Long Congregated Poems
Long Congregated Poems. Below are the most popular long Congregated by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Congregated poems by poem length and keyword.
Thin petals shine like rubies on a radiant plain,
solar flares are congregated in votive candles.
Vowed to gleam, regardless of the morning rain,
ambiguity was minimized by sunrise anvils.
In the gloom, the mist vanishes, executing a sane.
As the roots expand, the sprouts grow in kind,
we will apply a dome to secure it from rainfall.
We admire them when they finally grow up and bind,
perceiving our trees naked, we bear the sprawl,
returning to the ancient oak, they are to remind.
Oh, Moon, relax as you quietly fade out of sight,
an Arc of vivid sapphire hues, an Airy-haven Edenic.
The stars vowed to keep the night sky bright,
nature, your brushwork is vibrant and scenic.
Venus nodded as the moon flickered at her site.
Written: October 08, 2022
THREE STANZA POEM IN QUINTAIN (SICILIAN) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: L MILTON HANKINS
An active adolescent auld adored
before bipolar behavior began,
articulating anger all abhorred,
became Beelzebub’s best boogeyman.
Called clergy congregated, confident,
discerning deep down, devilish divide;
collectively cajoled - concomitant
deemed demonic delivery denied.
Extinguishing exorcism’s effect,
(for fiendish foe, ferocious, fiercely fought)
escaping existentially erect,
found friars’ faith faint-hearted, fairly fraught.
Gregarious, ghost gracious greeting graunts;
hereupon, his holy harassers haunts.
————-
graunt - an archaic spelling of grant
alliteration using the letters of the rhyme pattern: abab cdcd efef gh - a sonnet's rhyme pattern would end in 'gg', but went with a 'gh' couplet, well, because...
silly, struggled with this one - reminds me a little of the Sons of Sceva mentioned in Chapter 19 of Acts...
On The Prairie
Congregated on the prairie western clear with beasts
Cowboy chews tobacco, swirls black liquid, spits
Projectile clean, target hit, lizard quick
Long tongued creature stunned
No time to snatch a timid bug
So much hungry love undone
Reptile rolls over rounded rock pin ball like
Looks both ways before crossing into dark
Cowpoke silhouetted, floated on campfire
Smiles Clint Eastwood style
Slips a small stogie through cracked dry lips
Moves it from left to right
Lights it, inhales harsh life
Jagged teeth, yellow, tinted by time
Clinched while he thinks about old wars
A warrior down to the core
Grins at the beans bubbling up
Old iron skillet and the western sky
Gazes at the long lost stars through smoke
Shakes sand off hat and boots when done
Speaks not a single word
But with a sigh he rises and rides off
This epidemic re:
murderous love affair perfervid
with gruesome morbid
fixation allowing, enabling
and providing terrifying
trappings, whence went Pandora out the lid
anger loosed maniacally gun down
(in S-L-O-W mo) recorded by hid
madding crowd, each person
locked in crosshair grid
source (perhaps pathetic plan
premeditated) employing did
da ding from flying bullets,
a coterie upping the ante vis a vis bid
ding fare thee from odious
loading incendiary fiery clips.
Trigger happy homicidal maniacs slake thirst
to take aim in billeted soiree
with deadly precision, and spray
with pump posse city,
a congregated engaged groupon
of people), with egregious pay
shunt and methodically
mowing down, a slew - nay
re: doth unsuspecting
victim aware - delivering may
hem to this anonymous
American citizen as well
family and survivors, who lay
down their sorrows,
which bring revulsion and gray
obsolescence of faith in mankind to fray.
Death be not proud,
nor ought airtime allocated to these
heinous cavalier avengers
foe tee eight-hour special (proffers
twitchy finger itching to squeeze
especial easy access
to sophisticated high caliber compact
offspring doth please
manifesting those prize pride
killing machine owners never freeze
rapaciously with so much ease
lethal gimcrackery cutlasses
even a lil whippersnapper kite runner
unleashing whipping cords
lacerating more so than ropes will ever do
necessitate strong control
to stem violence as disease.
I spent six glorious days at the bottom of the ocean
I had turned mermaid, so needed no special equipment.
The seaweed parted and the kelp sung me a melody.
I was the ultimate siren, letting signals lose that sunk ships.
I was a danger, for sure. The sea did not know what had happened.
The sharks tried to threaten me, but I had a knife in my secret pocket.
I filleted them, and ate them, and threw their fins to the water top.
They congregated like broken oars, swirling in a pathetic circle.
Only six days, and yet, they were marvelous. I was all powerful.
A sorcerer had transmogrified me, and I was grateful for the experience.
I'd always wanted to live in a sea; where I danced with beluga whale.
His name was Charlie after the dance, and he loved it! I loved him too.
You can do so much in six days if it includes living your ultimate dream.
Expecting to be an assertive mermaid my whole life this was Nirvana!
If nothing else, I taught the ocean to respect dainty little mermaids.
Mermaids hugged me bye, I had become their queen in only six days.
Forgotten faces
We only get one summer to remember,
The rest blurs into a haze.
This one had lasted long, and the girl
I lived across the river, a beautiful little stream
that serenely floated down to meet its doom.
September, still summer though I knocked, a neighbour came, said she had gone abroad, a Dane.
