Long Doled Poems
Long Doled Poems. Below are the most popular long Doled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Doled poems by poem length and keyword.
The howling winds of March
Furious gusts of air
mightily blow bestirring anchored poet
sitting comfortably numb
securely strapped in his hard to maneuver
easy bath chair
while all around him debris
strewn helter skelter everywhere
heavy objects unmoored
pirouetting topsy turvy
defying laws of physics
cue Adam Smith
courtesy his invisible hand
eulogizing, kickstarting, and regulating
unseen cogs and gear
in order to avoid being plucked up
analogous to whirling dervish
ye dear reader best don
top of the line name brand ironware
to fend off soundcloud
analogous to webbed
whirled wide rooky banshee
hounding kingly bishopric
inducing royal knightmare
whereat pawns called play
as damage control representatives
ultimately linkedin to medicare
for bodily harm suffered
and property destruction
doled out courtesy Nationwide Insurance,
nevertheless yours truly
experienced heightened anxiety
cuz I accidentally, casually, easily,
et cetera eavesdropped,
though a polite gentleman (boot no scholar)
loud talking policyholder
anyone could easily overhear
their strident vocalizations
and they owned chutzpah to *****
re: me for listening to conversation
threatening with abominable language to scare
living daylights, which nearly caused
writer of these words
to soil his underwear
such vociferous threats
wrought quick thinking defense posture,
whereby my ordinary shy demeanor
empowered after downing
powder milk biscuits
(cuz heaven's their tasty)
and declaring warfare
against being bullied
versus suffering as token scapegoat
most every year
from boyhood until emerging adulthood.
After crafting above lines
current generated via whoosh;
I sat mine hind quarters
(otherwise referred to the tush),
which signalled to Doctor Quackenbush,
(id est Groucho Marx)
not deficient with quick wit
whose hook, line and sinker
word of the day namaycush
helped one environmental seaman
high (fish) tail to Hindu Kush
where removal from madding crowd
spiritually inoculated one
with a profound hush.
He was hungry most every night so she oversized his portion
after a long days work at the landscape pit he was bone tired
he didn't have the cash so he received without a single tortion
wrapped in foil meant meat, tin containers meant vegis, mired
in her eyes he saw the love as she doled, with loving smiles
She was old and forgetful sometimes she did not remember
what she cooked, what she wrapped and what he took home
there was a certain pleasure in receiving praises for procure
she loved him and she knew he had no one, he lived alone
so for the sake of love she bridged the homebound miles
One night she ran out of containers so she wrapped the beans
happily he went home patted the package thinking it was pork
but to his surprises he found kidney reds and broccoli steams
so what is a man to do but eat and gas it out without a cork
he called to say the chop was good then with a sweet beguile
he said, "those loud pop noises mom are Firecrack-Patows"
she was confused for it May and a long way past July
but then she said " bet your so hungry you can eat a cow"
that is when he knew, he could not tell a straight faced lie
so he told her they were beans as he farted out with style.
April 9 2022
Tall Tales.2. Poetry Contest
ababc, dedec…. Tail rhymed tall tale
Sponsor- Jeff Kyser
analogous to expending precious Air Supply
embellishing, modifying, revising, et cetera
a poem crafted about fourteen months ago.
I take stock and revisit good ole days of yore
quite conscious undeclared state of war
prevails within body (Electric
Light Orchestra) of troubadour,
whereby creative juices did perforce pour
forth as if sung by one man koor;
now he haply seated at his Macbook Pro
today April 29th, 2022
accompanied with Christopher Robin,
Winnie the Pooh, and Eeyore.
Since January thirteenth of this year
(two thousand and twenty two),
yours truly suddenly feels
long in the tooth, i.e. auld,
he whose decrepit body and
gnarled hands ice cold
senility and senescence doled
rigor mortis virtuous vice grip extolled
coronavirus (COVID-19) motherlode
courtesy geomorphology dynamism fold
analogous to discovered vein of mined gold
grim reaper with scythe doth silently infold
(in Old English, scythe spelled siðe)
ore yonder church bell knolled
anonymous beat nickles less,
dime a dozen, day late
and dollar short sexagenarian
dropped out of Culture Club
(any strong resemblance between said poet
whose Grateful Dead head lolled,
and once living person purely coincidental)
death and decay, I lichen to mold
meself finally nill and void nolde
of unwanted excessive fleshy flab
scant personal possessions outsold
to highest bidder polled.
Dead weatherbeaten and fatigued soul
with absolute zero regret
no longer being alive,
immortality impossible mission to connive,
especially when endurance and stamina
took kamikaze nose dive
formerly earthlinked buzzfeeding
desiccated honeycomb hive
in tandem with former anxiety riddled psyche
need no longer worry
his existence perfect example
how hardship did misthrive
death be not proud penultimate quest
since adolescence (think anorexia nervosa)
he did (unsuccessfully) strive.
