Long Coursed Poems
Long Coursed Poems. Below are the most popular long Coursed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Coursed poems by poem length and keyword.
Beside the surf she lay, a heap
Of broken hope, like bones, now crushed
And burning lips, forever hushed.
From eyes to sea, her briny weep
Gave solemn witness to her fears
The love now draining with her tears.
Thus bled her heart into the deep
With love that spoiled in other arms
Abiding not its throbbing harms.
To there, perhaps, imbue it sleep
For pain was all that coursed within
Yet fathoms, black, would drown its sin
Or dark and still, its secrets, keep
A passion's crime that stained her red
Her love, his lover ... cold and dead.
Beside the surf she lay, a heap
From eye to sea, her briny weep
Thus bled her heart into the deep
To there, perhaps, imbue it sleep
Or dark and still, its secrets, keep.
* SECOND PLACE in the "Premiere Contest Number 370" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Sponsor. *
* SECOND PLACE in the "Constanza" Poetry Contest, Craig Cornish, Sponsor. *
(Written by Dilly Dally, but modified by me as the contest wants)
There is a beach ball suspended on the rafters of the pool.
Stuck there for long years, it didn’t catch anyone’s special attention.
Though I have been seeing it for the last seven years,
Today for the first time, a thought coursed through my mind.
It holds the air from the lungs of an unknown person.
He has left and is not likely to return.
Like the air inside, don’t we leave pieces of ourselves behind,
Glimpsed but not clearly seen, caught sight of but unknown.
Such fragments put together make the person we are.
I have left parts of mine in places I have stayed,
In people I have loved and even among casual acquaintances.
I would like to ask old friends of mine,
Who I have been at the time we were together.
What was I like back in those years.
What impression did I create,
What memories did I leave behind?
Do people hold anything I gave as a keepsake?
Do what I said or did help someone bloom like the ball?
Do my jokes or my actions light a smile on any lips?
Or do I stay anonymous as a total stranger in their minds?
Totally wiped out, do I sink into oblivion?
Will they even forget I ever existed?
Did I leave anything more than the air I breathed
On an unremembered day?
I am curious to know what I am, as I cannot assess myself.
Will the fragments reveal all I am and all I have been!
Title 1
"The forest is my loyal friend A Delphic shrine to me." ... by Ralph Waldo Emerson
The written word bears roots abound
Hail favored mist of hallowed ground
Announced breathtaking full-filled air
Spreads out enjoyment summons fair
Forgiving trailed Earth's crowning Star
Forest startup's reserves stretched far
Healthy hoards and wholesome intakes
Fresh novel minds elsewhere, retakes
Obsessed consumed florists stationed
Lives styled out stretched reawakened
Seedlings advanced Heavens promised
Groundbreaking achievements calmest
Cob-web silk thread eight-legged shooters
Tethered roots edged equaled footers
Floods 'neath grounds raise the gigantic
Psalmist summoned lessened frantic
Misplacements sequenced adjustments
Cause coursed through major monuments
Misfortune causeway lengthens aches
Stressed strung-out unmeasured outtakes
Commons traversed rights owned presence
Neighbors challenged core quintessence
Claimed righteousness labors bear fruits
Attributes are well-served ... grassroots.
Yours truly borrows a phrase
courtesy the great bard
also known as
William Shakespeare's Hamlet:
"For 'tis the sport ...
Hoist by one's own petard
meaning "victimized or hurt
by one's own scheme”.
The aforementioned excerpt
hopefully describes the fate
to befall president of Russia.
Nevertheless, unseen
talon sharp claws...
dig deep into mine
psyche soft underbelly
piercing bedrock of
core (puss) being
akin to butter knife
slicing thru peanut
butter and jelly
unable to preserve
an iota of calm
while stuck in said
emotional jarring state,
which eruption of cataclysmic
agitation analogous to a bomb
going off inside my head,
where a mishmash
of frenzied discombobulated
brainstorming angst doth glom,
whereat the "little boy"
inside this man
called for his mom,
who when this aging
"baby boomer" chap
just a kid and experienced
devastating, jarring,
and paralyzing tom
malt chew hiss in dom
mitt able inexplicable fear,
though NO obvious
danger threatened, NOR
warning signaled "BEWARE,"
nonetheless adrenaline
coursed from head
to toe as if clear
and present harm
lurked quite near,
inducing a host of
physiological fallout symptoms
darkly freighting this
sole son with nightmarish scare,
whereat no escape,
nor exit no matter
how fast a sprinting tear
found me running
mile a minute only
to end up nowhere,
except smackdab right
in the same place
in relation to despair,
which translates to mean...
