Long Dares Poems
Long Dares Poems. Below are the most popular long Dares by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dares poems by poem length and keyword.
please lemme know and honestly profess
if profusion of words create a lingual Loch Ness
(when hens canst come home to roost
especially, encountering
the following conglomeration
in matthew scott harris patois).
He readily admits writing inventive
attempts usually ten tubby a literary mess,
thus finding innocent cyber cruisers
Angle fishing for Saxony fundamental fluidity
courtesy of Freudian stream of consciousness,
gabbling gibberish, muck not done on purpose
and certainly less
to impress.
Gnome hatter intent toward
cogency, fancy ingenuity,
levity, the inevitable
resultant wrought gobbledygook
fascination for Lingua Franca
feeble endeavor splutters, splinters,
and splatters Asia Yukon guess.
Paramour status analogous with twenty six letters,
sans En gull Lush Mother tongue confluence
finds me submerged (as an Arctic Monkey)
swimmingly enervated
via erotic laced sentiments
perhaps finds bravely daring soul madly
hollering, gesticulating floundering,
(in close proximity to Davey Jones's locker)
to avoid drowning at sea
perchance comprehending passionate influence.
Upon espying a signature poem of mine
forces one pre ponder ring lurking predilection
tib hush anonymous re:
dears (dares) adventuresome mettle
taking him/her to the brainy
(briny) deep brink
Icon fess
this (NON FAKE) pretense, why
aye metaphorically express
(via medium of ordinary Anglophile
alphabetic wanton soup,
or figurative egg drop bub
bling broth (el) doth brew)
pronouns Sibyl affectation
affliction sans plethora,
where each ladle full adrip with
richly flavor Verdana Font lee
and sincerely textured vocabulary.
Pluperfect mortals beings undoubtedly feel
(blindsided, how this hunger stricken author
suffers said sesquipedalian syndrome
particularly expectorating flashy
hoping tum bark on successful literary quest)
hyper aware aspiring paperback writers wannabe
might stoop to conquer, cheat, cadge
vis a vis plagiarize plethora
amidst storied plentiful English droppings.
Rather than succumb pretense feigning paucity
temptation to bask exultantly,
professed glorious unrequited love
announcing required sworn vow,
(el lye ding) avowed consonant covenant.
Form:
(1.)
Alas! So Shoot Me, I Grieve What Was Lost
Alas! So shoot me, I grieve what was lost
Not just youth, but those things Time took away
Within aching heart comes an icy frost
Covering epic pains of such decay!
One may ask, how dare I so complain?
Does Nature cry about hard falling rain?
Yet does not this world its ills promote well?
Oft with sorrows borne from depths of Hell?
Dare I choose to such dark verses to write?
Have I not truly joined in the fight?
Alas! So shoot me, I grieve what was lost
Not just youth, but those things Time took away
Within aching heart comes an icy frost
Covering epic pains of such decay!
Robert J. Lindley,
Sonnet, repeat stanza ( with triple couplets )
******
(2.)
Those Lush And Tender, Soft Welcoming Lips
Those flowing curls, glowing luscious mane
Sexy smile, flowering as desert rain
Bountiful beauty, sent to ease heart's pain
Lovely blessing sent for this soul to gain.
Ravishing essence with sweet touch to match
My hesitation, thinking what is the catch
That such a beauty would now my way pass
A goddess, sweet speaking to this poor lass.
Those lush and tender, soft welcoming lips
With true beauty, grace, and curvaceous hips
Yes beauty, as could launch a thousand ships
And greatest king's treasure surely eclipse.
Those tender kisses that were sent both ways.
May we forever - remember that day!
Robert J. Lindley,
Sonnet,
( And Life, Its Journey Ever Sped Onward )
******
(3.)
Does Basking Moon Ask Strolling Stars For More
Of beauty, earth, wind and soft glowing sky
Dares this artist to weep tears asking why
Heart and soul must pay such a heavy price
And shed blood for it to ever suffice?
Does basking moon ask strolling stars for more
Space and time to heavenly night explore
And cast upon earth a much deeper hue
To inspire such in poets such as you?
