Long Crumble Poems
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I seek not to be a presence. Forces beyond my control dictate the interactions I will have with those who come across my path. These forces disturb me in ways that I cannot understand, yet I react to them with efficiency.
Subtlety is not one of my traits. Even now, I am poised to move in the direction to which I am called. It is a direction that could have great impact. Although I may waver in the course set before me, I am nonetheless committed until another force impedes me.
On the path I seek, I can see farther than one can imagine. Even though I only have one eye, it is an eye that is clear, an eye that makes a statement. You would think that having only one eye, any spinning and turning I do would make me extremely dizzy. Nay, say I, I move ahead on the path I seek.
On course, on time, and always considering my wall. It is not a wall to jump over, or to keep me from something or someone. Instead, it is everything and everyone else who would need or want to have a wall equivalent to mine. Theirs would be a wall to keep me from them.
The path I seek can be strewn with objects that tend to slow me down. Nonetheless, I struggle against them, and keep surging forward. I depend on my own wrath and fury to keep me moving ever closer to my stated purpose, whatever it may be. At some point, I know I will lose all ability to continue down the path I seek.
Along the path I seek, I watch events unfold before me with my one eye. It is an eye that, while surrounded with moisture, does not blink, shows little mercy, and does not cry. It does not cry even as my wall begins to crumble. The crying is only left to those dear beings I leave behind along my path.
I wish I could feel the lives I touch but, the harsh truth is, I have no feelings. I am a creation that will never know what a feeling is. And thus, no love, no hate, no joy, no sadness will stay me from the path I seek.
Alas, my wrath and fury are destined to die a slow death as I continue along the path I seek. I will not be missed, but I may be remembered. I will surely be cursed and called a monster.
And before my eye finally sleeps, I get one last peek at where I have been.
Still, I cannot cry over the destruction and anguish I have wrought during my passing. I only know that I will come this way again, because that is what hurricanes do along the paths they seek.
END
I should really be writing my essay (due tomorrow!) but I can't have this poem stand here
under my name without some well due editing. I would remove it but I feel like I have not
given the idea a fair amount of my effort.
Let me tell you the story of the man who wared with time
Let me tell you of the lying man who thought himself free from fate's monotonous rhyme:
This lying man would not a true story tell
To the masses: tales of himself in a regal crown he would sell
And they would ask: How come you here, great king?
And he would weave tales of abandoning his office for a woman's ring
Some would jeer and others cheer
But always he would smile ear to ear
At time in its grandeur he would leer
To priests he would lament of his heinous crimes, to never repeat them he swore
Begging their pity and reveling in the new skin he wore
So why, you may ask, does the liar lie of heinous acts
When he could lie of owning the grandest tracts?
And the snake of snakes would slither its tongue
And shed its skin, a coat in its closet so neatly hung
It would tell you a million tales, not one of them true
And never itself shed in any hue
For the flesh beneath may be soft and fickle
But the skin above is always rough and brittle
The flesh beneath once shed, would still the beating of his heart
The skin above once shed, would instill in his life immortality, the one true art
And always the happiest man alive he would be
Living the lives of any man his mind could see
And so the lying man would not a true story tell
The lying man would lie till the day he fell
That day the king of kings dies
The day the criminal meets his demise
While the lying man that was lives on in every story
As friends and foe would debate the king's glory
All the while the lying man that is sinks deeper into his grave
And that priest would remember a criminal who only mercy did he crave
And that coat of skins would weaken and tumble
The skins within gone brittle and begun to crumble
As the lying man that was, flesh and vulnerability, decays
All those skins he left behind, time will one day erase.
And so lying man, you had smiled in the face of time,
Done no great dead but steal what was theirs and mine
You had fallen thinking you had bested the clock
When only you had deafened yourself to the echo of tick tock
© Samir Georges
2010
Many a poet I know a fool
acting like they know-it-all
many a poet I know a tool
acting like "Mr Poet-all"
unknowingly showing me
their knowledge of poetry
has boundaries surrounding
ideas rebounding around
their impounded grounds
only seeing the same repeatedly
nothing new unfortunately
forever under lock and key
belittling anything new they see.
