Long Foreseen Poems
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So shocking was that news from France,
we stared at TVs in a trance;
no way to understand.
Those young and old without a chance
were taken down in wide expanse.
Such horror had been planned.
Who could have then foreseen the fate
upon them cast by those who hate?
Just gathered there for fun,
not knowing that their deaths await
while music played and people ate,
their lives were over, done.
Who could have thought ahead that they -
that enemy that wants its way
to change our form of life,
would sacrifice their own to say
that their belief we must obey?
Misguided thoughts run rife.
That Paris scene that fretful night
prepares us now to face the fight.
Define this threat once more
that could erupt within our sight.
Entire world must join the fight
to face this crusade war.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Contest: Rime Couee - Tail-Rhymed Verse - For France
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi
Judged: 01/03/2016
~2nd Place~
Contest: Best Sad Poem EVER
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Judged: 08/29/2016
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Rime Couee
I went with this pattern for Rime Couee as shown on "The Poet's Garret" website
x x x x x x x a
x x x x x x x a
x x x x x b
x x x x x x x a
x x x x x x x a
x x x x x b
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"The November 2015 Paris attacks (sometimes referred to as 11/13) were a series of coordinated terrorist attacks that occurred on Friday 13 November 2015 in Paris, France, and the city's northern suburb, Saint-Denis. Beginning at 21:16 CET, three suicide bombers struck outside the Stade de France in Saint-Denis, during a football match. This was followed by several mass shootings, and a suicide bombing, at cafés and restaurants. Gunmen carried out another mass shooting and took hostages at a concert in the Bataclan theatre, leading to a stand-off with police. The attackers were shot or blew themselves up when police raided the theatre.
The attackers killed 130 people, including 89 at the Bataclan theatre. Another 368 people were injured, 80–99 seriously. Seven of the attackers also died, while the authorities continued to search for accomplices. The attacks were the deadliest on France since World War II." Wikipedia
Dragon polished his nails and admired himself in the mirror once again; a daily ritual getting so old. The one lousy hair on his chin, protruding from a small wart which he called a, “birthmark”; warranted a razor, shaving foam and aftershave or so he insisted.
He blew himself a kiss and turned with a smile; “Do you think my fangs need more whitening?” He asked. “Dr. Raine said the last time that he “Couldn’t get them any whiter, remember?” I responded.
“Humph!” he snorted; “I can’t go around looking like some shoddy, back alley lizard now, can I? Now that I’m a professional flutist, I have a reputation to protect.” With that he patted my cheek and said, “Ciao baby, don’t wait up for me.”
I watched him grab his instrument and walk out the door. “Don’t get that big head get stuck”, I muttered softly. Why couldn’t I have adopted a normal dragon? No, I had to have the cutest one; how could I not have foreseen that ego?
When he said he wanted a flute, I bought him one; he hated it. “That’s a beginner flute,” he remarked. I want a, Master Class instrument!”
I gave in all too easily and a hundred payments later, he was playing Vivaldi, like a pro. Ok, so maybe that was a good investment.
Every contest he’d entered garnered him another golden trophy; but, did he really need a tuxedo to wear when he received those baubles? My credit cards gained weight at lightning speed, as he grew. I passed his room; stuck my tongue out at that, trophy wall and noticed his vanity. Did he really need one hundred and twelve different bottles of cologne?
At two am, he awoke me with an anxious cry. I heard, “Mumsey dear, wake up…the concert was superb and the governor was so impressed, (of course, he would be…) with my playing; he’s invited me, me to play for his inaugural dinner! Can I have your credit card? I need to get a French manicure and have my scales waxed. Oh, and I’m going to need a new Tux.”
“You have twenty three tuxedos in your closet; why can’t you wear one of those?” I asked him.
“Mumsey”, he replied, “I have a reputation to maintain.” He tweaked my cheek; smiled at himself in the mirror and under my breath I muttered back, “I can hardly wait until his, ever-growing ego, gets him stuck in the doorway.”
