Long Eschew Poems
Long Eschew Poems. Below are the most popular long Eschew by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Eschew poems by poem length and keyword.
in a perfect world,
we'd accept others
for who they truly are;
we'd be free
of unconscious bias
against those
who look differently than we do.
we sadly have a tendency
to judge other people
based on appearances;
what they wear.
it matters not
the way we choose
to present ourselves
to the world,
our inner beauty
is paramount;
eschew superficiality,
plumb the depth
of the human soul.
The Way We Look Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Unseeking Seeker
Date written: 01/10/2023
Perhaps like a lightning
bolt of clear out of the blue
rigor mortis (tenon and
three decades hence)
two thousand fifty nine if you
count from January 13th 2019, adieu
attest that day 9 months I did brew
in wound (of the late Harriet Harris),
now finds me loved ones
crying boo hoo,
after this stiff mortal
Earthling bid toodle loo
with symbolic casket
(carrying cremated urn of ashes)
remembrance attended
by gentile and Jew
sharing positive memories purportedly
about this nondescript
fellow they knew
mainly indirectly, poignantly,
and wickedly shot thru
with his insightful humorous scribblings,
plus magnus opus titled
"How do ye do,"
an informal rambling missive bereft
of any subject and
devoid with little clue,
the purpose of said hefty tome
out weighing The Federalist circa: knew
lee after American independence
Papers, written by true
purrs under the pseudonym "Publius"
but great (as a great doorstop), or
alight as tinder for barbeque
since many admirers never
read his text written in Hebrew,
fluency acquired spending
final years he grew
old, since automatic citizenship
granted based on genetic goo
plus Mediterranean climate helped promote
longevity to century his health did hew
thus naturally pronounced philosophy,
where he drew
quite a wide web asper the many
claims Matthew Scott did eschew
to maintain longevity (more
quackery than science), but who
could dispute glorious
principles, not to poo poo
analogous to placebo effect
harmless fervent coping methods,
whether to cure ague
interestingly enough he cited ack hue
puncture for a gamut of physical ills
as well he did advocate chew
wing food (after taking small bites)
until mouthful became pulpy slew
(proponent of Fletcherism), this to
exercise dentures in addition
to maximize stew
pen diss experience of simple
routine eating view
wing thoroughly good (by George)
said quotidian activity grew
tubby spiritual, similarly basic
functions in general did get skew
ward whereby meditation on intrinsic,
metabolic and scholastic
processes to name a few
added a dimension of enhancement prior to
exiting life into frontier mortals can only rue.
Have you ever considered
how your shoes will look
without your feet?
I should call Dr. Killeen this afternoon,
find out if I have cancer
but I’m enjoying the extra weekend of not knowing.
Strong oscillations
gather rhythm
and expel me or accept me.
It’s annoying
being the center of attention,
the dead man walking.
Things often work out better than you expect
and this probably will too.
In the transition to non-existence,
Ken said, you get what you believe.
Now that is a truly scary thought,
even scarier than Life is but a dream.
Pain serves the purpose of preparing
one to die.
Other methods have been tried but this works best.
You tie up your affairs
or maintain the discipline you possessed
when feeling well. Eschew
certainty about the afterlife.
All will be given
that must be what faith means.
Don’t forget to breathe.
Rain happens. We supply the reasons.
Leave no footprint in eternity. No smell.