As a poet I'm not especially traditional
more so "special" writing additional
my raw and new to poetry style
unlike those into poetry awhile
so can I now pick the thoughts
of a traditional poet know-it-all
I believe to be caught in restriction walls
appearing to parrot what taught in schools
see if I perceive conviction in their cause
or robotic perspective their memory stores
too Inspect credentials for signs set in stone
content or unambitious toward the unknown
should I see respect or a moody moan
for new styles outside their own zone
Seemingly their priority is to teach all to try to be
writing unoriginally prevent the mind think free
in a strictly stricken view I see crippling you
never trying new or seeking something else to do
you have regulations on how creativity is written
preventing inspiration thus so negatively driven
speculating with unchallenged repetition
as though been tutored to a limit
you're now failing to ascend merited
having starved all but within it.
So please respect my detected inclination at play
but poetry is a creative artform not set in its ways
and those paved paths you pace and wear thin
were once unpaved before their now adored placing
so shouldn't a creative artform progress and not stay there
wouldn't it go on new quests paving unpaved or
invent realise and find in amaze ways new spaces
not be assigned a confined station like railways
instead seek to new roads or train to fly the skies
cus a closed off mind concealed in a cocoon
denies the butterfly wings the room
like a inverted narrow mind blinds clues
let's preserve and branch from the lay of the track
if poetry stays then poetry slacks but if adapts
poetry won't wear weak crumble and crack
recycling the same will only sink in to the black
I don't want to conform to the common or normal
because I see it as a creative short fall.
So why refuse new styles when you could embrace all poetry?
are you a poet or are you a phoney?
Two people cannot see the same way but they can teach
One another their ways. One gives up body and soul
To follow the flow of the historical woman until
He can close his eyes and glide through mountains effortlessly.
He gives up earth and he gives up air, he gives up being touched
But he forgets to give up desiring to be touched. Then
One day the sun is hot or the moon is full, he desires
Uncontrollably to be touched and he flies smack
Into the mountain and never comes out the other side.
You live to prepare yourself to die. You leave behind
A wreck of strewn projects or a few icy pearls.
Incredibly you leave your voice behind saying
Over and over again the same words. You leave
Memories of yourself behind as pictures in the heads
Of people who wish you weren't dead or hadn't been alive.
They wash the pictorial body, shave it, comb your hair
The way they liked it best, cut a little here, add a little there,
Then easily, easily and kindly forget you.
Two hundred years later the wall crumbled and burned.
The ashes were spread logically across the plain,
A mathematical formula could describe the distribution.
The ashes were like seeds and from them
A thousand higher walls were made. It was lovely
To see those walls breathing imperceptibly
Shifting their glances so slowly as to go unnoticed
Behaving as if they were dead.
If I breathe, they breathe. If they are ash, so am I.
Having tried to separate myself and failed
I donate my body to science. The wall needs me
To breathe and hear. It gets my ears and lungs.
Trees need me to cast their night spells.
Are they asleep or are they dancing
A primitive fertility dance in the forest?
I choose trees because they can watch everything
From the distance of longevity.
To them I donate my soul.
Everything should be made of earth.
Earthen walls, earthen homes, earthen bodies, earthen sex.
Nothing should be made of air. Earth should inhale
And exhale air. Air should whip and caress earth.
Air should dry it out and crumble it. Earth.
Water should wet it and dissolve it. Earth.
What is the function of fire? Fire makes earth permanent
And then fire makes earth into air. Water
Makes earth into mud. Mud makes earth into homes.
Homes make earth into walls. Walls make the earth breathe.
Breathing makes the earth crumble. Crumbling
Makes the earth seed.
In the thicket forgotten of deeply anchored thoughts,
Where ideas nest, across time and tailored spaces,
There I stand, guardian of the undimmed realm, the archivist of the flame
That knows not extinguishing in the beating winds of history,
Guarding the pure light that does not fracture from darkness.
