Long Etude Poems
Long Etude Poems. Below are the most popular long Etude by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Etude poems by poem length and keyword.
Gold! Gold! Dassel screamed: he had found gold! And so what we were told, he stuffed his pockets and told the fellas to pull him up.They had straddled a well rig used to clean shallow wells to lower him down into the hand dug tunnel.
"On the eastside: yeah the eastside, he began singing dancing around full of joy and happiness! "Yee Haw"! "Yep, Yep Yep dippity dew" he'd holla with seven of the eleven smiling along with him. Then one of the unsmiling fellas said: "well get back in the hole and get us some more"; ah-hell we can lower ya'll down and stand in watch of the gold; by then Dipper and Tinsel will be back with the midday supper for us to grub on." Fassel jumped up with glee and said thre of us can fit in the bucket, ya'll just lower us down! Well they did and lowered the remaining four in two more sessions: the second time the bucket came up the heaviest two men were concerned with the condition of the floor of the bucket, they took some time to make sure there weigh would be supported while they were being lowered.
After the remaining men were lowered: one guy yelled up to the fellas " above the snakes" ( a cowboy term used to say every things okay, or that they were still alive). No one answered, the fellas had takin the gold and scrammed." Ding Dang them hoodwinking scoundrels done told the gold and ran off!" "Barearolle done got us ah-gain! Ding Dang Scoundrels!" He took off his hat and whip the fella next to him until he fell on his shoulder and cried. They started looking around while they waited for the fellas to return with the midday supper: and behold, they found ten times more gold then they had before!" one guy was to have said: we gonna need action for the woman now Paw: aint no fiddle glad enough to sing this song! "We gonna needa huntin horn for them dang bushwacking scoudrel Paw!" "We hear Paw say: nah we gonna leave be: we just gonna leave them be, we gonna get outta here take our gold, in a hushing manner and just leave them be!" "Something about beleiving makes me think the Lord will serve the best revenge!"
From The Book
"THe Passive Mister Gangue"
( The WheelBarrel Man)
Written by Shoofly Muckmen
and Bolero Etude
From the Sounds of Music
Recording and Publishing
Company.
The Ottawa and New York Connection LLC
life had written an etude in D minor and barely gave him a pass
D for defeat denial disintegration dour reprise of the inevitable
bottom of the class for society sang to its dominant song book
while he was tone deaf and kept quiet hiding a coarse inner voice
his internal melodies sounded like a rusty cheese grinder on arrest
detained him after school hours to punish his apparent shortcomings
but it is difficult to make fine parmesan from blue veined fromage
and the blues of his childhood suffered under cruel constant assault
´the boy has got no sense´ and the child was never spared the rod
when all he wanted was a bit of cane sugar yet he did not suck up
to their blows which knocked out a few teeth in the long process
that laid the cruel basis for his trademark cheeky and sardonic smile
´when you have grown you will show gratitude for our kind efforts
to change your attitude and give thanks to our shaping your mould´
as it came to writing music-sheets he scripted them in lemon juice
secret messages because when life gives acidity you have a choice
one teacher was gentle with him and gifted him sour boiled sweets
for every time he hit a note from his own repertoire of aspirations
he almost chocked on such a gesture of compassion and novelty
breathed out slowly and poured out his heart in cacophonic sorrow
‘I might never become a tambourine major or master of ceremonies
no choral conductor or symphonic regent in other's marching bands
my choir will be a small ensemble and quality strikes vocal-chords
right where they need caressing and cradling but not false elocution’
‘if I can wipe the cheesy grimaces off the face of my crude tormentors
so be it then´ but this is in truth not about a vicious viscous fondue
gratitude has to be earned and thanksgiving follows genuine kindness
attitudes meanwhile may change or strengthen ´for this is my music´
A composition in Roquefort major with walnut crumble and cherries
on my cake and some can see clearly the grinder has its own purpose
when pungent milk turns into custard and some have egg on their faces
‘Its not about perfection but progress is built on effort and appreciation´
26th August 2020
Thee nonpareil Amelie Beth Harris-McGeehan
blessed honest to dog goodness her person doth bring
never could her brother wish upon NON GMO
(archaeopteryx, buffalo, chicken...) wing,
and genuine prayer anybody more a maze zing.
