Long Comprised Poems
Long Comprised Poems. Below are the most popular long Comprised by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Comprised poems by poem length and keyword.
Heart Muscle
I. (in Laments)
The heart is a muscle they say. Well this muscle is tired when overused. A muscle is comprised of many molecules. The molecules weigh more than FAT. The muscle when tired is weak. When awake it is strong! Well the heart is tired and feels like death. The muscle has been neglected for pure carbohydrates. The carbohydrates are a quick source of energy; however, this quick energy source is only good for short-term gains. It is not a beer that calms the muscle down. It is a fire that melts the marsh mellow to liquid. Tired to all holy hell is the muscle. Why Mr. Lights of the roof is this muscle tired. After a long time the heart has given too much. The heart has not helped itself gain anything.
II. (Largo tempo)
The valve is closing. The pressure of the blood flow is going. Blue blood is now here. Cold, dead, muscle. This is the end of my human life. My muscle is gone. I only have a skeleton as a former shell of myself. My spirit has a form in the afterlife; a form of no constraints, still a form with rhythm and blues.
III. (Bb Blues pulse =120)
The end has come. The wind is my friend. I am the ghost. I am the spirit. I see others joining my ranks.
The heart is now a dead muscle.
never afraid to ask many a question
never afraid to undertake a suggestion
are those with forward thinking drive
as they reach out further so they strive
steering away far from the hive like mind
and the blindness eyes of most humankind
not becoming lost inside the vast mind invasion
or falling for the tricks of one true great salesman
they don`t want to lose what they freely own
rather bled blood then be another duplicate clone
so they live their lives risking to be ostracized
never being the ones to become totally comprised
listening to both sides before making a decision
something we`ve lost with this new world vision
because they have different views and opinions
they are told they are societies biggest villains
Fifty years ago today
an attack was well underway
On Yom Kippur, October 6
Israel was in a fix
Egypt had invaded the Sinai
Syrians climbed down the Golan Heights
Arabs sought to recapture land
which they regarded as theirs 'by rights'
Three weeks later, Israel was up off her heels
at the gates of Cairo and Damascus
troops ready to seal the deal
But the US said No! Israel had to go
back to the preexisting status quo
2,400 died in defense of their nation
as Israel began to grow impatient
with their supposed Allies in the West
When on your holiest day, your enemies attack
Why should you give what you captured back
______________________________________
The 2,412 soldiers who died comprised 1% of
Israel's Jewish population in 1973. A comparable
figure would be 300,000 American soldiers dying
in a four-week war in 1973.
I pored over my weather maps contriving a prognostication,
Of the weather forecast for the consumption of the British population.
It comprised all the towns, villages and shires from A to Zed,
To include the burgs of Wookey Hole, Wyre Piddle and Guys Head!
The towns of Crazies Hill and Cuckoo's Nest could expect clear skies,
Nasty, Mucking and Mousehole were included in this surmise.
Rain bode for Scrooby, Spital, Tiptoe and Brian's Puddle,
Ugley, Ramsbottom, Fitchfield and the village of Affpuddle.
Hail would visit the towns of Piddlehinton, Diddlebury and Pill,
Sots Hole, Inkpen, Birdlip, Scagglethorpe and Toot Hill.
I warned Catbrain, Clock Face and Daffy Green to expect sleet.
That also included Giggleswick, Kibblesworth and Cackle Street.
Broadbottom, Muggleswick and Barking were to be aware of fog,
As well as Yelling, Wigglesworth, Slaggyford and Black Dog.
Scattered clouds were billed for Crackpot, Beer and Fairy Cross,
And for the areas of Fugglestone, Great Snoring and Balls Dross.
Beanacre, Fatfield, Wham and Jump could expect some light snow.
Raging gales I predicted for Lickey End and Harrowbarrow.
Conditions change in minutes in High Brooms and Frog Pool.
I dare not divine weather for those blokes, 'cause I'm nobody's fool!
A book comprised of sixty-six,
with content of a unique mix.
Though found in almost every home,
It’s very much an unread tome.
The authors were a motley crew,
Into whose minds the Spirit blew.
Its storyline is God’s great love,
revealed through Christ sent from above.
Most other books, mere knowledge give,
But The Book changes how we live.
It has a storied history,
Yet most find it a mystery.
As best-seller, it has no peers,
It outsells all books year by year.
Most governments its impact fear,
They ban it from the public sphere.
The more obscure The Book is made,
the more society’s morals fade.
Crime rates increase, there is no peace,
As men are controlled by caprice.
You want to save the human race?
then give The Book its rightful place.
We sure can use God’s saving grace,
So, let’s stop flying in His face.
Humanity is comprised of people of varying skin shades,
white, black, red, brown, olive, and yellow, to name a few.
And amongst every skin color, there are intelligent, stupid,
honest, deceitful, friendly, hateful, hopeful, and depressed people.
And yet, they all share one thing: they are human!
Strangely, we can't relate to one another, though we're all related.
Thus, we form tribes, not families,
but an exclusive circle of like-minded people!
Tribalism is a primal force, segregating people into groups,
like our people, their people, and those other people!
What is a country? It's merely a group of similarly-minded people;
who arm themselves and claim a piece of the Earth as theirs,
erecting invisible borders to keep others away.
People will always distrust people, because people can't be trusted!
Influential, powerful, wealthy, and shadowy people
call the shots; for they're unequivocally corrupt people!
People get ostracized for being different,
poor, lazy, discontented, and homeless:
the kind of people society considers disposable.
These distinctions include the old, young, frightened,
challenged, hungry, and oppressed people.
Political, deranged, delusional, religious, and unscrupulous people
all share one trait: they're loyal only to the tribe they identify with.
