Long Conclave Poems
Long Conclave Poems. Below are the most popular long Conclave by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Conclave poems by poem length and keyword.
My life and my love are the open sea. I do not fear her and she has come to respect this old sailor man.
Alas, it may be that my life of bliss is only temporary because a magical conclave has condemned my tidal journey.
Today, you see, I crossed paths with a dark mermaid whose trickery has anchored my adventures with the briny deep.
That salty wench took the wind out of my sails, leaving me as an empty hull, a moored starfish, writhing in the summer sand.
The gypsy mermaid led me astray with her siren song of sea foam trysts and moonlit water dances.
At once my eyes took sight of her damp bosom and over the bow of my beloved vessel I jumped, nary a hesitation.
Stalwart journey lost.
I swam with all my might so that I could lay my weary head among her iridescent scales with the hope of exploring her seafaring mysteries.
In her arms I laid and to my dismay, the spectacle of a creature more hideous than any life form should spawn, violates all that I can see.
With a hiss more guttural than a sea serpent, she opened her maw.
To my eyes appeared a cavernous gap filled with remnants of my beloved ocean life.
Disgust crawled over my skin as I stepped away in horror, the stench of death permeating the air.
Falling back into the wet abyss I could hear the gypsy mermaid sing her song of death all around me.
Harder and harder I raked my bony appendages, struggling mightily to widen the wake until my despair took over.
One last breath and I let my old friend the sea, take me away.
Fluttering slowly into the liquid unknown, I closed my weary eyes and let go.
At once I sputtered to life, woken by a brackish breeze on my check, burning eyes open as my spent body writhed in the hot sand.
My thoughts are a blur, no conscious desire to wonder upon my seemingly swift arrival to the quiet shore.
I live.
While death continues to burn deep within the recesses of my throat and my heart beats, still I feel lifeless.
Death came for me in guise of that gypsy mermaid and I ran to her without pause, arms wide for embrace.
So, it seems not even the cooling swells are enough to secure me this earthly plane.
Clearly my soul longs for life in the blissful, ethereal realm.
Perhaps next time I cross paths with the gypsy mermaid I will give in to her voracious hallow.
Next time.
Spoken Word Poetry: JAZZ ALIVE
Man alive, and this ain’t no jive, I’m diggin’ on jazz to stay alive/
East Coast rhythms from the 50’s and 60’s, in the heart of the city, where the music breaths/
Up all night to dig the modern jazz scene, and out of the cool midnight cookin’ shows at the Blue Note/Located at 131west 3rd St. NYC the place to be/
City lights flashing, hipsters, record buying, dressed to the nines in retro threads at dive bars and clubs where the real jazz magic spreads/
Catch the scene, and get hip to the latest with the 50s swingin’ jazz machine/
Bill Evans Trio, Modern Jazz Quartet, Miles Davis, Lester Young – Can You Feel the Beat/ It’s Milestones with Miles/At that recording, Davis’s bebop/hardbop music was manifesting into his future modal thing/
Milt Jackson, Chet Baker’s smooth serenade, Dave Brubeck’s “Take Five” in Five Four Time, John Coltrane’s Cascade, Cannonball Adderley, Wynton Kelly’s embrace, Paul Chamers, Jimmy Cobb, all left their trace/
The city never sleeps, no change of pace, play your gig till 2 AM/
Chase the night with grace/catch a cab, hit the jam, Sweet Basil’s swinging where the music never dims/
Women strong and fierce, oh how they loved their jazz men/
Financial support flowed like a sweet refrain/
“This Here, “Dat Dare,” and “Moanin’” what sounds, in Bobby Timmons groove/you know what I mean/
The Tenor Conclave, Hank Mobley, Al Cohn, John Coltrane, Zoot Sims/ Hi-Fi jam sessions to no end/
Max Roach on the scene, Deeds Not Words, his LP/
Abby Lincoln, Helen Humes, Sarah Vaughn, Dinah Washington – jazz voices supreme all greats in their prime/
new record companies popping, day into night: Jazzland, Riverside, Atlantic, Prestige all shining bright/
Philly Joe Jones, Blues for Dracula, man what a scene, what a feeling on Halloween’s Eve, back in the day when Everybody dug jazz, but what happened to the Five Spot Café where the legends would play? /
So dig this, I’m walkin’ to Jazz Alley, Soulmates on my cell I know so well, Ben Webster and Zawinul, their melodies swell/
In this world of music vibes, man, I find my reprieve in modern jazz rhythm and choose to believe in the downbeat of jazz to set me free
By a mysterious twinkle in an all perceiving eye
A form energetic gentle breathing
The grand consummation of design
Ignited by universal dreaming
Enchanted stars into their life giving
The dance conceptual
The ballet between
Principals masculine and feminine
These consorts of the living
Entwined into harmony
To write themselves on creations symphony
Express the form of universal diversity
A sun rising over mountains earth
Forest beneath a conclave of animals
The still waters first expectant rush
Sounds the cosmos fulcrum of birth
There formed the human footprint of infinite sand
Perceptions eternal touch
The spell of ages awakened
And one born into many physical forms
One into many
And as a thread now dangles loose
Disconnected from purpose of cause
Wanders a sea tumultuous
No belief in compass direction lost
Clamoring rudderless the thousand names of God
Pleading a million prayers to suffering must
A walk to the end of identity
This now scattered life of dust
Still searching the obvious for the sacred
Concocting explanations of conscious
