Long Former Poems
Long Former Poems. Below are the most popular long Former by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Former poems by poem length and keyword.
~ Bygone beauty - the spark still pulsates ~
- quote by poet
Antique and retro
junk or culture?
I bought it
way too expensive at auction
Aging and rusty
Useless
you're probably thinking
A rustic lantern
from the time when kerosene lamps
was the best one had
Timeless design with
soul, charm and uniqueness
Brush and rub
Of sentimental virtues
the need for mercy,
nursing and care
in the hands of love
The beauty is temporarily hidden
will soon regain its former glory
The history of the lamp,
- the unvarnished truth
Brush and rub
03.04.2023
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
- 'R' Words - Poetry Contest -
Sponsored by: Constance La France
1st place in the contest
Healing wounds
of betrayal
open
once more with blood
seeping out of it.
Happenstance
brings her
face to face
with her
former flame.
But this time,
walking hand-in-hand
with the woman he left
her...
at the altar for.
(Yalto)
"Yalto" is a form invented by your truly
Line 1-15: 3,4,2,4,5,3,2,3,2,3,3,5,6,1,5 syllables
Date written: 03/27/2021
"My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
And every tongue brings in a several tale,
And every tale condemns me for a villain."
(Richard, Act 5 Scene 3)The Tragedy of Richard The Third, Shakespeare
Richard the Third was an evil, tyrant, a murderer. Ugly and unloved, deformed and hateful.
Shakespeare wrote this grim play, long with words and lines, with meditations, and death,
to infuse in us Richard the Third's villainous short rise to power . . .
Richard III, confesses to murdering King Henry the VI. He ordered many others to be
murdered also or put in the Tower of London, for extended stays ?
He presents himself as the true heir. A gentle and kind man. Pretending to be modest,
devout and humble. Anyone who protests is executed, brutally.
He claims that two children the true heirs are illegitimate and orders that they be killed,
and so they are. With no one in his way, he claims the throne of England.
But, his dreams are full of the ghosts of his victims. He wakes screaming to Jesus for help.
He is alone in his misery, making him even more miserable.
He loses popularity as his ways become known. His followers are stepping back. No longer
supporting him. It is a matter of time . . .
On a battle field, he is unhorsed. Shakespeare pens his famous quote, "a horse, a horse,
my kingdom for a horse." He is killed on that battle field but by who ? Many tales are told.
A bit of history. Richard the Third's remains were found and confirmed, in a former Greyfriars
Friary in Leicester, England in September 2012. The bones did indicate a curve to the spine.
Later, he was reburied with a grand funeral where anyone can visit now . . . But, did he deserve
a grand funeral ?
July 25th, 1996 tied the Gordian knot,...
(I spent noose cents)
begot deux daughters, the major events
both since flew cuckoo's nest,
the eldest angry at papa for offense
sieve behavior fatherly bond
forever sundered permanent rents
unforgiving progeny vents
bile, explosive vitriol whence...
Aye yen for bachelorhood every
now and again doth mildly abate
after saying "I do...,"
when axed by justice of peace
nearly two dozen years wedded
bull hissing, rest assured
I will abbreviate
encapsulate, fulminate, narrate...
and forthrightly admit,
yours truly oft times
yearned to abdicate
spousal unbridled warfare and injustice
reason enough to abnegate
null and void husbandry role
ex post facto finding thyself
questioning pledging troth even
Frosty the snowman would abominate
to say "screw this -
marriage nut for me"
bolt in a huff boot (dang)
ne'er did absquatulate
altercations that adhere
to rule of physics
and tended to accelerate
as muzzled, neigh saying saddled
former groom did
lament and accentuate
his physical needs,
she did not accommodate,
cuz this solitary soul
(with good n plenti horse sense),
never did fully acculturate
with female species,
one whose blunt cold front
seemed to accumulate growing
gripe list bestowed courtesy this mate
tit for tat wrathful pitiless,
(not so cherry) feedback unmatched
within annotated coupled courtship of fools,
this scrivener with steely
iron maiden breastplate,
nonetheless did rack up and accumulate
battle scars hitting bullseye,
since donned with
corrective vision spectacles
hen pecking, needling termagant
untameable shrew did acerate
(worse fate than death -
validated by grim reaper)
avowed covenant thru torturous years
exponentially punishing innocent soul
(slightly biased) did acervate
popping one after
another over the counter acetylsalicylate,
no ampule adequate
to relieve permanent suffering,
thus lifetime electric shock treatment,
nsync quaffing prescription
kool aid battery acidulate
ineffective to activate
palliative, and restore
liberty (yeah) sense and sensibility
subsequently providing freedom
against further wifely scourges
whereby Doctor Phil Ander
refused to adjudicate,
perhaps understandable why I advocate
selfless mercy killing (euthanasia)
for this urbane country bumpkin.
Fleeting light streams through the broken window pane.
Flickering, as the only movement trying to bring life in vain.
The stillness is dense and dust lays thickly as all is grey.
The old house utters the softest moan, resisting evident decay.
There is an aura of shame, that it has been discovered this way,
Yet a distinct welcoming can be felt, its coupled with dismay.
The peeling paper on the walls, its former charm subsided,
The floorboards dry and cracked, beliefs of safety are misguided.
A yearning can be felt, a plea to resurrect it to its former glory.
Neglect has cruelly buried many a wonderful forgotten story.
The old house stands defiant against the storms the wind and flood.
One hundred years ago it was built with sweat, tears and even blood.