Does dawn its resplendent new rays withhold
That gift, that gleaming beauty to be sold
Or Mother Nature fail to gift new birth
Or poets fail to cast beauty's true worth?
Do such quizzing queries set well in verse
Or fail as being dated and quite terse?
Robert J. Lindley,
Sonnet,
( And what of life, love and this thing we call earth ? )
"The Walk"
The most precious
diamonds falling
every step before me
wet the ground
bare feet
my blood,
my gift,
our foundations
placed reverently
before you
solidarity
I gave you
gifted under burning
oath of Golden Sun
Where have you gone
In this dream of yours?
Where are
all my children?
Bring me my children
the ones who meet me
unknown or known
singing loud and clear
to me, a ghost
in their dreams
I am that light that
stills the storms
the truth of life
in its all, its broken seams
Victory in Love
means more than darkness
to these ones
in their dreams
My precious pearls
from their hearts
seeded and blooming
through my heart
they are the ones
who deliver
true wisdom
bring me the children
a new life
evolving
too much talk now,
stand beside me
Come child
of mine
Be afraid no more
Walk with me
In the time
of something
beautiful
and astounding
Walk with me
you, the one
who dares,
you know who you are,
The True Believer
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
gvlm-llb
"A Black Sun" / Gary Numan
https://youtu.be/lIdlve4SsIg
"When I was a child,
my life seemed endless,
too far to see
When I was a child,
the world was waiting
and called to me
And everyone I loved
would live for eternity
And everything I dreamed
would all come true for me
But now I feel the end come
My childish dreams are undone
I cry under a black sun
And every song is unsung
You will hear me
when the wind sighs
You will feel me
beside you always
You won't see me,
but I'll be with you
When I was a child,
all love was painless,
no tears to cry
When I was a child,
I played the hero
who held the sky
But now I hold you
and love
is more than I can bear
And when I think of you,
love becomes a pain to share
But I hear loss calling
and this is pain talking
And I am fear walking
and these are tears falling
You will hear me
when the wind sighs
You will feel me
beside you always
You won't see me,
but I'll be with you"
(Gary Numan)
The Miorror of Lost Sees: Theophany
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/the_mirror_of_lost_sees_theophany_1263410
Sacrifice
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/sacrifice_1242920
John 8:12
LUX VITAE
I hold your hand,
Look into your eyes.
I see fear there.
You don’t want to die.
I watch you breathe in.
I watch you breathe out.
My entire world is trapped in plastic.
I’m surrounded by the sound of oxygen machines.
I watch as you breathe your last.
I wish for you to fly high.
Yet another one gone.
Somebody’s grandmother.
Somebody’s mother.
The people around me,
All huddled together,
Praying that they’re not the next one to go.
All we do now is wash our hands.
We shield our faces.
What are we really shielding our faces from?
It misses its target and hits me right dead in the heart.
We’re not really protected from anything.
It all starts with the simple sniffles.
It travels into the chest.
No one dares set foot outside anymore.
I can no longer hear your voice.
You no longer scold me.
I miss you now.
I can’t help but to feel sadness.
You’re gone.
You’re no longer living here.
I’ll always have you engraved in my heart.
Here I go once again.
Yet another one is dead and gone.
Please, don’t struggle anymore.
Please, rest in peace.
I’ll hold your hand until the very end.
Please, never let go.
I’ll wipe away all the tears.
I’ll stand strong amidst this sorrow.
There goes somebody’s grandfather,
Somebody’s father.
It’s somebody’s reason for being.
I’ll fake a smile,
Walk through these tragic hallways.
Yet one more gone.
They’ve all left me behind.
They’ve all given their lives to someone like me.
I hold their memories close to my heart.
Who knew a simple sniffle could kill?
When will I wake from this nightmare?
Your warmth slowly slips away.
Your grip slowly loosens.
The light in your eyes fades.
Man, I feel old!
There’s nothing I can do.
I’ll just make your final moments comfortable.
All hope is gone.
Dread has taken homage in my heart.
It’s time to get drunk.
It’s time to think about life and death.
It’s the same every day and every night.
This is our new normal.
Someone’s always breathing their final breaths.
