Long Cued Poems
Long Cued Poems. Below are the most popular long Cued by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cued poems by poem length and keyword.
Virtual peace is a tempest
Filter flipped image betrays
Surreal people can tempt us
Validity is a mirrored maze
Fake befriends us flimsily
Roller coaster emotion cued
Midday in minutes celebrity
A million likes acrewed
Instagram's grimy agenda -
Tempting tid bits to imbibe
Sponsor is content moulder
Trends with which to abide
Facile images wrap wanting
In flashy eyesore cellophane
White smile wide so taunting
Sells prettied desires innane
Improved self hovers inticingly
Unscrupulous spruker won't refute
Product spin drips like rotisserie
Placed tastiest low hung fruit
Bamboozled by the beautiful
Venommed vast eyed viewers
Suck insta famous inflated ramble
Screen sheen sugar allures
13th August 2020
I shall not envy the upstart's polished gait,
Or wish myself as old knights in diamonds
Hued to bamboozle familiar souls and eye,
Flattered by aping pals and ersatz blondes.
For swanky gait soon in quiet slumbers lies
In darkest gloom beyond men's urging eyes;
Where kowtowing lip trills no ego-oiling tune
To laud vain legs that all wise sense impugn.
Since old knights and their fabled crystals fall
Into gloomy abysms past all plagiarized cheer,
And their wide glows sheer shifting dreams be;
Which deft poet thereon docks his sailing soul?
As for manipulable eyes and souls of fan-stars,
And idol blondes cued to flatter clumsy knights;
Are not both simple wit and truth strictly averse
To all such visionless ego-trip and short-sights?
Give upstart parvenus and 'knights' whole pomp,
I'll claim the simple logic they so mulishly tromp!
Written: December 11, 2023
____________________________________________
While drudging impresses to cease,
Within the ethereal forbearance of night
And the cosmic vast space is stormless,
From the hour of darkness until daylight,
And anxiousness is ultimately formless
Imbrication is referred to as "Peace."
Imbroglio, languor, and hidden disarray
This parade of nimble cued is wordless
This will never genuinely be worthless,
This is increasing beyond nerveless
This spinning wheel is reverseless,
The periphery of the panacea display.
words hardly do actions justice
and in the means of what you believe is right
true
accurate,
you'll be surprised to find
that every
precise word
spilled into the air
is in actuality
a lie.
Spewed upon the imperfect page,
burn holes swallowing every letter
as if it's the first time.
First time they've been said
first time you've spoken those words.
You have to forgive before you can move on
but what if you hide it
underestimated satisfaction in the guilt,
the guilt you lost long ago
you only puncture the paper twice,
before ripping it to shreds
before you realize you don't want this
you never did.
Instead you steal those words,
throw the paper in flames
waiting patiently for the next one-
same as all the rest-
who swarm in and deliver the same lines,
over
and
over again.
As if it's a cued movie.
You're repetitive lines don't seem to phase me anymore
they lost their meaning long ago
and still,
to this day,
though I picked up each flamed scrap-
and glued them each together-
I don't believe it-
I won't.
Though I wish I could
A kite flies a fair-weather bird,
Whenever wind wants would it fly,
In adverse wind to go wayward.
Some that come with a heavy spine,
No matter what tricks you might try,
They never once fall in fair line.
Unless bent be their rigid spine,
Reluctant they fly but scarce high,
O to dive back from the skyline.
Some are like Indian holy cow,
You coax and cajole them to fly,
Biased, they tilt same side somehow.
You guide or goad them to your side,
But built so, they bend and defy,
Haughty heads, straighter never stride.
Broken thread, kites would scratch others:
‘I’ll die but not alone well nigh—
It’s my way to flare my feathers’!
Very few, on reaching tall height,
Stay firm, high in heavenly sky,
Exalted, they make a rare sight.
These kites are cued in their own bliss,
They wish with no others to vie,
Not keen to scuffle, live in peace.
Steady one gets nigh late in life—
On struggling long reaches space high—
Earn fruits ripe on suffering strife.
Kites tell us: life is just like that,
Slow and steady rise, girl or guy,
Life’s journey’s never set in a jet.
___________________________________
Musings (on a kite-flying day) |16.01.2024| life, kite
Poet’s note: 14th January, called Uttarayana or Makar Sankranti, is celebrated in Gujarat as a kite flying day. This poem’s set as a tercet— a three-line poem. Haiku and Villanelle also are a kind of tercet. This one has its middle line of each stanza taking the same rhyme throughout. Life is like a kite. It is tied to the thread called Fate. Wind leads it to its Destiny. But man, the flyer, has the will to lead it to go where he wishes.
Under her guidance, we stood at attention
Like a row of young soldiers, reciting the anthem
"Oh Say, Can You See?".. was a warbled contusion,
that could shatter your glasses, disturb other classes
out of tune, out of rhythm, but with avid enthusiasm
it could rattle the rafters of our little school
And with childish delusions, we thought we were cool!
As we stood in the room
she would move down the line
with a frown in the depth
of her leathery brow. She would bow
till her ear matched our voice
and her hand would be poised
with two fingers that cued,
keeping time with the tune.