Many countless years before
our dear mother passed away four
plus eleven earth orbitz ago,
she voluntarily repeated more
times than I can remember "your
older sister possesses altruistic qualities."
The above words enclosed by this bloke
with double quotation marks, okey-doke
not necessarily the way mama spoke,
but yours truly took poetic liberty
without any intention generating impulse to choke
the harmless, nameless, and stateless writer
and literally went bonkers
while going for Baroque
for recognized virtue that recently woke.
Kinship towards angelic, fantastic, pacific anchor
understandable why her spouse did hanker
during their courtship to pledge his troth
to maneuver metaphorical
hook, line, and sinker as though steadying a tanker.
Innocence and naïveté suffused little boy
occupying body of aging long haired
pencil necked geek without gainful employ
and (and as a shy person without benefit
of powdered milk biscuits)
generally trended solitary
verses masing with hoi polloi,
nevertheless ofttimes relentlessly teased
bully me, I loathed treatment on par
with worthlessness linkedin with discarded toy,
thus gratitude prevails toward eldest sibling
(no matter just thirteen plus months older)
pseudo motherhood she did deploy
to ward off aggressive monsters.
I reckon eyes appreciation
matured into present thankful attitude,
now with mooch time to ponder and brood
how earlier in my life behavior childish and crude
methought meself as hotshot dude,
yet these days, I couch sincerity writing
one or another poetic endeavor
knitting words analogous to composing an etude
contemplative, intuitive, and ruminative mental food
for thought hoop ping to convey
honest to goodness gratitude
communicating reasonable rhyming message
(if yee be downcast dearly beloved sister)
delivering uplifting, kickstarting exalting mood.
Please, piano boy, get out of my head
It's not that I don't want you there; it's just not worth the bloodshed
Because you deserve it all, and all I am is not enough
So I'm bleeding, trying to forget you instead
So please, piano boy, get out of my head
Please, piano boy, don't play that piano piece
It blurs my mind, seeps into my veins, each time you touch the keys
You see the world like I do; I can tell by how you play
The music finds its cadence, but my soul still craves release
So please, piano boy, don't play that piano piece
I could lie and say the music doesn't lead me back to you
That I never catch your name on my tongue out of the blue
That I can still live my life
And I promise you, I've tried
How hard can it be to make myself believe that's true?
Yet I can't even listen to Chopin anymore
Because every piece makes me think of you
And when I said I'd never been in love before
You entered my life right on cue
And in the silence, I still hear the melodies you've made
Lingering in the air, so sweet and clear
So, every time I think, my thoughts of you begin to fade
I try to forget, but they're all I can hear
In between the notes, you're all I can find
Now, I can't hear Chopin without you on my mind
Somehow, you find a way to come across in every etude
Stormy passion finds its way through
The same storm found in your gaze
And in each nocturne's theme, like in a sweet and tender dream
I find your smile in the scene
Floating amidst each phrase
Now, I can't help but listen to Chopin even more
To remind me of the moments I've spent with you
Now I can say I've finally been in love before
It's more beautiful and sweet than I ever knew
And in the silence, I can hear the melodies you've played
Like gentle raindrops falling on my ear
And I do all I can to make sure they never fade
Because, above all else, I long to keep you near
In between the notes, you were all I found
Now I listen to Chopin just to keep you around
Because I find you inside every sound
Please, piano boy, let me keep what I've found
Love So Stated
Mother said uncounted times,
“Sally, I know you better than you know yourself,”
But, if that were true she wouldn’t have said so,
For it hurt — much — and I cannot believe she
Meant such a hurting. It may have begun when
I grew from a child into the age of the unpredictable.
We all like to think we know loved ones well enough
To plan surprises, from cooking favorite foods to
Getting them gifts to be treasured, from when they
Need a hug to how they like room lights dimmed or
The curtains opened in the mornings, of days when
They need an extra hand or to hear a Chopin etude.