There’s nothing I can do.
Just be there.
Just hold your hand.
Nothing’s changing.
I’m chasing after hope.
Running on caffeine and cigarettes.
There’s no getting over these emotions.
Let’s disappear into isolation.
Depression and anxiety galore!
No one to hold my hand.
No one to comfort me.
No one to tell me that everything will be okay.
I watch for her after midnight's twelve strokes,
often thinking how life likes to play cruel jokes.
Stilettos clicked on pavers as she walked
a nod on the stairs, but we'd never talked.
Eyes smudged with black liner, like bars on a cell,
She always returns looking like she's been through hell.
I knew her name was Lucy. I heard him yell at her last night.
She trembled past me in the hallway, teary eyes full of fright.
Midnight lady, short skirts, and pouting ruby lips,
street corners for an office as she swings her hips.
I saw her in the morning light when she walked out the door.
Fresh face, pink cheeks scrubbed clean, and nothing more.
In jeans and baggy t-shirt, she looked like an innocent child,
not the kind of woman who got paid to drive men wild.
Lucy - if I tried to rescue you what would you think of that?
Would you have to worry about the guy who wears the fancy hat?
No one can own another, so I'd like to make an offer to you.
I'll buy you a ticket to anywhere if you tell me you're through.
I'm just a stranger, but I know who and what you are...
too young and beautiful to live a life that's so bizarre.
I've never gotten over how guilty it made me feel
for living that life while pretending nothing was real.
I'm offering you the way to get out the mess you're in,
a life of danger, a tangled web of emotional sin.
Dear Lucy,
I'm leaving this note and money under your door
because I don't wanna see you around here anymore.
I wish someone had given me the chance to be free
then maybe I could forgive myself for what I used to be.
You don't know who I am, and it really doesn't matter.
My name once was Lucy, before I was bruised and battered.
Long ago I had a daughter that I was forced to give away.
I'll regret the choice I made until my breath fades away.
Signed: Someone who cares
Someone who dares
I prayed this Lucy was not the daughter I had born.
In her faded jeans and baggy t-shirt she had worn,
I watched her walk away with all she owned flung over her shoulder.
I knew she'd have a better life than I had by the time she was older.
As a tree, my limbs are broken and brittle. My life not worth a dime.
But if she is my fallen apple, out of the gutter I must help her climb.
Over the years there have been many game shows and some are standouts.
With sport things like baseball, football, basketball, golf, it a good combination.
The game shows of the 50's staples on the game show channels.
Have the makings of the treasured memories that bring us to like our Mom’s perfume called “Channel.”
Things from the past trigger so many of the fond memories.
These game shows have stood the test of time, almost a half century.
Let see Bob Barker started out with a show called “Truth or Consequence.”
That it was a popular game isn’t of question, re-naming a whole town in New Mexico, From Hot Springs leading this game show to its final destination.
Another game, which comes to mind “Candid Camera” not really a game show, a first start I think for what is now reality T.V.
For your enjoyment this was added along with the games shows, another shakes my thoughts, “It’s Your Life” a star studded tribute to a family member or celebrity.
Another first in realty T.V., the memories I see’
These memories are just as vivid today as yesterday.
Some are still among the last standing game shows “Jeopardy” is a main stay.
I sometimes feel that Alex is my long, lost Uncle or something.
The game brings all categories known subjects and teaches a little about important things.
This is what the Holy Bible teaches and professes. In a game show there are dares and challenges.
The legends of the Bible like Sampson, David, Ruth, were all heroes some were even inspired by the Angelica’s.
This only was for real, they played a game of sorts, were commanded by God to show them His will.
And the Book has stood the test of time all through the ages, and is among us still.
If we as humans played ferociously with the intent of studying the Lord’s road map,
The Holy Bible takes you places you could only dream of. Life wouldn’t be a trap.
Loving, caring breath of the Holy Spirit could come upon us all and the real game would begin.
Playing with Our Lord in His Paradise, playing for a better life in Our Savior’s Kingdom.
So enjoy. There is still another game called the “Wheel of Fortune.”
So spin away, win your cars, trips and vacations.
