Long Embargo Poems
Long Embargo Poems. Below are the most popular long Embargo by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Embargo poems by poem length and keyword.
My uncanny body is a labyrinth, a corpse flower, my passions are dying!
I am running towards a mad fire, a beggar is sucking my mind.
Stealing my voice (My blessed fate is silent!)
He and I in the mirrors, what remains of us…
I am strangling my God!
A greasy noose tight around His throat,
A rotten chair at the end of a loathsome corridor, typhus, bacteria…
A giant magnifying glass at my temple and a matryoshka…
In our tongue, the lament is heavy…
The old man holding the world…
In his hat, a black leech, the white rabbit is the sky;
His ear is severed.
The black box, all passengers missing and lost.
A metal room in the missing person ads…
The time of misty continents.
I passed through the bandaged passage, the Ferris wheel and the carousel…
A childhood I do not recognize, lines on its feet, a red corset on its waist, stitch marks on its chest…
The age of innocence explodes in the mouth of a black slave!
Embargo, monarchy, war, famine! (Never will abundance arrive!)
Our women...
Shadows in their hair and tuberculosis on their lips…
Snow made of mercury on their backs, anarchy descending from their hands
People are witnesses to the apple, the puberty of Eve,
Narcissus on Bosch’s wall, Caravaggio descending to hell,
That terrible torture, anima…
Jesus wept for wounded souls and placed a narcissus on his head, light, red blood cell, metamorphosis
I broke the wine of Cem, Shakespeare drank a goblet of hemlock,
Lear lost his mind
The Sphinx, the dragon of a black night, offered death to man
History is bleeding with a sin born of torment!
Last call for alcohol, embargo
on the cargo headed for Fargo?
Bootlegging articles of?
"ConfederationNow",
Boot logger, droned Over all? Foggered... Froggers, sprawled. Farms attacked by competing vows. ++
Blood drained Cows.
Imagine, Gaia hype- our brainwashing, a
sacrifice to a Paul Bunyan Nephilim type, "Savior" moonshining wormwood tea in exchange for Sheep. Believing them to be. Stoned blind in Texas, right wing.
Liquid Media medicinals, points for eveyone West of, Diagonal the Allegheny, best of show, suggestion,
allegiant, allegory. (Oh...allegedly.)
As The King of the North fights zombies that believe the Game of Thrones just fantasy. Conspiracy_ Storytellers of propagandolf, minds of Sauron to keep
eyes Wide-Shut. By Aristocracy.
To "pass" on the proof of those stoned blind in Texas, shekeled, bought, brought a Rose, of Sharon,
from Ticked Karen's, in their own Eden.
Those non-Citizens,
"Christians of the un-Enlightened" l"unacy of Old',
thoughts? NoahmadicHeathens!
Of the tide turning; going South.
The dark side of the moon,
a journey scape of wet dreams in swoon.
To partake the half empty side of drink.
Salt of thirsts.
Cup of wrath of the Directional Winds.
A piracy bloodbath of Nationhood in martyred demarcation zones.
Cusp of swilling blood of the swill,
Apocalyptic feel, fills,
notes of the unveiling of the Whore who Rides the Beast on the Seven Seas. Leviathan is leavened,
rising, ready to eat.
Now, there is censorship on speech on the internet,
then is, when, is then en-Tyrely.
The Gatekeepers at Fallens keep,
keeping freedom, voices "Crying in the Wilderness"',
Peeps out of reach.
Accept for Government (entities) with algorithms, keyloggers, identity id thieves, imagers of the Beast.
Spell binders binding
their articles-of-New-World-Sourcery-Cheaping-Rumpelstiltskin-Seamstitchery-Tailoring-Truth- blinding-digital-mining-slaves for the Wolves,
Kings of the East, Trading Company.
Trading souls for an hour with the Beast.
I could build a football team for the future,
I've played Football Manager on my computer,
I've built teams that are simply spectacular,
with lots of silverware I've managed to capture.
I started off as manager of Bath City,
and Bath City played with a pity!
but a pit was around them so I chose to believe,
and that pity team did win that pit league.
I then took Barnet from non-league to the championship,
I won leagues, cups and awards on that 10 year trip,
bottom of the Conference when I took the healm of that ship,
but then I quit Barnet because Barnet lack grip.
I went to Ashton Gate because Lampard had just quit,
they were in League One and at the bottom of it,
the same league that I had just won when I was with Barnet,
who had unveiled a statute of me a week before I quit.
I couldn't sign players because of a transfer embargo,
which annoyed me because they were garbage you know,
was told 10 points from 5 games or you have to go,
won 4 drew 1 and from the relegation zone we rose.
The following season got promotion against the odds,
this really did prove that I was one of the Gods!
Won League 1 manager award for the 2nd time in 3 seasons,
but then it all went wrong for the following reasons,
it was my laptop, it could no longer be used,
I'd bought the wrong lead and the flippin' thing fused!
