Long Embellish Poems
Long Embellish Poems. Below are the most popular long Embellish by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Embellish poems by poem length and keyword.
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A whale in a pail is far more active in a gale or in copious amounts of hail. Putting money into sharks is a shifty act involving the shuffling of coats in cloakrooms. And clown costumes placed in the bowls of women's frames are reserved for the elite attire of lemmon lipped bowler heads whose acidic tongue holds the weaponry speeches of tomorrows gore. Pain is a painted potato placed with the pilots to place on a place numbered out and planned on maps arriving by facetious fax machines whose many layered buttons seek to halt a single growing grass level with a shard spoken key. Turning a keyboard to an angle one can visit the highest climate but coinage is best reserved for a large bull with a blue tie. Behind many layers. Many layers is not many lettuces it is merely many lanes. And lanes are lovely on a summer evening returning from the abbey to the house in eighteen fifty-three in long beautiful blue dress with fancy earrings and hair wound in a tight bun. Looking around it is unsurprising that history repeats in the timeless whorl akin to stirring an acre pan of stew or making sandwiches for two hundred people at a picnic. Societal swamps seek some swanky shuffle starting storms. And all the while the little pixies dance in the trees. The unicorns prance, the fairies fly round and round, and all other realmes folk sigh at the endless processions of humans making endless chain of woe. Cause no pattern to rise up from a paper print. For if you do your whole world and house will be prints causing visitors to arrive in many windows to create a karmic reaction and a reaction is a realism and a responsive reach but not a retch. Little frog hums in the kitchen cupboard. He is very bored today and would like to go visit the pond but the machinery placed there ensures it is not safe to hop and when hopping it often is the case that shots are fired from the artillery of the ant people in plastic helmets. They move akin to a swarm of kettledrums on a backlit of carbonised baking trays. Powder that then. Beetroot faced woman in that raspberry printed dress. And to encourage the wrath of a walnut is to embellish a multicolumn of static electricity. Wow. Mish mash mush then. Hahahaha the dancing in the bathroom door hahaha mixed-use mixers mingling mangy mincemeat. Xxxxxxx prese tart structure Paden tar xxxxxxx invertebrates z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z THAT;
Form:
I wonder if some part of me was running,
while I gathered up my thrills in wanderlust;
scattering them like dust to the fire, that feeds a lazy afterglow.
The Adventure of Wonder. The one I embellish just a little,
because that time away is my big trophy
full of glitter. I can't hardly reach in without distortion.
My portion of that place was different than I expected-
a beauty exceeding the dreams
I'd constructed from photographs, but it was tamed and balanced-out.
Tugged under gray skies like a great god asleep in some hidden cave
beneath a thriving city.
And I made to-do lists daily, as I'd done in college to ease the pressure
(with specially constructed spots for sightseeing)
And some days when I wandered off to little Irish villages,
I looked for better places to stuff the notes
of future plans. (I found them everywhere)
I found them even in the glare of the rocky cliffs that stood naked
to Atlantic winds. And I shoved them in and went off
and saved them inside my tiny travel-friendly lap-top, which I took
even on days that I felt like a god,
because no one I knew would ever walk the same places
I had. I grew up and I grew proud
and then lost it again, when plans
collided with the world that was. And the cycle repeated;
It still does.
And when the day finally came that I descended
hazy-eyed from the journey of dreams, I felt the same
as the day I left. That familiar blend of joy and thrill
and anxiousness, that leaves my chest tight for days.
Weeks passed before I grieved.
A dancer in Leeds once told me:
sometimes all you need is a new pair of eyes
not a destination. I believed her,
and I still do.
And I'm happier too, when I see the faces
of the ones I'd missed; the memory of something lost still fresh.
But then there's that other feeling,
the one I let take me across the Atlantic
like a stranger with welcoming eyes (that somehow seem familiar)
that has me writing everything down, arming against disaster.
Only now the notes die faster.
I wave them off hoping in the future (when that twenty-something year-old
sense of urgency dies, or transcends into realities of peacefull coping)
I can use them as a witness to myself, and they'll tell me nothing's lost
in the breakdown. Everything just comes and goes.
And whether we've never had it, or we have it all,
I think I'll never know. There are those things
we must learn to let go.
Your outside exterior,will soon become wearier,as your own,inner poison spreads out,all through your system,for your foolish wisdom,no doubt,a big drought.You're so hollow,a pill,hard to swallow,in sadness you wollow,about.You think,you're so warm but just warn & torn,your false self,in private,you pout.You think you're renewed but you've just been fooled,a tool,your evil flows,just like lava thought a volcanic spout.You think you're stew,so good to chew but just a bad flu like covid with a comorbid case of bad goout.
