Long Fabled Poems
Long Fabled Poems. Below are the most popular long Fabled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fabled poems by poem length and keyword.
Oh, gaze upon the towering height,
A gravity-defying sight!
A masterpiece of horse and hair,
Held high upon the fabled stair.
No paltry scalp, no dull decree,
But architectural vanity!
From ancient Egypt’s royal reign,
To Versailles’ weeping, powdered pane,
The wig proclaims: “I own this space,
Regardless of my naked face!”
With scents of lavender and starch,
It marches past the swelling arc,
Concealing lice and graying dead,
A kingdom perched upon a head.
But look below the braided lace,
To where the scalp declares its case.
The fateful knot, the twisted rue,
Demanding praise and tribute due.
The tender-headed, weary plait,
A marathon of tug and wait.
With grease and ribbons woven tight,
It keeps the secrets of the night.
Yet, when the morning sun takes hold,
The tragedy of hair unfolds.
Flyaway, an epic old bag,
The dreaded, knotted, tangled shag.
A thousand hours at the drink,
To make a girl just pause and think:
“Why must this natural cyanide,
Cause every follicle to hide?”
So off it comes, the heavy plait,
Exchanging all for synthetic faith.
The wig is donned, the knot is fed,
A better, glued, and flawless head!
No frizz, no fuss, no morning dread,
Just instant “powder” in the spread.
I live in Arrubluc by the sea
much like the fabled Llareggub
made famous by Dylan Thomas
in the radio play 'Under Milk Wood'.
The land meets the sea here as well,
but it's a beachside town, beside the sea,
not a portside fishing village.
The sleepy town awakens, with a yawning sigh,
As the gentle kiss of dawn paints the sky.
Fiery orange and red, a sailor's warning cry,
Ignored by seagulls squabbling to fly on by.
The sun bursts up in the East through the ocean,
And the curved horizon rippled by waves in motion.
For the sea is seldom calm and exudes its emotion
Driven by wind and waves into pulsing commotion.
The waves and shore are coupled in embrace,
The sands are caressed lovingly with grace,
There's hiss and splash as waves surge through the flat space,
Leaving behind wedding veil trails of pure white lace.
At dawn, the sea birds gather in flocks on the lake,
To chat and squabble, to preen and feather shake.
The black swans cruise single file shoreward at daybreak
Grumbling and mumbling grunts, as they come in to take a break.
The gulls and terns, cormorants and stilts gather together
In groups of kin, returning like fishing boats to tether
Up on the shore for rest and relief from the weather.
They gather in a congregation, massing with friends of feather.
The surfers and fishers, come to worship the sea,
Paying homage to the beach and waves with heartfelt glee,
Frolicking in the swell, casting out their lines in a spree,
To catch the whooper waves on offer, and big fish all for free.
The surf club is alive with laughter and cheer,
Where mates gather for bawdy gossip and a beer
Every Friday afternoon as week's end draws near
Enjoying the ballads and shanties of the local balladeer
As twilight falls to night, and the moon ascends,
Darkness reveals its velvety somber blends,
The stars return to the sky, like eternal friends,
Amid the calm and peace as day's end descends.
Arrubluc beachside,
here beside by the sea,
says "Bye, Bye, Good Night"!
The Little Zebra
Once upon a time, there lived a little zebra.
He came from a good family that loved
him very much; but as the zebra got older
he noticed that he looked different, so he
went to his mama and asked her why,
" Mama, why do I look different from you?
My stripes cover my whole body. My stripes
are black and white. Your color is just black,
and dads is white. Why?"
" Son you are the best part of me and your
father and we love you very much."
" I know that mama, but it's just that when I
go around my friends that's like you, they
want me to choose sides, and when I'm
around my friends that look dad, they want
me to choose a side too. I get so confused
and I don't know who I am."
" The world can be so cruel. They get caught
up on the outside forgetting that we are all
the same in the inside. The outside is the only
difference . But son when it comes to your
friends,just be uniquely you. You are a part
of me and your daddy mixed. And we both
created you. You don't have to choose nothing
be you."
"Mama, the world wasn't prepared for me, but
you sure prepared me for the world. I love you,
mama."
" I love you too, son. Run along; your dad will
be home soon."
The End
Moral of the story “Know thyself so that when others tell you who they think you are, you won't be confused about who you really are because you already know.”
11/4/19
Resubmitted 02/1/2021
Contest: FABLED MUSINGS
Sponsor: Joseph May
1. To Fly
My father was an admiral, and so
I joined the Navy. Back in fifty-eight
to be a pilot seemed the way to go:
ship-sailors were committed to a crate.
Scrub decks? Paint rusting gunwales? That’s a ‘no’.
The Skyhawk was my weapon (and my fate!)
2. Rubicon Crossing
Some nations follow rainbows, I am told:
we thought, in Vietnam, ‘search and destroy’
would lead us to our fabled pot of gold.
For years we tried it, but it brought no joy:
we lost our nerve, and switched to ‘clear and hold’.
Saigon endured the selfsame end as Troy.
3. Brainwash
The Hanoi Hilton. Yes, I was a guest.
They found my father was a VIP,
and left off hurting me. Impressed,
they wanted to restore my liberty.
But if I left my buddies, I’d detest
myself. I turned them down. That’s decency!
4. Frozen Side of the Sun
Should politicians simply sing the song?
A woman voter told me, in the hall,
Obama was a Muslim. I said, “Wrong!”
I guess I lost her vote. I made the call
I knew was the correct one. I was strong.
Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all.
The stables stretch gloomily yawningly empty
Carefully cleaned and tended each single day,
As they have timelessly been, keeping pledge
Ever since the Royal Dragons had flown away
Through that gaping rift suddenly riven in the sky.
