Long Embroiled Poems
Long Embroiled Poems. Below are the most popular long Embroiled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Embroiled poems by poem length and keyword.
I came about when the world was hot and embroiled in a rumble.
When transit men carried all they had in a frayed bundle.
When steel was gold or so I was told, and silkworms are of quietude, for less the people that need them.
When Swinging On A Star was the national anthem.
When sugar was rationed, and horse meat the staple, and vouchers held the value of money.
From heart distress, we wonder how relentless thou art in a promise of milk and honey.
I was carried into my teens by voluntary ships on raging seas, and I was cognizant of stiff black bodies hanging from Southern trees under incidental nights.
It was when I was shaken into the consciousness from the cries of freedom marchers, who claimed the thunderous moments of the Northern lights.
My soul has grown deeply grievous of the unrighteousness of humanity.
For it is from dust we came to dust we return in a nation of sand.
Excerpt from A Float with Memories by Mary E.W. Stephenson
copyright 2002
I just wanna say
Don't have to be this way
Don't care what people say
Don't have to be this way
We can all have a better day
Where the children learn to play
Listen to the words of wisdom
And perfect the hell-bent system
That pits brothers against brothers
And sisters against sisters too
The Arab and the Jew
The Caucasians, the Polynesians
And the Chinese too
Remember the African,
The West Indian and Brazilian too
Its me and you
Why is the world bent
On the future and not the present
While we focus on the unseen
Lets focus on the pastures, make them green
Lets focus on the air, just keep it clean
Its a problem when we are not in tandem
You pulling here, me pulling there
Embroiled in conflict
Polluting the atmosphere
And today I write a story
Wishing for kind deeds and glory
To unite the globe with peace and love
Sparing the lamb, freeing the dove
Start a new dawn , free from scorn
Welcoming humanity ,
To a bright and sunny morn
These are the hopes I have
And within me I am glad
That my notes may inspire
Breathing hope with a burning desire
To set our hearts free, You and me
To awaken the blind, let them see
That's all it takes, to relieve the misery
Of a human heartache, pangs of pain
From which there are only losses
Nothing to gain.
So lets rekindle the flame
Let love take over again
And start a sweet refrain
Let Humanity reign.
april starts clocks forward spring
practice in full swing
nets untangled from their poles
players to contact & enroll
gang mowers greased&oiled
kit-bag dis-embroiled
grass-stained pads whitened bright
fixture list to expedite
fix sight-screen broken panels
coax another season from my flannels
spring-clean changing rooms dried with mud
re-lace boots& re-stud
wash& iron umpires coats
then score-box to creosote
tea-urns to scour crockey to clean
a captain's tasks routine unseen
dreams of 50's in the sun
games won by just one run
cricketers' good indifferent & unsung
this national game played just for fun
An orchestra in Melbourne
Is embroiled in a dispute
With a concert pianist who had
A horn he had to toot.
He told the audience he’d play,
Not Mozart, as was planned,
But new music as a tribute
And he hoped they’d understand.
His friend composed the piece to honor
Journalists who’d died
In Gaza and his thoughts about
The war he could not hide,
Putting all the blame on Israel.
He can feel that way, of course,
But a concert’s not the venue
To trap listeners by force.
There were repercussions, naturally,
And lawyers are involved,
But no matter what the outcome,
What should clearly be resolved
Is that concerts are for music
And, with classics in demand,
All political discussion
Should be absolutely banned.
#Her_unique_story
From a distance, my thoughts provoked, gazed in with deep mesmerization, saw only the fine linens God had embroiled her silky soft texture with, forgot that she too was human before all, so many stories her archive posses, I chose only to hear the tales which would make my heart twinkle,
but she had a story in particular, the uniqueness I have heard of, now honoring my presence, a unique story she carried, in all the soft edges of her voluptuousness, got lost in her voice, it was a question she asked but my ears consumed only melodies, a melting pot of my attention, liquidized before my eyes, after a while realized I was been spoken to, oh! Heaven have mercy,
a beautiful rose, her name recites, I heard rockets blowing out of my eardrums, after effects of her voice, so ***** I fell upon my knees, attacked by her attraction, felt and filled her presence with my magical touch, automated smiles running flawlessly on her facial, knew my codes, were granted access, indeed met a female dinosaur and she gave me a fire conversation,
her story broke, its a yesterday she had, chaining her to step any further from it, a smile turning sour, with one eye as a passing hose from her bleeding soul, filling her lenses, the mood dims, reaches some climax so up raptly, forced to provide tissue words,
a bond germinates, her story stirs hidden emotions, wondering why though, answers at no avail, some wind blows wisdom and understanding to my sense, and I say "if not you, who then?
Her story woke my silent demons, intrigue fills my heart, how so beautiful being goes through such, realised the beauty in her trauma, my art eye spots, all the drawing her yesterday contributed in making her the ornament I just can't get enough of,
pain indeed beautified her unique story, the freckles on her face, so perfectly placed, making her all uniqueness dazzling for the public to admire, a plain evidence that her story is unique, her unique story
#Poetic_Ink
(Otherwise titled poetic
gobbledygook trot -
oven chilly cooked confusion eliciting
faint thanks a lot
unbeknownst this tasteless,
senseless, rhymeless... lettered
Rorschach test tease I jot
interpretation, viz hitting
analogously like amorphous melted ingot
watch yourself...
d's lines iz still smok'n HOT,
now I puzzle regarding how
to extricate mess elf aye got
into try'n to strut and trumpet
hightailing to Hong Kong
entrepôt yea, that dot
on the map embroiled -
in political fracas fifteen minutes
of fame Andy Warhol didst allot
every man, woman,
and child even no bot
tee like me.)