Shadow does not frighten me, in the tumultuous whirl of the ephemeral moment,
The virility of my pen is the bastion safe from political venom,
In my fortress of books, ideas, and eternally glimpsed dreams,
A candle of knowledge, a lighthouse piercing the fog of despair,
And my intellect, a fleet that can quench the thirst of the abyss.
I am the knight battling the windmills of forgetfulness and ignorance,
At war with the shadows that attempt to speak of present suppression,
A country does not parade its grandeur in the fleeting plays of political stages,
But in the echo it leaves through a waltz of creative genius in the world's libraries,
Through art, science, and the poetry whispered by blossoming briar circles.
A nation does not stretch into the arms of death when it is defeated,
Nor embraces the poison when lords change or thrones waver,
But on the wings of those who walked through the subtle circles of thought,
They leave an endless imprint of the dream in the springs of eternity,
Weaving its chronicles, over centuries and wisdom its people grow.
And I, amongst waves of misunderstanding and barriers of indifference,
Submerged in creations that speak in languages only the stars comprehend,
I traverse the fine line between present and dreaming eternity,
I build from words a wall that no terrestrial battle can crumble.
I watch how politics spins like an old mill in the fickle wind,
But I keep my distance, with my quill dipped in eternal ink,
Agony and ecstasy, in a wondrous dance of knowledge,
Never forgetting that the sunrise from my mind is the rebirth of the world.
Beneath my intellectual hoard, with its invincible nature,
I warm centuries, illuminate unfoldings, and cultivate hope,
For, regardless of the whirlwind that beats at my gate,
I am master of my counsel and the dream I embrace.
Politics may haunt the streets and squares,
But the eternal plays in the laboratories of my tranquil mind,
Where I, the architect of this human sanctuary, undefeated,
Weaving eternity with my intellect, remain.
A perfect beauty
A perfect beauty could be different beneath the skin.
They may be beautiful on the outside,
But dark secrets may be hidden underneath.
The person we desire could be blinding us from their faults;
The lover we require may be a detached love so far away from us.
In silence we remain alone;
In voice we give birth to love.
Without a love of our own,
We remain less than we should have become.
We have to see past lust
And delve deep under to find love;
Because a love built solely on lust,
Will crumble and become lost.
If we remain true to love and do not just accept anyone;
We will find what we need, if we are lucky enough to find the one.
The words have already told us,
That love is everything that we need.
So stay faithful to your faith in love
And you will find your real love, eventually.
Obsessing over beauty will only leave us so sad;
We may miss out on love, for them and they may never know.
If you think they are the one,
But then you see the flaws they never had;
You will regret what you did or didn’t do and you will end up alone.
Be open to love, for every love is a gift;
Do not take anyone for granted, or they will soon be gone.
Throw your arms around love; do not let it be missed,
Because you cannot change what you have already done
And if they really are so perfect, then why are they alone?
A flawed beauty is what we should desire;
A painful past will bring you closer together.
A love full of lust burns the brightest fire;
A lust without love, will never last forever.
Being honest to love is not such a risk,
When you compare it to being honest with only lust.
Love will protect you every hour, in every kiss;
But with each lover, you wear away love and away goes the trust.
In stars we search for understanding, for meaning and for sight;
In songs we find understanding, true meaning and insight.
In marriage we become new beings, living a whole new life.
A beauty without flaws is called perfection; it is also a lie.
Seek what you want and accept what you will;
Profit where you may and put your trust in who you want.
Desire all you can have and let no tear ever be wrongfully spilled;
Live for lust, or lust for love;
Live for love and you will find that you are now at one with the one.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
I heard someone say never make the same mistake twice
They were referring to love
So I started to relate, my mind started to penetrate
The reasons why the heart had grown cold
Like a movie, the plot started to unfold
And I saw myself.
I mean, really viewed myself and became third person
Why not first?