Image of Nature Landscape Field provided by Pixabay
We Are
Oftentimes my internal oneness saunters,
boosting stones wouldst enthuse convictions path ...
dawdling tenuous themes, elucidate trim unsung paean
netted amongst privileged unencumbered digits. Cruising
amidst parallel Airy's, strolling side by side atop pristine pastoral
façade.
Nigh, svelte wheatfields chic hints of amber,
suffering praises of ripening, firm siege prime morsels chaff
*semovedly stacks hist steers -- equal episode,
e'er stable glass menagerie of fulvous goldfishes prithee dawns
root tendrils terracotta arms neath ... endless sea embargo some
cortex.
Surreptitious door mouse induced suspense,
hearkens mellifluous exaltation of cageless larks, their sumptuous climb of
blue mountainous air and rocky white mists, natheless,
hither aught alow met needs, tasty tidbits stead flights mortal foe
witherward naught. Ascents per food ... peradventure *yare, *maugre
fatal.
Each in every aspect, overcomers that came over, yardbirds exercising perseverance, respectively ... Creator tenet our peace.
*semovedly: separated
*yare: nimble
*maugre: in spite of
2021 May 21
*1st Place*
What Brings You Peace
~~Chantelle Anne Cooke: Judged 2021 May 23
Let's ponder last time Rego the ego was over yonder in the Iberico peninsula ..our hero was fonder of the wonder of Ronda but now does wander through the beauty & fruity booty that cutie Oporto does bestow… (in house joke...there is no radio embargo for this rhyming cargo so back to you in the studio)
Can't recall if we ever talked at all about how we virtually stalked Porto
A viral spiral as we did dream and scheme of moving there for a mo
Then balked too late deranged climate all changed mate too scorchio
Burned by the rage on the centre stage of a teenage tyro turned pyro
But what do you know ho ho ho…it's the Rego Ego in Oporto show
Jammy mutt strut out of any rut from Redditch hut far & away you yo yo
Smut of getting half cut a holiday foray glut such a sl*t.. a true pro or ho
But tut tut apropos bitter blow new shi**er low an at home sitter can't go
My career did park it… left the market now sign on for giro with my biro
Crow finances a foe.. so woe of ambassadors not in a row you flying solo
We should be tourers toe to toe explorers like Marco Polo with me in tow
As long as about assado not Fardo rather hear a song from Nelly Furtado
Naughtiness not haughtiness to and fro cheeky ebb & flow of going gung ho
Know your next photo will bring the frustration of a great crustacean crescendo
Gasping at the rasping sheen of a lean barbecued sardine no echo of Pinocchio
Ah grasping a calamari safari love the art deco but you can shove the prosecco
No braggadocio clasping fino or nerdy vinho verde or scarlet harlot starlet tinto
Hard for Euro aficionado as you scoff avocado & lardo tartlet from the mercado
Hope foody bingo is bravissimo dope & bellissimo though know is wrong lingo
So hey ho or nonny no bonny Rego in Porto is brassier than Portugeezer Luis Figo
Bigger teaser & pleaser classier than gusto & bravado of another dynamo Eusebio
Drinking sinking fort-ified wine quaff port like it's a sport holding court on the Douro
Envy piqued oh Rego never a fuddy duddy ruddy cheeked plucky bloody lucky so & so
She slithered from the jungle in a Vera Wang sarong
Like some wicked juju temptress with no sense of right or wrong.
I remember how it thrilled me,
Oh yeah, when she shimmied in the buff;
And that first time she let loose, I thought I’d never get enough.
She hid a wealth of smuggled goods among her cargo.
I was cornered and defenseless; she was turning on the tease.
Then she wrapped her legs around me in an anaconda squeeze.
She had something sweet to teach me,
Oh yeah, more than modesty allowed.
So I poured a gin and tonic and I let myself get plowed.
She dealt in contraband delights with no embargo.
She was primitive and deadly. I was curious and young,
Groping hesitant, yet eager, heart to heart and tongue to tongue.
I plunged headlong with abandon,
Oh yeah, off those reckless, dizzy heights,
Spinning through a swirl of colors, shooting toward a burst of lights.
I came down withered, drained, and blank like no tomorrow.
You can run a little faster, beat the bullet from the gun.
You can run a little farther, almost halfway to the sun.
But when you run from Tondelayo,
Oh yeah, Christ, her cargo weighs a ton.
As the morning breeze springing sprightful fragrance
Stolen cleverly when he kissed the soft colourful petals
I woke up into a new fresh delightful daylight
To taste once more my honeyed life and my blossoming day.
From my flat laying lazily at level six
I was contented to watch the sunrise
He rose with all his fervor and might
And I wished him a happy day out.
The sighing wind called me to look down the streets
Where I saw people in masks treading hastily
Like ants rushing here and there in hurry
Never they wish nor smile to any other faces.
Stand alone in bunches they waited for their turn
In buses or cars which ever halted to pick
Like strange samurai soldiers flying to a war zone
Never they wish nor smile to any other faces.
Fearful glances and rushing little steps
Even the whisking dresses frightfully heard as sneezes
My heart cried and burned seeing those pity stances
Oh, dear little creatures, stop your playful bounces.