Ghostly frail figure,
that I am now,
neath nebulous moon,
where I shed tears,
on brambled verge,
as thin bones quake,
emaciated earthly being,
whose nocturnal solace,
bereft of suave signage,
with a deathly sickness,
icily immune to healing,
taut threadbare skeletons,
prone to clinical diagnosis,
never fugitive in closet,
nor courtroom strict sanction,
cordoned off camera setting,
where splurge of guilty scruple,
in atonement an utter ruse,
yet musings mercurial lurk,
as the net of darkness threatens,
indignant isolate me stranded,
whilst casting mirrorlike,
reflections shed under veil,
of midnight mosaic,
on my mishap strewn life,
due to brittle bony,
fragmented awkwardness,
that wreaked wild havoc,
with long term intimate bonds,
commonly entailing excess,
swing by to overflowing wards,
I eschew self-pity, period,
so vain and vacuous,
alien and anathema,
barren rattle cerebral
sqeamish stream of,
inlaid tract,
rumination razor-sharp,
from emaciated mortal,
whose stealthy lurch,
is frame vulnerable,
torrid touchstone,
as skeleton key,
gaining ingress to,
stubborn locked doors,
syndrome blight,
hailed as,
lean skinny shell,
resignation rare,
stoic coexistence,
copper-fastens
not as bad as when
she drunk-posted Sand
and Water by Beth
Nielsen Chapman in honor
of her uncle's passing
forgetting it had a line
in it about their child together
which made it seem
incestual and ridiculous, as if
posting your grief in hopes
of getting relief from it in the way
of an artificially-induced rush
of dopamine is a curated
yet plausibly deniable
high that every single one
of the people reading in this time
or any other has done again
and again and again and don't
even try to hide from it like
you haven't been the guiltiest
of all even if you don't do social
media and eschew all the blogs
and always jump to recipe
every time you surf the darkest
corners of the epicurean web
we see you too even through
the incognito browser you initiated
before you swapped the names
and negotiated the terms of the PTA
sponsored dance at the end of the middle
school years and—you, ding dong
who raised a bud light in honor
of your buddy who blew three
fingers off his left hand in a fourth
of july celebration of rights—
we see you too peacocking
and girl mocking your way
into the male gaze, no shame,
baby—we all gotta get it
somewhere, baby
just make sure you snare consent
before the big bang, baby—
The A to P of Change Procrastination to Adventure
Answers to be found to questions unknown must arise from new
Bold novel beginnings revisions contemplation reflections and prisms
Can manage to challenge unearth previously untrodden pastures
Diminish confusing conflicts depression mood swings all our schisms
Encompass what portrays and enlightens where we once had no clue
Forego all those doubts uncertainties mistrusts dithering divisions
Grafting and crafting embracing in gratitude those many disasters
Heralds art works in person and paper defies discards rephrases indecisions
In faith change and purposive interrogation we might well eschew
Jumbled controversies intercept trapdoors pitfalls mindless perditions
Kaleidoscopic mixed and matching compositions not necessarily faster
Lie within us so obviously they require manifold repertoires of renditions
Much hard work is needed in our strife but reward looms where credit is due
No more of that past nonsense routine inculcated intrusive narrow opposition
Obfuscations of sanity health revival if we desire to become our own master
Perfused with loving kindness honesty less traditional re-calibrated new mission
02nd August 2016-09-01
written in abcb rhyme for
contest Alphabet Soup
Life is lived only once. Live it with honor.
It's ever so fleeting, so make it worthwhile.
Forgive and forget slights and move on.
Eschew hatred, they corrode like acid; choose love.
Imbibe words of the wise and pass them on.
Smell life's roses and celebrate small victories.
Take time to breathe and enjoy the sun rays.
Opportunities made of gold do not knock
Often, so when one does, open the door and...
Seize it with a vice-like grip lest it escapes!
Have your me-time, your conversation with God
On good days as well as bad. He always listens!
Remember, dear friend, we're shotgun passengers
Traveling in this rugged road that is life, but once.
