Long Conquests Poems
Long Conquests Poems. Below are the most popular long Conquests by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Conquests poems by poem length and keyword.
Belinda was a real knock-out,
the finest lady a lucky guy could find,
she let her desires explode in semi-darkness
as the ascending moon refrained from shining brightly.
Our fervent passion took us to the extremes,
kisses sweeter than chocolate drove us wild,
hugs warmer than the evening sun lit our internal fire,
nights never ended their eternal bliss as sunrise dazzled and blinded us.
Where's my pretty Belinda...in the arms of someone else?
No, Belinda don't delude yourself: I was the best of your conquests,
gentler and more sensual than those one-night stand guys who used you and left!
Will you go back to those moon-lit nights when our rolling bodies were free of guilt?
I hug the pillow where her head rested after the explosion occurred
in our bodies emitting sweat and the heaviest breath to enjoy the ecstasy,
then with kisses that only I could invent, I caressed her with my warm hands;
she smiled to let me finish what I started with eagerness and bring it to completion...
fulfilling my desires with insatiable sensuality! Oh, Belinda was a real knock-out!
There was no gal more beautiful than Belinda...everything in her was perfection;
she only left a farewell note that the morning breeze tossed,
" Thanks for a wonderful night. " Was that all that she wanted? To use me and leave,
making me forever remember that Belinda was a real knock-out?
It doesn’t want to be blank,
It goes and stirs the hearts of men,
They arise to do its bidding,
It takes cognizant of these.
In it, time is a salient feature,
The deeds of men occupy its pages,
The good, the bad and the ugly,
Their achievements and conquests.
Missiles launch and air strikes,
Genocide and holocaust,
Annihilation and pandemic,
Its volumes bear their records.
It can't be void of imprints,
We stand on inevitable grounds,
We are prey for its purposes,
We are held in its strings.
August 27, 2022.
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 13 Poetry Contest,
Mark Toney.
Beautiful Loser
Successful
at failure
Whose wins
are lost
His battles
ridden
And conquests
gone
He tilts at
windmills
Where roads
dead end
All hope
inclement
As tears
— befriend
**
Primal Ordained
Looking
into the eyes
of a wolf
Is like staring
into
your soul
Not human
or animal
but primal ordained
Releasing
your fear
— his kinship foretold
**
The Sawtooths
The Sky
is the frame
that forever defines us
Our peaks
but a silhouette
in the last of its light
Horizon
to horizon
we sit at the center
Our summit’s
in reverence
— to its shining delight
**
At The End
You can’t manage
what can never be measured
Or hold tight
to what can’t be contained
In the beginning
you never win the race
Only at the end
— victory proclaimed
**
Please tell me if you have a moment to spare
And do not discount it as too much of a dare
Honesty and truth can do don’t think its a scare
But the mere question is does anyone care
Dwell deep if you must inside your own mind
Until you find evidence be it wicked or kind
Emotion and pure reason may be intertwined
Opinions and facts although must be aligned
Could you live without love faith and devotion
Spread hatred and warfare for self promotion
Worship crude conquests and Armies in motion
Or is it more worthwhile to seek some magic potion
Please look in the mirror after a passionate night
Does the reflection smile on the virulent knight
Are broken shards weapons of self-absorbed fight
Is your conscience clear and sincere motive tight
Are you projecting on others when leaving a mark
On this poor planet which seems unbelievably stark
Wolf in sheep clothing fantasy figure or magical snark
What stops you from being a candle lighting the dark
Burnt out at both ends or have you lost plot and wick
Have your excuses been feeble and disguises too thick
Soul searching has no easy fix and solutions are’t quick
But remember that untold secrets can make you sick
Eye’s splinter fester when faking purulent contrition
Take off the blinkers when blaming the human condition
For lack of caring enough in acts of fruitless abscission
At the cutting edge of my sole request lies your volition
10th February 2020
Only on his veranda does he feel like the king of his castle
No better place to put up his feet and take stock
Much gratitude swells when he sits back with contentment
Years of dedication behind him, of planning and hard work
Voluptuous dreams both come true and anticipated
Enraptured in reverie that nurtures peace of mind
Recognizing a moment that’s wrapped in perfection
Adventurous conquests in harmony with life’s snags and hurdles
Nowhere more than on his veranda does bliss seem timeless
Daring not to challenge the ephemeral balance of prosperity
Affluence by any other name in a great country of opportunity
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~A SIMPLE MAN~ 2020
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Obtuse abuse..rude platitudes shout..
About alternative attitudes..generations..
Scream at different altitudes & latitudes..
Venerate mandarins sins..
Generate pernicious vicissitudes
Vicious avaricious machinations..
Celebrate nations chagrin…
Pander to propaganda spin..
AI garlanded reputations..
Cohorts in suits cavort in cahoots..
Kiss or diss..the abyss
Hiss of mis-information bliss..
Arrests..capitalist corporate conquests...detests protest..
Well got egregious prior & previous..
SO
Whatever your hue or world view..
