Long Fanned Poems
Long Fanned Poems. Below are the most popular long Fanned by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fanned poems by poem length and keyword.
The Circus gongs excite the Throngs in nighttime Never Land –
They swarm to see the destiny of Freaks at their command,
While Acrobats step pitapat above the shifting sands
And Lady Fat sits down to chat and oozes charm unplanned.
The Dwarfs in suits, so small and cute when marching with the Band,
Ask crimson Clowns with frozen frowns, to hold a mutant hand,
While Tamers’ whips with withered tips, throughout the winter land,
Lure Cats entranced through hoops enhanced with flames of fires fanned.
White Elephants in big-top tents boast black-tusk contraband
To regiments of Sycophants who overflow the stands,
But No One sees anomalies, and No One understands.
At night’s demise, the dither dies, the lonesome Crowd disbands,
Down dead-end streets the Horde retreats, their tattered rags in strands,
And Janes and Joes reweave their woes, for thoughts of change are banned.
To play a part in Three-Ring Art, I thought I’d try my hand –
I mastered skills, I felt the thrills, I breathed and seethed firsthand –
But destiny denied to me to taste a lifetime spanned
With tightrope walks and trapeze chalks ... excepting second-hand...
For alcohol provoked a fall, as if a reprimand,
And now, a heap, I sometimes keep the ticket office manned...
Stand back! Get out of the way!
The Master Chef is here to play!
I looked in amazement as the man ran in.
He was wearing a beard by his chinny chin chin.
Who is he? I asked my friend’s son.
I don’t know he replied. Should I call 911?
Let’s wait I said swiftly for I hate to cook.
And this guy did not have a very tough look.
Pepperoni! He yelled. I threw it straight in the air.
He tossed it into quickly into my mixing bowl there.
Tomatoes! He hollered. All I had were canned.
He handed me a grocery list and motioned me away, his hands fanned.
I got everything on the list – jalapenos, horseradish, tomatoes galore.
He was stirring red sauce when I came back in the door.
Where are the banana peppers? Is the store very far?
I know I got them! I yelled. I ran back to the car.
He mixed up the hottest most maniacal spaghetti I had ever seen.
Just one taste of it turned most people’s gentle pallet’s green.
But I am one of those women who love the hottest food more than most.
So I crowned him the King of Spaghetti, and he comes every Wednesday to host.
A peacock's demeanor reflects its heraldic crest
the avian's plumage dazzles with its presence
fanned out tail of blue green metallic manifests
appearing prideful, vainglorious in iridescence
veiled is its vulnerability and its fragile heart
We immerse ourselves in its beauty and grace
an aspiring and soulful sanguine work of art
until bittersweet's tinge, shows its harsh face
gone the saffron sweetness that of happiness
losing self in vanities futility caught in tangles
ocelli ring patterns tips of eyes it apprehends
illusions of melanin waves and keratin angles
Living walls of purple flora vined creeping plants
beware its bright red-orange berries, poisonous
superficial self-seeker, servile are the sycophants
skulk about corridors, spreading judgment upon us
decking privacy, holding the mulch of innuendos,
dim skyscapes of golden sunrises, of ruby sunsets
Our inner light casts truth from the irises’ windows
how much more must I cry out like suffragettes?
No longer do I dwell among sloth losing my identity
like the peacock that flutters and spreads its charm
I embrace no longer useless supercilious mentality
the vanity of human wishes, grandiose that its harm
The rhythm of my heart’s vibrant vignettes heard
That I Am, alongside the greatest of them all
those of you curious who cling onto my every word
He who stands beside our Creator, shall not fall
Between grains of ancient fine sand
desert roses hidden from sight—
Colourful, exquisitely fanned.
They formed in darkness; pressure shaped.
Each perfect corolla agape
in floral whorl of sharp crescents;
fluorescent and phosphorescent.
Against injustices they railed—
within shed tears, I saw their plight.
In our moral duty we’ve failed.
Their troubled spirits to immerse
in laughter which abounds in verse.
Pococurante obedience.
Parting: an Aubade in a sense.