From earliest childhood I had an artist’s soul,
A nature of being in a sister universe to my mother’s,
Not the same, but a way of seeing and learning
outside
The pure intellect in which she met the world. In all,
She may have more truthfully said,
“I love you better than you love yourself, Sally!”
For I had been her daughter from waiting days
And first cry, the infant she held, who demanded
Her smiles and forever sought her approval, which
She said I had unconditionally, but so unbelievable,
For while I knew the love, the yearnings of my
Christ-loving, artist-eyed soul felt not understood.
When I was 16, some disagreement led my beloved
Ballet teacher to tell my mother, “I know Sally
Better than you do,” which hurt my mother very
Much, so much, she never forgot her anger, and
Did not tell me for decades...I would have scratched
Open the presumption of my beloved teacher,
For she knew me neither, although she, too, had
Loved me much, for she had rocked the cradle
Of my artistry. Neither knew me so completely well As I was in those days as unformed as the first clay
Form of Degas’ precious statue of the young dancer, In danger of collapsing, and still
without her presented soul.
**********. **********. **********. ******
(c) sally Young eslinger 9/20/20
Thanks be to God
Etude in Prose
{SCRIPT to prose}
SCRIPT::
I am afraid you presume too much
Mr Battersea If I have lent you
reason to believe this
I assure you otherwise
Accept my apologies please Miss Schofield
I did not mean to offend News I have heard
inclined me to give the event creedence
Mr Battersea I advise you not to indulge
yourself in the meanderings of gossip
I hope I shan't hear any more of this matter
If I may Miss Schofield allow me to offer
apology by means of Miss Schofield
would you accompany me to dinner?
My Mr Battersea you catch me unawares
Let me check my diary and I shall forward
you my reply through Bertrand, my father's valet
Shall we return to the party?
Yes yes we shall
prose
Excuse me Mr Battersea whatever
are you saying?
If there was a notion to pursuade
you to lend creedence to this matter
let me tell you that the
case is otherwise
I do beg your pardon
Miss Schofield News that I had
heard gave me cause to have concern
I wish I had not brought the matter up
even though it seems absurd
This Garden's secludity
provides the perfect opportunity
to approach you on this matter
as is my concern
Please allow me to advise you
Mr Battersea if I may That meanderings
of gossip can lead one's mind astray
For it is many I would rather that
collect in idle chatter And matters grow
in great degrees as this case shall be
On this matter I hope not to speak about it anymore today
If I may Miss Schofield allow that I
may offer by means of an apology
Miss Schofield Will you please
do me the Honour to accompany me
For Dinner so that our company is not
parted in an unpleasant way?
My Mr Battersea you have caught me
unawares Allow me to confer with
my commitments I shall send word
on the morrow with my father's Valet Bertrand
Shall we return to the Marquis?
Yes yes We may
Dutiful discipline drives devoted diligence...
Quotidian dedication describes
das deft dude,
his promising passion
with English language
within recent past dim sum
might notice he brewed
poems about common
trials and tribulations food
for thought self sadist factorially
reasonably rhyming oft times
incorporating analogy, metaphor, simile
more so to stave
writer's block fortitude attitude
versus less to impress any
first time unknown reader,
or anonymous regular
guy/gal follower disproportionately
emphasizing burgeoning agonizing
travails analogously Druid
cursed his existence fearsome
oaf got me matt chewed
rendered into pulp fiction
subsequently spit viewed
within circle comprising
cannibalistic primate creatures
roam'n around within
makeshift amphitheater crude,
yet sophisticated as
simplistically configured, construed
convoluted edifice witnessed
snaking snarky conga line
weaving and bobbing amidst
totemic pillars where well
kneaded, muscled, oiled...
flesh glimmering while nude
on green acres, whereat
arbitrary petticoat junction etude
aired by linkedin foo fighting
beastie boys in the hood
paying homage to their
benevolent patron - Saint Jude
honoring self serving
cisco, duck, eagle - feather nesting
arrogant, bombastic, conceited...,
egos trumpeting barren airs
exuberantly keyed how
village people got royally screwed
taken to cleaners riverside,
whereby sudden deluge didst flood
courtesy of... mad
don (huh) feeling stewed,
who sought world dominance
raged at populace he should
receive nobel peace prize
and voted, nee crowned emperor
demanded cachet else...
he promised to force unglued
freedoms of life, liberty
and pursuit of happiness!