Life, a fleeting dream, warbling on meadows:
A season of spring and season of snows;
Sometimes in sunshine, sometimes in shadows,
Joy of autumns and woes of wintry throes.
And it journeys on, vying gleam of dawn
Only to confront grief of fate forlorn:
Of conquests lost, trepidations bygone,
Of nightmares roiling reveries of morn;
Lamenting goodwill that yesterdays tossed
And despairs of hardships hurdles doled out
Until bridge of life triumphant steps crossed,
Where blossoms of success its prairies sprout.
Where fruits of life on trees of acclaim grow
Claiming winsome now, defeating sorrow,
Lauding bliss sublime, free of grieving throe,
Cherishing today and dreams of morrow.
July 16, 2022
Placed 1st: It’s All About Three Q’s Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Theme: Life
Rhymes: abab, cdcd, efef, ghgh
(Rhymezone)
Syllables: 10 per line (HMS.com)
The fleeting moments could never distill your eternal essence, yet thy shadow lingers to caress the lofty words
inscribed on doled heart. Time was abridged by thy unappreciable presence. With an incalculable prescience
thou did sculpt out brighter tomorrows. Thy searching eyes from lofty heights still follow my every step,
emitting succoring beams of light that my path doth gild. My perched ears still palpitate with the soft,
undulating rhythms of thy imploring address. Thy coiffed locks as the meadow lilac still annually thy perfumed
dander doth strew. Mirth and song yet flow from thy entreating lips. From silken rose hips, I still imbibe the
sweet nectar that sprung from thy virgin fount. Thy beckoning bosom, silty mound ballasted by a pristine
furrow, still fertilizes my my fallow field. In dreams, I still nestle close to thy bleating heart. A suckling babe
innocently squeezing untapped paps until its milky stream doth readily flow. In visions, I clasp the dainty folds
of thy unblemished skin. Clinging to thy warm embrace until morning's glaring shadows pare our sprightly
limbs.
~"O my love, my wife!
Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty."- William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, 5.3
She lived beside the old temple that has stood
For years on the rocky bank of the silent river
Flowing all through the lining greenery cover ,
The woods and the arable land rich and good ;
Years ago she was the landlady ruler, across
The several hamlets, who doled out for free
What they asked for -grains, clothes in a spree
And never cared for the end - gain nor the loss
It was an abrupt outbreak, an epidemic dreary,
That effaced the strugglers picking by lot ;
The good landlord was the first to be caught ;
For no cause, nor reason he became weary;
Leaving behind his suffering soul sans a child
And all his countless riches for her to cherish ,
He finished his spell with no joy, so to perish
Alas ! the fate what else could be so ,so wild..!
There were mixed feelings and selfish amity
When the folk got more than what they sought
Coaxing the lady with ease and plea distraught
Soon she was homeless, yet in sound sanity,
Serving unbiasedly, the destitute, needy poor
Beyond all her ability and resource limit
But never was there a lapse nor any null remit
As the noble soul dwelt on healing their sore
Decades elapsed since, but for no change;
A slight cry of suffering reaches her soon :
And she rushes to them be it night or noon ;
None forgets that she is on the eighty range
Oh God! how strange are these facets of life!
While some chase far, the void and the futile,
Ever seeking somehow just their needs vile,
Noble beings but breathe for those in strife.
On the dismal day --- recall the rustics around,
She was carried away by the floods too wild,
As she tried and saved a drowning child ,
But lost her stance to the unsparing ground;
Hue and cry ,and searches wide found her not ;
A lamp is lit on the chosen day on her door sill
And many offer their prayers thereabout still :
More for favours than in memory of the spot.
Bedlam and mayhem in the mistress's boudoir
(Nsync with variations on a theme:
various and sundry
pseudo lurid fictitious escapades)
mostly I did merrily wet
whet madness aye ever did dream.)
The missus personal trappings
strewn helter skelter
every perilous step fraught
with danger analogous
riding as passenger
with death cab for cutie
'course thy quasi bohemian rhapsodic Queen
of denial feigns ignorance
attributes hazardous condition
linkedin with accident prone
little lord Fauntleroy's
double doppelganger, me
trumpeting pet husband,
her unrequited germane Liebchen
willing to risk life and limb
doting hand and foot
as proper husbandly duties.
He (ahem... me) exhibits drama
whimsically visiting slapstick pantomime
especially pretending to remove sneakers
pulling with all my feeble strength
off little feet of wife
half-heartedly struggling,
lamely denouncing marriage
nevertheless conveying jollity
regarding marital entrapment
er... rather unbridled wedded bliss
constituting fits and starts enduring
about two dozen years.