Unseemly haste! I smiled, shrugged my shoulders,
women! And I suffered the longest night.
Daybreak brought a chill; dark clouds congregated it rained.
Years later, I was in a bar in Copenhagen, an older woman with
too much makeup
on her haggard face, but those eyes, a memory stirred.
Her hands shook when pouring beer into my glass,
long nights, she said, and swiftly left, and a younger woman
took her place.
I left too,
outside, I looked up and saw
the curtain on the first-floor move;
those eyes.
I had seen them before but refused to remember.
There was no better disc jockey than J. J. Wilson.
In the Big Apple, he was considered number one.
Over the radio waves, his listeners called him the best.
His agent gets him a new job out west.
What radio station starts broadcasting at the midnight hour
with only five thousand watts of power?
Here was J. J. in an odd place so dark and cold.
His surroundings were a small building with equipment quite old.
His agent named Sid had Emily for a wife.
A short time before, Emily took her own life.
Any involvement in her death J. J. would deny.
Out fishing with another friend was the disc jockey’s alibi.
The broadcasting was planned with no deviation.
Mr. Wilson had to play certain records at the station.
The sounds were the callings of the evil masters by name.
They congregated to sacrifice their victim in a crucible’s flame.
J. J. saw some framed images on the wall.
What he noticed was something that would appall.
The pictures were disc jockeys who worked at the station.
Each one was employed for only one night’s duration.
J. J. Wilson soon joined this deceased group of elite.
Satan took Mr. Wilson’s soul as he went down to defeat.
Based on the Night Gallery episode “The Flip Side of Satan”.
Colors once blossomed radiantly
Filling the canvas with life and hope
Brightening even the darkest room
With love and prosperity
The ceiling once stood tall and proud
Even in the face of the worst storms
The walls were a profound comfort
In the deepest of desolation
People once congregated here
Filling the room with laughter
As smiles peppered every face
It was but a sense of community
What once was is no more
For here I remain in a crumbling ruin
With a battered faced
And tattered clothes all alone
For the years have not been kind
When days are long but years are fast
The degradation of health takes time
But one day slaps you fast
I call this the cathedral of lamentation
But really it is the confines of my mind
Once a beautiful escape that is now
A prison in which I can never escape
The old crow knows my face and does not like me at all
for in the corn filed I threw rocks at him while shouting Caw! Caw! Caw!
Now in the mornings he is perched high into the trees
watching and waiting for me to get out and leave
Once I am outside and walking down the path
he dive bombs me hoping for a cut or a scratch
I try leaving from the side door but his friends to him warn
cawing twice for him to come and together they swarm
So now I wear a monkey mask and use a walking stick
trying to confuse the crows or give them a whack and hit
At last the old crow died his body on the path
another crow spotted me staring at him and screamed in wrath
A mob of crows flew into the trees and on the branches perched
still and quiet they congregated as if they were in church
Than all at once a chorus thunder of shrill calls
aggravated and scolding tones they warned of a death fall
Suddenly the mob of crows launched and disperse
shaking and quivering the branches left none the worse
So now I can walk freely on the path and go where I need to be
but always sensing the stare of angry crows all watching me.
My roommates and I congregated in our suite's great room and we’ll head out for dinner soon.
“Have you ever eaten dog food?” Leong asked Anna.
“No,” Anna answered, “it smells like chicken - it’s got chicken in it”
“OOO!” Leong pounces, “Busted!!”
“What?!” Anna reacts.
“How would you know that then?” Leong asks, doubtfully.
“My mom told me!” Anna cries, in self-defense. “She’s a vegetarian too.”
“Your mom told you.” Leong said, like a prosecutor raising an eyebrow for the jury.
“I just took my last English class,” I report, pony-tailing my hair, “my teacher told me - privately - that my writing destroys.”
“Nice,” Lisa says.
“Yeah,” I say, smiling and grooming with pride, “I thought that was a ballin’ complement and I’ve been riding that high.”
“No doubt,” Anna says and nods.
“My English professor..” Leong says, exasperated, “is driving me crazy,” I’ve written three final papers so far and she’s rejected them ALL.”
“Huh?” I gasp, “Show me one!” I demand, wiggling gimmie-fingers at her laptop.
“Here’s a question,” Lisa asks the room, “What would you change about your childhood?”
“I would have never grown up.” Sophy said.
“When I was in third grade, in the UK, a girl in my elementary school, was murdered,” I reveal.
“What?!” Anna says.
“Oh, my GOD!” Lisa gasps.
“Spill” Leong demands.
“Her name was Kennedy,” I begin, “She was in another class, I didn’t know her but I started to imagine that I’d known her. I’d think of her playing on the swings in a yellow dress, in daydreams and in nightmares.
“I can see that,” Leong said.
“I was flummoxed, at the time, how a family could lose a little girl and a president.” I added.
Anna looked confused.
“I was in third grade,” I replied,” what did I know?
“Go ON,” Lisa prompts.
“We heard that she was walking home and got snatched,” I continued.
“Jesus,” Lisa said, shaking her head.
“Although I never walked home, I was careful not to be snatched for a while,” I summarized.
“I bet,” Anna agreed.
“That’s what I’d change,” I said, “Poor Kennedy.”
“People suck,” Lisa pronounced, and there was general agreement to *that*.