Long Comport Poems
Long Comport Poems. Below are the most popular long Comport by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Comport poems by poem length and keyword.
Fortunate Eight of Infinity
Boundless in expanse your revelation infuses my space over time
Impermanent and fathomless shadows of light illuminate all discomfort
Sideways not fallen limitless pulchritude standing tall you comport
A paragon an epiphany and core you stretch your number on the line
I adore the Universe with all opposites and contradictions as they spell
Harmony and blazing eternity while they absolve seeming ambivalences
It casts a spell of endless enchanting charisma and enables my soul's senses
The figure of eight turned on its side is my symbol casting infinite love so well
10th July 2018
Rapturousness wrought Unitarian
transformational spiritual rapport
traversing thru space/time
continuum appending increasing
chronological orbitz as an Earthling,
frivolously did cavort,
who (with ever more energy)
required exhaustively to sport
fretfully clinging to each moment
after downing a quart of port
poured by Norwegian bachelor
farmers of Lake Woebegone amort
admirable administrators in
conjunction with last rites opport,
who knit tee necessitates
intercession of a Holy Vintner import
tint so ill fated mortal, (who met
their demise) gets special escort
delivered with utmost diligence as
if destined to Mar-Lago resort
accompanied with trumpeting
"NON FAKE" grim reaper cohort,
the grateful dead black hooded
bone a fied scythe swinging bro
cracking gallows humor comport
to perk spirits of deceased, a
generic, nondescript, uber fort
tuff hide will never need a passport
after coursing into the afterlife
way beyond the outer limits of fort
hit who'd, yup even light years from
twilight zone, this dimension in short
to require an eternity to reach,
hence body stiffened by rigor mortis
securely strapped into davenport
essentially a coffin tricked out by Norte
American latest technological gizmos,
an eclectic assortment recycled, reimagined,
repurposed, paraphernalia to Voldemort,
thus one cold body helping contribute to MAGA!
Like an Axe Used To Split Kindling for Fire
Like an axe used to split kindling for fire,
Her beauty repeatedly strikes at my heart,
Encouraging sparks of desire that inspire
Me to bravely approach her without swagger.
I, in livery, and she, robed in fine cloth,
Comport in accord with that which is proper;
Express youthful, sentimental, foolish tropes,
Indulged in cautiously during our rapport.
Blustery adaptations amuse our spirits
At her pleasure, confident in my prescience.
We play charades insouciantly within limits,
Aware of time and place and our adolescence.
Music warms the heart’s revival of remembrance;
Our minds exploit these encounters with exuberance.
God laughs when fools behave like racists
All persecuted individuals are His children
God laughs when a few are obviously chosen
And receive preferential treatment under the basis
That the lighter complexion is superior and better.
God created one race. The same blood flows like a river
In all God’s children veins. This blood is red, not amber
God laughs when a few are obviously chosen
All persecuted individuals are His children
The lighter shade is neither superior nor better.
Fools love to divide, to disunite in order to conquer
God laughs when extremists comport themselves like fools
God does not like when his children are treated like tools
All persecuted individuals are His children
God laughs when a few are deliberately chosen.
Copyright © May 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
You’ve got to have a certain knack
when opening your Silly Sack;
the beasts within will soon attack
with no hold barred, no turning back.
Now these are not the monstrous sort,
it’s just that they do not comport.
Of mischief, they are never short,
treat mayhem like it is a sport.
Prepare for giggles, snorts, and laughs,
guffaw at awkward giraffe gaffes,
where pigs with dirt soap take mud baths,
where self-signed cars give autographs.
Juno the dog is in there too;
you know what she likes best to do.
She’ll give horse rides, and when we’re through,
we’ll see our parents at the zoo!
So loose the drawstring, open wide;
heck, you might even jump inside!
A Silly Sack’s the place to hide -
with imagination as your guide!
----------
I wrote this as quatrains first, then remembered the contest and wrote it as limericks - frankly, I like the quatrains better...
The old, relaxed; we pour ourselves a glass.
There is no need to stretch or change our way.
We know the flavors here; the only task:
ensuring it is just like yesterday.
Like sediment, this attitude does weigh;
we lie immobile, deign to be disturbed,
exchange bouquet for residual gray,
our appetite for joy, completely curbed,
our thoughts reserved to naught but that which is deserved.
Thus, when it comes along, we’re unprepared;
our skins are too inflexible to grow.
The thought of making room just leaves us scared,
so we eschew the new for what we know.
That which does not comport, we must forego,
and in this way, we struggle to survive;
our aging, brittle walls, like Jericho,
must be torn down to breathe, to come alive,
for we were meant to stretch, that we might truly thrive.
A leopard cannot shed its spots alone;
a dried out husk cannot make itself new.
The old man must be utter overthrown
before with new wine he can be imbued.