Exotic egos evade exit endings, encompass=ing eccentric
extensive earwaxed essentials/ergo enameled equi,
existentials everexuding extra egg entrenched eyecons,
extricating eerie effervescent
ephemerals. Ecoli epitaths engulfing erratic enticing eras, escorting
electric eel embraces establishing estival estates ever enticing
etiological esrogenic excerpts effecting extracurricular edsel
edacious eddy ecto estrogenic ecstacies---endemic endowments
enervative energies, etheral engagements, ethylolic etudes eulogized
evinces evasive evidenced evil equipped evocative enforced
excimer excised exercised excessed extrapolated, extended, excess-ed
extravagantly exualted enviously extroverted extrinsic extrose
excused excited exclusive evolved evangalized eventualated
everlasting etude estranged estopped etched eternal enriched
enthralled estate established espirited expressed essemplastic
erosive erratic errantly erased equipoposed epitomized eualized
epicured entombed enthused entertained enthroned entitleded
enlightened enlaced enmeshed enlisted enlarged endured.
Enclosed encounters enlist enclaved endeavors. Endangered
empathys em pale emotive embalmings empty emulsions
extricated eleventh elevated elegant elementary existentials.
Elderly ego ejections, elastic executions, egrets. Ecstatic entrails
endorsed. End-demic equivalents extracted.
I hear the words. In autumn's silent verse
lie anapestic wafts of falling leaves
with golden syllables both bright and terse,
the crimson pluck of summer as it grieves
its loss of verdant shimmer. In the wake
of crisp and subtle gusts the florid blades
crescendo as the sunlight comes to slake
a thirst for saffron til the morning fades
into the afternoon. Throughout the day
as cherries black and sweet scaled up and down
the August clef these notes atonal splay
like drifting heart beats, every verb and noun
irregular. September's brusk intrude
has come to hold in taciturn embrace
the last of shy begonias, an etude
in bitter truth as spiders' tattered lace
lilts in wisteria. I hear the moans
of aimless cadence rattle through the trees
as nascent winter's catechumen hones
his hiemal vespers by dead white degrees.
I can't obsess. It's early fall, yet I
am not immune to meter in the loft
of birch unleafing to the gloaming sky.
And though the fledgling whisper is still soft
as eider I hear words. The coarse enjambed
reprises with the start and stop of wind
presage the future of a world that's dammed
in ice without damnation of the sinned.
I can't escape the scape. The pewter gape
of frost bound windows as October girds
for gelid isolation brings the scrape
of branches on the glass. I hear the words.
9/9/19
Might he find it in him self to
see error in his previous thought
than might he recognize the
way his lyrics and music
might blend together to
be heard in the finest hall's
of this world.
Those lovers, and those who love music
might come together to and hear
the sweet tones of tenors, alto's, soprano's
rangey, and rangeier
Etude inspro' Vivace?
perhaps, or which, watching to await
seen then in performance
those of Decapp Grooves
Consonancnist Contralto
Legato Motif? Objectio's of Cantar
might he than show a world
of unloved folk, that togetherness in music
can inspire healthy relationships
the kind that blossom and bloom, without taking from others
than when sum see
The.................................Fermata........................................!
they will stand and say Bravo! bravo ! Bravo!
The sounds of words , Written as lyrics, Sang to Music(complimentery)
and enjoyed by those who wish to repart take in such endeavors.
Nights for lovers, and Lovers of Music.
That those the world abroad might ask, who inspired such,
that these mentions gather interest..
Than might the person marry, and shall be happy from such these inspirations.
He might be blue due to the fact that they boo'd him twenty miles away of his home town, they cheered him at home. He introduced his New lover amiss the boo's.