Anyway... when zombie like,
I try to dead reckon eyes
purposefulness astride oblate spheroid
nsync with other gals and guys
either one, t'other or all
mask cue lated in disguise
impossible mission to triangulate
Euclid say logic defies
to comprehend gibberish
no matter how much you scrutinize
his highness, qua shape
shifting imperfect square stumps
any tree men douse great mind to analyze
me skewering, marinating, gunning... decries
abiding any logical positivism
queries best addressed to Lord of the Flies
since nary handy dandy blues clues,
I opted out thus...
rubbish provided to synthesize
random words helter skelter
strewn to symbolize
absent any rhyme or reason
courtesy handy matted figurative
trapezoid doth employ
no paradigm to exercise
leaving comprehension after mine demise
so go ahead chastise
cuz I already know,
never will said poetry win apprize.
The wrapes of Grath adorn the path that slammer klingks had tread
when turning spades in everglades to flosticate the dead.
Along the way the snorbels bay at freebled sprutelned
that boogeymen had once again uphove above the shed.
The buildings tall that housed the krawl are pictured carved in stone
and all that’s left is now bereft of wrapes that might atone
for scabs that feed our wrinkled breed, distraught and lying prone.
Yes, flonk replaces merpeled traces deep inside, alone.
There’s no retreat from incomplete, so durbies never dared,
but streaped instead beneath their bed with franjent fangs unbeared;
they knew the past could never last although the trumpets blared,
for doogies, stripped, were ill equipped, no longer bald or haired.
Like cavaliers with gougejent spears, well triggered for a tiff,
slank vankulures with silver spurs embussed for grimp and griff
(no question why, for “we can’t die”, the oft regleated riff);
with little fuss the blunder bus krunged glimpfly off the cliff
and fetid breet of grim defeat gave Grath its final whiff;
the catapult had one result, all life lay lazelled stiff.
The plastic waves that washed the graves, now homeland for the rutch,
though faring worse when quenching thirst with warples in the hutch
were nonetheless, as frunks confess, so pleasant to the touch
exturbing sinks that watered wynx and onetime life as such.
Like burning blotters slurping waters, skindles sipped their fill
from koozing cracks between the tracks inhumed beneath the hill,
then spawned the spores of Grathic wars that profit from the kill;
their victory tales, like crimson crails, reside in dung and dill.
Those scrilly clouds that cowed the crowds neath radiation snapes
left little less than watercress beneath their coffin’s drapes;
yes, those unborn cannot adorn the pallor of the prapes
so scrundlemun tinge bibberun, we ones who reap the wrapes.
Yes, now-abandoned hetzelspan were once in time embroiled
with merikained that firps extained until the weather roiled.
What more, perchance, can happenstance inflict upon the koiled
when pendlesnips are in eclipse and wrapes of Grath are soiled?
Lest We Forget
The haunting echoes of battlefields, so very long ago
Lost in the solemn ancient eyes of pain, sorrow and woe
Memoirs of scars, lost limbs and countless medals worn
Memories of fallen, lost comrades in arms that they morn
The sacrifices made by the these band of brothers
They fought as one, unselfish bravery like no other
Forever entrenched into their minds and their soul
They fought, each battlefield, winning the only goal
Fighting side by side, strangers, brothers in arms
In the city’s, towns and jungles, carrying firearms
Giving all they had, willing to laying down their lives
Seeing the bloodshed, all those who did not survive
To all our fallen soldiers, lost on some foreign soil
For all the wars fought , each battle fiercely embroiled
To all who served, who serve still, in god’s grace they be
Lest we forget the sacrifice they gave for us to be free
And so the soup’s, coming to a boil
Very difficult, not to get embroiled
Rumour has it, Hitler’s on the rise
Goose stepping, in poetic disguise
Jackboots kick open, doors of rhyme
Acrostics embed, swastikas sublime
Vaxxers accused, of a new blitzkrieg
Covid deniers, offer vapid intrigue
Enigma encoded, in sonnets of fear
Lady Haw Haw, sobs crocodile tears
All together poets, salute Sieg Heil!
Conspiracy theories, jabs are on trial
Contagious haikus, causing upset
Biden instigating, everyone’s death
God’s gone paranoid, so we’re told
Playing both sides, to steal our souls
Armband stars, equal covid passes
Monoku writers, killing the masses
Limericks are evil, piled full of poop
No place for crap jokes, tainting soup
Poets reincarnated, in nom de plume
Childish dark magic, one has assumed
So do ends, always justify the means
In war and pandemic, mania’s routine
By
David Kavanagh
I watch my kitty playing every day,
she insists on it as she is quite spoiled:
true, I am the reason she is this way,
you see she came at five years quite unspoiled;
unable to play- now she is embroiled !
She was a rescue all tattered and scared,
I washed her and tried to get her to play:
dangling toys and rolling balls as she stared,
then, that sad gray cat had a happy way;
now walks with her tail high and a sweet sway !
In the morning she gives kisses and purrs,
and my bed is full of her toys waiting:
she has been bringing all those toys of hers,
meowing loudly while I am sleeping;
I must wake for she is captivating !
I have never had a more serene cat,
but, when she plays it can get wild and rough:
often, she just comes to me for a chat,
at times, she is just some rolling gray fluff ;
I watch till she stops sighing- enough !