fête, though,
is like the show:
it must go on,
it must go on.
It’s fixed in time,
it’s preordained.
Brave souls
staff the stalls and serve,
to raise the funds
to fix the roof.
Spattered souls – pulling
their cardigans closed, tugging
their knitted hats further down their heads –
bravely measure out the day
in collected coinage
dropped into biscuit tins:
the target must be reached.
Cricket’s off – rain stopped play;
back to the crease another day.
But the ladies of the Guild
fête the thinning punters
with bric-a-brac and homemades,
with orange juice and lemonade.
It’s a parallel world –
the other one’s not here today.
This is all there is.
For this day only,
this is our fête.
Florid banshees recoiled, neck and hankering sneer.
A succinctly exuberant suggestion when selective.
Came on, fell flat with laconic ornamentation.
A miniature jaunt, interment; glove comparted.
Pin-striped foxtails attuned tune maddening clairvoyants.
Precisely predisposed, wine-flavored latten tobaccos.
A wooden-tipped juxtaposition, stilling waisted.
Bygone midge nonguarded, slunk olive drabbing on bayou.
Thicken handkerchief lightly dabbing brow.
Darkness entrapment, fiat practice gymnastics.
Money management, coinage magnet, honored in mathematics.
Backflipping,
Backtracking,
Backpacking.
Super-Soaker moisture, quickie; quickly, socks on prickly.
Sloped incline, inside Mount Saint Helens' Slip 'n Slide.
Glimpse that sure style as muse now springs,
Rouse brilliant poise to craft clear chance;
Echo worthwhile ten thousand things,
Arm affluent voice to draft fine dance;
Thrill precious spills where joy moves brush,
Niche finesse wild that frames each mood;
Etch fragrant fill in dazzling rush,
Speak inner child sheer mystic food;
Signal true pulse in sublime say.
Gain that rich touch where dreams come true,
Use firm impulse to dare pure play;
Indulge as such sheer coinage due,
Delight fond craze as wonder jolts,
Enthuse the daze flash lightning bolts.
Leon Enriquez
24 November 2016
Singapore
Spoke to a cloud today –
the usual conversation
about shape and size,
lows and highs...whether
my need to tote a handy, spring
loaded umbrella...or a better chance
to go without pants, dance
on the beach ~ showing off
thighs, widening sockets
of older generational eyes – he
told me of clouds who gather and
threaten, causing ships to leap into
salty lather, sailors beware!
take battened-down care! – schools
of fishes diving to ocean depths
they share, with ancient vessels (and sewage),
a seafloor covered with sandy
coinage – a diver's delight; when
stormed into sight –
more subjects of our chatter
and debates, were those of tides
and tectonic plates; also of bony-splatter:
living shrapnel, from a well aimed cannon-ball
against a wooden hull, or artillery shell,
man's modern perpetuation, of that never
settling, always heartening seafarer's knell –
I went on to ask, if in all his travels, had
he ever seen anything truly divine?
Like an angel passing...or a saucer
flying...perhaps some mythical dragon
soaring, trying to lasso down a tasty
moon ~ bring him brightly closer,
doing some dragon flips, salivating
for cheesie fondue lips....
So much promise "Green White Green"
So resplendent were you as the;
Union Jack was being lowered and
The Green White Green as foisted
That glorious evening of
The First of October, 1960
So much promise, Green White Green
From the North to the South were you cheered
The East and the South also cheered you.
You were a symbol of nationhood so craved.
Partitioned in 1884 in Berlin a destiny created
Amalgamated the Lord Lugard "Niger area"
a coinage
An Amalgamated so despised by by all
Yet Green White Green Nigeria carved by destiny
Still trying to come to grips with its destiny
Ethnic colourations a parallel across the Niger area.
(Written 10th of March, 2015)
18/04/2017
Mirror Of Time
Surrounded by skeletons,
All just a' running and fast,
Occupying their moments and minds.,
Big time,
Regrets of the past..,
To stop themselves espying..,
The mirror of time.
My friend.., my age, a paperboy.,
On his bike ., cycling to catch the freetime
Of a Sunny Saturday morning.,
In 20 Billion., I'll recall him..,
Free-wheeling, right 'long,
The middle line.
Got an advert inter-netted me.,
A mystic, says my future's all set..,
For a minimal amount of coinage..,
Tomorrow's Knowledge.,
And for a coin?
What'd they hope for with what they purloin?
Guess I'll ask them in 20 billion..,
See if they kinda misspent their days.,
They'll just give me their enamoured bible still.., in some kind of reverence,
And say their guns speak louder than prayers.
I'm just surrounded by all these walking skeletons.,
All running around to nowhere and fast.,
Trynna' occupy their minds and their moments,
But the mirror of time and their payment..,
.....Comes....
