Long Futile Poems
Long Futile Poems. Below are the most popular long Futile by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Futile poems by poem length and keyword.
Headpiece filled with potential straw
Play often by the dictates of law,
The day with its fill of silent sorrow,
Filrts with sense, and falls tomorrow.
A motion and a spirit that impels to lose,
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Time's winged chariot slows down the gate,
Forgets the event, and confuses the date.
Like a burnished throne that packs often more,
Falls from the window, languishes on the floor,
Turning around the road less travelled by,
Burns up the hope to give up with a try.
Infite riches in a small amount of room,
Begin with a blessing that calls out the doom,
An old and worn bilthe spirit haunts the little lake,
Gets up the ladder and unravels the mistake.
Peculiarly pure and polluted wings of poesy,
Terminates the yarn and drowns in urgency,
To strive, to seek, to find and not to yield,
Cracks up too early and stumbles on the field.
The forest of the night gives way to crops,
Fumbles and fiddles and fizzes out at stops,
Why a second coming grumbles like a dream?
Without any care flows down some stream.
Traces of soiled feet and sparrows not in grand gutters
A wasted wayward soul comes and mournfully mutters,
The ignorant armies clash by night under the Casuarina tree,
Makes the lines, breaks the rhythm and turns them fully free.
It takes too long for the last duchess to uncover and sing,
Distances of dissociation constantly throw and fling,
Never the mistress of spice shall ever be there so soon,
And look at mandates of a sudden and savoury tune.
Nine bean rows, poetry of earth crowd up the avenue,
As the lines search the old in the funeral of the new,
Mists and mellow fruitfulness fuel the futile fun,
Ignore the grace, spit out the truth with sixty minutes of run.
The decade, a facade, distills the wilfull muse,
Reverberates, rediscovers, and stacks up glorious refuse,
So this is the beginning of the end and a no way home,
Recklessly strives to the few to find a lost syndrome.
Opus Mysticus
Let us enter... and be silent.
My insanity hangs on the wall with all the other Van Goghs.
Sleeping snugly between semen stained sheets
and saliva creased pillow cases.
Inundations and vivid remembrances
of days dead and hours traumatized.
You and the skinny one behind the wheel.
Whistling depressing dirges in D minor.
Your vituperative Mein Kampf of the ages!
She lifted her skirt and unzipped my soul!
Young children bathing in the quagmire of Eden.
Bellerophone on Pegasus riding through Hell's Kitchen
in the upper east side.
My problems are but pinned butterflies
quasi-embalmed in glass cases
seeking in futile
the sweet revenge of past indignations.
Where are they now?
The artists of Transcript Necco?
Of Zoot Horn Rollo?
They're down on the dark city streets
off in dark scummy alleys
jamming till the lights go out.
Elucidations.
Proclivities.
Paragons.
Intense disaffections.
She lifted her skirt and unzipped my soul!
'Tis fascinating to read epitaphs that upon stones are etched;
Some are rather appealing, some are tragic, others a bit far-fetched!
'Neath this stone lie at peace a husband and his wife
She a Republican-He a Democrat-both now free of strife
Here rests Bruno Snipes the founder of our fair city
He slipped on a banana peel and died-Oh what a pity
Lion trainer Dave was brave and famed
'Til he met Leo who refused to be tamed
Uncle Bob died so young and we wondered why
Seems he tried to drink Canada Dry
The plane's controls Pilot Horace failed to recoup
Alas he spun out doing a double outside loop
Cowpoke Hank should've known as a matter of course
That it was futile to borrow a judge's horse
Here sleeps Senator Claghorn the wiliest politico around
He was so crooked they screwed him in the ground
Here lies the prolific Chief Many Papoose
Who with brave's wives played fancy and loose
She met her doom as over the cliff she did traverse
Instead of shifting to drive she shifted to reverse
Cowboy Pete was so bow-legged from riding his horse
That he lies in a double-wide coffin as a matter of course
Time and again
jovial imp does succeed
at collecting aggregate of infinite moments
nabbing, snagging and yoking yours truly,
a fortitudinous erstwhile
citizen banker travels at warp speed
impossible mission to thwart tempus fugit
analogous to ambuscade by time thief
little rascal who steals
most precious commodity
right before mine myopic eyes
abstract artificial construct
hastens cradle to grave lifespan
hoping chance fellow
space traveler will read
these words, though quite futile
one skeptic could believe
he would experience salvation
prayerfully clasping hands
he doth gently plead
for nought, cuz greed
for immortality a wish
that does exede
by lightyears the outward bounds
for *****sapien breed
damned to die at birth
destroyed by space debris
aliens purportedly buzzfeed
feeling akin to crash test dummy
at mercy where asteroid
can annihilate me I accede.
Seconds, minutes, hours
days, weeks, months
and years speed away
free falling thru space/time continuum
superfluous to request belay,
nevertheless yours asks
for custom made sturdy rope
quite an accomplishment
given such short notice,
which said contrivance
would necessitate being wrapped
(while remaining rapt)
ensconced within outsize
full body jacket beltway
resembling human cocoon
after I pulled up the slack
essentially gifted to dark shadows
twenty four seven -
resembling edge of night
all the while
loosely tethered courtesy gravity
though feeling comfortably numb
zipping by the dark side of the moon
dreaming about Old rotten Gotham
sliding thru behavioral sink,
this while yahoo (me)
courtesy tenuous connection
suddenly severed Earthlink
simultaneously mouthing "Aw, Snap!"
No longer linkedin
with webbed wide world
bitta bing bitta bang
voodoo spell suddenly cast upon
uber hotmail, whereby
his poetic side tumblr unlocked
subsequently he resembles
an infinitesimal across
celestial sea ethereal
poetrysoup amidst creation,
a mere cosmic speck afloat
canvas studded heavens
starry night gallery.
