Long Figures Poems
Long Figures Poems. Below are the most popular long Figures by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Figures poems by poem length and keyword.
Standing in front of this enormous masterpiece,
Seeing his life story as the layers release.
I wasn’t warned to expect a wonder so rare.
I guess I expected a melting clock here or there.
Venus di Milo inspired his hallucinating toreador.
Dali features her likeness fourteen times or more.
Three of the statuesque figures are full life size.
The painting is over twelve feet high, quite a surprise.
For his toreador with all the masculine strength of Spain.
He chose a goddess of feminine beauty not in vane.
Encompassed in her body is the face of the toreador.
His cream shirt and the button to hold it, as placed before.
The toreador’s green tie fits neatly into place.
Flies marching in straight lines, his hat they retrace.
A splash of color and patterns depict his suit of lights,
The bull exploding through his cape is in our sights.
A Dalmatian dog, its head down to the ground.
Is in what would seem light flickering all around.
And a tiny portrait of Dali as a boy is to the dog’s right.
Dali’s wife is in a cameo top left, she hates the bull fight.
His whole painting is the bull fighting arena to engage.
The magnificent toreador is resplendent in center stage.
The color and flow of the scene being artfully set.
Such hallucinations and even more to be found yet.
Venus is so cold and sedate, the flamboyant toreador.
Swishing his giant cape masterfully the crowd adore.
He shows the banderillos used to taunt the bull.
Blood shows as blue and the bullfight is here to its full.
Could it be ironic a swarm of Girona flies once deterred a fight.
Yet as strong as the bull is, it can do nothing to escape its plight?
The clouds drape low,
shrugging blue mountain shoulders,
melding with ghostly river mist
ascending in specterous vapor trails
salted with primordial tears.
Between stately mottled sycamores
and aged medicinal white oaks,
slippered phantom figures glide,
clad in hides of deer and mountain lion.
Down to the silvered stream--
a mirror for chalky spirits and bright stars--
they slip to drink of pristine springs.
The powerful spell impacts within, without,
invading every animated sense.
A dream, an apparition?
I wonder at the dawn of bright sun rising,
green moss clad boulders warmed, fog dissipated.
I discern the curious sensation
of withdrawing from an ancient trance.
The happy river dances down the valley,
bordered in mountain laurel ruffles, pink;
the fragrance of breakfast bacon wafts,
a tantalizing, hunger inducing wave,
and campers' laughter echoes off a dream.
Copyright, August 19, 2014
some hear Audible Voice some see Vision Some Dream dreams and that I wait my predestined estate I asked for what's for me can't I'll wait await my confirmation
Some with a third eye they do spy the figures movement of Shadows fully encapsulated black and white only color as the residue upon me and around you energy swore like bees working making honey
Tensions War ped into the reality fuse would say they have distant testimonials of what they have me displayed I await my predestined hope I will await my confirmation
From my heavenly host
So I've been there and far as I see the stars some wave some winking me I often Ponder as I wonder and my all that I should and will be
Asking those questions why what is the why and what is the reason for the why or no who and I know where but I don't know when and I don't know why gather the thoughts on this plane witnessing this new thing all right patiently awaiting and Glory is God continued to write my story
I await awaiting my confirmation...
2/13/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2024
Life passes on before us more rudely discreet,
likely than not, at odds with the foes we meet,
in Godless adolescence, we mortals are deceased,
everyone dressed up for the sleep, which released
The meddling blackouts, step out for a good time,
But the mourn never misses, endless places to find,
Have words already inscribe, prepare for the tomb,
Waited until evening close, to court its dirge of gloom.
And shed tears that would have made life smooth,
The parting year, sweeping aside the clattering cloth.
Move on relentless, edging over into the cold black air,
Unsure about the vestiges of pleasure, that will stir
Romanticism, legacy leaves, figures like twiggy trees.
We go upon bending knees, till all the fussing ceases.
Mr Fib is six feet tall, but that’s around the waist
He gave me his poop sandwich and he said I’d like the taste
He likes to make believe that he is very slim and tall
But Mr Fib is arms and legs sprouting from a ball
Mr Fib does not tell lies but everywhere he goes
If he speaks you can be sure he’ll get a longer nose
He’ll tell you lots of facts and figures when he talks to you
But check his nose and if it grows you know it isn’t true
Mr Fib keeps falling down by treading on his nose
But once because he caught it on a very thorny rose
He told the nurse he tripped over his nose and broke a rib
And just for once, the doctors found that that was not a fib
Mr Fib is bandaged up, and all the nurses laugh
He’s got his nose wrapped round his neck and tells them it’s a scarf
Fibby blew his nose just as the doctor did his round
And poked the doctor in the eye when his nose unwound
Mr Fib was told to leave, he said okay, I shall
Going home he saw a puppy stuck in the canal
He straightened out his nose and poked it out toward the pup
The puppy nipped the end of it which helped him to stay up
Mr Fib cried out in pain, the pup maintained its grip
He said it didn’t hurt but then the pup began to slip
He pulled the puppy out which really hurt his broken rib
And all the people shouted, you’re our hero, Mr Fib
5 March 2021
For Contest: Nursery Rhyme
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Fear of Numbers
Fear of numbers is real
They carry adding machines on their backs
And loaded numbered guns
Divide and subtract from families and everyone
With two times the pleasure two times the fun
Double their trouble on the run
You cannot escape the digits on your hands and toes
They are counting on you to pull them through
Children fear math and numbers like the plague
Run from them at multiple fractions of a second
Poof!...Like zero, (Is that a real name and number?), they are gone
Figures hide behind accountants glasses
Hitting you with tons of taxes
Not to be divisive or derisive
Or taken down in dividends
I think they’re out to get you
In the end they have no =
Something’s don’t add up
You can count on that
Oh, don’t flatter me with presents from the Ghost of Christmas Past.