While I gaze in your eyes, cool cerulean blue,
Sifting night, straining stars through morning’s sweet dew,
I can fathom the depths of empyreal skies,
Angels fluttering by, riding wild butterflies
While I gaze in your eyes, changing, aqua-blue greening,
I’m sucked into chasms, cascading, careening,
And yield to enticements which meekly disarm,
Seeping virtuous beauty, sad sensuous charm
While I gaze in your eyes, bleeding fiery blue
Ever tempting with treasures, with pleasures for two,
Being caught at the core of a blazing sapphire
Possessing, enthralling, aflame with desire
While I gaze in your eyes, misty emeralds, deep green,
Veiling laughter and banter, and echoes between,
Then I dream, so it seems, in whatever the place,
Of your scent, of your breath, of your radiant face
While I gaze in your eyes, at times placidly blue,
Near’ as calm as the weirs in the woods all bedewed,
Forty winks relegate to a shimmering lake,
Gently floating on lilies, while waiting to wake
While I gaze in your eyes, caught engulfed in the greens
And consigning my fate unto verdant ravines,
My reactions, at length, become shyer and shyer
Reminiscent of ravens at risk in the briar
While I gaze in your eyes, restless, hesitant blues
Overwhelming sensations with turbulent hues,
I’m succumbing to waves of a storm battered sea,
Being cast like a plank, never meant to be free
While I gaze in your eyes, shadowed, Midnight Lake green
Glowing hazy with dreams, misty thoughts so serene,
Sudden silence befalls me, a fast sinking stone,
Looming lost in your eyes, I am never alone
While I gaze in your eyes, saddened, lachrymal blue,
Spilling trickles of rain, pearls obscuring your view,
I’ll attend to your anguish and feelings morose,
Lightly kissing your tears, touching, holding you close
While I gaze in your eyes, pulsing infinite green
Of the earth and of heaven and all in between,
It is simple to see that my hands can hold all
Of the treasures I find which so humbly enthral
While I gaze in your eyes, when they’re bountifully blue,
I’m reminded, love’s lightning is granted to few...
While I gaze in your eyes, when they’re blindingly green,
I’m reminded, love’s lightning cannot be foreseen...
Yet I hope... and I wait...
I wished you a Happy Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with merriment and laughter
and now I wish you Happy December 26 the less well known…day after.
(If you are from the United Kingdom or Canada…put this poem away
You have solved December 26th’s dilemma by celebrating Boxing Day)
But in America December 26 is a day that attempts to be brave and save face
for it knows it could have been a holiday but had to settle for second place.
Yes, I’m afraid December 26 in history is fated to remain unreckoned.
doomed to stand in relative obscurity with its neighbor January 2nd.
Today I celebrate all those days who because of their chronological lateness
are destined to travel down the path of history...one day away from greatness.
Do you know the name of the first man on the moon? Of course, everybody does.
But do you remember the second, Ed Aldrin, his friends and family called him Buzz.
We remember Edmund Hillary, the first to scale Mt. Everest, the first to find his way
but who remembers, Tenzing Norgay, the sherpa who accompanied him that day?
They climbed the tallest mountain in the world but the second is almost as high
Yet K-2 is only an afterthought, kind of like the 5th of July.
We remember Snow White as the first movie Disney brought to the silver screen
but the second, Pinocchio must take its place next to the innocuous March 18.
Everyone knows Amelia Earhart, her story is one of courage and devotion
She was the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic Ocean.
The second was Geraldine Mock, at her even more accolades were hurled
for she kept going after crossing the Atlantic, and flew around the world.
Isn’t it funny how life works, for none of us could have foreseen
that Geraldine would be disregarded in history like the day after Halloween.
But such is the way the calendar unfolds from January to December
Some days, like people, are destined for greatness while others we hardly remember.
I think it’s time we change all that and give these days and people their due.
for I believe second places and day afters deserve a home in our hearts too.
So hold your head up December 26th…you have no reason to whine…
After all you could come around only once every 4 years….
my condolences to February 29.
Wherein upon a darken road
the path by which the traveler trode
there amongst the guileless snow
Alighten by moonlight’s o’er throw
Lost among the recurring trees
On last breath, and on his knees
He took into him the cold grey night
His death foreseen in by a distant light.
On he slipped into humble death
Absolving life in shallow breaths
His eyes turned to the swollen moon
Knowing death was all too soon.
O’ here upon a darken road
Amongst the trees and pallid cold
He met the Maiden in mortal form
Her eyes alight and pale skin warm.
Her hair was gold as the finest thread
On her feet she lightly tread
To gather him up in her grace
She kissed him lightly o’er his face.
‘O’ little child, O’ mortal man’
She whispered light as angels can
‘Be now still and close thy eyes,
I’ve come to sever your earthly ties’
And when he gave a mournful sigh
His body quiet in the snow-bank lye
The Maiden took his ghostly hand
To lead him to the spirit’s land.
Away there from the darken road
The Maiden and a spirit trode
Away from a man, dead in the snow
Past the yew in ancient row.
‘O’ gentle Lady, O’ gentle bride,
Whilst you stay here by my side?’
And then she turned her face to him
To him she looked, her lips drawn grim.
‘Alas, my love, my belov’d man,
Only to your destiny that I can,
Yet after that you start anew,
But always know my love is true!’
And there he kissed her, his spirit guide
And silent they went, side by side
Through the night and then through light
Until the sun did grant them sight.
By morning in another land
When now the earth was made of sand
She said goodbye, and left his side
For back again, the road she’d ride.