Deep at heart Tim is a dreamer and longs for 'that' dream
And still and in certain arrest he is a child of gone times
His parents Hans and Ida had told him in misleading terms
‘You can do anything you want. . .’
They meant he’s bright and energetic even perfect and
While they had been kind and full of encouragement
The died long before he would abandon that prison
‘We fought the war and you must be free’
A pragmatist full of rational shackles dead to the core
He ponders for meaning caught up in emotional files
Sits under a canopy of figs and waits for the Buddha
‘I see a forest but where is the tree’
‘They’ say that the path is destination its very own aim
The road arduous and tricky and full of obstacle’s way
Sisyphus’ boulder could encroach the slope of the cliff face
‘Let it go but the harvest needs tilling’
Contradictions keep contravening mindful anticipation
Opposites obscure the harmony of synthesized bliss
Subconscious shadows loom in archetypal struggles
‘The conquest fights the lonely survivor’
Tim forfeits his axes to grind and carves his own shell
Forges gun into ploughshares and picks up a flower
Confuses meditation with mediation and forces the mould
‘Leviathan did not levitate he fell on his sword’
Every now and then he can feel the wind of his change
It might carry him to a rainbow and the Source of it all
Yet while knowledge bodes well it is futile without action
‘His fugue eludes the flute of sweet fruit’
He cannot sit still for he is a doer constrained by performance
But the dog on his shoulders resembles a poodle in a circus
A puppet on strings of comical drama a Pavlovian canine
‘Grin and bear it but do not stay idle’
Unleashed by the fangs of Odysseus Tim travels his underworld
Face down belly up he reaches for breath in a bubble of light
Tears at smears and disguise of a mask larger than Venice
‘All water reaches the ocean’
There are bridges and channels and at long last a pier onto
Which he drags his weatherworn body his mind and his soul
Someone left a message draped in simplicity on the pontoon
‘The sole purpose is living one step at a time’
12th February 2019
My heart*, wholly convicted by God’s holy writ
Earnestly confesses its stubborn arrogance
Humbly acknowledging haughtiness’ engagements
Abased against futile glory-seeking pursuits.
This heart is now open to the Lord’s scrutiny
Surrendered for His gracious sanctification
Believing that nothing is hidden from His eye
Since He alone discerns the minutest intents.
With my cleansed, pardoned heart, I worship my Saviour
Esteeming Him with gratitude’s joyful praises
By His tender mercy and gracious compassion
Here’s my yielded heart, willing to serve with faith’s might.
*Proverbs 19:21 There are many devices in a man's heart; nevertheless the counsel of the LORD, that shall stand.
June 8, 2019
Sometimes it has to fall
It all has to come tumbling down
Somewhere there's a missed call
One indeed has to be lost to be found
Falling, spiraling, crashing down
Once built up with blood, sweat, and tears
Now unrecognizable on the ground
Echoes of the nonsensical chatter and jeers
Precious pieces liberally scattered
So much time, love, and effort were employed
To look at all this debris, I can't help but wonder if it matters.
A hollow space in my soul, once filled now only a void
Bewildered, astray, and empty
Loneliness now fills my days
Futile thoughts or hopes of someone feeling pity for me
Silly, just silly to think because this is my spiritual assay
He dragged me into a dark place,
I was squirming at first, clawing and biting.
My teeth began to break from his scales.
His warning growl stopped me.
There is something sinister
about being in an unknown place
With a demon who goes silent
An eerie feeling, no words can describe.
He began examining me, as if I was a specimen.
Perhaps I am. I have no idea what he is
I begin to beg for my life
When I get slapped ………………………..hard.
Silence resumes itself
I hear heavy breathing.
Is he sleeping then? A little nap before he devours me.
I plot my escape, knowing it is futile. He has me pinned.
There is an unfamiliar horrible coughing
And a smell that rivals a skunk.
Am I going to die from a smell?
He turns and begins by eating my right leg.
It’s a heart who hurts
When someone takes the easy way out,
Leaving behind a love, a hope
The beautiful in a song, a star, a silent
Joy that inspires the greatest light
It’s a soul who aches
When someone decides to let go,
Leaving behind the wonders,
Blessings that colored the life in good,
Whispering faith only love understood
It’s a spirt who suffers
When someone learns it is easier
To give into the comfort, the undemanding
So that there isn’t any giving from the inside
Where God brings the greatest feelings into being
It’s a life who grieves
When someone refuses to hold on
When the heart and soul become lost
Among those things that are less important,
The empty promises and worthless doubts, the futile
It’s a love that agrees
When someone decides to believe
In tomorrow with an open heart, a gentle hope
Who struggles through the sorrows, wipes away tears
And remembers that real love will last throughout the years!
TRUE LIES
When expressed love is all for show
Almost a hug, and that fake smile
And yet thinking no-one will know
Yet looking elsewhere all the while
It’s just a poor version of guile
Who might question gestures like this
But if they knew, they’d run a mile
Still more room left for artifice
It is reaping what one may sow
Unlike feelings that raise the bile
No response is the Quid pro quo
Pretence one step away from vile
With no honour left to defile
Yet one can tell it from a kiss
It feels like turning down the dial
Still more room left for artifice
When love is real the blood will flow
Sensing more substance over style
False expression is pretty low
Be found guilty when gone to trial
Lie after lie in a great pile
Think if you believe it is bliss
Maybe resistance is futile
Still more room left for artifice
Claiming it’s normal is facile
Of truth, it is antithesis
So adopt another profile
Still more room left for artifice