I feel so disgusted,you're going to get busted.All you had to do,is get help. When you're refusing,you're loosing & choosing,for bruisings & soon,you'll have whalts.You think you're a winner but just a blind sinner,your false loves filled,with no guilt.Your arrows of fire,will soon go fly higher but none,admires your mire, filled with satire,+ misbuilt.
You're like a reptile,probably,a crocodile but a snake could,also,be to.I got it,you're a mix,just like a box of Trix,artificially flavored but all,the same and filled with blame & you're very lame,misusing your life with wrong fight. All you ever do is pretend to be cool but you're just dressed in wool & some day that will come off & that will stop you. The false sense of rule will show you untrue and then you're stuck,like glue.
I feel so disgusted,you're going to get busted.All you had to do,is get help. When you're refusing,you're loosing & choosing,for bruisings & soon,you'll have whalts.You think you're a winner but just a blind sinner,your false loves filled,with no guilt.Your arrows of fire will soon go fly higher but none admires your mire, filled with satire and misbuilt.
You think you're so precious but just really jealous,you embellish your hidden self,well.But someday that will change,everyone knows you're daraged and then they'll be sounding a bell and you'll go unwell just like a foul stinchy smell.
I feel so disgusted,you're going to get busted.All you had to do,is get help. When you're refusing,you're loosing & choosing,for bruisings & soon,you'll have whalts.You think you're a winner but just a blind sinner,your false loves filled,with no guilt.Your arrows of fire will soon go fly higher but none admires your mire, filled with satire and misbuilt.
Placed Second in :
Sanctuary, Soft, Stir, Surreal Words Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
"Remember, the entrance door to the sanctuary is inside you.” Rumi
Sanctuary
In the depth of my inner self
Lies a small secret sanctuary
Carpeted with a greenish lawn,
Bordered with lilacs and roses,
Sprinkled with saffron marigolds
And berthed with leafy mango trees;
It is a secret sanctuary
Where colourful birds of my dream
Filled with joy, hop from branch to branch
And scan the blue sky as a team,
Singing sizzling songs in a trance
To vie with the whispering winds.
I retire to the sanctuary
To sow the seeds of mindfulness,
Water the shoots and rising buds
That will soon give birth to flowers
To embellish the sanctuary
And perfuse it with their perfume.
I retire to the sanctuary
To meet with zeal my longing muse,
To beseech her inspiring light
That I may carve some divine hymns
And offer them at the Lord`s shrine
As a humble token of mine.
I retire to the sanctuary
To retrieve hymns aligned on shelves,
Brush out the tangled spiders` webs
Endow them with gems of beauty
And breathe freshened air unto them
That they may soar in time and space.
O’ in the laden light
Sparks the fire,
Its attic
Cathedral of fire shall not burn down
A blazed, all consuming fire;
Chard concrete, statues, bricks ignite;
Heavens, angels tear cry out, not here;
"The Cathedral serves as a spiritual home”
For almost a millennium, always shown;
Cathedral of fire shall not burn down
We mere mortals are saddened to witness;
No Niether flames or fire damages to this architectural masterpiece;
Notre Dame will continues a symbol of France,
O Lord hail down rains of water and blessings;
Embrace the cathedral with confessions;
Cathedral of fire shall not burn down
A blazed, all consuming fire;
Chard concrete, statues, bricks ignite;
Heavens, angels tear cry out, not here;
Worships amongst the tears those fears;
Cathedral of fire shall not burn down
One of God’s earthly parishes;
We shall embellish, return unto us;
Notre Dame’s bells will once again wail;
Never, ever be stilled those bells will sound again;
We stand with France today to offer our assistance praises;
Glorious and the tragic historical moments that will forever remain;
Cathedral of fire shall not burn down
Shalt be rebuilt, fire blaze nevermore charred walls;
Let’s embrace the chance to dance, witness the rehabilitation of religion freedom enhanced;
Notre Dame shines on through the char,
Angels look down tonight, them to sing Glory to all worship not by chance…
We stand with France today as we sing and pray.. Viva la France O’ in the laden light;
Cathedral of fire shall not burn down
Sparks the fire,
A blazed, all consuming fire;
Chard concrete, statues, bricks ignite;
Heavens, angels tear cry out, not here;
"The Cathedral that serves as a physical spiritual home”;
For almost a millennium,
We mere mortals are saddened to witness;
No Neither flames or fire damages to this architectural masterpiece;
Notre Dame will continues a symbol of France;
Cathedral of fire shall not burn down never more at rebuilt stance;
Notre Dame ever more a Symbol of France;
4/17/19
For NOTRE DAME IN THE NEWS Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kim Rodrigues
I suddenly became aware
(although rooted motive not clear)
avoiding self castration ere
yours truly back during
forty three plus summers ago
(do the math and figure out what year)
long haired pencil necked geek
applied dull razor
to remove, (albeit temporarily) hair
covering these skinny legs.