POET'S NOTE
Updated 25th Aug with the mosaic rhyme in the final two lines:
obedience & Aubade in a sense.
Recommended reading: Desert rose selenite/gypsum.
POETIC FORM: Saraband sonnet (I used the BASIC French rhyme scheme, extended).
The Saraband(e) derives its name from a fast erotic dance of the 1500s of Mexico and Spain which originated in the East. It is a stanzaic form imitating the dance steps and written in any number of septets. The various forms consist of tercets (axa—‘x’ being unrhymed) or triplets (aaa); the chief difference being in the rhyme schemes of the quatrains: English (axa bcbc), Spanish (aaa bcbc), Italian (axa bccb OR aaa bccb), and French (only axa bbcc). Each subsequent stanza repeats the rhyme scheme set in the first stanza, but in the longer Saraband poems it is not unusual to mix Spanish, Italian and/or French septets. Any metrical foot; any metrical line—some authorities insist on octal syllabic lines rendering it minor art (= 8 syllables per line) but this is not cut and dry.
Saraband Sonnet: It comprises 2 septets. Rhyme scheme: It depends on the form chosen. In the sonnet form, the rhyme schemes have been extended for the French variant (aZa in the tercets where 'z' rhymes), and Italian variant (aba cddc—thus, an addition ‘b’ in the tercets). Some examples can be found where the rhyme scheme for the second septet is progressive. It may be octasyllabic, iambic or trochaic tetrameter, or an extra foot (iambic pentameter) may be added to conform to the basic sonnet. The volta is at L8. I have experimented with the rhyme scheme: aza bbcc, dzd eeff.
Take me back to them days in the fall
When we spent our days breathing each other in with the air. Entranced. In thrall.
Where I held you beside me stood out in the entrance. Like them towering pines we viewed. Stood tall.
A walk in the woods. In the company of trees. Singular, familial yet unadorned. In that there loneliest place of them all.
Sat by the fire ; fanned by soft whispers, stoking stories of old
Kindling carried in kind by the wind; Words full of warmth in that glorious cold
Our inhibitions setting, our shadows cast as one. No care for the dawn with the night taking hold
In that moment time seemed still. A book cover framed in my mind so we counted stars in the sky writing chapters untold
The night settled in. We swayed beside the flickering fire. Not a word we spoke.
No music played. Like those fading flames we danced slow; in time with natures notes.
The moonlight took a shine to us then. A spotlight on my favourite autumn dress of flowers; filled with summer’s hope.
I’d fall asleep on your bed of flowers. Your scent of promise. Fragrant. Those days of fall when by each other’s sides we woke.
Oval
Orange speckled rock
As large as a giant dinosaur egg
Sat in the scratchy field out back
Of our lakeside A-Frame cottage
Next to McLaughlin’s orchard of cherries
Where honeybees are fanned to clover fields
And Torch Lake swings below
From the corners of the hills
Like a hammock spilling of sapphires.
I suppose this giant rock had rolled for millennia
In the blue pouch of a Great Lakes glacier
Before dropping with a thud and a scar
Right here
Warmed in the sun for another 20,000 years
Unhatched unmoved even an inch
After travelling for hundreds of excruciating miles.
I climbed atop this rock as a thin teenager
Cartoon lizard drawn from the crayon of sun
Chest hard
Hair long and curly
Tongue sharp as an elbow
I must have strummed
A hundred thousand chords from my Washburn guitar
Atop that rock
Trying to find the perfect melody
About sex and forever.
I loved a Florida girl named Wendy
Who read her Harlequin
And whistled tunes to REO Speedwagon.
She read my poems over and over
Folding them in her bikini.
Upon my surprise visit today
With my feet clamped in their wing-tipped shoes
And a dick tucked away more like an after thought
The A-Frame is plowed under
Those fields are stacked with empty condos
Honey bees a legend
But Torch Lake remains painted with tall blue sky
The rock still unhatched next to it
Waiting
After all my few years
A lean
Of my shoulder into its unmovable ache
I step from the land
I slide into the lake.
My spirit wandered, sore, abused,
by selfish choices badly bruised;
a heart that stumbled through the years,
lame from its sins and filled with fears.