She would grit all her teeth
bite the inside of cheeks
Such a serious task!
it was all that she asked
that we please.."DO YOUR BEST!"
When we mastered, at last
She would gasp, then exclaim
as we sang each refrain,
mixed with tears, she would clap
I remember it now...
Here I stand in this row
with my hand on my heart
as the first strain imparts
Yes, I know those old words...
they'll remain part of me
'til the day that I die
"O Say, Can You See?"...still familiar to me
But no..............I can't see....
with fresh tears in my eyes...
_________________________________________________
You hit when I was low
The pain you caused, you know
Threw dust on glitter glow
Made weeds of sorrow grow
Cued pent-up tears to flow
You hit when I was low
You hit when I was down
Made me a freak show clown
Took jewels from my crown
Gave not a smile but frown
Held me until I drown
You hit when I was down
You hit when I was sad
Made good turn sour, bad
Streaked pain into my glad
Bandied words like “mad”
Spilled ink on writing pad
You hit when I was sad
You hit when I was lost
Clueless to what it cost
Flowers: blighted in frost
My sentiments you tossed
My boundaries you crossed
You hit when I was lost
You looked down from on high
Not hearing heavy sigh
Not seeing tears I cry
Not caring if I die
And Still you don't know why…
To you I’ve said, “Goodbye”
Jade
So swiftly our passage brief,
Our old house looks lonely sad;
Now like a stranger I grief
Upon the place once most glad.
Just way back when we lived here,
Yet now we know sad refrains;
There is a space for lost cheer
That struggles to come again.
New mail keeps trail to old place,
I spy that old window view;
Reminders of that old space
Where birdsong trance fondly cued.
My caretaker friend greets me,
Watch happy nostalgia free;
Coming back makes me cheery
Yet tinged with melancholy.
We chat and he tells me tales,
Updates with sanguine new bites;
Who's doing what as complaints wail,
We laugh upon silly swipes.
So much have changed since your time,
He tells me about his pains;
I hurl old reasons in rhyme,
Take it easy with disdain.
Indifference marks the mood,
Complaints seem mostly petty;
I try to make him see good,
Work to upkeep things calmly.
So from time to time I call,
Check upon his company;
Sit with tea as chat installs,
Fond laughter fits melody.
Here's to you my good old friend,
Who made things yet more breezy,
Then as Nicole Green felt grand
When simple life was easy.
The love we found in that house
Is more than enough for each;
Now here, I sit, stare and browse,
Visualise days wealthy rich.
The places we call home fill,
Linger in sweet memories;
We may leave them but still feel
Fond swirls and twirls tell stories.
Leon Enriquez
18 December 2014
Singapore
i sank before
not knowing
that your
form
would be
before me
at the alter
universe
and yet
upset at
your altar
bothered
i have
been praying
some would
say preying
but
a muse
is a muse
is a
muse
so
she let me
selectively
seduce
parts
but not
all
of her
Oliver
Twist
may I
have
not more
but another
only for me
to discover
under
the sheets
not even
complete
she arose
not a rose
is a rose
is a rose
but
before me
adorned her
a sheet
not
a shrine
but a
Stein
so
i laughed
not aghast
for she
was just
a sheet
incomplete
of feet
and
toes that
those say
are
quite
delicious
if i were
a cannibal
but
her body
serves
as a seven
course
meal
that i
rate
as
a ten
but then
again and
again
i might
say that
she is
always
a five
course
meal
tens
are
hens running
round finding
not
found
how
the fox
got in
and so
the moral
of this story
is beyond me
i was lost
and fell
asleep
after
the first
mono toned
maniac that wrote
"i sank before"
please god
send a
raven
to say
his or
her
cued
lines
on a bust
disgustedly
saying, "nevermore"
Form:
I landed in Kansas, Middle Earth.
I asked the first human I met to show me something about Kansas.
She tried to describe The Wizard of Oz.
It was confusing, so she invited me into her house.
Cued up the TV and we watched a recording of their history.
Apparently Kansas started with a tornado god,
and everything was absent of color.
She gave me a crinkly bag and I sat in on my head.
She laughed, ripped it and made me taste the flat
salty things inside. They were delicious! Chips she called them.
She then ran into another room and came back with something called
Pop. It burned my throat all the way down and was awful,
so I kept my opinion to myself.
I knew she was trying to be nice, not mean.I sensed that about her.
I jumped a few times, in fright, as green men sprang out of flowers,
dancing and singing. She threw her head back and weird sounds came out of her face,
not musical sounds, more like crow sounds.
Laughing is what she told me.
Humans do not all look human. Some are big and hairy with tails,
some are made of metal, and some are small and bark like our
pets. She explained all the stuff to me, but I was so enthralled
with the flying monkeys, that I barely heard her.
The witch looks exactly like our head of state,
Morgabite, so that was fun to see.
I guess some of them do look more like us with green skin.
It was a wonderful afternoon. As I left I walked gingerly,
afraid tiny green men would jump out from under the brush and bite me.