The missus asked me
(hitherto known as her bozo)
just mere moments ago
to craft humorous poem to glow
nsync with the shiny nose of Rudolph
keeping syncopated metrical flow
thus methought to crow
about being equally as foolish
streaking naked outside at five below
so without further here I go
rattling off gibberish as common Joe
King cole, a merry old soul...
dirt poor, hence without any dough
to embellish endeavor as literary pro,
who also sought to catch eye of Mister Perdue
(yea him of agribusiness fame)
to sacrifice self for New Year's barbecue.
Yours truly repurposed courtesy rigged
easy to assemble cannibalistic spit
with large fig leaf covering puny naughty bit
meekly (née willingly) surrendered
matter of fact, I paid with bitcoin chit
recognized latest currency
ever since legal tender easily susceptible
and oftimes confused as counterfeit
money forged, smelted, and hammered
linkedin with pendulum that swung within pit.
Thus analogous to
Five Chinese brothers immune
yours truly constituted more'n one secret boon
such fiery flames (hot enough
to melt like molten rock)
could harm not a hair
of one *****sapien baboon
matter fact simian in question could become swell
think hot air balloon
allowing, enabling and providing me quick escape
national anthem playing as most popular tune,
a capella, I simultaneous croon
as hot embers snap, pop, and crackle
token human crisply cooking
taking place at high noon
despite the most ferocious typhoon,
no worry, I defy being drowned
survival skills inherited sophisticated protozoan
symbiotic eukaryotes since time immemorial
livingsocial within tight quarters
with not mushroom
to maneuver - oh... hold on,
cuz I will be done lame
reasonable rhyme really soon
ah... just about done
getting cooked the color maroon.
On the news today
The headline storyline was presented
and reported as follows
In Liverpool today some local right wing
protestors who's arms are up in flame's
replacing pitchforks for placards
Which was later retracted in place
of rabble of lawless youths one as
young as just age 15
Causing and terminating in a riot
and remonstrating outside a 4 Star
Hotel
Currently turned into a hostel or facility
to accommodate Asylum seekers
Because and due to according to official
press releases and reports
Misinformation being posted on social
media platforms
Which left the male only residents inside
traumatized and fearing for their own
safety and lives
So much so they do no longer wish to
stay as are now so fearful to even
contemplate leaving the confinement
of the building let alone venturing outside
Now it all depends on what and which
you as individual choose to be believe
As everything unless you were actually
there to witness it with your own eye's
and for yourself
You have no choice unless you know
someone who was actually there
But to take onboard the way it is
reported by the news media believing
they are holy trustworthy
Like in the aftermath the very next day
a reporter is stood outside interviewing
One of the Asylum seekers describing
exactly how bad it actually was and the
general mood and feeling amongst
those inside
With not a scowl but rather a broad
smile seemingly more than willing
actually happy to be interviewed
With what appeared to look like or
be a backpack as if he was just off
out for a morning strole to the shops
for the maybe daily milk or bread
Not someone in fear all dressed up
well prepared in expectations of an
impending fight
And granted that I did not see the
contents of hidden inside his bag
I'll have to rest my case
Otherwise I am in fear of falling into
the same category of what the media
do ever so well
Like insinuating presuming and making
things up as I go
And never letting the truth get in the
way when trying to embellish and
over egg a story
Fantasies float through the psyche
Replacing all thoughts of miscommunication
Infatuation and lustful Inspirations of a lesser form
Gurgle over closed eyes and slanted head
Leaning toward the floor
My pencil keeps tapping the side of the paper
Blank even though the mind is sprinting
Light-years per hour
Teachers keep screaming, it's really no great matter
getting A's doesn't help wealth
become saturated in front of me
Reality is what we make it
Quantum physics parallel themselves with simple stimulation
Recreating minutes of past enchantments
And prior engagements
I can barely remember my head on your chest
The beat beat beating of the affection throws off
The pulse of my dance
It's so long ago that we dreamt
In sync with the scent of his colonge playing with my flowery fragrance on the
pillow
Memories of purer days and longer nights
Butterflies floating up the stomach to embellish comfort of wet kisses
Butterflies are ridiculous now but i still think about them with a smile on my lips
So sentimental the ability to remember hinders
Revolutions of the minute hand
I am unable to step forward and move again
If I take a leap
Into the arms of another, will you still remember me?