Nit picking the tassels of paradises expected faults
The miracles of nothing more than dirt
So fallen to nightmare century
The enemy human devours humanity
And by oath swears itself
Be born of unknown divinity
In thousands generation of quintessence spark
A futures riddle plays diffident mark
But to confound the constant
And miss the perfect impulse of life
The willing blindness brings to darkness
All the blessings of light
Impetuous resolution of a fickle noose
To its own slavery has brought us
From spirits truth distracted
By bubble gum boredom infected
And to the cohorts of fear
Became so entrusted
What but death scares the child
Who alone in innocence could revive
These dull collective eyes
To the promised garden of eternal love
Enchanted stars kissed into their life giving
The dance between conceptual
The ballet of a circle
Feminine and masculine principals
Purpose and cause perfect the impulse of life
To be absent the miraculous
Such would be a true cause for concern
One born into multitudinous of form
Variations on a Theme of Red
Color of bold that daubs the sunset bright
Old fair weather friend of shepherd’s delight
That taints the emblazoned rays of gold
Displayed a glorious red for all to behold
Rare crimson moon adorns a shady backdrop
A Raleigh scattering miracle of red that’s set to shock
Its sign of fate that casts a gloom upon the earth
For some at least who warn of pending doom and death
Blood red that gives the erythrocyte its hue
When paired with oxygen a healthy glow anew
When starved of red, blood slowly turns to blue
A drop in oxygen levels is certain to ensue
Poppy red defines this flower in silent meadow strewn
Whose fragile petals reflect frail life that’s prematurely hewn
These sanguine emblems stand firm upon the plaintive ground
Lest we forget the bravery of which we are so proud
Bright red fans the fiery flames that make a grateful warmth
And cheers and lights a chilly night seated round the hearth
But when misused, this type of red becomes a thing of danger
As out of control this wildfire, is certain to endanger
Rusty red boasts taints of brown with coppery appeal
Less blatant, an iron oxide, for stage lighting it’s ideal
But cardinal red stands lofty as a churchman’s stately dress
This red adorned at conclave is destined to impress
And like the rose my love appears, a summer beauty born
But when the red petals disband, reveals the hardy thorn
Blush red will grant the skin, its rueful splash of cringe
As well as blotchy red after a night out on the binge
So red is the color of differing shades and styles and taints
Its variations abound amongst a multitude of paints
Seeing red at life will give you great feelings of anger
But when upon a canvas, will make it look much grander
Therein lies your beauty
testify to me no longer
of dandelions and daffodils
of butterflies and bumblebees
do not chant as crows
beyond sight scatter
then gather
in frigid naked trees
diseased with
discord
disaffection
malfeasance.
The recompense for
transgressions
lays waste to beauty’s cache
of finery
of magnificence
of splendor
do not disgorge sorrows
breathlessly
from your heaving chest
that conclave of muted
dreams vague and dreary
do not yearn
for lovely things
that
evade you
elude you
avoid you.
Talk then of
gnarled paths
overgrown with weeds
and thick brush
and rotting moss
sing soft melancholies
into indifferent airs
scatter
your tributes breathlessly
entreat this soul
to yearn ache desire
for hues of sustenance
those colors
those images
those portraits
of secret truth
lying in wait
for the impact
of despair
dismay
distress.
Therein lies your beauty
your truth
and your essence
yet do not brave
the chasm for
it is conquered
it is besieged
it is occupied
by forlorn sages
aching to know
what chance their hopes had
from casting dreams
and illusions
and secrets
undetected
into blackened pools
of wonder.
Even dread Beelzebub
hot with rage
blindly jealous
with furious hatred
ravenous for vengeance
who rose from putrid ashes
who rose from rancid death
who rose from deadly hell
fiercely intent on doom
is but feeble
and infirm
for scarcely could he
barely could he
set ablaze
reign terror
wreak havoc
on one tenth of
the thousand worlds
within this volatile
and eremitic imagination.
(click the pic for Angst & Anger)
May Fifth, 2019, A Personal Tribute
Known as Bubba and,
she hapt tubby renown
to savor livingsocial
to five grandchildren, (now grown),
my late mother fourteen
journeys around nearest star died,
nonetheless fought tooth, nail and bone
years presence christened and known
since November 13th, 1935,
though last few years transformed
her into a crone,
yes Harriet Harris chose cremation,
versus purchasing costly plot,
plus an inert headstone
departed realm of the living, her ashes
long since scattered,
linkedin, determined, foregone
within conclave among wind deities,
analogous to mourning doves doleful drone
whipped urning's contents, sans cyclone,
where remains got blown
dispersed along favorite hiking trail
adjacent to Revolutionary War Cider Mill
ghosts of militia long since flown
(situated within Arcola, Pennsylvania),
this sole son January 13 mcmlix,
whom ye birthed, forever alone
within my emotional wilderness
puberty, yours truly tried to postpone
belated gratuity maternal nursing skills
deployed to thwart anorexia,
yet these latter days getting older prone
to reckon eyes, how deathly frightened
ye and papa felt, where grim reaper
got called from me on his telephone
mother intervened ghastly stentorian tone
now, reminiscing tender loving care qualities,
proffered, while warmed by hearthstone,
though I always remained a stranger to thee
as this Norwegian bachelor
signs off from Lake Woebegone.
