Long Ensued Poems
Long Ensued Poems. Below are the most popular long Ensued by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ensued poems by poem length and keyword.
I saw a sundrop in a field,
a daffodil to be exact,
stand brave upon the snow-filled tract.
In blighting cold it would not yield;
long since its fellows disappeared
to that one spot it still adhered,
though flurries did the winter wield.
The autumn did its namesakes in
before the hoarfrost could begin
and slicing gusts now unconcealed,
with falling rain becoming snow.
The way of death it would not go
as though behind a covert shield
that kept its sunlit attitude
when sleet unto the land ensued.
I saw a sundrop in the field,
in blighting cold it would not yield,
though flurries did the winter wield
and slicing gusts now unconcealed,
as though behind a covert shield.
11/15/17
Pink vase with no design
Dangling there so blue- c'est la vie
I think somewhere in Center City
Apart from everything hectic
In an apartment rising high skyward
The item lingering on the edge of ledge
Standing tall atop a railing raw
Languishing over the 20th Floor
Or thereabouts and more
The balcony didn't expect such curvatures
Or fragility on a morning broken
The sunlight nodded approval of course
Around bouncing beams above the surface
But nothing could stop a soft breeze from…
Poof!.....And off it went… c'est la vie vase
An alert Frenchman, pastry smile and all
Happened along with nimble fingers
Stretched out, caressing a baguette bread
And Beaujolais 42 in fragile glass
The other hand grabs out with stress
As if to field an errant football pass
And in that chance encounter…Catch!...
Tumbling to concrete boundaries down
Bottle released in a wincing crash
Ground favored his mortal urgency
Pottery saved - c'est la vie, Intact
French man’s head cracked
Let’s say opened, something like an egg
More scrambled than not on concrete
A natural death ensued with the seizure
A passerby, identified as a stranger
Seized the moment in a grab
Lifted vase from the newly deceased and fled
Made off down and dirty
An awaiting ally came conveniently placed
To avoid detection from the law and all
Another fate for vase awaits out there
Less encumbered in a far away land
For dreams of other ledges and escapes
If so inclined as far as we can understand
You...
I don't know what to do.
I've lost many things before,
Like when I was careless or bored,
But now I feel something more.
It hurts so much, what is this feeling?
Could it be the friendship we had?
Maybe the mementos we shared.
The stupid fights that left us angry and sad?
Is that what’s causing thus feeling of despair?
Your gleaming smile that could light up a room,
Your silly jokes that made me laugh,
I felt so happy when you bloomed,
Had the guts to say you stank so you took a bath too.
I always got jealous when you shared your smile with others.
My envy was something I didn't understand.
Was my heart beginning to yearn for you in my covers,
Or was it to be rebuked to keep my stand?
I felt my heart beat speed up when I talked to you.
Did you spray some love into my inhaler?
Or maybe it was in my head all this ensued.
It seemed my love was held hostage and I was the jailer.
My confession back then was meant to be perfect just like you.
I dressed up nicely and had a bouquet of aurantia in hand.
I stood infront of the door oblivious, without a clue,
That a devil had plucked you from your happy land.
The killer stood there and shrieked in your room,
Alarmed, and bolted when his eyes met mine.
I cursed that man; he would face eternal doom,
Your body, preserved in red brine,
I didn't want to believe,
But in that moment,
Was that your blood?
For that moment,
Nothing made sense.
Couldn't call mummy,
Couldn't call daddy.
Vision? Blurry.
Words were slurry.
Watimagbo, watimagbo,
Oh, the sky was falling!
I reached out for my phone to call 112,
Panicking frantically when I thought of you,
They calmed me down and came there too.
But then told me there was nothing they could do.
I can't explain what I felt.
The weight of the cards I'd been dealt.
Your funeral was painful for everyone, not only me,
And it was all but your fate that had come to be.
Poway, California~Passover Heartbreak
4/27/2019
I spent most yesterday in agony.
Thinking of the hideous attack in Poway.
A wonderful spring morning, Jews quietly
intent to complete this last day of
Passover at their synagogue
How did they know, it would be a day full
of fears, tears and lament.
And, outstanding human compassion.
America needs to fully understand, you
cannot stop a madman with a gun with
words.
You, yourself, your husband and children may all perish!
As you were brainwashed into thinking
owning a gun is an evil thing.
When lives are on the line, you may
die, don't you get it?
Thank God a Border Patrol agent was at
the Tree of Life Service!
Thank God even more so, he had a gun,
Was able to take on the shooter who
ran like a coward.
The Rabbi, shot in his hand, had to have
fingers amputated,
To which a woman responded to me,
" That's no big thing! "
Is this what America has really shrunk
down to..so heartless and cold?
Many of you up in years understand
clearly, this is statement brazenly bold.
A Chabad woman with no gun, bravely
stood in front of the Rabbi to save his life.
It cost this outstanding woman her very
own life.
Which of us would perform such an act?
A deed so spiritual with so huge an impact?
The killer is detained, we all feel safe?
We forgot Sri Lanka, a week ago?
Of course, we did!
Christians and Jews are all in danger.
America needs to rise up and defend its
own schools, churches, synagogues and
homes and peoples.
The lesson from the Third Reich and
Hitler hauntingly remains....
The guns from the Jews were all taken.
Once the government owns all guns, we
are all forsaken.
The Holocaust ensued, millions perished.
Who thinks "Never Again"is impossible,
Better think again.
With heartfelt sympathy to the Jewish
community in Israel and the Diaspora.
Panagiota Romios
4/28/2019
6:00am PST
Hypochondrial Delusion
A mind corrupted canker
Of cystic self failure
Even gastric anorexia
And fluttery throb to alight the fear
An adrenaline generated tachycardia
That matches respiration
And causes hyperventilation
With invasive pacy rhythm
And palpitating violation
To anxious infarction
In schizoid arrest
A hepatic paranoia
of dermal yellow
And lily liver assault
That feeds a life non start
Of malignant low self esteem
A delusional malaise
Of apoplectic panic
And stressful apoplexy
A localized dorsal twinge
To further worry
Lumbar or thoracic or
Renal calculi or a case of
Bulimic nausea and peptic ulcer
To stoke the festering psyche
Of somatic obsession
Embolic anguish that leads to
A hypertensive strain
With muscular tremor and distorted vision
And a full blown occulogyric crisis
Ensued by catatonia
Comatosed by
Psychotic breakdown and
Inactive body systems
A perusal of the medical book
Confirms the diagnosis of
Life threatening
Hypochondria
It's raining again, grey neon skies,
washing away suppressed surfaces,
to reveal unhealed wounds,
to scars the eyes cannot see
sometimes they bleed.
Some say words heal,
but I resist to express them,
because I'm afraid of my vulnerabilities,
anxious about tears I've never cried.
You only see the smile,
no one remembers that naive boy,
waiting at the window
for the shepherd who forgot his flock,
and he was no black sheep
if only I could reach him now
so he would not grow up like he did not belong,
stop searching for something,
he did not know how to find.
Stop composing that melancholic symphony,
recycling emotions, he did not understand,
I would tune his piano keys,
repair his violin's broken strings,
but
there are too many silent secrets,
blood stained walls will never reveal.
You left me behind,
with an empty toy box,
taking with you childhood hopes,
so ensued a vacuum of darkness -
sucking me deeper into confusion.
I remember watching you walk away,
along a path of overgrown weeds.
If it was not for the gift of mum's marbles,
I would not have laid an alternative path,
creating my protective bubble,
so I could float away, from all the troubles
until I lost them too.
Tell me father,
how was I to become a man?
You pushed me upon my knees,
like a cherry blossom in the wind.
A victim of your sins,
struggling to rise in adolescence,
I kept faith in the path of marble,
grateful for the guidance of my bubble.
After years of silence
upon your final sighs,
watching you die without words,
tears exploded for a stranger,
forgiving broken promises,
forgetting your crimes -
cursing stubbornness and bitterness,
thinking maybe it was me,
not just you
questions that will never be answered.
Today I stand before your bed of marble,
no need for a bubble, I feel no emotions.
After all I am a product of my childhood,
and you were a result of your own.
Silent One
18 August 2019
We did not worship at the shrine of tears;
we knew not to believe, not to confess.
And so, ahemming victors, to false cheers,
we wrote off love, we gave a stern address
to things that we disapproved of, things of yore.
And the people loved what they had loved before.
We did not build stone monuments to stand
six hundred years and grow more strong and arch
like bridges from the people to the Land
beyond their reach. Instead, we played a march,
pale Neros, sparking flames from door to door.
And the people loved what they had loved before.
We could not pipe of cheer, or even woe.
We played a minor air of Ire (in E).
The sheep chose to ignore us, even though,
long destitute, we plied our songs for free.
We wrote, rewrote and warbled one same score.
And the people loved what they had loved before.
At last outlandish wailing, we confess,
ensued, because no listeners were left.
We built a shrine to tears: our goddess less
divine than man, and, like us, long bereft.
We stooped to love too late, too Learned to whore.
And the people loved what they had loved before.
Rainbow coloured camouflage
The rainbow whispered “look at me I am a cameo in abused disguise”.
"You are a beautiful mean to an end, a pot of gold awaiting where you
touch the horizon, elusive no doubt but tangible in dreams and in wishes”.
‘Faruq’ true to his name, the one who distinguishes truth from all falsehood,
vowed to ‘Nahla’, or the drink of water, to be with her forever come rain
or shine, when the Bedouins halted for their wedding under thorn’s holy arbor.
“There will be moist earth under the sacred tree”, promised the shaman,
drank potions from ‘Ausaj’, danced, convulsed and exulted as everyone gathered
under the ‘Sdir’ tree with the promise of sustenance and children from heaven.
It was a monkey’s wedding, glistening sun combined with sprinkles of drizzle,
but the rainbow forgot that camels and goats don’t mix with mischief-makers,
imported from modern changes of climate, greed, power and destruction.
“I have been camouflaged, misconstrued, disenfranchised, seven beautiful colours exuding disaster”. “No, you have your rightful place under the skies, warmongering nations ignore you, they exploit the fruits of the desert, relish oil of demise”.
Ear-piercing storms erupted and lightening ensued with full thunderous wrath and
the tree of life got splintered and divided, ancient reality was crushed under modern delusion.
‘Faruq’ and ‘Nahla’ could not believe that their short marriage was over, they joined their ancestors, struck by the rainbow, who had masked the power of drowning waters, looked helplessly on.
Meanwhile tanks, constructed and draped in seven deadly sins, kept their tracks
in the quick sand of glory, deceit and rape of the planet, full,evil steam ahead.
“I feel so guilty”, uttered the rainbow, “I could not display my true colours”, but the wind and the Gods replied “Not your fault, do not take the blame, when gold turns to tar”.
In London Town he was born and bred,
A ramshackle abode down Popham St.
In Queens' Cottages hunger was he fed,
In London Town he was left for dead.
The landings above the square surveyed
Bins big enough where children played.
Ancient of Times neighboured in a row,
Remnants of war; jaundiced and sallow.
Maggies the sweet shop across the road,
Sixpenny Cream Soda; a wonderful fizz,
Wacky backy, newspapers re echoed
Churchillian rancour of London's blitz.
Air sirens sung their seductive torment,
Chaos ensued to escape the maelstrom
To Underground haven of fear spent,
To avoid the carpet of whistling bomb.
Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag
And smile, smile, smile.England's ablaze;
A fiery inferno and Johnnies lit up a ***.
Let's play dodge the bomb. What a craze.
The landings where we played, had our
Fun, the dungeons where we slept and
Cried. Our war because we were poor
Was at our door. Cor! Listen to the band!
The heat of battle, the shrill of curse
Swear words bombing our souls of womb.
The days we were born, our lives a hearse
To carry us to our graveyard tomb.
We survived the war and lived to tell,
What injustices we suffered and bore.
At times it felt like we were in hell
Now those times are but of folklore.
Sung: The beginning of a WW1 English song.
Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag
And smile, smile, smile.
They’re cute, little opossums; riding on Mama’s back;
her tail rail, secures precious brood.
They’ll grow to be lethal rats;
they’ll try to eat your dog or cat and they will probably win their battle, as they have, giant shoulder chips.
My Manx once tangled with opossum female and
since she had little tail;
great mouthfuls did her hinny make.
Proud of the white upon her chest,
she quickly cleaned up the mess and us,
none the wiser be.
For several days she laid around, our little calico clown; but she was aged and likely to do so.
Around the house she trod; with no marks or blood on bod; until she could no more and it puzzled us to our cores,
why she’d stopped eating.
We took her off to the Vet; a virus, we surely bet and
what a shock we did get, when Vet said,
“Opossum’s chewed up her behind!”
Surgery was our next option;
because an opossum went’a‘chomp’in.
In a couple of days we’d have to stop in and
pick her up, once again.
Listless at home, as our tabby roamed;
her little sister, her ego blistered;
examining tube sticking out her butt;
wouldn’t leave her alone,
so violent hisses and growls ensued.
For days on end, our humiliated furry friend;
would her long days begin, in such a moody brooding.
When that tube came out, happy calico clown,
like “Tigger”, bounced all around.
Table to table and chair to chair she leapt and
made us all shout; “Bad cat!”
Nevertheless, not one thing was broken.
Her sister, how she sniffed at the stitches,
in her hips; our Manx finally laid down the law and
let a big paw rip! Swatted Tabby was offended!
The hissing, spitting fight ensued; with Tabby rolling through the room; Manx, she released such gloom and doom that made Tabby a bit smarter.
Perhaps Manx’s situation, demonstrated by her jubilation, coupled with her agitation; rejuvenated her.
A lively “kit”, she was again
and I tell you, my Manx friend,
enjoyed her newfound days again;
happy that she was saved.
For a while, Tabby quivered;
dazed, she sat and shivered,
because Manx had sent her up proverbial river.
A double lesson, it had been;
though Tabby did irritate Manx again;
Manx from then on did engage in more careful play;
but not with an opossum.