Long Ensues Poems
Long Ensues Poems. Below are the most popular long Ensues by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ensues poems by poem length and keyword.
"Breaking the Lonely Rewind"
Hysteria ensues a small death
on a funeral pyre pushed
into a sealed and soiled
heart shaped box sunk
to swallow stone tears
reversing reflections
in the coldest mirrors
Tsunami waves flood
all that was green
On the breaking shores
there the Lonely Rewind
is floating amidst The Shallows
resurfaced, cracked open and laid bare
her black treasures
boiling over inky interior
spilt darkly the soul
now sharp and split in two
a gift from the damned
walking out into the blistery wind
where sourness all around
whispers a soft war
of unclaimed, unwanted
forgotten voices,
The Lost and Lonely,
way past the end of their world,
where heartbreak is spurned
resurrect into burning birds
from the cold veined inferno,
The Silent Ocean of Reprieve
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
"When I Was Older"/Billie Eilish
https://youtu.be/HSCREQjxPHE
Lyrics:
https://genius.com/Billie-eilish-when-i-was-older-lyrics
"In order to rise from its own ashes, a phoenix first must burn." Butler
"She told me she’d be a phoenix.” The image of the mythical creature rising from the ashes glitters in my mind. “They don’t really exist.” “She said that depends on whether or not there’s someone who can see them." Picoult
"One does not need to be against womens suffrage," the London Times editorialized in 1908, "to see that some of the more violent partisans of that cause are suffering from hysteria. We use the word not with any scientific precision, but because it is the name most commonly given to a kind of enthusiasm that has degenerated into habitual nervous excitement."' Gilman
"Lady Lazarus", Plath
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49000/lady-lazarus
L.A ‘62. English professor George (Colin Firth) is mourning the loss of his gay partner. He's
spent the day reliving memories, but that night meets his student Kenny (Nicholas Hoult),
who secretly admires him, in a bar. The two end up at George’s house after a spontaneous
ocean swim. Kenny has just emerged from the shower,wrapped in a towel. George is making
a fire. When Kenny goes to get a beer, he discovers a nude photo of George’s dead lover in
a drawer. His suspicions about his teacher are confirmed. A beautiful score of stringed
music, nostalgic and tender draws me in to every nuance of Colin's performance.
George, feeling foolish and seeming a bit flushed with anticipation (yet restraining himself
from improper conduct), sits on a chair across from the young man when the boy returns to
the living room. A conversation ensues in which George asks Kenny questions, trying to
discern the young man’s reasons for being there that night. The boy, too, is trying to learn
things about George, but keeps hedging with his responses to George‘s questions, and
nothing completely “telling” is ever said. Meanwhile, their eyes linger on each other. The
young man’s eyes are an enchanting almost gleaming blue; I find it hard myself to look away
from his sweet face. My eyes are also riveted every second to George’s face and to its many
subtle changes of expression.. Finally, the boy asks George something and at that moment,
George’s face blurs. My curiosity is very aroused when suddenly the scene has switched to
George awaking at about 3 a.m. from his bed.. The young man, however, is not in the bed
(as I had hoped he would not be). He is asleep on the sofa, and he clutches in his hands the
gun which George had planned to shoot himself with. Had George revealed his plan to end
his life that day to his student? Was that what happened in those missing hours? Had the
boyish Kenny (while George was sleeping off his drunkenness) found the gun in the same
way he had discovered the picture of George’s partner and now was holding it to prevent
George from carrying out his suicide? I know I am soon going to learn George’s fate. . .
I KNOW A PLACE
I know a place wherein a wild time grows,
Where ale and wine and spirit freely flows.
Quite uninhibited behaviour there,
Whilst swinging rock band music fills the air
And couples wildly dance the night away.
Lost to the world until the break of day.
But sometimes, fuelled perhaps by excess booze
Or petty jealousy, a fight ensues.
The band stops playing, dancers stand and cheer,
Till someone shouts, “Look out, the cops are here.”
As if by magic, peace descends once more,
And, when the officers burst through the door,
They find not a hint of trouble of course,
As the band strikes up a Viennese waltz.
