Long Garbed Poems
Long Garbed Poems. Below are the most popular long Garbed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Garbed poems by poem length and keyword.
“What…happened…to…me? What…ab…ab…”
Despite my new found breath, my speech was weak
and lacking.
“Hush little one.” A soft spoken voice was heard
though she did not move her mouth to say the
words.
“You are safe now. Ashtira is calm. You have
done what you were set to do in your quest.
Hush.”
I closed my eyes and let myself slip slowly
to sleep. It felt wonderful to finally
relax.
When I woke up I felt better than I had in
a lifetime. I slowly sat up and looked around.
Quiet.
When I saw the Ashtira River I smiled. The once violent
vengeful river was now the soothing, gentle brook that it
was once known as.
When I looked down I gasped. My once
evergreen hunting dress was now a light sea-blue.
I knew.
I got up as a person on a mission. I ran and dove
into the water, unafraid of what might happen.
I could breath.
I swam all the way to Lishon. When I came out
of the river I noticed that the Noli were readying
for battle.
I smiled slightly and went back into the river.
I sat serenely at the bottom and closed my
eyes.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The screams came after an hour of waiting. The Kwana
jumped to their feet on my command. I squinted trying
to see.
Like lightning a wall of water crashed into the
gates of Lishon and stopped. It was as if an invisible
shield stopped the water.
Out of the wall stepped a single figure. She was
garbed in sea-blue and her copper hair dry as day.
I knew.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It was starting to get dark so I went to get Jorden and Clarisa. They
looked up as I beckoned them to come and they ran over as only
children could.
“It’s starting to get late, let’s head home.” There was none
of the usual arguments from the children. We donned our coats
and left.
What the parent did not know was that beneath the fun of child
play, there lay a Shana and Shano who made the world a better place
for all who cared to live. Once more the frilena would bloom in Lishon’s
court yard as they once had.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The story could be told in many ways,
with different plot lines and different endings.
what matters is not the setting or the plot
but the characters themselves.
In some way every child has their own
fairy-tale land that they are the hero’s of.
This story is particularly dear to me.
For you see, I was Shana and my brother was
Shano.
"Lord if it is you will, I will do as you ask of me. But I wonder why you ask me, the weaker gender of your servants?" Deborah said to the Lord her God. She was sitting on a large boulder which was resting upon a cliff which overlooked the valley... a valley which had always been owned by her grandparents and now by her parents. Deborah fixed her wide-eyed gaze from the valley below to the great skies above.
The gift of beauty that God bestowed upon this one was not unlike the beauty of a perfectly cut diamond with her long straight black hair and her honey glazed skin. She knew that she should protect herself from the sun's rays. Other young woman garbed themselves in heavy, long garments which were too restricting, too confining. No, instead she would make for herself and clothe herself in light, white dresses which contained no sleeves just a simple tunic of sorts. She also did not like to wear veils to shield her face as it was customary to do among the women who were either married or maiden.
"It matters not to Me whether it is man or maid wielding the gifts I have bestowed upon them, you have been chosen to exercise the gifts which I have bestowed upon you. Alas, My strength shows best through the weakness of man," said God to Deborah' spirit using His still small voice.
"What must I do? And when will I go? And where will I go? This is not yet clear to me my Lord, " asked Deborah.
"I will tell you all when the time is at hand, for now it is not the time. When the time draws near I will speak with you again," the Lord replied drawing this encounter to an end.
"So shall it be done my Lord," Deborah said as she stood up and began to make her way down the rather steep trail that led to the overhanging cliff where Deborah spent much of her spare time when she had time to spare. The path from the cliff led down into a central village, some of the other girls or young women turned to stare at her. Deborah openly glanced back at them and offered them a friendly smile. The other ladies stared and then burst into mocking, conspiratorial chuckles because after all Deborah was an oddity.
a dream vision by S.E. Clark
Barely weeks of seven of the orgy
Space crash of 117 people in a Bellview
Tragedy came knocking
This time harder with anger to
Ginger blood off its hunger
Unto the street of heaven came the commotion
On the Flyers descendant to the open
Field in the Rivers of Port-Harcourt
Emerge the Sosoliso Tsunami
Sixty future seeds of the Nation with
Fourty eight others including the Woman of God
Who churn out words for the Bachelors and Spinsters
Burnt into ashes as the Flyer caught fire with power
Before their very eyes they got burnt with
The Sosoliso bird of 1145 providing the
Shield to which the fire fired in Port-Harcourt
Parents of the future seeds of Ignatius Loyola Jesuit
Were garbed with the toga of helplessness
Other loved ones waiting at the open field
To receive them, had the cap of loneliness on
But for one survivor they had all perished
Burnt for their Negligence
Burnt for their palpable Levity
Burnt for their Greediness
To whom shall we point accusing
Finger of Sosoliso Tsunami?