In the Sistine chapel where frescos peep,
away from watchful devote eyes that weep,
a conclave gathers in reflection deep,
to choose a shepherd for gospels to keep.
Amidst partisan whispers, day and night,
behind closed doors, their sacred task in sight,
as God’s intercessions arouse their might,
where truth and faith commingle to shed light.
Alternate hues from chimneys rise profound,
an opera of prospects missing sound,
a scribble in silence heavenly bound,
in black or white, the church fate is found.
But, between the creases of priestly robe,
a shadow loiters, an ominous probe,
where the past rekindles under a strobe,
when hearts were shattered all over the globe.
The culprits’ scandals stain the sacred ground,
where trust and honor should always abound.
Yet, once these hidden horrors are unbound,
distrust will rile and redemptions compound.
So let the papal smoke ascend on high,
while prayers for their penance fill the sky.
In black or white we stop to question why,
and in God’s faith we find the strength to try
For ‘midst these tribulations there’s a ray,
a bright beacon of hope to light the way.
For the church leadership we kneel and pray,
for redemption to dawn on a new day.
06/04/2025
Pope Leo XIV has been elected 05/09/2025 - American Robert Prevost
Polithieves
On my behalf, a conclave of crows
Then, my Imminent appointment follows
Orchastrated triumph at the polls
Heralds me into Parliament of Owls
Perching in the FAAC Convocation
In control of State notes
I go swift lyk Abacha o.
I have the antidote to your sting
The unremitted signed-off sum
arouses my Swiss account into ******
While you ejaculate Pains after intense
romance with poverty
In my hands lies the antidote to poverty's
venomous sting in your lives.
With unclouded vision
I see the bruised Roads
hospitals with chronic illness
sick Schools diagnosed with illiteracy
Upon dusk, the 9th Plague of God
on Egypt is reawakened:
Transformers with no heartbeat.
***
Your rivers of gold enticing enough
to lure Oludumare dine with injustice
Greediness vampired you with Insatiable
thirst for wealth
Conscience numb like the corpse of Bin Laden;
With flaming greed, that ablazes the ocean.
You emissaries of Esu
Bearers of anguish
Farmers with bountiful reaping yet no sowing.
Santas with sack bulging with hoarded wealth
Drownless river trickles down our faces
Hades empathise, but with you - epicaricacy.
"Tins go beta" - their ghost promise
Yet we are maltreated wives to poverty
Submerged in sorrow with no depth
Our rainy eyes experience no drought
A freight of this weight on my life’s plate I need to ablate with faith/
The fate I taste today I didn’t anticipate/
I’ll leave it to a higher rate and let my God facilitate and orchestrate a mental orate/
I invite him to rant, rave and pave what, where, when, how or why I should crave whatever cave to enslave/
Making that demon behave I’ll be talking to God in my own conclave/
Asking about reasons grace was shown to me help strip my grave ways and gain strength/
With every old antic brewed satanic and too satiric I always had peers frantic while sick/
Now I pick to frolic in spiritual logic with re-dialed optics/
I’ll wait for that day my God will trip me to that tropic/
With my rhetoric rhapsodic towards him so sleek and slick/
I’m elastic to any static during that clock toc-tic/
Never again erratic in any topic no longer moronic or demonic become oh so rhythmic/
These 2 feet are headed down faith street along in a recovery seat/
With the concrete that’s kept me obsolete there are no more secrets to secrete/
No critique for any critic in my life’s creek with this new physique or a new fizz to peak/
Lies after lies peaked that beaked nose towards spiritual logic to speak until I become an antique
BORN IN THE MIDDLE EAST
By Eddie Egbelo Ntebri
Alas thy has been born; from thy dark mother’s womb
To inhale the venomous air from thy bleeding ambiances
What a conclave; concealed by dusty decisions
Dejection and pity shelters thy unpolished skin;
Leaving thee with regrets of a propelling heart
Thy nostrils filled with the breathe of human plasma
Thy ears shielded by war songs
Oh! What a derisible human nature
Fractioned by poverty and hunger
Petitioned by freedom and peace
Oblige by blood and sickness
Appraised by saboteurs and oppressors
Dictated by tyrants and impostors
Delivered by a murky womb
What kind of life awaits thee?
A life of rumble and hurricanes; surpassing the humble spirit of sleep
A life that beseech the passage of horrid times
A fountain life of crisis in melodies
A life that grips fear as the solitary courage for survival
A life that expects a bullet in every sunrise
A life of dismay and objection
Hold back thy tears from its drip
Human history surely needs to change its course
In-plant within thee the spirit of believe
Hope lies beyond the valleys
Sing songs of triumphant victories
Because thy blood will surely be thy peaceful covenant