His eyes he closed, deathly tight
To shade him from a radiant light
And there he lay, a new born babe
Early born to greet the day.
Aye, he heard the Maiden say
Whispered in his ear this day
‘Yet after this you begin anew,
But always know my love is true!’
‘For today for you, my little one,
The sun has risen brightly shone,
And thus shall eternity, it will repeat,
For the human spirit, yet incomplete. . .’
I recall my having saved something: A special sized box … a uniquely colored rubber band … an old, old hat … or a million sundry other things, thinking that sometime in the future I might find a use or application for whatever it was.
Looking back, it seems like I was traversing a universally large area, without dimensions or size, and occasionally thinking I might need some item I saw or held, sometime in the future, so … I’d save it. I’ve been doing that for nearly eighty years now. And, it suddenly dawned on me this afternoon: I don’t have a long-term future any more.
The limitless sized “room” I have been traversing, has been narrowing, shrinking, lessening in size and scope while I have been paying attention to “things”. The arena of Life I’ve been living in has all the while been diminishing, and astonishingly, I’ve just now come to that realization: Sometime in the not-too-distant future, all those “things” I’ve been “saving for some future use”, won’t ever be re-initiated inside whatever domain I had, at one time, envisioned they would be.
That realization made me remember, when my mother passed away and I and my family members wandered through the collection of her belongings, began to fathom just how many “things” she had collected for “future use”. They were contained there, where she had left them in drawers, closets, wrapped in plastic grocery bags or newspapers. They never realized the “future” she had foreseen for them. They never would. The things that were her important “usefuls”, became just discarded items once they were voided of her
imagination of her future needs. Our dreams and aspirations are of the same ilk, just as our well-meaning “intentions”. Once we are gone, those intentions all evaporate into an invisible void. Maybe one of the saddest, empty utterances of mankind is: “I was going to …”.
So, beginning tomorrow, I think I’ll commence ridding myself of “future” stuff, lying here and there for no real reason. Oh, there’s no doubt, as I touch and pick up each of those former “future” pieces, I’ll stop to ponder what my original thought and vision had been for it to be placed, and still lying, in that dusty box.
It’s gonna be a long, memory-messaging day, I bet.
I was caught up in a rapture when I encountered him for the first time. 6’1, Brown eyes, Style
beyond fly. A caramel cream tone, that draped over his “perfect for me” physique. His words
resembled eloquence, his story full of suspense. From thence, I knew I wanted to inherit his
every critique.
It was no ordinary love, we had been abundantly blessed. Usually when encountered with these
emotions, I would regress. But why suppress? Why deny? Why hide the feelings of me when 2
hearts could coincide. Why break the mold of surprise, when we could reverse the role of divide.
And it was so. We set the tone. We broke the mold. We got in tune with each other’s soul. And
normally towards this type of journey I would never go. But his gravitational pull was more
than my scientific being could ever revolt. He made my feelings remote, and we foreseen
together the existence of our eternal being.
But then I had to realize. I was only foreseeing our future through my eyes. I couldn’t so soon
finalize, when in fact that could be our demise. It’s TOO right. And I’ve learned my lesson from
the previous and most recent times. It takes two to fight. There is no union if there is no one
there for you to unite. So I had to just be blatant and asked him for the truth. To see if he
could provide some proof .
And this is what he had to say, It confirmed we felt the same way;
“Magic has never really made sense to me. Illusion. Confusion. It was all the same to me. Then
you came in to my life, like a thief in the night and took the disbelief out of me. Monogamy?
Could it be? That you would come and cast this spell of love and bring my heart to relief? At
first sight it resembled fantasy. But your kisses, like a pinch, always let me know this is reality.
So fall deep with me. Who knew the pits of love would make us rise to destiny? What you
foresee, is the very thing that I have envisioned, contemplated, and always relived in my
dreams!”
After that I was sold. No law. No piece of paper. Could ever confirm what God has bestowed.
Why do we need acceptance from the world, When all that should matter is what our hearts
and our spirits know!
Why, the greatest enemy of man is man
for man has subdued everything else
Fear not the tiger, fear the murderer's plan
Just hearken well to what history yells!
At times twas jingoism, at times a rancorous desire to do harm
Fear just man's malice and his ugly evil
If his dagger blow fails, he'll get you by black magic charm
His heart and mind alone well shelter the devil.
For how many fall prey to lions or snakes
one could even count them on fingers
Man invents a cure for smallpox but missiles too he makes
and he mercilessly kills without harbingers.
Man invented as many things for his destruction and harm
as he did for his benefit and good
He's inventor of bombs as well as tractors on the farm
And doesn't he detest acting as he should?
Man alone is behind the bloodiest of bloodshed
The angels too had foreseen his wars and battles
From the gory battlefield to the humble homestead
with the shrieks of murder our earth forever rattles!