But remember this playing with Our Lord not paying attention to His laws and
edicts.
Will only yield you a life of faltering, the game will be over, and you might be standing outside of Our Father’s precinct.
Rudyard said it best, but now it is my time to build on another’s table,
If you can shun the word I can’t, and embrace the phrase, I’m able,
If you can watch the world you love, be torn apart and rent asunder,
But not give way to hate it, or join in wicked plunder,
If you can lose your mind and heart as well, but lift yourself from such that hell,
If you can watch your labor tossed aside, but work on despite the pain inside,
If you can hear advise from friend and foe, that works to mock your toil true,
And yet apply the good that’s said, and rise to climb the mountains new,
If you can lose your love when comfort fades, but rage on through that stress,
If you can endure the trials of this life, and still not worship tests,
If you can achieve the most from Gifts within, yet not give in to greed within,
If you can seek to share, and watch your house unravel while others bleed you
bare,
If you can feel the weight of atlas on your back and see Christ’s body torn,
And yet refuse to relinquish hope to see the dawn of earth adorned,
If you can love all women but none too much,
If you can love all things with open touch,
If you can be a fool, and still forgive yourself for errors of your past,
If you transcend sin, yet still restrain the pangs to judge your sister’s lapse,
If you can run this race with gentle care, yet unafraid to risk it all,
If you can fall, and fall again, and yet again, but never lose your faith,
If you can run this race, yes sometimes slow, and without reaping still yearn to
sow,
If you can trust in God, through thick and then, and not give sway to doubt in men,
If you can love like Christ, our God above, yet still resolve to confront wrong,
If you can see affections wane with time, yet still acknowledge angel’s songs,
If can shun all ugly sounds, yet still embrace the beauty that keeps you true,
If you can stand all things, and still at end, love you for simply being you,
If you can be the gentle sort of old, yet still rebuke with mercy bold,
Then you will know the truth of God,
Then you will see the life that drives and helps us strive throughout our lives,
If you can run this race my son, and love and live despite the cross you bear,
Then my son, and only then, you’ll be a Man who dares to dare,
To yes believe in God above,
And be a vessel of her love.
Loverboy staring out the window, the stars gleaming so prettily
The meadow's bathing in silver light of the moon; it is such a perfect night
Loverboy sighs at the darkness, candlelight dimming as the wind blows
The night of love is here with me. I have found the one to call my own.
Dear dear what is your wish, I shall give you the moon or the stars or the sun
I have known you since before I knew, that such a feeling can fill my heart
Loverboy looks at the sky he clasps his hands and bows his head
The night of desire is here with me, I shall ask her to be my love
Sweet sweet boy runs through the tallest grass, past the willow where he fell in love
Loverboy jumps over the little brook, where he met his friend and now his passion
Past the pine forest, loverboy flies, by the trees his love adores
Into the village, he skids and trips into others with their halfs under the skies of love.
Loverboy soars above the sky, conjuring a future where she becomes his, and he becomes hers
He dares not think of negative thoughts, deluded and delirious he imagines and dreams
Sweet boy turns a corner and two, colliding and pushing through the others who make him hope
One more corner, one more turn soon he'll be in his lover's arms
At the corner of his eye he sees a beaut, robes and ribbons fluttering softly in the wind
No doubt in his mind as fresh vanilla hits his nose, that his sweetheart is out in the night of love
But as the loverboy is about to run to her, he sees a man's hand entwined with hers
The way she looks at him and he looks at her, is the embodiment of the night of love
The loverboy stares- his love in love with another man
Slowly he turns his head to face away, he cannot bear the pain
He bows his head, dares not to look at the sky that gave him hope and filled his heart.
Through the village, past the pine forest,over the brook, past the willow he fell in love, he swims through the grassy field back to the window
Loverboy looks at the sky one more time, the brilliant stars look hazy and unrefined
One drop, two drops the tears well in his eyes, wets his cheeks and pools under his chin
Was I too late in making my feelings known? To whom shall I give the stars and moon?
Sweet boy closes his window unable to look, at the night of love and of desire
It is funny!
