Long Folklores Poems
Long Folklores Poems. Below are the most popular long Folklores by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Folklores poems by poem length and keyword.
GENTLY MY MIND PORTRAYED
AN EMPTY SADNESS WHILE I'D CRADLED
THEE NESTLED THOUGHT
LEAVING THE INFAMOUS BONDARIES
AWAITING THE VIEWING
OF THOMAS MANN'S QUIET SETTING
BETWEEN THE SOLID STRUCTURES
OF STILL RUNNING WATER SEEPING
OVER THE GOTHIC STONERY
THAT CARRIED SILENT WISHES
BENEATH THE FOUNTAINS CORE
TRAVELING BEYOND VOSS SHORE
WHILE CRAVING TATTOOED SMILES
THE UNSEEN GESTURES OF MINES
THROUGHOUT THE GALLERIES
OF INDUSTRIAL SOLITUDE
WHY I'D BEGAN TO OPEN PACKAGES
OF MEMORIES SAFELY TUCKED AWAY
BESIDE HOPE AND CHARITY
WHY I FOLLOWED MADNESS
CREEPING THROUGH THE FOREST AGAIN
AWAKENING SUDDEN EMOTIONS
BOTTLED I SUPPOSE GRAVELY
DANCING TO THE TUNES OF BROKEN
FOLKLORES TALES WHISPERING
THE SONG OF POVERTY CATERING
TO BAYOUS OF HASTE
WHERE SACRED GROUND OPENS
EXPOSING THE VALLEY OF DRY BONES
MY SOUL HAD MASTERED A QUICKENING
BALANCE A MEANINGFUL GATHERING
HOLDING ON TO COPENHAGENS
SECRET TUNNELS WHERE KOFF
DESIGNED BLUE PRINTS AND PATTERNS
CAPTURING MY EMPTINESS OF REMEMBERING
THE WHITE LAB COATS THE CRYING LAMBS
WRITTEN BY
MRS YOLANDA JOY NICHOLSEN
3/9/2013
FROM MY HOSPITAL BED
IN TAMPA HEART ATTACK
MY MOTHER
See her laden and brimming with the sheaves
On a hilly furrowed plane shrouded by leaves
Her way homewards she plods and heaves.
See her joggles on the spinning wheel
A textile she winds out the cotton reel
And made many hue garbs with great skill.
See her broil as she stirs the broth in the tripod;
Day by day the market and stream she trod
And fetch fire woods and make fine wares of gourd.
See her sit on a stool, behind the moon wanes;
She enacts folklores of ancient reigns,
Of men and animals, plants and bizarre planes.
See her upon her breasts life’s incubi weigh
As all her offspring upon her tender bosom lay
She cossets them from womb to tomb till she’s grey.
we strolled midtown for awhile
hints of sun followed us beneath the
bavarian alps i was taken by
the snow capped mountains creating
a brilliant show of diamond crystals
calmly reflecting from storefront windows
holiday displays of santa klaus at his best
i would say we continued past rows of homes
collected like doll house's just to the left a tiny
bike shop i rushed in grabbing the new basket
to fill with fresh granny smiths from thee upcoming
market in view just to the right african violets lined
the the entrance way leading
to the hidden park
a quiet nook in the middle of town square i thought
masculine most of all quite charming face to face with
the subtle statue of thomas mann my form changed
i was abruptly aroused by his daringness fine liturature
art and playwright mann consumed me with folklores
gothic tales the infamous lounging of salzsburg crest
instantly a brisk chill blew over my foundation dazed i was
walking upon frauenkirch
our lady of munich doting downward to my tiny existence
i gathered myself in a very suspicious haste walking backwards
staight into the kneeling black horse knightless his back emptied
a daunting task for the bishop beyond my fascination
of castles christmas past nutcrackers wooden trains walking dolls
springs bolts screws and coo coo clocks sounding off at midday
displaying the woodcutters the milking maids in german town
(A lone old male voice whispers to his loyal dog)
She came at midnight
Last night
You know
As the fireflies outside in our winter garden
Glowed
In a red dress of moving red lips that whispered of new dreams
Knocking like a reborn Anne Rice
Lestat
At my heart's window
Pleading with my soul
To cross the threshold and be let in
But I the stone warrior
Whose dear love had already departed
Turned and walked back into the darkness of my loneliness
Broken-hearted
For when true love once calls
In your lifetime
And is then suddenly recalled like a severe blow
To the amygdala
All one can do
Is wallow in limbo
For true love is like the holiest of dreams
One of The Universe's best documentaries
Memories
Forged by Brigid to endure
To be kissed
And be revisited
Filled with lovers and even enemies
And consumed in any rare moment
Like expensive Hennessey
Bright white candlelights
Providing light
In a new darkness
And a holy flame to warm any soul
On any given night
As it clings on to memories of all the people you once loved
And all the things you used to do
To ride through and hold back any new storms
Or midnight visitors like that succubus last night
It's why I put my faith in true love and Jesus Christ
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Anne Rice Lestat:
A famous vampire in a novel by Anne Rice.
