Long Faire Poems
Long Faire Poems. Below are the most popular long Faire by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Faire poems by poem length and keyword.
Nestled under blankets,
the gentle whirring sound
soothes the savage beast
within mine body electric
of one generic, opportunistic,
and wholistic garden variety man.
Within blink of closed eye
yours truly transported
into the realm of deep sleep
benumbed to reality as unconscious guy
experiencing dynamic vivid dreams
courtesy Fluoxetine Hcl
(C17H18F3NO·HCl)
known as Selective
Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitor (SSRI),
especially prescribed to treat
depression, panic disorder,
and obsessive-compulsive disorder.
Holmes tower fan whooshing air
analogous to sonogram (ultrasound)
infiltrates slumbering snorer (me)
best not to awaken papa bear,
cuz he will roar loud and clear
disrupted sleep upends ability to function
no joking psyche riddled
with profound anxiety and despair
subsequent havoc wrought
on par whereby mailer daemons ensnare
co opting, conquering,
and compromising blissful state
deadened head reveling
within private webbed world
regarding unscripted drama deep inside
temporal lobe of brain,
the hippocampus might conjure
time traveling circa Renaissance faire
wordsmith metaphorically possessed
remonstrated by fire breathing dragon
evidenced fiery breathing
affect nostrils to snort and flare
awoke from necessary dreams,
I would angrily glare
frightfully enough to induce goosebumps,
and raise every small hair
along spine uncontrollable fury
communicating shattered functionality
essentially rude awakening would impair
ability to experience joie de vivre.
Debilitating panic attack invariably triggered
similar to Tonga underwater volcano
eruption January 15th, 2022
constituting physiological displeasures
chiefly vertigo, racing heart, nausea,
excessive perspiration, adrenaline
coursing thru body,
whereby Prozac (brand name regarding
aforementioned synthesized chemical)
ameliorated unbearable,
unmanageable, untenable...
earth-shaking, devastating,
and crushing manifestations
disabling, exhausting, hijacking,
jackknifing, sabotaging, and wrecking
life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness.
Kickstarting psychological equilibrium
linkedin with savoring at least bajillion winks
else sixty plus shades of gray matter methinks
knotted courtesy cerebral gordian knotted kinks
yours truly feels discombobulated
teetering and tottering atop brinks
of figurative precipice.
Far as the (ease)
severely myopic eyes can see,
nothing but polluted atmosphere
where skull and crossbones
memento mori betokens beware,
especially with increasing chronology
mortality becomes crystal clear
existential crisis yours truly didst despair
not so much death itself, but failure
(inadequacy) at livingsocial
mine life to the hilt
plain as day everywhere
casual attitude apropos
(pertinent personal paradigm
regarding aspiring poet)
equals laissez faire,
hence the following
his apt nom de guerre
emotionally castrated docile heir.
Minimal milestones attained he
blithely professes, grants, attests,
et cetera as general rule
barely squeaked by
(think graduating high school)
weatherbeaten and rust covered cerebral tool
smartly linkedin cogs and wheels
buzzfeeding delicate threads didst unspool
above mentioned metaphor near
perfectly, quintessentially, and realistically virtual
extempore description hoopfully edifies
thee dear reader figuratively yours truly
got swallowed into vortex whirlpool.
Maelstrom pitched me to and fro
hither and yon into damndest chaos
drowned me under dead end zone
fiercest storm ever
raging across Lake Woebegone
stronger than bajillion healthy
male primates oozing testosterone
empowered with indomitable strength
downing ordinarily toxic
(even infinitesimal quantity) quinone
think beefy hulking Hercules types
built powerlifters second to none
pulsating pecks, quaking quads,
and ripped reputations
far and wide known
with versatility now
smattering of lines
constituting this poem I hone.
Invisible omnipresent nemesis,
(perhaps the Schwenksville Strangler)
appears intent on asphyxiating,
and simultaneously forcing yours truly
to experience unbearable
oppression, humiliation, and agitation,
whereby joie de vivre extinguished
provoking sadness linkedin
with remembrance of things past
agonizing, kickstarting torturing
absolute zero ability to relish the present
essentially forced to recollect
nasty, short and brutish mailer daemons
characterizing diabolical ghosts
representing nauseating, and haunting
hurtful dirty deeds done dirt cheap
courtesy my selfishness
verboten fruit tasted within recent past
now the bitter aftertaste
analogous to Scrooge
suddenly horrified about his stingy self.