The old skin, by a Word, banished from view,
no longer to restrict and much annoy;
a transformation occurs through and through:
the old man dead, a child of God, a boy
who bubbles forth in endless, effervescent joy.
----------
Musings on Matthew 9:17
These are Spenserian Stanzas, 10A:10B:10A:10B:10B:10C:10B:10C:12C
In the beginning was a quince
And a lady named Eve, where was her prince?
When she was in need, Satan got to Eve
“Did God really say?” was Satan’s foray
Why has the apple’s name been sullied, and bullied
Is the argument valid (in this word salad)?
The confusion of transgender, was put in a blender
(It was not Adam and Steve, or Madam and Eve)
And what came out, was quince-essential doubt
It’s a blender schism, to mix transgenderism
And what fell on Newton’s head, begs the question instead
At the end of the path of math, is the numerical aftermath
Just because the numbers fall into line, doesn’t prove that a theory is right
The numbers can so easily comport, with the globe or flat sort
The gravity of this situation, is we need The Original Consideration
In a flat and free fall spin there is a sense of it all within
Am I bad mouthing the apple with which I grapple?
I have a right to be heard, even if I say “that’s absurd”
(This tug-of-war we tussle with
Negative, affirmative (and back and forth we go
EI EI O)
On God’s farm he has some terms
EI EI O
And on this farm, we have to learn
EI EI O
Tangents and terms, numbers and words
EI EI O
And the schoolhouse rocks down the path of math
EI EI O
Which theory do we need query
EI EI O
And to me and you (and the Berean gumshoe)
EI EI O
Embrace the task and we must ask, “What did God really say?”
I feel for the abused Chinese Korean Japanese..'
In twenty twenty, the vision was skewed altered
By some loaded news' as the bbc and itv and sky
Did the bidding, from on high.' They reported of much?
Mainly fear and death and as such.' they whipped into a frenzy
Did not comport sensibly, rather ran stories on a spitting
Causing a killing ' that claim though un-proven' fed through
The people like leven; most poision-ed.' So fellow humans
Suffered, against them curses were uttered.' Then violence
Unseemly unleashed.' Such a shame there was seen.'
I ask why such was the theme.? I hope much better is
Engendered, And should these media outlets be held?
Sequesterd.? There should be a redress.! I'm proposing
To combat false information, that should not be the least.'
Instead on truth may we feast.)
For He ministers, and will here govern precious?
(Yeshua) most welcome' He alone is the best!!
I comport myself with quiet pridefulness,
plus intellectual whimsy
aware that "FAKE" pretentiousness,
could be mistaken foreign egotistical vitae
furthering, feathering and figuratively
undermining jestingly,
poetically, and zealously
oozing, gushing, bubbling over
with faux snobbish suave re:
pulse sieve literary fatuous
haughtiness, and ludicrous narcissistic pre
ning all the while chuckling to me
self, and indifferent if
some anonymous browser
with Dutchman's breeches rolled up
upon cresting wave over Zyder Zee
disparages mine harmless
badinage, hence if ye
might qualify as such nitpicker,
who doth cavil - dee
crying wading thru
quagmire of verbiage,
a gentle reply to thee
might be more wise to turn energy
toward, how in many another country
the village people haint so free
spouting, sporting, and spoiling,
vis a vis intellectual sparring
(albeit innocent) black
barbs hatch chee
ving, and raising urgent
attention against he
(who whiz squelching
constitutional rights) re:
pressing, rescinding, reviling,
et cetera access toward key
underpinnings within these fifty
constituent United States
of America beckon alacrity
for obliging citizens across
all points of the compass to alee
v8 his indiscriminate flee
sing, sans bedrock nation could tee
tear on the brink of calamity,
which political plug quite inadequate
to staunch hemorrhaging, viz upending
many a sacred liberty,
and foo to you reprimanding
against any agree
gee us objection to pen about polly lee
ticks and/or religion!
You’ve got to have a certain knack
when opening your Silly Sack
for the beasts within
will attack to win
with no hold barred, no turning back.
Now these are not the monstrous sort,
it’s just that they do not comport.
It’s mischief they seek
and havoc they wreak,
treat mayhem like it is a sport.
Prepare for giggles, snorts, and laughs,
guffaw at awkward giraffe gaffes,
where well-tailored storks
use knives, spoons and forks,
where self-signed cars give autographs.
Juno the talking dog - she’s in there too
and you know what Juno likes best to do.
She’s as big as a horse;
we’ll ride her, of course,
go see the adults kept down at the zoo!
So loose the drawstring, open it wide;
heck, you might even jump down inside!
But there’s no turning back
from a loose Silly Sack
when imagination is your guide.
—————
for the Children’s Limericks Poetry Contest
sponsored by Eve Roper
written on 11/30/22