From its eaves and rafters to its foundations, it was built with pride.
A murmur comes from each empty room, heard faintly from deep inside.
Tears of its soul are felt. Whispers “rescue and restore me” it implores.
Gone are the wonderful stories, as the oncoming bulldozer roars.
Incrementally corporeal essence, here
to fore i.e. figurative spear
tire of mine, doth elicit despair
daily appall, thus I air
part tickle laurel lei objection
able bane, cuz this tear
rubble flabbiness a glare
ring anatomical feature, I swear
shape shifted into a dare
ridge hubble unsightly
bulge ballooning mere
lee (just south of nada so clear
lee belly button), where
former wash board abdomen veer
hilly subsumed by displeasing scare
really hated love handles glare
ring paunches noticeable, especially
when belly bare
adduce sing the culprit bing
one or more daring
pharmacological prescription eliminating
debilitating panic attacks,
albeit re: fashioning
my metabolism, but
necessary medications giving
immeasurable un bull heaving
relief to this generally
skeptical person instilling
joyus rapture, where
psychological state jitterbugging
(a slight bit of hyperbole,
I tango with) kickstarting
long overdue ability
to experience living
shorn of paralyzing anxiety,
yes every now and again
isolated heated flare ups making
stellar appearance, asper
wren literal "NON
FAKE" pennilessness,
and a concomitant stress
inducing circumstance naming
management due to inspect
occupied apartment units
this next oncoming
week (October seventh -
thirteenth) inducing palpitating
heart, irritable bowel syndrome,
and non quitting
excessive (no pun intended -
heavy handed) perspiration,
but generally "speaking" quieting
torturous unbearable
woebegone raging
adrenaline hellishly riotous smiting
my body electric
condemning torturing
poisoning relentlessly (like
stinging scorpions) upending
many prime decades vice wrenching
yoking ambivalence nose zing
worthlessness toward
total mortal kombat!
You and your band achieved great fame.
However, relatively few knew you by name.
With numerous hit records topping the world’s charts,
your five-man group won many fans’ hearts.
While you sang lead vocals and played the keyboards,
your fellow band members provided sweet chords.
With “Glad All Over”, “Bits n’ Pieces”, and “Can’t You See That She’s Mine”,
your group produced a sound that was so fine.
From London, you seemed to have conquered the world.
Fans flocked no matter which flag was unfurled.
With songs like “Catch Us If You Can”, and “Because”,
your band garnered much well-earned applause.
Yes, you were a great performer in your day.
I was saddened to hear of your passing away.
(former lead singer of the Dave Clark Five)
#Nabi
It was a different parth, maybe thats what they meant by; hopless roads sometimes leading to greatness, a sacred one, some perculiarity, not by legs I was led here, not by my human desires but cosmos frequencies, a spiritual radar.
That day, I set my humanly form, in the darkness, with questions streaming and flooding my mind, needed that darkness to be one with myself, to think clearly, to see clearly, for thus my better space to be precise
Wanted that darkness to be exact, to bd certain for I gave been uncertain most of my life and that brought me nothing but only void and pain, was done enduring to loss and confusion, to pain and disappointment, this time around, really wanted closure, a surity that I walk not on my yesterday flops, ever
In my head, with our first encounter, I was interjected, paused by magnetization, a mesmerizing interjection, the mother's boyin me, wanted to call my mother to come and help me entangle myself off your eyes, for I was snared, maybe I saw myself as man in your eyes, as grown up mature and ready for accountability, maybe a better version of me
Maybe stuck and don't wanna move, don't wanna be moved from how I see myself through you, maybe I just don't wanna leave here, without you, maybe not live without you, I say maybe for I fear to admit that you are different not from the rest but different for me
Maybe you possess me, maybe hypnotizez me and I'm just fine with that for nothing in my lil life span, had I ever been this certain with anyone, maybe this certainty overwhelms me, clouds my mind and I'm just fine with it, maybe I have lived in denial the enterity of my being but in you I rest
Maybe that's how being content feels, maybe and just maybe, this requires me to just take this leap of faith and just surrender all, into this moment, to just love if not nature you with my heart and forget the former things and just live for here, with you, Nabi
#Poetic_Ink
When it comes to a crunch, what’s our emote,
in as do we go with love or with hate,
for with latter we sink, with former float,
thus determining on earth our soul’s fate?
How may our reflex response be refined,
if we be as yet enslaved by ego,
distanced from God, not quite divine aligned,
feral instincts exchanging blow for blow?
The heart centre’s difficult to unblock,
since we are so addicted to thinking,
that we’re truly afraid to walk the talk
of what conscience says, the truth unblinking.
Be this as it may, we can always choose
without excuse, the flavour of heart’s muse.
They own the applause,
but the Lord authored the light.
Many my mates born this day—
some gone,
some sick,
some wrestling quiet miseries.
Yet here I stand tall,
not in height,
but in faith
for all the Lord has made me witness.
A year better than the former.
My despair ripening into greatest expectation.
I look down memory lane,
tracing how it all began—
from one, to five, to ten, to fifteen, to twenty…
and now, the present calling.
Cheers to a year carrying certain questions
still unnamed.
Its enigmas shape the puzzle,
nudging me along the road to positivity.
Cheers to the paths I took
when they felt right in my chest.
Cheers to adapting, learning, observing,
and the quiet art of unlearning.
Alas— I do not say this often:
when I swing by your heart,
a prayer worthy
is all I ask of you.
— Afolalekan