I reciprocated amorousness,
whether toward MaryAnne,
(his long ago coldly dismissed
sagacious enchanting first paramour,
(half a dozen years my senior),
whose astrological forecast
accurately predicted promising
acquaintanceship/relationship
potential soul mates
(two score years ago -
gone to naught),
which latter aforementioned humble lass
decried he fomented
incessant emotional grief,
he cruelly (albeit unwittingly)
doled out nothing
but lackluster lovelessness
attributed to identical zodiac signs (Capricorn)
(matter of fact shared same birth date
January 13th - six years age difference)
stubborn misconstrued perception,
whereby fancy free and footloose
selfish nasty short brute nevertheless
deemed himself undeserving of love - humph!
Addeneum: Approximately four decades
re: one quarter century after
aforementioned baptismal initiation
love stricken paroxysm
forty fifth president of United States
took (i.e. plagiarized) many pages courtesy,
cruel playbook authored
by Matthew Scott Harris,
How quickly a future can change
Guess it was time to turn the page
Never been one to plan long-range
Still the circumstance was quite strange
In my life there's no way to gauge
Not when observing at close range
My path I would never exchange
Karma I would never enrage
I'd like if someone could arrange
A peaceful outing or exchange
Odd part was it had been foretold
Truth we tried but failed to withhold
The way we saw the scene unfold
What 'ere you might think times tenfold
It was night before we were sold
On the facts that the cards extolled
Perhaps to some that which was doled
Was a small amount to behold
Our eyes saw a mountain of gold
The way out of a stranglehold
A small smile still alights my face
Pleasant events rarely in pace
On this road but I will embrace
My new future in this rat race
Hands twined we leave our hiding place
Not one step shall I need retrace
Knowing the past we can't erase
Youth and innocence we replace
With wisdom strength and gentle grace
Wounds we bear proud scars we showcase
Though ugliness is everywhere
Take a closer look and I swear
Beauty forgotten will be there
Will anyone take up this dare
I fear how the future will fare
The past we must look to compare
No repeats our ardent prayer
I will take this first step with care
Altruism has become too rare
I want to fix this jagged tear
Off my soapbox no more the sage
From this topic I'll disengage
Quickly the story must be told
With an open mind I was sold
Cards kept repeating was the case
Willing to stretch my knowledge base
A healthy respect to beware
Know the universe is aware
My story needs not to make sense
I know my truth there's no pretense
11\06\19
LUDix-Rym Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Lu Loo
If you find this verse slightly apocalyptic, don't despair. We are not there yet. But the trend has started
Mankind, on the brink of change
We're at the cusp, robotics age
Lives, work and love be re-arranged
The world stares down a yet blank page
No, nothing will be as we used to
Computer brains solving all
Insert itself our minds into
Not like a breeze but as a squall
This automation will be scary
When fix your car and buy the food
The changeover rather hairy
"It will be for your own good"
A.I. knows all of your demeanor
More than you're knowing of yourself
To act as guard, assistant, screener
But also master in itself
The jobs be lost. Don't need as many
Good working skills - A.I. is king
They will be gone like U.S. penny
The change is what new age shall bring
Controlled by phones and computers
No longer conscious what we see
Hey, women, men're no longer suitors
As if all guys are swept to sea
Robotics ends the "loving troubles"
Those wanting sex will find it cheap
While marriage heads to utter rubbles
Girls shall be left alone, to weep
The feminism shall be finished
Good wives, be clinging to thy men!
Deranged dames be diminished
Caprice, delusion equals ban
"The intellect grows kids in vitro"
Oh, ladies, time to change your mind
Be meek and loyal, as in retro
Or find yourselves be left behind
Men opt for freedom, solace, money
Them choosing peace is way to go
Build fewer families, unfunny
And populations shrink, not grow
A pension doled to all the living
No jobs be left in one's old field
Expect no longer earn a living
Perhaps a fate to be unsealed
Computers write software and verses
The actors dead to play again
Gene mods avail age reverses
And there will be no more pain
My verse describes the thinnest sliver
Of what is coming down the pike
The Earth beneath our feet shall quiver
Choose to accept it or dislike
January 18, 2026
Before the blast in April's darkened sky. . .
before the electrifying surge of insurgency -
when trucks and tanks were used to block the roads, and
when men and even boys were sought to aid in one malicious purpose. . .
before the rampant slaughter -
the raining of machetes down on flesh and bones
and the cornucopia of corpses left like butchered carcasses
on highways, nearby houses and in churches. . .
before the plundering, the rapes and mutilations
and the exodus of thousands to death-infested camps,
there were whisperings -
insidious and portentous to the ears of the wisely suspicious -
and a voice on the airwaves spewing hate.
Before it all,
there was a brewing of resentment
of a people with a history of poverty and
of transitory freedom and capricious politics.
And through it all, with such grave consternation,
governments debated. . . waited. . . . . . . and waited,
playing with semantics
while thousands dead became the hundred thousand,
and three long months - unrivaled for its number of atrocities -
came to its completion.
Seemingly, peace has been restored
and punishment stingily doled out.
Time moves on . . .
except for half a million
for whom compassion by the world
was spared.