Amygdala:
Your amygdala is a small part of your brain, but it has a big job. It's a major processing center for emotions. It also links your emotions to many other brain abilities, also links your emotions to many other brain abilities, especially memories, learning and your senses.
Source: Google
Brigid:
She is associated with wisdom, poetry, healing, protection, smithing and domesticated animals.
Cormac's Glossary, written in the 9th century by Christian monks, says that Brigid was "the goddess whom poets adored" and that she had two sisters:
Brigid the healer and Brigid the smith.
This suggests she may have been a triple deity.
She is also thought to have some relation to the British Celtic goddess Brigantia.
Source: Google
A succubus (pl.: succubi) is a female demon or supernatural entity in folklores who appears in dreams to seduce men.
Source: Google
My friend - I’ll call her Brandi -
asked where do you get all your candy?
I said you may find this hard to believe,
but I always keep a few Twix up my sleeve.
I read about buccaneers in history books,
And I thought where did pirates get their hooks?
Later, while researching various folklores,
The answer came to me: second hand stores!
My friend, who is a soothsayer,
told me never to date tennis players.
I thought this advice was really a gem,
because love means absolutely nothing to them!
It really is a bummer
when people say age is just a number.
I think it’s totally absurd.
Age is clearly a word!
My ENT specialist, Doctor Jeff,
told me that I was going deaf.
About this - let me be clear -
the news was hard for me to hear.
While living on the shores of Avalon,
I ordered a chicken and an egg on Amazon.
Their delivery, however, was very slow.
Which came first? I’ll let you know.
I am....
An Ashanti warrior A Bantu dancer
I am a Yoruba royal clothed in my Asooke
Dancing Adowa and kpalogo to tunes from wulomei and masekela
I am proud Masai
Standing around manyattas,
Jumping to melodies from the olaranyani
Eunoto is here and today I dance in front my peers in transition into a senior warrior
Oh how sweet the African rhythms
Imprudently lifting and soul soothing
Sisala sebrew on Akan drums
Highlife explorations unending on opus 1.
I am an Ewe woman
From the lineage of Nerfetiti
And a great great ....grand daughter of Nandi
My Gèle will never fall off
My Dashiki will never fade out
I am a Fulani herdsman
Wandering the Sahel plains of Africa
Along with a fellow Malinke brother
Who speaks fluent igbo and today we revisit our roots in Nok
I’m from Gao
320 km east-southeast of Timbuktu.
A descendant of Sonni Ali ,
Reciting the epic of Sundiata with intertwining soothing kora melodies from Kandia Kouyate
Oh how dazzling the African landscape
And glorious it's Heritage
Such rekindling and Homeric folklores
And a boundless diverse cultures
I am the African dream
mother's only son my father’s only daughter
I'm the incantations of royal fetish and message behind the talking drum
I am the African noble
Free from identity torment
I know of my glorious past and my colourful future
My city will bleed no more
Never again will i be a wanderer
I know my culture
And my alluring language
Ah how powerful the African names
Araba Termytorphe and Ifedayo chant in unity
Diallo Sissoko and Achiaa bestow serenity
Mbali and Lamisi elegantly wore their kente
Tonight we dance to tunes from the kete
For Yaa Asantewaa never gave up the fight
So we lift our hearts with emancipated minds
To reach new heights ! O’ Nana Nyame,
May you forever guide us with your light .
Indeed old is gold
and so's I'm told
Don't be in a hurry
to have all antiques sold
For this old adage
Todate water it holds.
Indeed the good old days
had some good old ways.
So I'd rather not
exchange
old lamps for new
lest I suffer as in
Aladdin's tale
and lose everything of
value.