Repairing of broken vases always show
The cuts and replacements of arteries and wounds that bleed
Internally though beneath it all the emptiness is still there
The haze is thick enough to let aspirations cut through
Too far away to let myself go
So close I feel the drifting of the heart and soul
Chattering birds keep chanting monotone drones
Spring time is close but the heart is still an Icebox
Beat-box filters through the door with
Adolescents too young to understand
That if I lift my head then it won't go down again
It's dangerous to assume I'm listening because I'm never there
Artistic muses fail to appear if sanity is near
Only once I start to open the eyes and breathe
Day-dreaming is never a crime
As long as I can revisit Sunday afternoons with open windows
Lay down again, close the mind and smell the perfume of the ghosts of time
The glossy lamp-posts,
like the tremulous stars and awakening stars,
light up one by one with a click;
and with incredible manifestation
they announce a spectacular sunset
to impatient and eager lovers...
lost in profound contemplation,
feeling the urge of improvisation!
Serenity descends on the white crushing waves...
to conceal the ablaze horizon with indignation;
will this splendor incite the writer's inspiration,
whose simple words, with elaborate insight,
can console the painters' hearts
when they lack inner inspiration?
Already the conspiring fire-flies seem frantic,
they cautiously search the grass by the tall pine-tree:
to plan a night of mystery,
and to adorn the fragrant air with magic!
There are no lush hills or
snow-capped mountains
to ward off the unpredictable ocean,
or the unguarded sky so prone to invasion;
a sky that harbored the cowards' madness!
They came forward, with full force,
to bring down the impressive Twin Towers;
symble of wealth, of power...
of brother-hood and unity!
They came to kill with hideous minds...
to destroy thousands of innocent lives:
but our selfless,fallen heroes
have made us stronger,
and we are still free!
Even when the weather is unkind
and helpless flowers are swept away by a gelid wind,
snow and rain still embellish, with fine decor,
Manhattan's magnificent sky-line;
and Lady Liberty,weeping,
still welcomes to her thriving shore:
the freedom-seeker and the dream-maker...
so immensely grateful and widly smiling!
The spectacular sky-crapers
can hardly breathe
among those limited spaces;
ask the laborious builders
with sun-tanned faces!
They were the ones fighting off sweat and heat'
waiting to behold,with pride
and rewarding hard-ship,
their ingenious work before the applauding
and cheerful elite!
With beauty and gloominess around,
to spark the writer's inspiration,
this unsteady hand jots down
vague words swerving on the straight lines,
to conceive his defination,
which one day will be repudiated with disguise
by literati's own interpretation!
We've been having a "Bash Santa" week, but I wrote limericks this morning about Putin breaking his tailbone. So, Tom suggested we have a "Bash Putin" week. Here are three more from me. Please join in bashing that dastardly demon if you wish.
That Evil Putin fell down and hurt his tushy
He swore, "It was one of my bodyguards pushed me!"
Not wanting to be blamed
For he was so ashamed
That he had to change his pants cuz they were gooshy
It was on his darn keister that Putin landed
I'm going to be honest and very candid
He was chasing a skirt
When the scumbag got hurt
While being frisky with her, he was caught red-handed
Now he can't sit in a chair on his derriere
Cuz that lowlife tried to ruin the innocent, Claire
It's his tailbone he broke
His neck I'd like to choke
He's worse than Hitler, the annihilator Herr
Written by Jenna Logan
V. Putin has fallen on his tush
Pity was not in a thorny bush
Put him on a chain gang
Better yet, let him hang
Then let us have in Russia a putsch!
Arrogant Putin's butt is sore
Love this special news, tell us more
The ass is hurtin'
The world is certain
Putin needs to be shown the door.
Written by L. Milton Hankins
Putin is a fascist like Hitler, no doubt
That's what he really is all about
He fell on his a.r.s.e
Emitting methane garse
And learned it's three Reichs you're out!
Putin to his guards was accusatory
So let us embellish on that story
Shoved down from his thrown
Cracked his smug coccyx bone
This tail-ends his self-proclaimed glory
Written by Robert Gorelick
Vlad Putin was dealing with state affairs
On his way back he skidded down the stairs
You could smell the foul gas
Cos' he ruptured his a.s.s
No get well wishes because nobody cares.
He'd fallen over and broke his a.s.s. bone
A guard rushed over when he heard a moan
Hard luck you commie jerk
Cos' it's karma at work
Start praying now for your sins and atone
Written by Tom Cunningham