Because it was too painful to tell my own story
So I became she
A woman who forced her own misery by believing she could control her own
destiny
Heart pacing with every sound, she declared to understand her emotions
Chose a man who did not reciprocate devotion
Lacked respect so didn’t think she needed none
Who needed love, he thought, when life was all about fun
She tried to reconstruct her appearance for him
So I nicknamed her Vanity
But nothing would ever suffice, causing her to somehow lose her sanity
A perfect love.
Dreams of starry nights and kisses on the forehead
Curled up under the nook of his arm on top of his bed
Sharing secrets and penetrating hidden walls
Making love until the roosters made their morning calls
Vanity wanted to live in a movie,
She wanted the fame and the beauty
She visioned scenes of her admirer answering her every beck and call
But pieces of the movie started to crumble and fall
So she settled.
Vanity didn’t even have faith in Prince Charming anymore
Those kind of men didn’t exist…the type that open doors
She led a dead end journey to a man who’s heart she would never own
With every kiss from him, she still knew she wasn’t alone
He became her best friend, and a passionate lover
But every night he still committed to another
At times things felt just right, but never good enough
She knew her mother raised a young lady better than this
And her decisions were tough
Vanity cried the day he told her he loved her
She cried because that was the day the affair ended
They were both in love but he wouldn’t leave HER
She could barely stomach to see herself in the mirror, everything was a blur
Vanity wanted to hate him, “What an awful man”
She would try to instill in her mind
But her heart didn’t believe it, he just wasn’t the right kind
The kind you would hate.
So instead, she hated herself for giving up on love
For trying to borrow someone else’s love
Vanity had lost the biggest fight of her life and the truth was
Vanity…didn’t even know what love was anymore.
Let’s Eat Something New This Christmas
(Parody of Have a Holly Jolly Christmas)
I can make some spicy tacos
better than the ones down south.
Please though know to eat them slow
or they may burn your mouth.
Try my sauciest lasagna
better than a Christmas ham.
Cheese galore – I like that more
than even roasted lamb.
Some get hung up on foods
so traditional.
My foods you cannot call
repetitional.
For dessert, there’s tiramisu.
I’m so sick of pumpkin pie.
Cookies crumble
so I grumble: why not new foods to try?
Christmas Balls,
(Parody of Jingle Bells)
Christmas balls, Christmas balls on my Christmas tree.
I’ve got a cat that’s such a rat beneath the tree he’ll pee -ee.
Christmas balls, Christmas balls, flying through the air.
When both cats get hold of them, they scatter everywhere.
One night I took a pause because I’d heard a crash.
Hoped it might be Claus bringing me some cash.
I saw my big dog’s face. She looked up guiltily.
To those darn cats she’d given chase destroying our tree! Oh!
Repeat refrain:
Christmas balls, Christmas balls on my Christmas tree.
I’ve got a cat that’s such a rat beneath the tree he’ll pee -ee.
Christmas balls, Christmas balls, flying through the air.
When both cats get hold of them, they scatter everywhere.
Two oldies:
I Heard Mother (to tune of "I Saw Mother Kissing Santa Clause")
I heard Mother scolding Santa's elf
As I prowled the house on Christmas Eve.
He'd hid in St. Nick's sleigh And then sneaked out to play
After having waited for his boss to fly away.
Mother caught him gobbling all our snacks
After he tore open every gift.
Oh, when she glared down at his face,
He went scrambling from our place
Screaming, "Santa, stop the sleigh-
I need a lift!"
New Body
Parody of the Xmas Song: White Christmas
I'm dreaming of a new body
with every chocolate I unwrap.
But I can't stop eating, I can't stop cheating.
There's just too many Christmas snacks.
My nightmare is a pot belly -with every Christmas treat I take.
But I can't stop feasting, my size increasing;
when I stand on the scales they'll break.
Yes, I'm dreaming of a trim waistline,
so take that Chex mix from my face.
May my buns be smaller and flat,
and may all my body lose its fat!
(I no longer make Chex Mix. It’s just too tempting)
I.