For if I lose my old lamps
I haven't a genie to
restore my loss
Thus beware of
modernism's shams
Don't let 'change' be
your boss.
We should know what
best be preserved
So olden values are
granted the respect they
deserved.
For some 'olds' are such
pure golds
that like gold they never
fade nor catch moulds
Likewise some golden
traditions are real
treasures
that can't be left behind
to the past generation
in exchange for surface
new pleasures
For that would be soil,
oops nooh, soul and
culture erosion
Pray keep some olden
golden customs from
such corrosion!
Ah the old mores
they might seem such
bores
but it's they who make
the best folklores!
Change for the better,
not for the worst
Always assess and
analyze any new thing
first.
(my religion has time-
tested valuable time-old
values too.)
gold is old
and old is gold.
While Beauty Sleeps
While Beauty sleeps, there are souls upon this earth that have never known her. Many seasons have passed and her eyes are still shut. She is hiding behind pavements of tar and cement. She is drugged from the smell of burning rubber and plastic scents.
Styrofoam has compromised her health. There are souls upon this earth that have never laid eyes upon her. I am here to testify, to tell all who listens, that I am a poet-I came to tell you things that only poets can tell.
There are souls that I ennoble while looking through my eyes, they can see the deep woods, the flowing fountains, New earthlings can now envision the fragrances of a million blossoms bobbing, bobbing to the cricket's nightly song.
I am the architect rebuilding the walls of time... Desperately trying am I, to sing my song before more mortals die; To sing my loving words before more mortals die. There are souls upon this earth. it’s' sad but very true – Humans who know nothing of love and beauty.
We all must live to die or die without ever living. We stumble and sometimes fall; However, we have that something, that lost souls never saw.
We know grace and mercy, we know compassion, love, and respect; We knew mountains and valleys. We also knew blue skies without chemtrails. We knew praying mantis, we knew beetles and snails.
We knew breadfruit; and why dandelions and mushrooms grew. We know where beauty sleeps, so we live to tell the poets tale. We speak of days gone by and gently arouse her beauty as we speak.
I am not an artist of spoken word, neither am I a profit, I am but a poet shaking beauty gently, awakening her from a long, long nap...Reminiscent of when innocents reigned as king.
I do not recite for money nor do I sing for fame. I only report what my heart records, and look forward to another spring. I have danced with the humble, and shared wisdom with noble queens;
My excitement overflowing brings joy to eager ears. Loves fury has entitled me, to shield you from your fears. Myself, yes me, I whisper softly, as not to disturb hate.
God bless you on your journey; I can no longer interfere, nor save you from your fears.
You have what you need to carry on, and I know that you are able.
When love gave birth to folklores and fables...I gave birth to poetry babies.
Of
splendid
thrones of
gold
Of
treasures
manifold
Of Sultans
and Shahs
Of Emirs
and Rajahs
Of
jewelled
caskets
or lavish
banquets
Of
sparkling
crowns
and
flowing
gowns
Of kings
and queens
Rulers and
emperors
Of their
subservient
stewards
and
obedient
butlers
Or the
servile
knaves
and
stalwart
squires
Of the
peons and
minions
pages and
pavilions
Of castles
and palaces
of
abounding
gold and
silver
in
ostentatious
regal
splendour
Ah the
fanning
maids in
waiting
Yet to me
one thing
worth
more
noticing
The poet
minstrels
who came
to sing
from afar
for the
queen and
king
For I'd
rather be a
poet for
kings
so to my
tunes
swayed
the
kingdom
than I be
the king
of mere
subjects
and be filled with regal
boredom!
So I could join ranks of
troubadours
and sing for the king
some folklores
For words are the heart of imagination
Inviting to poetic fascination.
(form Troubadour) Ars poetica
You and I, we are,
two polar petals, laced with
arctic blue moonshine
of soft sweven-hymns
and sunburst apricity
of aqua-gold tides,
reminiscing mauve
hours, when our love waltzed in teal
faithful lakes hued with
ivory ink of
coral kismet, shimmering
in wine-auroras,
but now we just trace
poisoned pixie-dust, upon
each other's frail fate,
sinking in folklores
of shaded red canopies,
as I bleed stardust
in ebonies of
hellfire heavens and we fade
like smoked-ash comets;
for you and I, are
we Hemlock and ivy, swathed
in swan-shaped ballads,
floating like hail on smudged graves?