These conflicting tribes huddled behind their barbed-wire walls
will one day kill all the people, and thus, there will be no more people!
Samuel Woodruff was a very old man, who once drummed for the army;
That marched to his rhythmic music, along with all fifers, playing hearty.
That was a lifetime ago, in dawn days so pink, golden, and richly green;
Like petal strewn time moving backward, to the premiere, pivotal scene.
Samuel never stopped playing drums, like mulberry heartbeats of sunset,
And played them after his daily walks; like the love you will never forget.
His fast friend, Comet, followed him, through fields of fascination flowers;
As he made up ditties to match the beat, of the flaming, futuristic hours.
Of faithful family, Sam had none, but for his fond, faddish sister, Pauline;
Who felt every fandangle pulse of summer, like allure on the silver screen.
Sam lived in the house of memories, of past and present changing places;
Where often rolling thunder was noted, like apricot roses, in cream vases.
Starlight snuck in windows, on a street that never seemed to say goodbye;
As sophisticated moon adored supper music, of redbirds, next to ebon sky.
Neighbor children noticed Sam's ditties, and often trailed behind to listen,
To each verse of nostalgia, featuring him. They loved all the fun repetition!
'Mad dog skullcaps' were running amok, when black-eyed Susans, sparkled;
And bright daffodils recalled Narcissus, when magenta butterflies, startled.
'Cupid's dart' flowers were hitting the mark, working magic in love potions;
While chrysanthemums spread the 'truth,' in vivid colors, of every emotion.
Samuel was heading home, one weekend day, and a huge crowd followed;
Comprised of both children and adults, like pretty colors, sunset swallowed.
The people sang along and clapped with Sam, to the song so easy to learn,
As Sam played his drum to the march, elated with sweet memory's return!
Many years have gone since then, and though Samuel's no longer around,
Folks still march while singing his song; as violets spring from the ground.
'This old man, he played one,
He played knick-knack on my thumb,
With a knick-knack paddywhack,
Give the dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.'
It rests 'neath spreading sycamores on the small-town square,
A venerable old relic of the Civil War affair.
The sun casts a fleeting glint as it rises anew each dawn,
On the brass barrel of the cannon on the court house lawn.
Oft' on languid summer days I like to pause and muse,
About its past and the brave men who once comprised its crews.
Tho' long silent it still has a powerful story to tell,
As in the heat of battle it spewed its shot and shell.
I wonder where and by whose skilled hands it was made.
Did Johnny Reb or Billy Yank light the fuse for its grenade?
Was it present at Gettysburg, repelling with deadly barrage,
The cavalry of General Pickett's daring but fatal charge?
I proudly recall that my great-grandpa was in the artillery.
Could he have manned it at the Battle of Franklin, Tennessee?
Did it accompany General Sherman on his march toward the sea?
Did it witness the surrender to Grant at Appomattox by Lee?
Little children now happily scamper on this stately old piece,
That fought for the North or South and saw the battles' cease.
Old soldiers with far away stares recall its flaming roar,
Watch the children play and silently pray, "No more war!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
with natural binaural and visual ambience...
courtesy bumblebee pollinating clover
Diaphanous wings yield live airplay
vibrations undulate thru ethereal airway
rippling glorious edifications allay
gorgeous fauna and floral array
ears and eyes beheld
awesome buzzfeeding display
flight of the bumblebee laden with pollen
analogous to elegant performance
starring Faye Dunaway.
Crossword puzzle momentarily
distracted by amazing fete
observing crucial insect necessary
transferring pollen to pistils of flowers
with each subsequent visit
impossible mission to differentiate
one amongst countless
gently rumbling Bombus.
June 14th, 2020 thoughts
of doomsday far and away
pitch perfect afternoon yippie yie yay
I could squander hours
observing miracle worker relay
unwittingly alighting then planting pollen,
i.e. the male gametophyte
(DNA) of seed plants
transported to female part of flower
to enable plant to reproduce.
Quintessential lesson relearned
live life foreplay
until... hair turns
more'n fifty shades of gray
pronouncedly more noticeable since salons
and barbershops under lockdown
onset of coronavirus
(COVID-19) spells hooray
satisfying grim reaper
until vaccine acquired
meanwhile (back at the ranch)
think laboratory smart people linkedin,
qua advocating preventive measures,
a fancy word for test
iz pseudo synonym immunoassay
whispered to yours truly courtesy
twittering and tweeting blue jay.
How uncomplicated existence
allotted to birds and bees
simple straight forward purpose
additionally as by-product
to cultivate cheese
just cut away any moldy part
lest thee exhibit symptoms
synonymous contracting poison
(less painful than scorpion sting),
nevertheless nsync with illness
expanding thru body
on par with generic
garden variety archetype disease
ah, I sure wish being human
constituted less cumbersome complication
instead comprised
supercalifragilisticexpialidocious ease
as iterated with aforementioned
half dozen simple life forms
some of which can survive extreme temperatures
and/or even suffering thru a deep freeze
now upon reaching the end,
I expect nothing more emphatic
than ye to ejaculate Geez!
The Journey from Crimson
Orange chakra on stage two of the journey perennial sacrum’s waves getting longer
a sensual colour accomplished spraying moistening waters tides and you
the rider surfing growth in lengthening wave swell searching for meaning
riddles comprised enter-prized rising let flow webbed intermingled for
pleasure desire escape from orange agentic mushroom fields of human depravation
longing in what is here for now yet to arrive amber whiling push-pull of senses
Tangerine like Kama Sutra’s challenge in naked nocturnal novel nirvana mirrored
layers of sensual vital living skins the secretions the challenge breathlessness
ascending from carnelian climax from joyful attained building blocks on the path and
unfaltering voyage to peace condensing violence to kindness
27th `July 2016