In the year sixteen hundred and thirty-five
I was a fool young man known as Ludwig,
back from the wars and flush with new money,
spent it on fine whores and copious drink.
One pale lady led me out into the street
where her pimp stood in shinning moonlight,
he smiled at her, said,”How nice of you,
I was thinking of feasting tonight.”
Before I could even start to react
his fangs had sank deep into my neck,
she joined in too, this woman I had held,
I black out and don’t recall what came next.
When I came too I was in a dark cave
and cried out, thankful that I was alive,
yet when I tried to walk t in the sun
it seared and sizzled my ghost-pale hide.
I’d never believed the legends were true,
but I now had no breath or heart-beat,
and when the sun set, I went out for food,
no meal would satisfy my deep cravings.
I made it six days, or should I say nights,
before the hunger overcame my will,
stalked a poor post-rider in the countyside,
recall the screams that came from my first kill.
I felt something within crumble that day,
a hollow emptiness grew deep inside,
knowing that with every kill that I made
meant another piece of my soul had died.
Before long I fled my Bavaria,
the peoples were getting restless and mean,
traveled across Europe, moving often,
forced to ‘live’ by acts heinous and obscene.
It was in Scotland three long years later,
hiding in the highlands from an angry mob,
unable to come out for days on end,
the growing hunger, it painfully throbbed.
When turned a vampire loses their blood
which causes their bodies to shut down,
I was so hungry I was driven mad,
in my mania I drained dry a cow!
Then to my surprise I felt the hunger
fade away and leave me feeling all-right,
it was any blood that would slake my thirst,
I didn’t have to take any more lives!
You think this would improve my situation,
but in truth it hurt me all the more,
couldn’t help but ask why had I never
bothered to ask this question before?
All the lives I had brought to an end,
all the families I had let bereft,
gad I the wits to ask these questions then
not a one would’ve had to face death.
The truth of these failings hounded my heels,
there was to be no peace within me,
until one night in France I came upon
ancient stone walls of a monastery…
CONTINUES IN PART II
I’m not afraid of rejection
I’m afraid of the phoenix that will rise from my spine with the threat of treason
Suppress the flame and walk away
Use your once tempted fingers to point yourself in the direction of least resistance
It’s not the road less traveled by,
It’s the lifeless path, ignored and left to crumble
And now it’s shapeshifting through a lifetime
With internal scars and deep holes that desperately need filling
And if you think I’m talking about a road, than you’re not the brightest bulb in the bunch
And if you think I mean with asphalt than you’re head is not as sharp as I thought it was
Waiting for secrets to be spilled
But you are the secret
You’re life is just chemicals and I’m not afraid of rejection
I’m afraid of combining the wrong elements of friction
To where I can’t come back from this reaction
A perfect pairing like the sun and the snow
Under every step, swam the quicksand
But we were too blinded by my naivety to know
Romeo and Juliet had nothing on us
But we ended even more tragically
And less enigmatically
I'm in the hunger games for your attention
And there's ever-changing rules I keep missing that you fail to mention
And breaking them could lead to my undeserving disqualification
But I’ve already demoted these thoughts into empty air
Hoping they’d vanish if I just ignore them
Sometimes you have to pretend your house isn’t haunted
For the spirits to finally exit
I’m not afraid of rejection
I’m afraid of the burning passion I can see in my eyes without a reflection
I’m terrified of the way I fall for corrupted introspection
And with a burning passion comes a burning question
What would've happened if I went through with it?
I’m not afraid of rejection
I’m afraid of the avalanche that will bury me if I reclimb this mountain
And looking up from the bottom seems so intimidating
But a butterfly never worries about what it looks like in the beginning
I’m so tied down, like a rope around my neck, I’m suspended here by something
So convoluted, is your mind a black hole or a galaxy?
If you’re Juliet, than you know who I’d be
There's lingering passion in my eyes I don't need a reflection to see
Is it gunpowder or a lack of sugar and water?
You can't be the lighter, I can't be the hairspray
Just suppress the flame and walk away