Very funny how
A masked preacher can preach honesty;
And even points at the wrongs with his
Fingers of hypocritical righteousness…
We stare with grim satisfaction
Because the black winged Angel
Ridding a flaming chariot tells a tale;
And proclaims that God is love,
Yet he, himself is an Angel of death.
Day after wretched day Humanity walks!
He walks down the dark alley of freedom;
Freedom which shouts fairness;
Fairness that begets confusion—
And he tries to bottle the spittle of birds…
Every night he lies in bed and tries to hear
The voice of fishes shouting gender and Sexualty in a world where the scale of
Equality is unevenly proportional and
Equal rights mean the oppression of men.
Apartheid, the history of Mzanzi is
The present for the African world and
That has caused his inferiority complexes
To suffice and personalize racism and
One after another, generations play along.
Lest we forget,
The victims are just as guilty
As the perpetrators but at some point.
Humanity weeps as he inspects
His isle of hopelessness!
But just like the majority, men;
They cry in hiding.
Where no-one sees,
No-one hears and
No-one dares speak for the black sheep!
Deep down this egocentric radicalism,
He orders rotten eggs to make an omelette
With which he feeds pirate justice,
And he goes all year long
On a running stomach.
Although the words never sink,
Humanity hearkens to
The rumbling stomach of justice but
When the rainbow of life turns
Grey!
Humanity's children cry day and night
While the Angel of death entrusted
Their protection feasts on their tears
And dances to the beautiful sound
Of their troubled voices.
And when the wolf comes for their
Brazen souls we hail at the smiling lady
Who says 'I am virgin Mary'
With fangs behind her white vail
And poison under her tongue—death!
The rich are poor but morally,
Yet no-one sees
And no-one cares;
They say 'each one for himself'
Come shall the final hour do.
It is funny!
Very funny how
A masked preacher can preach honesty;
And even points at the wrongs with his
Fingers of hypocritical righteousness…
Humanity looks on
And passes his judgement.
The masked preacher scoffs:
“No-one is perfect.
No, not one!”
The Bishops bathe in Babylon
while Princes, prancing on the lawn,
watch Queen deflowered, pale and wan.
The King dares not defend her.
The Horsemen, holding broken reins
the Morning of the Hurricanes,
sigh “it’s no use, it’s all in vain,
the Saints will soon surrender”.
They wonder why they ever came,
they have No One whom they can blame,
they have no face, they have no name,
and even less, a gender.
The empty-handed Vagabonds
smoke stale cigars, stroke faded Blondes
while waiting at the walls beyond,
but kneel as Chaos enters.
They’re gazing through the window panes
in hopes that distant Hurricanes
will twist and break their iron chains
defying life’s tormentors.
The Fantom of the Opera frowns
as feeble minded Cleric-clowns
mouth hollow hurdy-gurdy sounds
when blessing doomed dissenters.
The Pirate wields a wooden leg,
with pupils dull and visage vague,
and if by chance he spreads the plague,
it really doesn’t matter.
His Princess, pale, no longer feigns,
foresees instead (down ancient lanes)
the coming of the Hurricanes -
the Stones stir, staring at her.
And Jackals scrape the river bed
as Savants soothe the underfed
and Crows, collecting scattered bread,
adorn, with crumbs, the platter.
The Jokers Wild and One Eyed Janes
weep, winding up in rundown trains
mid whispers of the Hurricanes,
and Priests refuse to christen.
They’re fleeing from the Leprechauns,
the cuckoo birds, the dying swans;
while pitching pennies into ponds
their eyes opaquely glisten.
The spectral Clocks with spindled spokes
remind the Mimes to tell the Folks
the time of day and other jokes,
yet No One looks to listen.
The Hunchbacks with contorted canes
galumph before the Hurricanes,
in melted sleet, in frozen rains,
in bruised and battered sandals.
Their Groans engulf the land of gulls,
the land of stones, the land of nulls,
and lurk between the blackened lulls,
for Nighttime brooks no candles.
Their prayers to Dogs and Nuns and Dukes,
(and other long forgotten Spooks)
are more than random crazed rebukes,
though taunting to the Vandals.
Continued in Part 2