At last.
Form:
She was a slow spoon type of woman who did not rush
Unhurried even if her kitchen curtains were in flamed
We tried to get a rise out of her, but she never overreacted
Amazing those of us who were experts at it.
She was a quiet soul, a gentlewoman who understood things
She spoke with the trees, the wind, the woodland creatures
They enjoyed her enthusiastic meditative ways
Her strength was apparent to them, and they flocked.
She dressed simply, keeping her funds to herself
We never knew how much she was worth in coinage
But in the ways of the wise, she was priceless.
Unhurried, yet commandingly confident and strong.
I am the link to the god all mighty
The grand master of this world
Dollar marks and social security carts
I am the warrior of this waste
The revelator of the word made to taste
The most high, the conduit to creation
The grand motivator
I shake your money maker
The rejuvenator on high
Feel the coming of my fire
The revelator extraordinaire
I am all
I think
I am the word in flesh & desire
I'm here to destroy and redistribute, redesign
Hallelujah, I'm here to tell ya!
The revelation of the revelator
Extraordinaire!
So dig down deep and scrape that coinage
Off that chewing gum and chaw
And give, give the holy dollar in sacrilege
As I rise above the great fanged maw
I'm the holiest of holy all praise the
Orange God, meet the prince, el Presidente
the Anointed One, hallowed be thy name
its kingdom come
on his toilet of golden as it is done
his holy war will be fun...
I'm the revelation the way to his pockets and praise
I'm the evaluator
The motivator
The ecstasy of one
Hollow be thy name
His kingdom is undone
His crown is crashing down
Holy is thy name the grand revelator
NO! Not a sound...!
Your online's only motivator
I am the kink to the all mighty
The grand wizard of this world a' rage
I am the war layer of this waste
The revelator of his word
I do not make haste...
The most holies of high,
The conduit to destruction
The antithesis of one
The grand exploiter
I carry the golden gun
The rejuvenator on high,
The ejaculator between succulent thighs!
Feel the coming of my fire
The revelator extraordinaire
I am all I think I am the word in flesh n fire
I'm here to destroy, redistribute, n redesign
Hallelujah, I'm here to tell ya!
Dig deep and give, give, forgive
The price to heaven, the keys to the pearly gates...OH YESSS....
Between these revelators weather clad highs
I'm the revelation
The elevator
The revival of most high
The master of nigh
Revelations n ruination…
REVELATOR
Surprise!
Discarded in yesterdays trash
Cardboard boxes never last
New things arrive in them
Old things stored in them
Rotting boxes on a voyage
Leftovers to those with out any coinage
Tom O’Seary had come down on his luck
Just couldn’t seem to make a buck
An elder at church who snuck a shot in a lurch
Now he sleeps in the rain
Cardboard box umbrellas
His home and his pain
One cold winter day
Poor old tom was dead where he lay
Inside his cardboard box
Was his last writings and will and the lot
I, Tom O’Seary of no determined address
I write these words, for they are my last will I confess
I regret all the pompous ways I was an ass
I missed the meaning of the messages, thus I was crass
Now you will lay me below the green grass
I thought I’d be looking down from heavens gates of glass
I was wrong about that too, so wrong
I am just rotting here in the green green grass
My purpose in life may not have been clear
The irony of death is now I know what’s so dear
Live this life with kindness and love
Or else on your grave will be the droppings of white doves
As they leave
They leave with us nothing but an empty
Treasure to treasure which even Judas Iscariot
The disciple’s Treasure cannot measure
And treasure with pleasure.
As they leave,
They victimize and they seize with impunity
And dishonour students’ union leader’s certificates
Since 2000,for leading peaceful protest
Within and outside campus
As they leave,
They leave with stains of blood of 17 pensioners
And their other colleagues in their hands
While younger colleagues and students mere
Exist like living corpses
They vindictively sack staff who tell them
The naked truth and seize food from their families
As they leave,
They leave with our monetised vehicles and valuables
Monetisation another coinage for stealing people’s
Goods and properties
As they leave,
They relish and enjoy destroying people’s lives
And careers, giggling, later, dexterously smiling
And suddenly laughing hysterically like a naked
Beautifully handsome man dancing to no particular
Beat in Dugbe market
As they leave,
They leave with us fusion of confusion
Sensational exploitation and victimization
Intimidation and bastardization of the then
Glorious University of Ibadan culture and traditon
As they leave,
They leave thinking that their evil deeds will
Be buried and buried with them secretly
Alas!!…the wind has blown and the buttocks
Of the mother-hen is exposed.
Alayande Stephen. T
20th,September,2005
6.00am
Form: