Long Fables Poems
Long Fables Poems. Below are the most popular long Fables by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fables poems by poem length and keyword.
*Image of Man Woman Winter by Pixabay.
Winter Love: Lovers Lore
Fables apiece advents the quirky whiteness, mingling amidst a dreamt sea of ice, a transient couple transcends ...,
Our eyes traced a bevy of cooing doves, creamy emissaries that solicit the air, cradled bears in their cavernous slumber, grasp we the contrasts of a winter's value respectfully shared.
Rallies we as hosts, incite smiles that tide a snowy bank to ensure the source of our delight, that essences glacial depth eternal.
Pleasures us, our spartan sips of integral entities abject icy approach, belittles none of those concerns for our hearts warms in oneness.
The bleakness of grey chances upon the milky frost, but our tidings of gladness gave it no shroud.
Our love inscribed upon volumes stretches to starry reach, it burst in sparkled splendor, earthbound, tendered as a shower of distinguishable snowflakes.
Danced we, isolated from music yet winter's blast tunes the air, still, e'er so soft our labyrinths whims harmonious melody.
Jigged we to a two-stepped-hop, choreographed to frigid-freed heartbeats.
2022 February 18
*1st Place*
A BRIAN STRAND 1090
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2022 March 17
*1st Place*
Winter Love
~~JCB Brul: Judged 2022 February 25
I wrote a great book, part memoir, part novel
Shopped it around, I ain’t too proud to grovel
Got kicked upstairs to a big publishing head
He invited me in, and here's what was said:
This screed you call Crack House of the 13 Gables
Is one long rant mixed with recycled fables
It wanders aimlessly, but never resolves
Characters pop out of nowhere, then simply dissolve
But the symbolism, sir, allow me to explain
The Victorian parlor represents pathos and pain
In the attic are mothballed broken dreams and betrayals
It's gonna shift your paradigm right off its rails
It’s a thousand-page odyssey into the surreal
The hedge maze is where all 14 sub-plots congeal
Enough! The only reason I called you in, punk
Is to meet the lunatic who scribbled this junk
So I slunk away, not a little dejected
Ain’t much fun being literarily rejected
Trudged back to my grueling, stale coffee grind
Working 15-hour days, going out of my mind
Then one day I met an old pal for some beers
Hadn't seen him in quite a few years
I told him about my rejection slip wrangle
He said buck up, you just need the right angle
I like reading novels, now don’t get me wrong
But writin' 'em, man, that just takes too damn long
And what a huge risk, 16 years you devoted
For no payday at all, just your ego imploded
There's no need to pen the next Moby Dick
Try something short, now that is the trick!
So, I thanked my friend for his most sage advice
And took it to heart without thinkin' thrice
And now I am back as a voice for the ages
Except I'm makin' my mark in far fewer pages
I write sound bites and maxims and pithy remarks
T-shirt slogans and jokes, I just do on a lark
I bang out poems and lyrics at the drop of a hat
Dash off 17 syllables in ten seconds flat
Haikus by the bunch
Cook up a batch before lunch
Put that in your pipe
____________________________
For Humor Contest
Sponsored by: Carol Eastman
“Give me my glasses”…..
Mark Twain (Samuel Langhorne Clemens)
aged 74 who immediately after died of a heart attack
There it comes and here I go
the Halley’s comet streaming past
millennium's of existence,
glowing in the dark skies above
Mississippi, like the day it did when
I was born. Stories, fables and laughs
and all! Now it is my final call! The comet waits
with its chariot of haze and glows, but it
has room for just one more,
I shall journey with it past the galaxies,
for millions of years, through eternity, before I get
another call- to be something that nature
may choose. Right now just give me the glasses,
so I can survey the skies for my travel pass,
to re-enter that domain of eternal preservation,
leaving my mortal cask to merge with earth,
but my heart shall resonate with Tom and Huckle,
their joys and pranks worth a chuckle,
while I make my way to the stellar state,
and in there, no life, no death, no fate.
Assuming… cold…
An abyss of extricated lies
Squeezing out like bile from your brain
I can’t breathe when the voice of yours
Is so edgy…so rock hard
As if my life is but a layer over you
That you can break and manipulate and BUILD UPON
I cringe—I turn into a statue
Defeated and ever-blinking
As the rest of my existence around is sinking
I don’t want to be a part of it
But I feel the chains linking to you
As you twist and pull and contort
I am still and stiff as a board
Cracking and rotting—a piece you hoard
Labeled unworthy
Fables unwinding
I’m still here blinking the tears away
But as the world occupies my spirit
My physically chained body yearns
Yearns for a warmth that never comes
That is always promised
A voice from the deep draws me in
Pulling me up for a moment
Touching me
The voice is cold but his arms are warm
And every familiar face around dies away
Dark eyes crushing my tears into powder
And I smile
Because I have never read a face
As genuine and unassuming as his
And for once
I welcome what once was disease
I welcome the haunt of his existence
Because though he has raised me from the abyss
He is willing to come again
And keep on pulling
11/3/13
Morning is broken.
Electric blue; suffocate my words.
Drowning like a fish, gasping for air.
The hole I will lie in is golden on the outside.
I have no life, I have no time; I have no chance to care.
Underwater bubbles never float into the sky.
Pressure cooker, need a cuddle, beauty begins inside the eyes.
Rip my head apart, I have a cavity;
Unclear to see all three degrees.
I only eat rice from a chessboard.
Skinny love; I overfeed.
You are just a dream to me, I imagine.
Methinks no drink from a grail can remedy.
I am ok without;
I am ok within.
I am ok with you.
I think.
