Long Fell Poems
Long Fell Poems. Below are the most popular long Fell by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fell poems by poem length and keyword.
You fell in October, like autumn leaves
Funny it was a hot day.
The avocado tree was budding.
I knew you only a short while,
But it broke me to see your mother cry.
She was inconsolable.
And I thought I was strong,
But my tears could not be kept at bay.
Your friends gathered by your side,
Oh what love they had for you.
Your lover had mourned all he could,
He was the strongest,
Not one tear.
They built you a house in the ground,
So they said.
They built you a bed, never to rise
So I said.
And in love they gathered around you.
And laid you in it.
That was the hardest,
Interred you in red loam.
And this was the finality,
Who would have known?
That your laughter would be so short,
Thirty and one years?.
They said we had to embrace death.
Even come to love and desire it.
He visits one and all.
His cynical finality.
It was hot and sunny today,
But you fell like October rain.
When heaven heaved in storm clouds,
As they entrenched you underground.
I can’t rid of the bags under my eyes
The crowfeet despise, all were lies,
Conjured was an illusion of you
Throughout my groping confusion
evasive, flimsy
A-m-o-r-p-h-i-c, innuendos
I was subjected to your derision
dissing me relentlessly
deriding my appearance,
disparaging my intellect
as I stumbled and fell into the abyss
Mocking doesn’t suit my countenance
My lips desert dry, thirsty, parched
An amazon no longer beats its drum
My buoyant nature now laden with coarsened shroud
Leaving a cardboard moon deprived of its shine
Stars like candles blown out one by one
No use waiting for the rising Sun
The end of world does come,
stopped spinning neath heavy ebon clouds
Expectations unreal
All zeal gone, listless is my spirit
along with my illumination
Now you see me
unmasked in raw anguish
I d
r
o
o
p
jowls hang from endless
torment endured
like the drenched and cold, wounded hawk
taken flight, eagle-eyed, a warrioress
more determined and bold, traveling on
with unlimited range
and self-esteemed
This bird,
you
c
a
n
n
o
t c h a n g e
PLACED 3RD : Standard Contest
[Poet’s Note : This is a Signature Poem on this Inventory. I loved the song, melody and lyrics, which inspired poem, since I first heard it as a young child. The single was a gift from my Dad, who was a boatswain-rigger, bought at a London flea market. He brought gifts home from different ports, after each sea trip.
I once used the song to design & create a wedding gown, despite its melancholy tone. The creation received rave reviews from a Regional Fashion Show for which it was designed.
The song itself has layers of meaning & different interpretations, which makes it a powerful source of inspiration. I trust this poem reflects that, with its highlight that species other than humanoid (aka merpeople) do exist, with consciousness.]
Shadows mingled with the Light
becoming a ghostly frightening sight
as pictures fell from cabin walls
every ship occupant wanted to ball
Storm clouds becoming whiter than pale
miller said it was winter becoming spring
eyes of sixteen sanguine vestal virgins
ignited Chief Mates’ fires to oceanic sing
Swimming by rocks jutting from the sea
flakes of her pale complexion floating free
with winter waters waltzing whales mingle
I became kind of sea sick drinking beer single
Emerging from frothy wave onto ship dripping
mermaid tail flipping with long locks slipping
they scorned her, warned her, tossing sardines
her wish but to sing along, siren from the sea
Hearts and stomachs expanded with violins
coffee hot in mugs with deckhands wanting
fandango, passengers asked for Sebast. Bach
Captain ordered more kipper, cocoa with brandy
Her eyes blacker than coal, whole was her whiter
shade than pale as Captain drank her sea ale regaling, drank of her ale sailing, drank of her ale, paling, a Whiter Shade of Pale, spawning
[Inspired by Song : Whiter Shade of Pale /
Hagar Schon Aaronson Shrieve (Procol Harum),1967
When I saw the blue cheese, I almost fainted.
It was orange, and green tainted.
What else is that in the fridge?
Something that has a moldy ridge.
With weird fuzz and spots.
An old pickle lets out a sigh where it rots.
I had just thrown out a mushy peach.
Which is sticky as a leech.
In fact, this place is much like a swamp.
Where mysterious creatures like to romp.
I dipped the old pickle into the blue cheese.
The pickle fell apart with ease.
Then, I tossed that weird creation.
That created a horrible color in my imagination.
I better head to a restaurant.
Away from the old pickle and blue cheese haunt.
He was a story teller, my old man, and he was never more in his glory
than when sitting around a campfire telling us a story.
I’m not sure where they came from but as we sat bathed in the campfire light
we were captivated…mesmerized..we could have listened to him all night.
One of my favorite stories…I still remember the look in my dad’s eyes
in the cool of a summer evening when he told us about fireflies.
He had just kindled the fire when he gathered us around
“Watch the fire closely,” he whispered, “and do not make a sound.”
“Out of these dancing flames.” He continued, “You won’t believe your eyes.
for you will be a witness to the birth of fireflies.”
An evil witch once held three children and in the darkness of the night
fireflies led them to safety as they followed their twinkling lights.
The old witch was so angry…every firefly immediately fell
(as she said mumbled wicked magic words)…under the evil of her spell.
“From this day forward,” the old witch smirked, “because of what you did to me
every firefly in the world shall be encased within the trees.”
The old witch thought she was pretty smart then sat down to have a feast
never realizing in a campfire the fireflies would be released.
And once released from within the tree…those evil words the witch had spoken
could not harm the fireflies again…because her spell was broken.
“So rest your eyes on the fire.” Dad said. “Be as quiet as a can be.
and see if you can count all the fireflies that you see.”