22nd May 2023
This or That, Vol 18 Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Edward Ibeh
Always great fun at an intersection
With only a four way stop
You start, he starts, it's him no it's me
Nose to nose, where's a cop
You glare, he glares, nothing's solved
It boils down to a battle of wits
Like kids arguing over a colourful pull toy
“That's mine! No, it's mine!” and you sit
Even the ear shattering sound of horns
Has no effects on this yahoo!
All hell breaks loose, 8 guys get out
And a bloody fist fight ensues!
Standing back I watch the proceedings
Grown men acting like jerks
Get back in my car, I drive around it all
It's not worth being late for work
Four way stops are becoming quite rare
In this fast paced world we live in
The days of civility have all been replaced
When nobody's willing to give in
© Jack Ellison 2013
#SWISH! SWASH! SWOOSH!
MORE, MORE...POUR SOME MORE!
Oh what's in store, for this day, is a memorable drenching, a satiated and satisfying encapsulation of sensations
met rigoursly and rapturously...
RAIN on THIS day, Won't Disappoint and it's an ALL DAY AFFAIR WITH NO CARES IN THE WORLD! {SMILE} IT'S NATURE'S DOWNPOUR, IN STORE...
"OH THE POSSIBILITIES!!!" {SMILE}
YOURSELF: IT'S 7AM...BUBBLE BATH TIME!
YOU IMMERSE IN PURE PLEASURE, YOU'RE ABLE TO LOOK OUT YOUR WINDOW, SKY WATER IS CRASHING AND THRASHING ABOUT, IT'S EARLY AND YOU HAVE THE ENTIRE DAY...TO YOURSELF! CRISP WHITE LINEN AWAITS YOU, PREMIUM BREAKFAST GOODIES PARTAKE YOU, MORE WINDOW VIEWS, AS RAIN ENSUES...AND YOU RELISH*
ALL YOUR NEXT CHOICES, SO MANY! SO
MANY! THE THUNDER GUIDES YOUR* WONDER!!!
FRIEND: YOUR CLOSEST FRIEND CALL AND SAYS..."LET'S GO THRIFTING!" YOU BOTH COINCIDE WITH A SHARERIDE ALL AROUND THE CITY! WE WEAR OUR FAVORITE RAIN GEAR, COLORFUL OF COURSE, WE'RE FILLED WITH JOY!!! WE RETRIEVE AT LEAST TWO MOST TREASURED ITEMS, AS WE DISCUSS OUR FINDS, AS WE DINE, WHILE LAUGHING UP HYSTERICALLY*
AS IT RAINS...NO PREVENTION OF THE DAY'S GAIN!!
LOVER: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
WE BOTH SIGH, AS WE LIE IN SHEER EXCLAMATION AND EXCITEMENT WITH OUR ADDED COMPANION, THE RAIN!!! THERE'S NOTHING LIKE IT, THAT SMELL IN THE AIR, THAT ALLURE, OH SO PURE! "BABY, THE CROISSANTS ARE IN THE OVEN, WE WILL FEEL RAVENOUS AFTER OUR LOVING!!!" AFTERALL, IT'S A RAINY BLISS"FULL" SUNDAY, NOTHING MATCHES THIS TYPE OF MAGICAL, MAGNETIC AND FANTASTIC GETAWAY...
"I'LL SAY!!!" "I'LL SAY!!!"
SOUL :-) GRIN...
"ESPECIALLY TODAY!!!"
Renee D. Gross {GHPPR} March 25, 2023#
born February 7, 1812,
whose living descendents
I would be thrilled to befriend,
hence if anonymous reader
by some genetic fluke
linkedin to said
prolific storied author
please kindly reciprocate.
greetings mutual friend,
hard times dash
great expectations in this bleak house,
whereby battle of life ensues
when Sunday chimes
from master humphrey’s clock
issue somber american notes
invoking overshadowing doom
from young gentlemen:
oliver twist, nicholas nickleby, barnaby rudge
martin chuzzlewit, david copperfield,
young cricket and on the hearth little dorrit
collaborated on pickwick papers
with dombey and son detailing
how I (a haunted man/
ghost’s bargain) alias mudfog
got self absorbed in his old curiosity shop
hunted down by boyhood days
(akin to an endless Christmas carol
frieze as child’s history),
now a thick dust covered holiday romance
memory portraying this signal-man
(according to george silverman’s explanation)
eerily similar to the mystery of edwin drood,
exiled after his trial for murder
birthing three ghost stories
inhabiting a haunted house
affecting the young couples lamplighter
an uncommercial traveler
evidenced by pictures from italy
prone to speeches, sketches
by boz and his lazy tour
an oft repeated tale of two
cities best read at dusk.
He finds himself surrounded
and bound by countless books
with eyes that stare and dare him
to devour every morsel where he looks
at words-paragraphs-and-pages
perched on overburdened wooden planks
throughout his mole hole of a bedroom,
his sanctuary-den in which he
lives, hides, thrives and gives thanks
for the restless urge of writing
yet finding reading more enticing
as the battle of his ageing
raging mind ensues, like two
lovers dancing in the dark,
each hoping to make their mark
before the night is through.
“Theology” by Sheed, is what he thinks he needs
but Socrates and Greek mythology
have keenly caught his eyes,
before touching any titles however,
he pauses briefly to wonder why: Why not
a little Shakespeare, some Dickinson or Thoreau, why not
give astronomy, cosmology or psychology a go?
But then what of Tolkien's "Hobbit" and
"Fellowship of the Ring;"
"The Lost History of Christianity" and Buddhism
could make him sing.
Reading has a way of opening his mind
but he can't seem to think away
the urge to write
against the rising of the tide
as he picks up his pen
and his fingers begin
to fly.
Love seeps from curling words
into a floundering bloodstream,
A Pychpomp's breath,
pumping through the pulse of mature ache
resurrects a rage for bloodthirsty romance,
Her veins awaken to tighten hotly
through and through along thighs,
wrists, and throat,
She is captive to a caress
controlling and cathartic,
A ruthless healing ensues,
blooms like bitten beauty
begging for a deeper kiss,
His spirit swirls around her most sensitive nerve,
pearls of dormant passion
begin to sweat their luster,
His gripping becoming brazen
and gothic strong,
She sighs with a scream of cream
that shatters sorrow
and simmers the soul,
His wing tips ablaze
along her heart now starlit true,
within a breathless epiphany
Her world has been remade,
reworked, and reformed
into a righteous worthy faith
that chaos nor the Devil can curse -
J.A.B.
Written: August 26, 2023
Personification Of The Elements Sponsored by: Miranda Hawley
______________________________________________________________
I hear the echoes of a distant time,
As wailing gnats embrace the wind chime,
Their tiny wings are a symphony of sorrow
In the winnowing winds—their cries borrow,
For now, I am but a freshwater stream
Trapped between valleys, a mere dream,
But deep within my soul, a fire burns,
A longing to break free—to bear my turns.
I crave to be an ocean, wild and vast,
Where waves crash and dreams are cast
Touching continents with a powerful might
Drawing them closer, day and night.
My power is at its—height
As the sun shines with all its might
Air and water temperatures rise,
Underneath—cerulean skies.
A swirl of water and air my power unleashed,
Destroying all in my path—unappeased,
With every twist and turn, chaos ensues
As I revel in the destruction I choose.
The cool air wafts off lakes so serene,
Mixing with the heat above—creating a scene.
The surface of the lakes, now disturbed,
Ripples and rages, as if it were perturbed.
With furious eyes of fiery red,
I unleash my wrath—filled with dread
A tempest of fury—a dance of might
Engulfing the world in a relentless fight
No shelter can protect—no fortress can stand,
Against the force of my wrath, so grand
I tear through cities, leaving ruins behind.
Leaving no trace of mercy for mankind.
To walk the talk over burning hot coal
Tests the mettle of God-bestowed free will
Debate ensues between ego and soul
By hammer and tongs, shaped on the anvil
Hesitation signals we’re not ready
Looking at how to better our morrow
Unable yet to hold love’s flame steady
Self-serving instinct cause of our sorrow
In the playground of life, as we do dance
We begin to look beyond outer form
Every breath we take, offers us a chance
To choose love over strife, in each life storm
It’s high time hermit, that we stand erect
Heeding voice of conscience, our life’s perfect
21-April-2022