Date written: 02/08/2023
An infinitesimal slight speck tickled
nostril follicle – activated via an itty
bitty, nitty gritty dirt band noah bigger
than a mole luck yule set in motion a
chain reaction, whence mine sensitive
proboscis honker (wheeze - hilly little
bridged fine tuned pug nose aroma
sensor), got unexpectedly in gauged
(in holy matt trim mo’ knee) to achew,
and eschew pledging troth (in favor of
hanky-panky) found this chap feeling
phlegmatic because an endless string
of faux allergic emanations, which
upon subsiding left me throat rather
raspy and voice some octaves deeper
akin to a coterie of celebrated jumping
frogs from Calaveras County, California
took residence and refused leaving
stranglehold upon math rote upon
awakening from a hard day’s journey
into night across the outer limits
of thine twilight zone resurrected
during slumber, yet upon awakening
felt much refreshed and hungry enough
to eat a horse – nee – make that forced
whore – gulped down within a hoof
n hour and now recount how back in
the day when zooming thru the Lilies
of the Valley (whooshing mass elf tubby
an aeroplane) frequent bouts with uber
twittering snapchatting sinus attacks
besieged crinkled, doppelganger expeller
for germs hunting with his clean X
instantaneously for nasal passages
to enter surreptitiously the fecund
effluvia dripping, oozing, and seeping
clear liquid as wintry cold air looses
droplets from out a near frozen nose,
which bloke knows not why frigid blast
stimulates gallimaufry of sniffling
to spurt into a volume of one after
another gesundheit donning, snorting
trumpeting unwittingly confusing
Canadian geese, who misconstrue
the honking from midway centered
facial organ, which angry birds
in tandem with flock of Seagulls
quite perturbed to espy one curmudgeon
chap clapping hands over (what feels
like Smashing Pumpkins on face)
in an effort to stifle subsequent gummy
emissions, which residue expectorated
with heave hoe shove
schnoz el tov blowing into snot-rag.
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.
—William Shakespeare
Cupid Knocks
War waged with red ribbons and lights of white.
The lights pure, expansive, deep and wide;
and ribbons spaced upon a stone wall.
War waged, why you wonder; the holidays thunder.
Across the street since half past October, erected,
dastardly tall; couldn’t, hardly, have been borrowed
from a laboratory scientist or graphic teacher;
unless this could be a Goliath and his found head.
Engaged in warfare - serendipitous armor of the Christian;
the stiff-necked, serpentine, who fires eyes like darts.
(oh isn’t this delicious fodder, as I pass by and bypass all.)
Oh, just send a news crew to investigate; first the cold case.
Who is enjoying this more? Sure, he must look out his pane
and see this superstructure of bones with no skin, a cane -
not candy, but bait; a Christmas bow tie to hold severed neck.
(I jest! This seamless skeleton, this unseemly demon, kept.)
War waged since half past December. The holidays thunder.
I wonder who will fold. It’s a tick past February, and Cupid’s
in a quandary. Such a state, as he aims, but which way.
(Perhaps he can get them to obey the love your neighbor rule.)
Still, will Barry Bones be given a big red heart, a box
of chocolates, stationary to bother the kind old soul
across the way? How small the man, the skeleton, all
told, there is practically no skin in the game. Father Christmas
doesn’t mind his electric bill - it razzes the intemperate, raises
the heat, further hoses down the closet where the spectacle
came from. Perhaps this neighbor ran out of room to store
his aggravations; by moon he must endure a level starry night.
I’m tickled. I can see the sparkles down the street. Still there,
every night, night after night. I wonder what brews in the homes
of despair and enlightenment. I would love to interview the two.
What would I eschew? What fodder to chew? Cupid knocks.
This is going to be fun…
My story’s quite incredible, but every word is true.
I’ll add no wild embellishments, for lying I eschew!
I’m thrilled to have this opportunity to share with you
details of Bubba’s unique life with no further delay.
The morning he was born, this baby slapped the doctor back.
Then Bubba wanted “pancakes, y’all, a golly-whopper stack
with half a pound of bacon, three fried eggs, and coffee—black.”
His folks saw challenges ahead, so they began to pray.
At age five, he was muscle-bound and towered over Dad.
A hero to the weaker kids, he punished every cad
who bullied them. He made the entire neighborhood so glad;
all idolized him, hoping he would never go away.
He was a college grad and Mensa member at thirteen.
His IQ was phenomenal and surely knocked the sheen
off Einstein’s and all Mensans’. It’s for sure no one had seen
the likes of Bubba. In all circles, it was his heyday.
I’d be remiss if I left out he’s now a billionaire,
inventor of the wildly popular THE Perfect Chair
(mychair.com), famed dancer who is better than Astaire,
and well-known chef—all by age twenty. Is there more to say?
At twenty-five, he aims to make the most of precious life.
He has two awesome children and a lovely, brilliant wife.
The couple just invented the amazing Perfect Knife
(myknife.com). This hero’s wondrous fame is here to stay!
Mensa is the largest and oldest high IQ society in the world.
April 11, 2022
entered in Jeff Kyser's Tall Tales 2 Contest