Lizard tongues whisper fables to all with ears.
I have no gun, I have no mouth; I have no choice to speak or to hear.
I suffer in silence as I lie amongst the Guns ‘n’ Roses;
Plant my corpse alongside the mourning plants.
I am done picking flowers and my arm is already full of POEsies.
(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
It arrived one day by morning post,
from writing she knew from foreign coast.
Small seeds packed in two polythene bags,
had some criss-cross writing with strange tags.
Martha, Brenda two neighbours, close friends,
cast their wise old eyes to comprehend.
Expert nostrils sniffed for aroma,
this was beginning of weeks drama!
Books and fables they knew from before,
of magic potions that help men score!
They nodded their heads in agreement,
the cure for their men’s predicament!
They soon got their pestle and mortar,
to brew soup so their men are hotter!
For full five days on till that weekend,
the two men were fed medicament....
Result was evident Sunday night,
when men held them in their big arms tight,
Kissed them goodnight and began to snore,
men so very pleased with their golf score!
Written 11/August/2020
“Mystery seeds” contest
Sponsor Carolyn Devonshire
Long ago when fairy tales and fables
Defined that period in time
There's a story seldom told
Of a Dyslexic Shepherd boy
Who guarded the town's flock
From a wolf with hungry eyes
The Mayor said to cry Wolf when he attacked
Then townsfolk would run to his aid
never should he raise a false alarm
The Shepherd Boy before him
knew the rule but disobeyed
He played a joke by crying Wolf
when he wasn't around
He thought it so funny
To call out a false alarm
Making everyone to come running from town.
He played his joke a few more times
Soon not a single villager would react
Then came the night when the wolf made his move
And he cried out that the wolf had attacked
Not a soul ran to help him to fight off the wolf
They heard his pleas but they went by ignored
He was alone to face the vicious wolf Without the villagers support
In the morning when they checked on the Shepherd Boy
His outcome was horrifying and grim
It happened that after his many false alarms
The joke was actually on him.
The Dyslexic Shepherd Boy made a promise
He would never call out a false alarm.
As long as he didn't play tricks
He would never come to harm
The night came when the wolf attacked
He screamed for the townsfolk below
they thought it was a trick
because the Dyslexic Shepherd Boy wasn't crying 'WOLF'
He was screaming 'FLOW'
JSB
Judge Santiago Burdon
Stray Dogs and Deuces Wild, Not Real Poetry, Quicksand Highway, Fingers in the Fan, Tequilas Bad Advice, Lords of the Afterglow, Overdose of Destiny, Architect of Havoc .
Look here, John, I did a thorough research
Inside, outside, up, down and all around
Facts, fables, hearsays and temple or church
Eager to know where mysteries abound
Stranger-than-fiction true and credible,
Mine and yours: life, death, God and the devil
Yet to grasp; to relate, impossible
Sages, prophets, saints – stringent or civil,
Torah or Bible, Koran or Gita
Eager to explain the meaning of soul
Rationalizing life's unique vista,
I believe life is beyond our control,
Easier it's to take life as it is
Sans all the mayhem and the mysteries.
Contest: Rhyming Acrostic sonnet - 10 Syllables/Line
Sponsor: John Hamilton
The battle for the kingdom was so intense
dead bodies were used to build defence
In the end few people survived
King Arthur, Mordred and Sir Bedivere ‘sighed
Now Arthur had forgot his enchanted sword
Excalibur, his mighty reward
He battled with Mordred in single combat
but was fatally wounded from Mordred’s attack
Mordred lay dead upon the ground
and Arthur’s blood from his wound streamed down
He ordered Bedivere to get Excalibur from the palace
and throw it back in the lake, for his malice
Now Arthur asked “what did you see”
Bedivere answered, “nothing I promise thee”
So Arthur asked him twice more
on the third time he replied, “a hand I saw”
As he lie dying three queens appeared
and carried him off to a boat, with tears
They rowed him away with a cry and a song
to stay forever in Avalon
Never was there a sovereign of Briton
As King Arthur, his legend and tales, still written
He formed the Knights of the Round Table
Gathered together friends and fables
Kyng Arthur and the twenty four
Sir Galahallt, Sir Launcelot Deulake, Sir Gauen, Sir Percyvale, Sir Lyonell, Sir Trystram
Delyens, Sir Garethe, Sir Bedwere, Sir Blubrys, Sir Lacotemale Tayle, Sir Lucane, Sir
Plomyde, Sir Lamorak, Sir Bors De Ganys, Sir Safer, Sir Pelleus, Sir Kay, Sir Ectorde
Marys, Sir Dagonet, Sir Degore, Sir Brumear, Sir Lybyus Dysconyus, Sir Alynore, Sir
Mordrede
© Copyright 30th December 2010 K.C.Leake
I saw a thousand guns
Numbered like the sand of the seashore
Bowing down slowly
To the half of a yellow sun
Staring at them with gestures
That spoke silent words of praise
In an unbelievable future of hope!
(Book 2)
The sunrise spoke to the confederation,
The sunset seemed to sleep in peace
Within the heart of a few future Jews
Who told tales and fables of segmented past
With presentable memories of shredded battlegrounds
To new semen’s slowly turning into men
And begged of them to transfer
This vehicle of priceless messages
To their future kind!
(Book 3)
Tankers of war labeled yellow and black
Painted pictures of a fate fair and dark,
Carried labels of a suspected authoritarianism;
Painted portraits of an undeniable militarianism!
Tankers of war labeled yellow and black
Painted pictures of a race in peace or part,
Carried labels of a suspected treason
Believed to be pinpointed by the south-south region!