Black at its centre then shading slowly off to greys
Hovering there menacingly yet doing no harm
The ancients said it was foretold in earlier days
Announcing an end to one realm of time
As the sacred prophecies solemnly said
For all things must pass as it is written
A new order comes to be in its stead.
The squadrons had circled in final salute
Climbed fast and sure in that dark sky
Purposely and steadfastly heading for
That sinister revolving coal black eye.
Without a pause they entered and were gone,
That maelstrom replaced by much missed sun.
Birds started singing in the gentle light.
No doubt folk felt a new order had begun.
And so it has been for many years past,
The world moved on nearly as before
Nothing seemed to change
Except dragons were no more.
Returned to their own kingdom
To their own fabled land
From where in exile they had
Long been banned,
Until the punishment purged,
So the story is told
They returned to their glory
And kingdoms as of old.
The stables are almost forgotten, hidden,
And dragons are become stuff of legend.
But, the stalls are still waiting clean
In case there is written an alternate end
For the big Fire Lizards
To return and fly
Once more gracing
Earth’s blue sky
Returning to that forlorn place
An almost ethereal state of grace.
I don’t know if we were the first,
other's had sailed away.
There were rumors of settlements.
Years later, pleading petitions to the king,
then silence.
Months of turmoil and torment
upon the merciless seas.
Our ship almost a wreck,
the pox and plague
having whittled us down,
to a motley band of hollow eyed scavengers.
Then Land sited!
The fabled Americas! Those yonder shores
must be that fearful, paradise of legend.
We had overcome!
The Captain led his weary folk ashore,
but being the ships cat I stayed
to find the last remaining rat.
That night I dreamed
that the ship up-anchored all by itself.
The men dashed back to the shore
to save the vessel, but I, the last sailor,
rigged the tattered sails
and flew before the wind back to England,
but not before I had fired my pistols
into the yelling, stranded, and doomed crew.
‘Not yet America,’ I thought – ‘not yet.’
There are time capsules in the rural Mid-West,
not retro constructs, but temporal dislocations
that remain as was,
for lack of a reason to be other.
Restaurants steeped, not in nostalgia,
but in a comfortable inertia;
diners that serve
broast, broiled and breaded,
drive-ins where the movies you missed
can now (if you have a mind to),
miss again.
We have bars where the jukebox is not a junk box
but a wood and chrome depository
for archived time-warping selections.
Beer here has a fabled and dusty history,
and is brewed as meaty as a rolled-up forearm.
Astronauts are grown here,
the moon is their backyard,
their silvery spaceships
launch each year from every State Fair.
We’re futuristic in a plaid and dilatory way,
we are as post-modern as Jetson reruns.
We dwell just West of the middle of tomorrow.
In the fabled coastal town of Victory,
drenched in a rainstorm of discontent,
gather racers in its local pub, planning
trips to return home after it was
announced that the 'Driver of Victory' Cup
was cancelled due to the storm.
The treacherous route through countryside
with the cliffs and rough seas 'twas the
other, cancelling was a must until the following
year. Sad was a man from Beacon, whose
trophy case was filled, save one cup from
Victory, so it cannot be done.
Reason being, he's retiring, after he won this
cup. A man of grit, will never give up,
he's determined to get the cup. Later that
night, shattered glass goes unheard, a
cabinet glass door was left open. In Beacon,
a trophy case, now complete, with the
'Driver of Victory' Cup, and a retired driver's
~~grin.
Date: 05/26/2019
Ambling thro' the museum today an object caught my eye,
Inviting me to pause and reminisce about a time gone by.
'Twas an old oaken icebox standing there on display.
That ancient relic served as the family refrigerator in its day.
I recollected that we had one like it when I was a tyke,
Growing up on the Hoosier farm on fabled Farmer's Pike.
It cooled the milk and cream and butter that Mom made,
To spread on fresh-baked bread with a tad of marmalade!
What a refreshing sight on a sweltering summer's day,
To see the iceman's truck slowly meandering our way,
Along Farmer's Pike, crystal-clear ice stacked on the truck,
And anticipating a sliver of ice to chomp on and suck!
Mom put a card in the window to show the amount of ice required.
The iceman took note of this and delivered the ice desired.
He'd carry a hundred-pound block of ice on his burly back,
As nonchalantly as if toting feathers in a gunny sack!
Iceboxes served their purpose and in museums they now repose.
Once in awhile you'll find them at flea-markets and antique shows.
Fancy refrigerators now cool the grub and make the ice.
The iceman's logo I yet recall, "Iceman's Ice Is Twice As Nice!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Glorious hues arise from halo of morning sky
As dreamy eyes take me on a wondrous ride
Where cottony clouds scatter layers of purple
Adorning with shades of heliotrope flowers.
On my ride I visualize a celestial place on earth
Hearing fairy tales from fabled views unfolding,
And I ask my yawning bushes to vacate at once
So I can plant my lilac garden in sunrise colors.
Mesmerized by purple cues in orchid motifs
My day traversed gaily in enchanting overtones,
When clouds spewing gray darkened my show
Blocking twilight from glistening reddish glow.
Having lost sunrise, I hang on to sinking sunset
Assured by its scenic prowess I build my place
Near the lone lamp on street that is yet to be lit
Yearning for vistas of my daydream to repeat.
My place now occupies best of both worlds
Rising with mornings and setting with evenings,
Mimicking splendid hues of evocative contexts
Adoring fervent daybreaks and dreamy sunsets.
February 15, 2018
First Place:Sunrise and sunset contest by Silent One
Also placed first in ultimate 2018 contest by Brian Strand