yours truly could not
run and hide,
as quickly made clear
to me then, and now,
though at present
scores years older, the balm
courtesy of prescription
medication popped inside
mouth from palm
olive smoothed hands,
as if this teetotaler
betook himself prom
men aiding albeit
with tumblerful of liquor
getting feigning noggin all a jam
aware that nothing amiss,
would be evident,
sans lower gastrointestinal exam,
nonetheless diet
restricted to graham
crackers and broth
distilled from ham
hock, once again thwarting
vegetarian ambitions damn!
Wan and weary in sultry heat
he walked on and on through dust and dirt
off the bustling street, looking for a shade
Paving his way through by lanes
at last reached a quiet spot,
full of green cover.
Like an Arab coming upon an oasis
amid the panting sterility of the desert,
he rejoiced.
It had an air of monastic seclusion
a mysterious charm and a sedate calm!
Here he sat under a poplar tree
Soon was lost in a reverie.
What thoughts coursed through his mind,
he had no idea but found himself in a cave.
To his horror, saw a human countenance,
staring at him from a dusty corner
A shriveled old man with a gnarled face,
and projecting cheek bones
resembling a mummy, curiously preserved!
But it moved drawing closer… still closer
He noticed the man’s quaint appearance-
flowing black garb, flaming eyes, and grey wiry hair.
A chain of skulls was tied around the neck
and sinister objects were strewn around.
No doubt….
a necromancer……!!
Without a second glance,
he ran…….. and again ran!
What would have happened if he had not run?
For a moment he couldn’t think.
What was it that he heard?
was it the thud of a coconut falling
or the barking of a dog?
Now he knew it was all a dream.....
a dream within a dream while he fell off into a snooze,
sitting under the Poplar tree!
With a kind of embarrassment, he realized;
even if he had not run, nothing would have happened.
___________________________
November.2.2022
~ Placed First~
I Chose to Run, But Had I sTayed... Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Anoucheka Gangabissoon
I've dreamed of traveling to equatorial Egypt
To see the Pyramids of Giza and even the Sphinx
And then onto the jungles of darkest Africa
To meet voodoo doctors, unafraid of their jinx
O, in my dreams, I've coursed through the canals of Venice
And met the Queen for tea before Wimbledon tennis
I've climbed the Eiffel Tower, spent hours in the Louvre
Been to Mumbai, New Delhi, by the Taj Mahal been moved
Once dreams such as these were the province of Kings
Yet today even you and I can realize all these things
From whaling expeditions in Norway to bullfights in Spain
They're just a click or two away, and a seat on a plane
In the waters of the Flood,
Flowerbeds softly turned to mud,
Rose riv’let fingers from the sea,
At first caressing seemed to be,
And flickering breezes, gentle still,
Coursed cool on sunlit stony hill.
Mara, wife of Simeon,
Seeing that the beach was gone,
In mixture of delight and fear,
To see the sea called children near,
Young Imma, Hanan, Joshua,
Gazed down amazed at what they saw.
In the waters of the Flood,
Unpaved pathways frothed to mud,
And rising winds blew waves at walls,
That frightened beasts within their stalls;
And frightened were the children too:
But Simeon’s heart no quivering knew.
“Father, can you save us from the storm?”
“Faith in God will keep us warm.
There’s a Father far above,
Who protects us with His love.”
In the waters of the Flood,
Rose the turgid waves of mud,
And as the failing sun sunk down,
The conquering night fell on the town,
In flashing light swept homes away,
The valley swallowed by the bay.
“Father, is it meant for us to die,
Grown and children, broken by the sky?”
“Though the world has gone insane
In the violent lashing rain,
Hold my hand, we shall remain.
Hold your faith and have no fear,
Though the waters grow so near.”
And he said, though less he knew,
“Hold my hand, no fear in you,
There’ll be mercy ere it’s through.”