We did as we were told and we couldn’t believe our eyes
out of that fire…out of those flames…we saw the birth of fireflies.
I cannot tell you how many…don’t know the exact amount
because as the fire burned on that evening…the three of us lost count.
Today the adult in me knows they are just ashes…
escaping the fire as they soar up to the sky
but the child in me can’t help smiling every time I witness
the birth of fireflies.
The Dreamless
Now that he had freed himself of the past looking forward
to think thoughts not hampered by dreams of childhood and
the embarrassment of teenage years and sexual clumsiness
falling in love with the most unsuitable and undesirable person possible because she made hot waffles with blueberry jam and sometime strawberry; he still thinks of his horror when his mother thought that woman was a suitable bride for
him mainly because she was stupid and malleable.
It was that beginning that in the end made him break with his past and declare families and danger for civilization, a dagger
in the heart of the future, that must be free of sentimentality.
He liked to sit in bars drinking gin&tonic and watching people before walking to his nearby hotel. Yes, he lived at a hotel because it saved him of the domesticity of paying bills
and fretting about the price of potatoes.
He thought of the German/American writer who said he liked his own company, if that was true how did he know, being drunk most of the time, Not like him who enjoyed his leisure
while waiting to write an earth shattering Novel.
Not to forget the sainted EH, who wrote like a simpleton and
won a Nobel Prize. His contempt for him was endless.
Walking to his hotel in the old part of the town, a boisterous
pig on a balcony fell off and nearly hit him.
The owners of the pig, seeing the animal was mortally wounded, quickly killed the pig by slitting its throat, before it died proper, this to avoid eating a self-dead animal.
This was a shock if the pig had fallen on him he might have ended up in hospital, worse, not being able to walk again
Since he had disowned his family, he had to change his plans.
He would marry an old tart, that had lost her attraction, rent her a flat, give her money for nice dresses, visit her once a week and tell neighbors he was a traveling businessman.
When down with the flu, she could take care of him as it was in her best interest to keep him alive.
Happy now that his future was sorted out, he went to bed and
slept, a night void of dreams.
I was your rebound girl, you just used me to get over her
My feelings never mattered; I was just there for your pleasure.
Now you are over her I am out the door.
My love never mattered?
I fell in love with your family, your mom and dad… were they in on the plan?
I just didn't matter, I was just there for your pleasure
I can't believe no one cared about my heart. I didn't matter?
I was just there for your comfort so now that you don't hurt , I am toss to the ground
I am broken and wrecked now that you are on to your new lover, the love of your life. You got your pleasure and I never mattered. I was your rebound girl
“A Samurai sandwich please.”
The waitress looked perplexed but took the order anyway
because she did not want to ask.
“Perfect!” the customer said.
Three more times that month he came in for a
sandpiper sandwich, a taffeta sandwich, and a typhoon sandwich.
The waitress brought him the sandwich of the day all three times.
“Exactly what I wanted!” he said.
They began dating the next month, and swiftly fell in love.
“I knew I’d never find another man this easy to please,” she told her
bridesmaids. “So I decided to marry him.”
“I didn’t care what she brought me,” he told his groomsmen. “As long
as it was her that brought it.”
this is a scary nursery rhyme
One from an olden time
Full of tales of blood and gore
isn't that children? what you really here for?
Mary Contrary from gardening rhyme
The one whose victims are spoke of after all of this time
next it is Humpty Dumpty who was full of gold coins
Who fell off of the wall stretching his loins?
All broken and cracked he lay on the ground
Screaming and yelling “look its gold that I found”
then we will hear of Jack be Quick
Burned himself with a candlestick
While running around and jumping up high
He burned his britches all the way past his thighs
And the girl with little lambs
She petted and bathed and fed from her hands
Their fleece, were sure was white as snow
But after a day at school the blood stains showed.
The blind mice with tails no more
Ran all through time to settle a score
They found the wretch that cut off their tails
And did despicable things that i will not tell
And for my final rhyme
I will tell of three little pigs this time
They were attacked by a wolf while building their home
The wolf ended up missing, that’s why wolves don’t walk alone.
Chants,
voluble. Tremors from footholes of mountains
and green places . . .
From spurts of melodies they come,
chants of our land
chants of our masters
and chants of ceremony
Virgin tempo,
with reverence and arrangement of cowried ankles
and bodies that speak of soot,
eyes powdered in white . . .
Restless Chants,
preserved for the Masters
anthems and pledges, oaths
and allegiances
to those who witnessed the day
invaders scaled the city walls
without shame.
Chants,
redolent of native blood,
omu, ogirishi and nzu;
with syncopations treading heavily
on this clammy, humus ground
and sprinkled with articles of
common ancestry;
and feathers which speak of the
eagles that sired the hawks and
the kinsmen of royal birds;
and there were femurs from
baptized reptiles who have never
squelched in rancid mud for the
first time;
and elements of vegetation thrived —
animated spear grass and achara,
becoming tools that spoke in this
fiesta;
beads scattered and flung, and yet
held in place by throbs coming
from hollow grounds, excavated heaths
and re-greened holes . . .
Chants.
Spelling names and occupations of
town criers and the village folks;
tempos revealing deeds and valour
and journeys to where chameleons
have made their borders . . .
These deeds they spelled of the Masters,
whose bodies alone fell to the invaders —
sons of sophists —who wrecked our
city.
Chants,
heroes’ epic unknown,
dirges un-deciphered,
methods of assembly —principles only
of patriotic chanters,
with fire and pain in their stomachs,
chanting Chants for the Masters.