Padraig's Fire
Hurry!
Hurry through the night
With windstorms
Breathing at your back
Before the shadows know
You pass their doors -
Their darkened, dusty, empty hearths -
Before the dawn ascends -
Before the pipes awaken;
Carry close
Precious flint and tinder
Next to the wildly beating
Warmth -
Beneath your flowing cape.
Hurry!
Hurry down the rolling path,
Rising up to meet your feet,
Sweetly caressing your rushing steps,
Passing sentinels
Of ancient oaks,
Graveyards
Where primeval elms once stood,
That guard a narrow door
Of the river Boyne
Watching over Tara's keep
In a valley of wild rushing eddies
Shedding superstitions
Restraining deep planted longings.
Hurry!
No faire voices invitation;
Only life, held out in promises,
Beckons pilgrims here -
Pass through the numbing chill
Going down to rise up
Past myths
Into inviting aires and covenants;
Pass through the chill of seperation;
Pass through the swirling current
Gripping to release sandaled feet;
Hold high the flint and tinder
Then rest within the hollows of a hand
In quiet glens of grace.
Listen!
Listen for the kerry drums
Pounding welcome in swirling reels -
Ancient dances -
Reawakened from Adam's time
Released from sleep to circle round and round
While sparks from glowing tinder,
Brought to life from sharpened flint,
Battle winds of haunted years
That lived in isolation
Pulling up from fiery spindles flaming whorls -
New and paschal fire returning;
Circles meeting circles thunder
In death's shattering death.
Listen!
Listen as the moan of banshees
Banishes forever winter's touch
To see the sleeping hills
Shake off an exiled life
And hear the harps - uilleann pipes,
Newborn visions
Watch the wind dance of the kells begin
With towering fireworks
Shooting up from the valley floor
In rhythm to the bohdran and the tiompan
To seek completeness
In the hotly glow of dawning -
Vernal offerings in emerald fire.
Arise!
Arise to cradle emerald fire
Dreaming ever softly
In fields of clover
And timeworn stones,
Witnesses
To the arrival of winnowing flames
When centuries embraced
Again
Until the days remembering
Final meals and crosses - a waiting tomb -
Blesses once again
The quest of hard flint and soft tender
Before a cross - life within a circle.
Why does flight feel more lightly entertaining,
yet less engaging,
than fighting?
Laissez-faire thoughts lighter
than ponderous confronting ruminations,
Why?
I would not expect a babbling infant
to understand why
WinWin cooperation deeply entertains
for learning health-enhancing cultures,
ego/eco-therapeutic religious experience,
bicamerally democratic government,
multicultural compassion-nurturing
Golden Rule co-governance.
This omnipresent co-relational laundry list of engagements
I would explicitly
cooperatively
compassionately
spiritually
and naturally hope for
from mature entertaining adults
immersed in nonjudgmental egoNows
and nonperforming ecosystemic Heres
curiously ego-echo familiar
as WinWin stunning synergies
of primal ZeroZone co-presence
breathing in engaged acceptance
to breathe out health-optimizing
non-egocentric interdependently co-acclimating performance.
Why does LeftBrain
hope to escape
from yang-competitive Win/Lose risks,
feel safer,
more defensive,
more protective
of egocentric BusinessAsUsual performance,
while chauvinistically leaving RightBrain
in Lose/Lose hopeless despair
or Win/Lose lack of integrally fulfilling performance,
or unnoticed and shunned
alone with WinWin impressions
of healthy economic entertaining opportunities
alternatively missed,
And Left/Right ecological
and theological
and governmental
and religious
and multiculturally compassionate wealth
of thoroughly engaging non-violent health-opportunities.
But, really, LeftBrain competitive ego-performances
are not so much RightBrain embodied integral brainstem
deep learning
cooperative WinWin health-care synchronic,
resiliently satisfying
like harmonic singing
and synchronized dancing
and writing ego's Win/Lose comedic/tragic
peak and valley experiences,
enculturing nutrition-stories
of healthy and unhealthy input breaths
causing wealthier entertaining output humors,
Muses,
Performance notes to self:
Now is time for ZeroZone
to breathe in regeneratively again.