We know what's wrong..doesn't belong
Deliriously daring to dream of derring do..
The meme..prime time you probably knew..
The Force..of course..
Is also seriously strong in you..
As people start to age wisdom gains an edge
Regrets wish to reassess to honor old pledge
Memories once sour, clamor to turn a page
Wisdom gains an edge as people start to age
Truth that once was remains the guiding light
Stars that twinkled then still sparkle bright
Departures from veracity mount a bold pause
Remains the guiding light, truth that once was
Past manifests anew when future looks bleak
Reminiscing old revelry when grief tries to peek
Cherishing pleasant thoughts wishing to renew
When future looks bleak, past manifests anew
Hold on to prized ways when life gives a test
Conquests aren't easy when aiming for the best
Doctrines beholding virtue are worthy of praise
When life give a test, hold on to prized ways
July 16, 2018
NOTE:
This poem is a Swap Quatrain.
Depression and change
moments of grace in cut downs
some could sleep in air and darkness
before the humbleness and conquests
places and faces to duties thirst
jumping and unlocked laughter's
tried and trying raised about luck
praise to dark arts and until sunshine
members of questionable team's clubs
forged in the deepest and quietest spins
some mothers bet it all to compete
fathers could choose the independent
glory and equipment in descent efforts
biggest down low and reaches each
start to feel the movements of shapes
sought afraid to comments jokes worlds
inside and out bottoms up cold styles
living for the liberty of innocents crushed
power hand hustle sharp cleared views
open atmosphere cooled headed vibes
round up growing faiths despite attended
slept the green of envy jumped prices
beyond this settlement and greatest men
just keep the water and heat before news
Justice and calmness glasses half gone
business minded and mattered of sources
ask and receive problems that's better on
insurances proud young these sake ones
passed by on interlocking plans to react
didn't reclaim mighty foes pointed sky
depend down low amped intended chairs
members gold and silver paces fronts
harsh sales and quarter pickings laned
important means to quick pitch ideas....
It’s been 3 years since the low blow of nadirs
As we said hooroo to you..goodbye to our top guy
Still feeling...reeling from the pain
Of all the polished veneers of careers
Which is the best palimpsests of Test contests..conquests
The class...VIP pass..no glass ceiling
Why..has to be the insane arcane Shane gravy train
You know they’re in the hall of fame..like Elvis
When they just get called by their first name
Palpable fears cricket will never ever
Be quite the same game again
Cricketing Gods above showered their love.. on an upstart..
Who didn’t just play his part but resurrected
The respected but sadly neglected.. leg spin art
Vision of befuddling precision & derision lingers
The dawn of Warne
Muddling aplomb of his first ball against a Pom
Fingers flipped…it dipped..gripped..ripped
Nipped..skipped..clipped off stump
Leggy bomb….under the pump
Down in the dump chump
Plump Gatting slipped..pipped
We quipped..ill equipped..standing sentry for
The outstanding ball of the century
Shane twirled & quite simply
Changed the world of batting
Gandalf's celestial staff...walks the walk...talks the talk
On some extra terrestrial path
And at tother end..you're having a laugh..where
When there's then the zen
Of his old friend Glenn McGrath
Warnie’s masterplan of..flair…elan and despair
Devious...mischievous...had plenty of previous
Alright unfair trite slights about hair implants..highlights
Off the square delights…did revel with rare
On another level.. seedier devil may care flights
Done like a kipper by a ripper
Wannabe chipper skipper's flipper again
One of the game’s greatest readers & media feeder
Should've been.. hallowed.. not fallowed leader
Memories never wane of how
Shane did forever entertain
A whizz doing the biz with such fizz
Legendary larrikin of sin & spin
So let's ordain the Champagne
Campaign & Reign of Shane!
On some days, I am the pencil, drawing with uncertain steps hopes on sheets of paper,
My hand trembles, but leaves traces of dreams still daring to take shape,
Other days, I am the eraser, erasing with such force that holes remain like memories,
The paper tears under the burden of my attempts to make everything disappear, to forget.
There are locked doors on days when fatigue envelops me like a dense fog,
Too tired to open them, too tired to explain, to search for words,
I am a dusty book that hurried footsteps ignore on the shelves of memory,
But that doesn’t mean my silence doesn’t hide stories ready to be told.
And yet, every morning, I rise from the ashes of unfulfilled dreams,
Not for glory, not for applause, but because giving up has never been my friend,
No one applauds the trees that face winter with bare branches and courageous souls,
But they stand tall, and that has a deep meaning, a form of silent resistance.
Perhaps life was never about conquests, but about simple presence,
About finding beauty in cracked walls, in forgotten coffee cups,
In lonely mornings that no longer hurt as they once did,
Perhaps it’s not about becoming someone the world embraces with open arms,
But about becoming someone with whom you can sit in silence and feel you’ve come home,
To be your own refuge, your own island of peace and acceptance,
To be that place you can always return to, without fear, without regrets,
And to call yourself, finally, home.