The children took a comfort quite,
Their father’s strength in crashing night,
And the mother of them all
Clung most tightly to the small,
As she wept a missing doll.
In the waters of the Flood,
In malignant, violent mud,
Soon drowned in agony and terror,
In currents pulsing everywhere,
Friends floated by stout Simeon’s feet,
Their glassy stare in driving sleet.
“Evil have we to match this?
Let the Lord then have His bliss:
Sure, our lives He will not miss.
Die in courage, then, my son,
Hold me tightly, till it’s done.”
When the waters did recede,
‘Midst the piled aquatic weed,
By the thousand miles there spanned,
Stenching corpses cross the land,
Loved and killed by God’s soft hand.
In the waters of the Flood,
Died the living and their blood.
And the Lord, in viewing this,
Thought a rainbow not amiss.
She sailed on her tidal madness
waiting on time to unravel her
depths of insanity
while the wave of turbulence
coursed through her veins
She is lost in her own odyssey
pillaged by Fate
she lost all
leaving her in a Robinson Crusoe
hungry skies with reddish eyes
& rumbling stomach , rained tears
lashed with anger
calling for emergency
Warning signs, ringing loud
salient voices conversing with the wind
shadows laughing
mocking her caricature
crucified on a pike
who will bear her cross to Golgotha?
who will roll away the stone?
her loft disappeared into oblivion
waiting to be seen in her nothingness
looping back and forth
To be crowned Chaos Queen
* an updated version of a piece I wrote for my favorite baller, Kevin Garnett *
~
intensity ... defined
excuses were for gods and gamblers
(lesser giants with fairer feuds)
HE ... was of a wholly-invested mettle and mind
the conscript of a checkered court
dauntless defender of glass and lattice
and the pride of a kingdom
grand and green.
chilled steel above
warm wood below
the thund'rous awe
each mightied blow ...
adversaries wept for his fervency
ability, focus, effort ...
at levels unequaled and as yet unseen
a vitality and resolve
that at times seemed immeasurable
expecting the utmost from his confreres and allies
yet far MORE from himself ...
of rare devotion to his cause and kind
a jaded gypsy who had found his home and heart -
the hallowed ground
worthy of his marrow and blood.
one honored hub
a stronghold land
worth ev'ry wound
each knuckled hand ...
he was clad in shining-yet-simple armor
- béni avec cinq -
that he wore with a generation's honor
and wielded a sword of sinews and strength
noble and knightly, but of ferocious intent
with a dignity, dark ... outspoken
mindful, selfless ... monstrous and mad
the grace and guile of a mongoose
with the hiss of a snake ...
the childish charm of a leprechaun
with the wild howl of a wolf ...
and a heritage that coursed his veins, veridian.
those demons, green
that spurred his dance
brought each his foes
naught e'er a chance ...
his fortress now stands empty
but the ramparts still tremble with his ire
the ether within those sacred walls
yet echos his roar
and strains to press a cheek
all for the sake of his standard and spoils
and thus, now -
yes, and none too soon
those rafters roil with a banner his own
and a kingdom, blessed, bows in reverence
for his consummation and creed
and the green blood that still stains his flesh
and those proud parquet floors …
one day that land's
bright sun may set
still, flames will burn
the name ... Garnett
thank you, KG!
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, September 2, 2020
Play It
You were afraid in the beginning.
You were excited and filled with anticipation.
But, afraid.
Just holding her in your hands was a strange experience.
Awkward, like a first kiss.
Unsure of where and how to touch.
Just how should your lips
Meet her cold and unfamiliar mouth piece?
Remember those first few notes
Screeching through space inside the band hall?
A sacred place where rhythm and note
Have coursed the air and touched
The smallest bones of the human body
With the softest and most pleasant caress.
Become familiar with the way she feels.
Close your eyes and feel the softness of her curves.
Treat her like a lady of royal blood.
Her father has given you her hand.
There is no leaving her at the altar.
You will decide your life together.
Love her. Caress her. Kiss her softly.
Learn to move your fingers and listen to her reply.
The early sound of surprise becomes the sound of love.
Soon, you breathe as one, and the voice you hear,
The voice we hear.
Is not hers. Is not yours. But, the union of both.
And what we hear is the birth of something
Grand and glorious and beautiful!
Play it!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t4C4YU5JtIo