Tis the season for nostalgia, but those feelings never last.
It’s a gift-wrapped empty promise not worth tuppence on the street,
Or a ticket to the opera when you’ve nothing left to eat.
Oh, don’t weary me with visions from the Ghost of Christmas Gone.
It’s a fairy tale for paupers who’ll be just as poor come dawn.
I’ve no sympathy for indolence, nor ignorance and want.
If you’re looking for compassion, find another bank to haunt.
Oh, don’t bother me with worries from the Ghost of Christmas Done.
Send those children of the gutter to the workhouse, every one!
Put their noses to the grindstone in a more productive game;
Earning porridge making bootstraps for the barefoot and the lame.
Oh, don’t humbug me with pleadings from the Ghost of Christmas Lost.
Sir, the figures on my balance sheet won’t justify the cost.
So, our business is concluded and I’m free to wash my hands.
Tell the Sisters of St. Alban’s, the eviction notice stands!
California Fires Fueled By Das Don Trumpeting Hot Air ©
Dante's Inferno chokes breathable air
fiery flames fuel
state of emergency
president did declare
despite his disclaimer global warming
"FAKE," no matter glare
ring obvious indisputable proof, nonetheless,
the commander in chief
blatantly doth jeer
and doubles down ‘bad
environmental laws’ mare
reed with water
shortage explains conflagration,
oh...,and while he takes
a knee in prayer
(re: home companion fashion)
Thee Oaf blithely vouchsafes
courtesy, sans colorful swear
words plus (purportedly,
unbeknownst to him
marijuana laced powder milk biscuits
giving him courage - er chutzpah
as if he needed any) to veer
way off script of late spluttering, spouting,
and even spewing outrageous claims
that (YES) extraterrestrials rank as chief
villainous figures as
nonpareil arsonists this year.
This Lake Woe
begone Wharton warrior
no stranger to attribute blame,
where unidentified flying objects
affected intergalactic collusion
(hare brained scheme hatched,
engineered, and brooded
while holed away in his
Trump Taj Mahal) from
outer limits of
twilight zone) fair game,
not averse to accuse
Norwegian bachelor farmers
falsely, and even
Grimm folklore characters,
not outrageous to name,
he will continue to repeat falsehoods,
and later subsequently quote
himself without shame!
I’ve heard people say heroes are getting harder and harder to find
You may call me idealistic
But I find that message to be too gloomy, too dark and much too pessimistic.
I found my first heroes in Fairy Tales
I admired their courage, their integrity…their power…
They were the ones unafraid to face the dragons…to save the princesses in the tower.
My next heroes were sports figures…which made it a lot of fun
They passed for the winning touchdown, shot the winning basket
or scored the winning run.
Next, I found my heroes in the pages of books about history…
Their names were Abraham Lincoln, Benjamin Franklin and John F. Kennedy.
But when I learned more about my heroes…I was astounded by what I found
Abe couldn’t control his children, Ben abandoned his family
and Johnny fooled around.
One day I realized to find my heroes…I didn’t have to look very far…
My dad was a postal worker and my mom…a nurse in an ER.
These are the people who loved me…whose inspiration and guidance I sought
which, to me, was more important than if they slew any dragon or not.
I found my heroes didn’t have to save the entire world or make the winning score…
they could be a nurse and a postal worker who lived on the other side of my front door.
Yes, I’m proud to profess in the final stanzas of this now lengthy rhyme
The heroes I once went looking for…had been with me all the time.
To those who say heroes are harder to find…I say…not in my book
because the keys to finding heroes…is knowing where to look.
Cornbelt residents rise with the sun,
Seeking geometry in soybeans.
Space aliens zoomed through the galaxy,
Just to crease someone’s corn flakes.
Intelligent life from distant stars
Avoids the formal radio waves.
They use advanced crop wrinkles
To converse with good ol’ Mother Earth.
Galactic wayfarers don’t stop at NASA,
They etch their figures in farrow.
A communication from outer space,
Which could be wiped away by a combine.
Two small-town farmers named Dave and Roy,
Armed with flashlights and sheets of plywood,
Chuckling quietly into their beers,
Designing an entirely new universe.
UFO investigators tote their gear,
Science-ing the folded wheat.
Either the universe is trying to talk to us,
Or the bar kicked them out too early.