The mighty human race moving towards a comess
When like weird aliens, Covid trying to invade
But tomorrow we will rise from our burning ashes
To tame you and make you a story for our coming cradles.
Third Place in N-A re-run 7 Poetry Contest sponsored by John Hamilton
Am I fitful,
fluctuating, fluid?
thin compass waver
as I jubilantly weave
lilac tree vignettes
that weep or chortle,
rainbow figment curtain
rashly wished upon
in grain smudge zephyr
garnet sand raw vehicle
garden common opal
transit sidestep
to a multiverse
of sappy fruit drip
net bag of niche
mauve rim canopy
a gilt ring culprit’s
flashpoint conjure
stirring taxi cabs
of lavish spurt
woolgathering
a gold rush stray
footslog must
have steel encased.
undulating folds
entangled nomad feint
dwarf yellow scorcher
firmament fatality
dash for straw hut
casita or elm
wood cabin where
advertence on
turnpikes, trails,
woven tracks lead
trajectory abuts
plod along dry path
dust bowl swirling as
they spurn allotments
meek enshrouded lull
with unalloyed poise
to jettison narcolepsy
brief embargo on
spiral plumule
when one’s physique
has many harrowing
gasps, taut breath
that intrinsic quest
for glistening cascade
seems an urgent
void, crushing
diapason rudderless
mahatma clement at
Arcadias nascent
totem of egress
yet charismatic
terminal flag
as this sentient
hypothesiser on
emerald tint bract
beneath hiking boot
unflinching
wild clasp at
beanpole verges
riven from
shade burst cockcrow
lure an impetus
to meandered pretext
primeval boon-docks
whilst tranquil flit
discommoding tawdry
pitch or tilt
gaunt endowment
I must brood on
surreal moiety
of cerebral aspect
squandered
rude reckoning aside
lapse into sullen
vacuum found across
a link whose blind
velvet crush lingers
query later doused
in vapour whirl gush
inkling thin veneer
sheeny beadlet
brow sapped
nod and falter
to a childhood turf
shelter for the limb
victim of grinding
marathon on marathon
to relish glow hue noons
hermetically abeyant
sempiternal eves
avenue to wanderer
fatigued yet still
in broad pursuit
of deep quiddity
I speak now, not with breath,
But through the bones of history,
Through palms that never bore fruit
Because your embargo starved the soil.
You feared not our weapons—
We had none to match your bombs.
You feared our ideas,
Because they burned too brightly in the dark.
Sixty-two winters and summers,
My people have walked in chains—
Not of iron,
But of isolation, hunger, and propaganda.
Is it a crime to dream in red?
Is dignity a sin,
When worn by brown hands
On a small island that refused to kneel?
You said it was freedom—
Yet you crushed us under boots
Stamped democracy,
Laced with hypocrisy.
Your friends—your “allies”—watched.
Some nodded.
Some traded,
And many sold their silence for your gold.
Fidel is gone,
But the embargo remains—
Like a ghost that haunts both jailer and prisoner,
A curse passed down by cold-hearted kings.
America, when the axis shifts,
And the sun of the global south rises—
What will your monuments say then?
What flag will you wave when truth takes the throne?
History is a patient god.
It watches.
It remembers.
And when it judges—
It does not ask permission.
It was a woodcut in our high school history text, Unit 4 Beginnings of the
Modern World, that so disturbed,
from the Nuremburg Chronicles depicting the burning of the Jews, flat
perspective,
faces of the victims among flames, in no particular agony, not especially
Jewish,
during the Black Death 1/3 of Europe died 1347-1351 alone. Although
you die together you die alone.
Earlier that week, I had attended our 6th grade's performance of Fiddler on
the Roof, thinking
Coltrane should have recorded Matchmaker as a bookend to My
Favorite Things
but as the play darkened
with the town's absorption into the diaspora, democracy
yet unthought of and rule of law a fig leaf for authority
Jasper, who played Zero Mostel, delivered his line well to the effect
you're just doing your jobs while wrecking our lives.
Anyway, nothing like that is happening here, is it?
The gardener planting tomatoes, the gravedigger finding skulls,
there is so much life a little death won't matter.
Jasper
was a beautiful ham,
big as Zero.
A friend posed
this question: must all states be melting pots like the United States?
I said yes
not because they should but since
it's inevitable. Let labor flow like capital!
America was the last word of the play and brought a tear of pride to my
eye.
Immigration, exasperating argument re the Other.
How many's more than enough? 9 billion, a rational,
real number that exceeds or
we're convinced
is within the carrying capacity of the planet.
Climate change is the new Black Death.
I like the Amerindian body type and face mixed in with the European,
African.
The irrepressible economy rolls out reams of logs, ores of elements, bags
of ice, fields of rice.
Embargo. The moon stares, bare, full of interstellar space.
Better a cold shoulder than a visit from our military.
The crazy Nazis must have felt themselves extraordinarily compassionate
toward the mother, earth, the goddess, history, or some such
abstraction and, thus, acted on a fraction of all they did not know.
Selfless soldiers just doing their jobs guarding the border or,
on the other hand, collecting fagots for the burning of the Jews.