Close your doors and your home secure
not to deter beasts, but to lock out the robber, the thief
For no greater danger than man lurks there for sure
Fear not the fierce bull, that you can turn into beef!
Wild beasts might be known to gobble us up
but isn't man as well found to be a cannibal?
Gosh, humans too on human flesh do sup
Man tis far more fearsome than any poor animal.
The greatest enemy of man thus is man himself
How much blood has he ruthlessly spilt of his own kind
Look out for the bottle of poison on his shelf
Till the deed is done, no knowing what goes on in his mind.
The poor young lady refrains from venturing out at night
How now, what does she so fear?
She fears nothing but assault by man's might
so rarely is she stalked by a grizzly bear!
Fortunately for us, this ain't how it always ends
man can always be the best of friends
So we can still count more on buddies and cronies
instead of focusing on foes and fiends.
For man he can be a hero and saviour
if judicious he is about right and wrong behaviour.
Besides religion as I know, infact does actually foretell
That the end of ALL killers and murderers
is that inferno of divine wrath we all know as hell!
Instigating violence instead of defusing a situation. Shoot me in the face and get a month's paid vacation. Celebrating death down there at the station. The ones you've killed will watch you as you sleep.
Mouth breathers and cop callers. Black and white, no grey area. Toxic rainbows in tech-n-color sever childhood skies. It's obvious. Terrified, they kept their heads down. Maybe it'll all go away as long as they work their jobs, follow routine, and a few times a week they pray. Damn your eyes for knowing the truth and sitting Idly by, as you've foreseen the outcome in visions and secretly knew the reasons why. That the smoke and mirrors clear and shatter. Hearing the true tone in between the clatter. Watching the news in all hues of blood splatter. But still you've got the audacity to say you've an idea of what's the matter?
They'll come for us all in the end.
If Cancer doesn't kill you then some other marketing tools step in. Religions neuter progress.
Faith a hollow promise.
Your shepherd had the forked tongue all along.
Trained, conditioned, and corrupted to the bone.
Eyes still fixed on your betraying cell phone.
Tracked and tagged, docile and fed. No more questions echoing in your atrophying head. You've been duped onto the killing floor. Muscle breaks down just a little bit more. Consume. Comply. Stop resisting. They've plastic boxes for us all. Holes pre-dug in which we fall. Love, a vestigial emotion growing ever weary.
The wisest trees, will shake their roots clean.
We don't talk about the bodies and where there're buried.
A self fulfilling prophecy that has come to fruition. Rich frat boys, I've an aching suspicion. The human ant farm upon a corporation's shelf. Swallow jagged lies from the rotting prophet's mouth. The Godly are screaming as profits are headed south. "Please invite someone to church today".
Knocking on heaven's door with a bloody clinched fist is the goddamn polar opposite of Christ's teachings, lest there's something I've missed.
They've plastic boxes for us all. Holes pre-dug in which we fall. The weakened flock shall devour themselves.
Just a human art farm upon corporation shelves.
Staring into the deep
Life is a metaphor and I am simply its ball.
I bounce off walls and as I rise, I fall.
Just looking for the right time to say the right word,
Because it would feel so wrong if I let myself fail
And my words were never heard.
Life is a story, never foreseen and never before told.
It is still being written and we are still on the right road.
A long way from home, heading into the unknown.
I cannot afford to be close to you, because of all the charity I owe.
An image of a scarecrow drifts into my mind,
To remind me of a scarier time that made me impulsively act alive.
I saw the signs; I have to sigh,
To let it all go, by leaving it all behind.
When I am gone, my writings will remain, I hope,
Because all I know is how to be honest and how to never grow old.
A war and peace of trying to become all that I can,
Could be lost in an instant, if I am not given a second chance.
I hold on tight to the belief in what I write,
Because I am only alive as a word upon a line.
Love is awesome; I am not.
Point my finger at the side of my own head,
Shout bang aloud to the sound of a shot.
Fall to my knees to grieve the loss of all I did.
As I stare into a mind that looks like a hall of mirrors.
My thoughts all say
“I am with stupid.”
Many faces have lived my life;
Many tongues will tell my tale.
Many choices I have tried to get right,
But I have no cure to my success in the fail.
Slippery when wet, so hold on tight,
I would never want you to fall over.
I have my crutch to lift me up;
A cure to getting older.
Love is a balloon and you are all playing with pins.
Pop goes the feeble.
You have lost all that which once was…
Now all there is; is the sequel.
Inside my chest a heart of the ocean is buried,
So deep beneath, that it may never become married.
But love is so warm; such joy! Another say cheese moment to be found.
Dreaming of an everlasting, while keeping my feet on solid ground.
A promise sworn; no need to be scared.
Life is a sea of fishes,
So collect your entitlement to love;
For they will always be there.
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.