To beat bicamerally
therapeutically
compassionate co-engagements again,
To become WinWin ecstatically co-entertaining,
once again
fully cooperative awareness
perceptively enraptured,
witnessing Earth's natural/spiritual entertainments.
Le Problème avec des Blancs – Translation of Jim Everett’s « The White Man Problem » by T. Wignesan
(Jim Everett, Mawbana Pleregannana, b. 1942 on Flinders Island, Tasmania, has had a chequered career and like almost all the aboriginal poets and writers in English of the first post-WWII generation, hardly made it over the primary school curricula. He’s a poet, playwright and essayist (short articles). Among the jobs he tried his hand at : telegram boy, factory hand, fisherman, merchant seaman, rigger, truck driver, public servant, aboriginal community worker and political activist. He was the national secretary of the National Aboriginal and Islander Writers Oral Literature and Dramatists Association.) T. Wignesan, Paris, December 15, 2016
Des aborigènes ayant lutté ne cessent de perdre.
L’homme blanc est venu pour répandre son fléau,
Ils ont apporté leurs droits que nous n’avons pas choisis.
Nous ne pouvons pas contrôler cette chose qui nous étouffe,
Malgré cet obstacle nous devons nous faire avancer
Et nous devons aussi rester fidèle à nos croyances dans leurs
évolution,
Dans l’espoir que l’attitude des blancs va se diminuer.
Des hommes blancs ne s’intéressent pas à comprendre nos
traditions,
Ils pensent que leur technologie est la meilleure solution pour
l’homme.
Et ils persistent à nous faire renoncer à nos coutumes ancestrales
Et leur ‘civilisation’ continue à nous nous faire soumettre.
Ils ne voient pas à quel point ils ont tort,
Etant aveuglés par la gloire et le pouvoir.
Leur pouvoir les empêche à distinguer le vrai but de la vie,
Ainsi créant le problème des hommes blancs qui nous rende
amers.
Les problèmes des blancs s’avèrent être l’avarice et le viol,
Et leurs dix commandements qu’ils désobéissent à volonté.
Pour quelle raison ont-ils des telles lois s’ils ne peuvent pas les
suivre,
C’est toujours le cas des tous les blancs.
La réponse devrait se trouver dans le fait de leur pouvoir,
Exploitant d’autres pauvres blancs sans défense parmi eux.
L’histoire de l’homme blanc se résume à : chacun pour soi-même,
Que le problème de l’homme blanc n’est guère confiné à la
couleur de sa peau.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016.
L’octroi des droits à Jacky – Translation of Mudroroo Narogin’s « They Give Jacky Rights » by T. Wignesan
(Note : The first aboriginal writer to have achieved – according to Kevin Gilbert’s Inside Black Australia – international fame with his novel : Wild at Falling (1965) as runner-up for the Llewellyn Rhys Memorial Prize, in 1966, Colin Johnson who renounced his Christian names in 1988 for the aboriginal : Mudrooroo Narogin was born at Narogin in Western Australia in 1938. Educated at an orphanage, he was thereafter left to fend for himself on the streets of Melbourne. He has also travelled widely in Southeast Asia, Britain, the United States and India where he became a Buddhist monk for seven years. He is a published playwright, poet and novelist, and he co-authored : Before the Invasion : Aboriginal Life to 1788 (OUP, 1980) with Colin Bourke and Isobel White.) T. Wignesan, Paris, December 13, 2016.
On l’octroie des droits à Jacky
Comme le serpent tigre des droits à son proie:
On l’octroie des droits à Jacky,
Comme le droit d’une victime d’être visée d’un viseur de fusil.
On l’octroie des droits à Jacky
Comme on les donne à un bébé pas encore né
Arraché de l’utérus par une mère insouciante.
On l’octroie à Jacky le droit de mourir,
Le droit de consentir qu’on fonde des mines sur sa terre.
On l’octroie à Jacky le droit de regarder
Comment sa terre sacrée du Rêve (Dreaming) devient un trou –
Son âme meure, ses ancêtres pleurent;
Son âme meure, ses ancêtres pleurent:
On l’octroie à Jacky son droit –
D’avoir un trou sous le sol ?
La Justice pour tous, Jacky s’agenouille et prie,
La Justice pour tous, ils font des trous dans sa terre ;
La Justice pour tous, on lui accorde ses droits :
Une cruche du vin de table pour calmer sa douleur,
Et sa femme devait se prostituer pour ce cadeau.
