Long Fabricating Poems
Long Fabricating Poems. Below are the most popular long Fabricating by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fabricating poems by poem length and keyword.
With my solution upon my parchment bright
I conjure worlds where imagination takes flight
The ink flows free, a wondrous, winding stream
As letters spin forth, fabricating words unseen
A tapestry of meaning, rich and vibrant, is gleaned
The poet's craft, a magic, all its own, is spun
Within the story, rhythm and rhyme find its time
A symphony of language, a harmony sublime
The words come alive, a dance, a sweet, sweet crime
In this realm of fantasy, I find my peace
Where words are woven, a cloak, a gentle release
From the mundane, I escape, and find my release
The quill whispers secrets, of a world untold
A realm of wonder, where the heart doth unfold
A place where dreams are born, and magic is told
In the silence, I hear the words take shape
A whispered promise, of a tale to create
A world of wonder, where the heart doth await
The parchment whispers back, with a gentle sigh
As the words take form, and the story comes alive
A dance of language, a wondrous, winding flight
In this world of words, I find my heart's desire
A place where imagination, doth set the fire
A flame that burns bright, a beacon in the night
The quill and parchment, a wondrous, mystic pair
A partnership of magic, beyond compare
Together they weave, a tale beyond the air
In the realm of poetry, I find my home
Where words are woven, a tapestry, all my own
A place where heart and soul, are forever sown
The whispers of the quill, a gentle, guiding hand
That leads me through the realms, of this wondrous land
A place where magic dwells, and poetry stands.
People say there's no such thing as time travel.
But if you sit outside in the early morning sun
Versus inside in front of half-hour TV shows
The quality of time experienced is chasmic.
The house protects, shields, nourishes
In its finite space.
The World is an infinite bombardment,
Like a child gleefully displaying all his clothes
While fabricating new items on the spot, sweetly, angrily,
but in every way for you, without fee or formality.
It is the world to which we belong,
Not the house, nor the show.
The morning sun may not re-locate us (physically)
Through our own construction of time
As a properly gadgeted time traveler might,
But it slows it with mystic ease and rhythms.
Which is more than Oprah Winfrey could ever do
Stuck inside a glowing, square box.
So rejoice! Your problems are small, definite, and digitized.
As this poem is written I sit
In World's slow time
As it beckons me forward in search
Of the soul's blue and glacial bliss.
A sky wrapped around a fist.
A rising sun crackling
The mountain mist.
A time traveler awakened to
Love's first kiss.
This Saturday morning.
Outside with tea.
Just you an me.
With the television's "secrets" within.
And the World open and naked without.
In the mist shrouding mystically
the journey’s penultimate mile
at the fringe of the fading pasture
of the un-blossomed future obscure
in the twilight hour transient
the sunset swansong resonates
for the forlorn life silently spent
and becoming silhouetted still
against the shrinking skyline of lost luster
seeing the last sparkle of the dying day.
The twirling threads of turmoil
entwined in seamless motif
with the passing clouds of passion
surging through the sensuous storm
to the unwary horizon dark
halcyon once with splendorous hues
tinting the chameleon transformation
on the convoluted yearning canvas ablaze
as from its burning rememrance remnant
the abandoned ashes fly away.
The shards of the splintered hope
in the swirling squall of relentless agony
afloat on the melancholic waves
of melted fervor flowing in the stream of tears
the remaining rays of sanguinity
survive still in the final flashes
of the sinking sun not yet morbid
fabricating the last lattice latent
of the tapestry of dream
swathing the panorama of the promising life.
On a boat hidden and unseen,
I glide with the current of the river called life.
The wind on the raised sail whispers,
how brave sailors cross the storm surge,
narrates the fascinating story of the land far,
the river hasn’t seen.
I drift past faceless people on the bank,
some songbirds I adore fly with me.
The river promises to take me to the sea,
where the waves roll with pearly crown,
sunburst sky sprays the charisma of colors,
fabricating the collage of surreal fresco.
The river keeps its promise, takes me to the sea,
I sail on the rhythm of its silky swells,
drift across the sapphire stretch of seven seas,
beyond which there will be no sea to cross.
Maybe I will meet someone there to tell me,
why the ancient mariner made this journey.
__________________
July 26, 2022
Contest : Sailing
Sponsored by : Julia Ward
She was standing outside her classroom when I arrived
I did not recognize her; I know I have had her class.
But they all wear a different mask every day; I barely recognize any of them.
I ask her for her name.
I am fabricating it due to confidentiality.
Let’s call her Rainbow.
Rainbow and I walked to the counselor’s office in silence.
I asked what chair she wanted to sit in.
She wanted to sit in my rolling chair.
This is not the first time this has happened.
I let her have it.
She was crying; it might help.
I am the school counselor, so I am flexible about who sits where.
She was sob gulping because someone had said she had on a bra.
She has on a t-shirt; she is eight. But it embarrassed her.
I told her that we should let the person know how she felt.
We colored a bit before she was ready, and we played in sand.
I had her laughing about scaring me with her terrifying ghost stories.
If you know me you will know it was just to get her calmed down.
We went to the playground where the other child was.
The other child had no idea that the word “bra” was a trigger word.
She did not think anyone would be embarrassed about having one.
She has two or three teenage sisters.
We discussed it.
Rainbow was busy tying her shoe for a while.
I told her to stop tying it and tell the child how she felt.
The other child said she had no idea some families do not talk about bras.
I imagine this is true.
I asked her to call Rainbow’s undershirt an undershirt if she has to mention it again.
She agreed.
Problem solved.
Potential end of a beautiful friendship averted.