The world with all its dreadful ills
belabored my poor, weakened will
till down death's path I made my start,
a little, lonely, lame-girl heart.
I lost my dreams amid the trash;
my expectations cruelly dashed,
I waited for the ogre Fate
to lower on my mean estate.
Then One came riding through the dark;
He labored over hope's dim spark
and fanned the embers to a flame;
He called my heart by a new name.
No longer go I lame through life,
through lonely days of anxious strife;
my footsteps fall in steady pace
upheld and firm by God's own grace.
I trust Him now to guide me till
I reach my home, God's perfect will.
I have peace since I made this new start
with God's glass slipper on my heart.
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, 1987
It feels uncanny, standing here at the edge
of a horizon I once thought belonged to other men.
You never truly picture what comes after the dream,
not until you’re living it.
This isn’t a mediocre victory.
This is a chapter carved out of discipline,
a moment that forces a man
to look inward and ask who he has become.
And even now
in the middle of achievement
it still feels unreal.
To reach this height and stay humble
is its own craft.
I remind myself to guard that discipline,
to keep releasing what I cannot command,
to trust the journey within.
Because all it took was a spark.
One spark to ignite the fire
fanned by trials sharp enough to break me,
forged through obstacles that tried to tame me,
and instead created a relentless version of myself
strong enough to rise
and write his name into the world.
The truth was concealed with many branches,
viscous web woven of half-truths and lies;
hidden, the spider spun a silk repugnant
off a sticky tongue prone to moralize.
Newly emerged with dewy wings unfurled,
she fanned them, innocently unaware,
among fragrant blossoms naively sweeping
green garden border, concealing his snare.
At last the sweet sun rays warmed and dried her;
she was ready to lift bright wings and fly.
New vistas, new horizons awaited
this adventurous lady butterfly.
Into the clear, clean air softly rising,
faltering with the newness of fresh wings,
she dips low among the flower faces,
is imprisoned in gummy, wet web strings.
Just one moment - innocence is plundered
and whirled round and round - bitterest cocoon;
he pivots in springing, gleeful madness
to add the trophy to his black festoon.
Copyright, August 8, 2016
I lived in a beautiful valley, beside a quiet stream
It was a place I escaped to when I needed to dream
surrounded by the tallest mountains in the world,
so I believed when I had been an innocent little girl
Pure until he walked down from the mountain high
He came to me without a word, we stood eye to eye
His only gesture was to reach out and take my hand
with that touch, the flames in my heart were fanned.
At last, 'hello,' was but a whisper from his sensuous lips.
He brought my hand to his mouth, kissed my finger tips
and then he said that he'd watched me for many a year,
grow from a child to a woman and I had nothing to fear.
I chose to believe every word that he breathed forth.
I took his other hand in mine and we headed North.
He asked me to journey with him and share in his life
He promised to take care of me as his friend and wife
He said with me by his side, everything we would share
and that for years he'd longed to have me as his lady fair.
It didn't matter where we went or even where we slept
but after a few years, what mattered was that I wept.
I cried because his promises all proved to be untrue.
I cried because I knew there was nothing I could do.
I walked away from him and headed South on my own.
Once again I dreamed in the valley where I lived alone.
The nights were cold as I lay down on the valley floor
there was no more warmth from the man I had adored.
When I slept I always saw the mountains fade away,
not the man who came to me beside the stream that day.
My ears heard a rustling, perhaps it was just the wind
but a shadow fell over me and the sunlight was dimmed.
"Hello," was all he said before he knelt beside me there
Once again he asked if life with him would I like to share.
How long we sat and stared at each other, eye to eye,
I'd not hazard to guess, nay, I'd not even care to try.
I asked, "What have you done in the years since I left?"
He said he'd almost died from a heart sad and bereft.
Four years it had been between 'hello' and 'goodbye.'
Years spent in my valley, where I thought I would die.
He stood before me now, this mountain of a man.
I rose up to my knees and then I held out my hand.
There is a kind of love one can only capture in a dream,
But some can be revived beside quiet waters of a stream.