La Justice pour tous, on lui octroie ses droits –
Un trou sous le sol pour y cacher sa méfiance et sa peur.
Qu’est-ce que Jacky peut se faire sinon continuer à lutter :
Les esprits de son Dreaming* lui rendent fort ?
• Dreaming/Alcheringa : The creation of the universe, the time known to most people as the Dreamtime or the Dreaming. (Oodgeroo, My People, 1990.)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016.
Approaching winter...
OK, maybe encroaching mid-winter
of life's seasonal span
with resonantly compelling grace,
perhaps even transparent vulnerability,
feels controversial,
too laissez-faire
Too much courage
in declaring preliminary success
with too little curiosity
about what happens next
on planet Earth
Continuing to revolve all four seasons
dynamics
holistic lenses.
I recall the poet's admonition
to not go quietly
into this winterish
cold night.
Life's final reflective opportunity
does not invite quiet
so much as impassioned peace
of a windless snowfall
blanketing all I can see
and more faintly hear,
touch and awkwardly feel,
smell and bittersweetly taste
unsafe passage.
I recently moved from autumn habitat,
a creative tension between summer's midlife climax
and this new winter habit
above Connecticut's exquisite Salmon River.
This is a compromised writer's winter hermitage
shared with my son who cannot speak
but can roar,
who cannot walk by himself
but can scoot
and belly laugh at his own internal sensations
and my external sensational sounds.
And, following Daquan
from my fall habitat
to winter's eremetical search for peace,
however coldly displaced,
with social
and political
and spiritual
and natural distancing,
Behind Daquan
are daily in-home nurses
and his most avid companion,
my romantically distanced husband.
He comes bearing gifts
of clothes,
cleaning supplies,
far too much meaty food
for a proper hermitage
and not enough
for sufficient redemption
and for self-forgiveness.
He comes unaware of my ecofeminist wintering spirit,
longing for Earth's warm womb justice
restoring peace
resilient through all four seasons
of present
past
and future Earth lives.
My ecofeminist lineage
feels too white to him,
not a journey for him
and our two brown sons
and my brown and cerebral palsied daughter
and Daquan.
So, this writer's winter hermitage
remains newly compromised by past fall
and summer
and even spring
of extended multicultural family life.
May it always be so
or no,
I'm not sure which to pray for
or against
as I quietly write
into this warm and peaceful night,
just right,
not too dim or bright.
Misery accompanied, haltered, tethered... tattered web
This health conscious lx year
roam'n, hoodwinking hoodlum doth wear
two pair bullet proof underwear,
(which confession rarely trumpeted),
plus yours truly admits unclear
why tibia long in the tooth fellow,
prevaricates with tongue in cheek oh contraire
good n plenti humor absent clear
sense and sensibility so beware
me figuratively pulling poetic foot
mainly "white lie" fibula I air
discombobulated gobbledygook,
which corroboration ye might declare
choosing to cease reading
feeling in high dungeon as all hell... where,
twitching (bull leave me you) nostrils flare
analogous to spewing dragon
rare endangered species from Zaire
of corpse stewing in dungeon
hooping on wing and prayer
to attend Renaissance Faire,
thus word wizard conjured
aforementioned as metaphorical veneer
cuz, he really sought to pioneer
his breakout poetaster career,
thus far batch
prefabricated rejection letters
posits alternative to forswear
writing another feeble rhyme
relieving anonymous critics
providence beckons I course hear
doom and resignation refrain
repeatedly hammering and echoing
within chambers of each ear
mancave best provenance
divine providence especially if nuclear
war rents tentative moments to spare,
which doomsday looms clear,
perhaps half fortnight away
fatalistic mindset, I despair
money woes exacerbate pesky news
sense under_scoring dallying,
dithering, lollygagging... while linear
rise regarding global temperature
gives cold comfort the buccaneer
occupying oval office laissez faire
attitude, hence pennilessness moot
total mortal kombat global warming
further accentuates real Halloween scare,
no trick only ill treatment
unleashed courtesy mutineer
hand over fist handily did profiteer
minting daily another bajillionaire
government coffers bursting
mother earth biosphere square
within uber targeted crosshair
talking heads poles
apart as global warming
melts Antarctic frigidaire
Santa Claus reindeer and elves
schvitz as north pole melts
in short shrift oblate sphere
formerly teeming with life
field day for hardy
indomitable creatures thriving
within most scary nightmare.