Just a sliver of my day as an elementary school counselor.
rising from bed in the morning
seeking shelter when it's storming
idly whiling stray hours away
dreaming there will be better days
fabricating a self-image
with a more prominent linage
doodling on back of a letter
shunning life as a go-getter
paying of various taxes
wielding rhetorical axes
stopping by the grocery store
dealing with muscles which are sore
waiting in the queue at the bank
musing why the page remains blank
finding the proper words to say
quickly dealing with come-what-may
filtering life's little lessons
leaving positive impressions
contemplating all that might be
if we'd just win the lottery
making life much less exacting
all in the action of acting
discovering what keeps us sane
among remains of the mundane
Written: June 16, 2023
______________________________________________________________
The flames grew dim as the wax poured.
A silent killer, it stealthily soared.
My fire drowned in its accompanying liquid.
As the wax engulfed me, my spirit was rid.
Wobbly thighs are forcing legs to thrive,
Against the tides of doubt, I strive,
Softened walls once held me tight.
But now I break free with all my might.
Hardened, I pressed on through trials and strife.
I was prepared to fight the challenges of life.
But not the same; I emerged anew,
A phoenix rising, with strength imbued.
My stature morphed; I was no longer small.
I stood tall, no longer afraid to fall.
Spreading out with deeper roots,
Nourishing my soul with resilient pursuits
Fabricating a raw wick from crisp-cut hair,
I swallowed wisps, training for another blare.
Filling my insides with my melted torment,
I structured walls with blunt-force blows.
In the depths of darkness, a fiery rage ignited,
A flame untamed, burning bright,
A storm of fury is brewing inside.
Ready to unleash its destructive might.
I crafted a weapon, a wick of hair,
Each strand is a reminder of my despair.
Swallowing wisps of pain, fueling the fire,
Training my soul for vengeance dire.
Every cut, every strand, a sacrifice made,
To forge a weapon, a fury blade,
Igniting the embers of my shattered past,
A tempest unleashed, a fury unsurpassed
Chiz was a romance writer who actually made a living.
Her dad was embarrassed by her genre, refused to acknowledge.
Her mother put her down, to please her father.
She kept happily publishing her books, unconcerned by their opinions.
Her sister Dizz was a brilliant cartoonist.
They did not consider this “real” art; being pseudo intellectuals.
If they spoke of her craft all, they were poking fun of it.
Having no sense of humor, they could not comprehend.
Their son Fritz was a drag queen. He never told them.
Fabricating a story about being a lawyer’s assistant.
They bought that, because they wanted to buy it.
He never worried about them coming to his show.
These parents put all three of their children down, made fun.
Others touted their accomplishments and gave them awards.
All three were acknowledged and acclaimed in their fields.
Their parents missed out, never knowing their own children.
Jinxed jesting jejune junior jobber...
just jabbering gibberish (A - I)
Again, another awkward ambitious
arduous attempt at alphabetically
arranging atrociously ambiguously
absolutely asinine avoidable alliteration.
Because...? Basically bonafide belching,
bobbing, bumbling, bohemian beastie boy,
bereft bummer, bleeds blasé blues, begetting
bloviated boilerplate bildungsroman,
boasting bougainvillea background.
Civil, clever clover chomping, cheap
chipper cool cutthroat clueless clodhopper,
chafed centenary, codifies communication
cryptically, challenging capable, certifiably
cheerful college coed.
Divine dapper daredevil, deft, destitute,
doddering, dorky dude, dummkopf Dagwood
descendent, dagnabbit, demands daring
dedicated doodling, dubious, dynamite,
deaf dwarf, diehard doppelganger, Doctor
Demento double, declaring depraved
daffy dis(pense)able dufus Donald Duck
derailed democracy devastatingly defunct.
Eccentric, edified English exile,
effervescent, elementary, echinoderm
eating egghead, Earthling, excretes,
etches, ejaculates, effortless exceptional
emphatic effluvium enraging eminent,
eschatologically entranced, elongated
elasmobranchii, emerald eyed Ebenezer,
effectively experiments, emulates epochal
eczema epidemic, elevating, escalating,
exaggerating enmity, enduring exhausting
emphysema.
Freed fentanyl fueled, fickle figurative
flippant fiddler, fiendishly filmy, fishy,
fluke, flamboyantly frivolous, fictitious,
felonious, fallacious, fabulously fatalistic,
flabbergasted, fettered, flustered, facile,
faceless, feckless, financially forked,
foregone, forlorn futile fulsome, freckled
feverish, foo fighting, faulty, freezing,
fleeting famously failing forecaster, flubs
"FAKE" fundamental fibber fiat, fabricating
fiery fissile fractured fios faculties.
Supposed to feed off of the pain
That forever comes my way
But I'm getting my ass kicked by this game
Been insane for.......
I lost count of how many days
Searching for the right words to say
Almost impossible to try n explain
It's like the dysfunction been ingrained
Since such a young age
Grasping at ghosts of the past
All I ever wished for was to have your love last
But I think too much was done
scars beeding from lash after lash
Tears flow when I wana just smile and laugh
How can i even have the nerve to ask
Numb
Takin blast after blast
drugs stopped working long ago
Chasin" that heat wave flash
shooting through my blood
Don't know.how my veins are even still intact
Lookin for the perfect blue line to slash
Everyday like going into combat
When all I really want is your love back
Deep down knowing it's been long gone
Knowing all along,
It was never really there
Fabricating a life that only I can imagine
Fooling myself into feeling your passion & compassion
When the truth is,
you just waiting for the inevitable to happen
I REALLY did believe you were in love with me
And you would never leave
Kuz thats what you promised me...
All along I was just forcing myself to not see
If I'd just let my dilussions go,
I could finally be free
But I've alway held on to that blind faith in humanity
Thinking that you were so much more than
Any of them could ever be..
Stupid me.....