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.
Our nation - at a crossroads now
With intersecting planes
Of concepts much at odds somehow -
Exacerbating strains.
The Democrats perplexities:
A "Heart without a Head"
Explains irrationalities -
(Dysfunction - simply said).
Republican proclivities:
A "Head without a Heart"
Explains their personalities -
(Flatlines on MDs charts).
Both play the same devout "blame game"
With terse polemics wrought
As zealots on both sides proclaim
Their hyperbolic thoughts.
They come and go yet most remain,
Though times change in due course,
And seem to think it's their domain -
Their livelihood resource.
And, money flows and money goes
Awash in large amounts
But how, from where, no accounts show;
Just smoke and mirrors doubts.
With most seats safely in the till
Few voters needs to heed,
Instead exert, exhort their will
On things inflating greed.
Then, how do we comport with this
Vast wasteland so immense?
We wax and wane and turn and twist -
It's our experience.
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 BEAUTY OF THE RISING SUN
Wake up Pamela,shouts the cock crow
The beauty of the rising sun is now set nigh
Look the window and see the glow
Take sleep away from eyes with a good smile
The rising sun is soo pure, beautiful and bold
It's supremacy over darkness is a joy to behold
Like the breast milk from mother's breast it nourishes the day
Its glow brings light as it says old things are pass away here is another day
The pillow might be the comfort
Oh,look through the window and see people go
The bed might want to give you a lasting hug
But the joy in the rising sun will make you comport
What a beauty to behold
Even the morning breeze give way for it's glowing flame
Rising with steps and calm until it conquers all hood
The rising sun brings us new day without blame.
To Avalon! To Avalon! Twenty-six miles from door to door.
The Catalina Channel Isle: my destination off the shore.
We sail a wide and glassy sea, arriving Friday evening, late.
The Grand is seen from far away, guards the harbor, silent waits.
To stroll the boardwalk, drool as salted taffy’s pulled,
tour Zane Gray’s pueblo house, protect your lunch from diving gulls.
Catch a movie at the Grand’s mesmerizing, giant screen:
magical, this castle fort, not believed unless it’s seen.
Sleeping on the boat at night, rocked to sleep by gentle wakes,
row the dinghy in the morn, skindive for abalone steaks.
Journey back home Sunday night, late arrival into port.
Monday morning, foggy dreamland: school simply does not comport!
—————
(memories of childhood trips to Avalon Harbor on Catalina Island off the coast of California)
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
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!
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
Prone to bloviation pure and simple
rides on figurative high horse,
which doubles up as my Plymouth Duster
analogous to General George Armstrong Custer
(blowing his i.e. mine little big horn)
anonymous readers I unwittingly fluster
poetic patina an artificial, superficial,
yet beneficial ego boosting luster
one mister re: man can muster.
I (no surprise) become
self absorbed with my own palaver drum
ming across the screen written from
me, (an average happy go lucky)
goose stepping honk
king Crimson and clover Caucasian man hum
bull despite being imagine
an infinite string of superlative adjectives jum
bull ling together to accentuate Lum
burr jack ambitions comfortably numb
when modest male
just another brick in the wall
scores of decades during plum
years of mein kampf
watching favorite television programs
in boyhood living rum
while bobbing like a sponge
(donned in square pants)
sprawled on my washboard tum.
No inflated cheekiness for logophile
renown throughout the webbed wide world
for his pro licks
regarding poetic shenanigans ad nauseum.
I comport myself with quiet pridefulness,
misinterpreted as snobbery
plus intellectual whimsy
aware that "FAKE" pretentiousness,
could be mistaken foreign egotistical vitae
furthering, feathering and figuratively
undermining jestingly,
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!!