National Panic Wednesday March 9th, 2022 actually... every day
Founded by Tom and Ruth Roy
solely to acknowledge hardship
of A. R. Harris
and her husband M.S. Harris,
who cope poorly
(even courtesy medication)
with anxiety attacks, especially when
violated, probed, interrogated courtesy
Highland Manor inquisition,
which traumatizing event happened
on aforementioned date
included with poem title.
J. G. and P. F.
constitute management team
under jurisdiction of Quoss
(pronounced chhath tt) and Grade,
who espouse principle laissez faire
but whose exhibited heavy handedness
pertaining to the married couple
named in the third line of this poem.
Either one or the other gals
who attend these premises
here at the Schwenksville location
(I won't mention
the state as penile solitude)
alluded to a peculiarly nasty odor
emanating from unit B44,
our man/woman cave.
We received a twenty four hour deadline
to get into shipshape the disarray
messiness even Pigpen
would find abominable,
yet upon receiving both
oral and written admonition,
me and the missus
buckled down and kickstarted
frenzied whirlwind one bedroom
apartment cleaning spree
zoned out like zombies of Sugar Hill
when the clock struck bewitching hour,
more specifically that alluded time
synonymous with midnight.
No matter we felt dead tired
whereat neither option
to acquire additional time,
nor desist existed,
and yet nearly impossible mission
to continue, but appealing
to temptation of sandman
out of the question.
Deep sleep for the weary
appeared oh so heavenly,
on par with plate
of powder milk biscuits,
our mandate (analogous to pilgrims
adults and children -
forced to fight in crusades)
forbid cessation, thus to plod
and plow onward
despite overwhelming urge to plotz,
(not the slang definition)
found yours truly
blissfully in dreamland
when me noggin hit the pillow,
Not for a minute
could yours truly
sit down and take a breather,
despite severe lower
(rightside) back pain.
Said dull throbbing ache
diagnosed as tight muscles
by Doctor (physical therapist)
John R. Mishock,
he would not countenance
(approve, comply, honor...)
I popped one Ibuprofen.
Doctors (particularly biomedical engineers)...
really trolley train hard to keep track of patients
Eye tell ya we (spuds)
pulled up stakes after four yar
and zero scores ago living in Bryn Mawr
salutary heart and lungs figurative
storied Main Line Health medical network
latter part of June tooth thousand seventeen
approximately July first
same year bidding au revoir
bid good riddance account
to slumlord - hood did spat and spar
moved to Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
unsafe to ride bicycle without handlebar
economical, geographical, practical...
subjected by Grosse and Quade tyrannical czar
dom low income facilities housing
nattering nabobs of nihilism whose intellect subpar
candidates vetted by Jaclyn Geiger registrar
courtesy nepotism unexceptional manager
thanks be to her papa, she drives fancy car
unlike this pauper and the missus
limited to schlep near and not far
afforded by rattletrap motorcar,
no driving prohibitive number of miles,
crossing sketchy territory warning signs
picturing dangerous avatar,
(especially during inclement whee thar)
determining risk to forego
top manic kin Michelin
money grubbing cannibalistic
surgeon's earning equivalent silver star,
or comparable civilian rating touting specialists
while bonafide topnotch indivisible tailors swifty
stitch ink, viz tattoo back parlor shop whar
exemplary Patients Matter Always
buzzfeeding, inoculating, kickstarting...
healthy medical network,
hobnob, kibitz, schmooze...
drown lackluster lovelife at the bar
parting paramour with such sweet sorrows par
for the course during pouring rain how bizarre
necessitated our lucky find locating physicians
supreme nsync with Google high reviews
receiving, scoring, nabbing,
incorporating... truevalue re: vector and scalar,
we veteran trooper seasoned renters
luckily blessed chance
cost us pennies on the dinar
general bang for buck amazingly
found yours truly strumming his air guitar
pleasantly situated among picturesque poplar
resort within Skippack Village, a tourist
mecca for devout or
secular gourmandizing, earning
catering and acquiescing savoir
ole mighty faire Benjamin
legally tendering expensive bazaar.