Unto whose neck shall we hang
The blood of the Innocent lives of Bellview 117?
Unto whose head shall we heap all these
Garbage of calamity and catastrophe?
Who shall replace the three shinning
Future seeds of the Ilabor family?
Unto them that sold the People’s
Fliers for surplus value
Unto them at the top of the Rock
Who loot and siphon cowries meant for the People
Unto them I say ,Unto those who shirks their
Responsibilities and hang it on Private mediocres
Unto them whose insidious desire is to sell
Our land and the inhabitants
Unto them whose long throats and wicked eyes
Is driven only by profit
Unto them all who shall be burnt into
Ashes of Filthy history and memories
Alayande Stephen .T
14th of December,2005
11.23pm
For Victims of Bellview 117 and Sosoliso 108
Those that Nigerian Government sent on a
Mission impossible on air for their negligence
And looting galore in the Aviation Industry
Form:
Lord Vishnu once blasé of the same old scene,
Far too tame with His heavenly ease,
Felt for a change from ‘oh been there and seen’,
For one that exhilarates with fragrant breeze.
Arbudanchal My Lord, sage Narad said,
His constant devotee, seer versatile,
The hilly spot soothes any tired head,
And waiting ‘tis to welcome you with smile.
But how would I find this new paradise?
Look for a place bursting with spring flowers,
Naught whatso like it anywhere else lies,
Rich air wafts bliss from blossoming bowers.
No one can miss that golden yellow hue,
Aroma so rare on Earth’s floral world,
And a long spring’s about to be unfurled,
Once you reach there you'll need no other clue.
And ye can't miss those trees towering tall,
Glossy green leaves and ethereal fragrance,
Nor miss hills’ pyramid-like sloping wall,
Once there, enough is just one single glance.
…….
Yea, not long back it was, in fairer times
When earth nigh but rivalled the paradise,
Old Arbudanchal, what immortal climes!
Time when air was filled with life, man was wise.
Today the green is struggling to grow,
Hills bulldozed bare, brazen bald by progress,
Bare little’s left now old glory to show,
Save manicured greens garbed with tailored dress!
And still enough hints of the old glory,
Hope, it’d one day trace back times so hoary.
Alas, we’re left with only thinning hope,
How long would Nature give men longer rope?
______________________________________________________
Arbudanchal: The present day hill station called Mt. Abu in Rajasthan. I was there for ten days in late April to explore once gain its beauty after a long time of thirty years. The difference I found was stark. This piece narrates how this place had been the envy even of ones like abode of Vishnu.
Reminiscing | 04.06.2008 | narrative
I was not thirty yet, and it was fall.
My wife and I were touring in Japan
While on our summer break from teaching school.
Our luck, our parents lived to grow us tall,
And modeled health and art to groom wingspan,
Though there were times, kids thought it wasn’t cool.
Around the world two times by thirty-one
And this was all by choice; I chose each stop!
The temple gardens garbed in fall array.
Our luck, that we could serve and still have won
A splendid life that went on till we’d drop,
With even work so often turned to play!
Volcanos on the island’s southern tip
And Shogun castles float in Asian air,
Our Ryokans loved homes away from home.
My luck, that I gave Vietnam the slip,
For killing others is a sad affair,
But naught for me so sad as Church in Rome.
Somehow I learned to love a sword fight film,
Though as a warrior I would surely die.
My luck, the pen was stronger than the sword.
I forged computer skills to build my realm,
With walls of code built castles in the sky,
And over friends and foe alike I soared.
But in Kyoto lies my heartfelt fame,
A famous artist let me buy his work,
For what I had! (I would have sold my breath!)
He spent three days just showing us surname. (1)
My luck, I was mature, not childish jerk,
His painting hangs above my bed till death.
But crowning grace just seemed to come from gods,
Two fortunes gained from Buddhist temple’s prayer!
My luck, a monk agreed to read them too,
With mine in hand, “Ten thousand to one odds!”
“In all my life, I’ve not seen one! It’s rare!”
‘Among the lucky, chosen one is you!’
Brian Johnston
April 14, 2017
Poet’s Notes:
(1) For several days he drove us to his family temples, his favorite temples, to beautiful garden parks both inside and outside of Kyoto. We also shared several meals. When we had to go finally, I felt like I was leaving family
Timendi causa est nescire (Ignorance is the cause of fear).
– Seneca
About two thousand years ago,
when Quintilianus said it
(at least, that’s who gets the credit),
his paradigm was apropos:
the words “Vestis Virum Reddit.”
Garbed in leather, silks, and cotton,
emperors took his words to heart
(at least, they tried to look the part).
While rags for the misbegotten
kept wealth and hoi polloi apart.
Latin lessons soon forgotten
as kingdoms rose and kingdoms fell.
The rich get rich, the poor rebel
all through the Middle Ages rotten,
and the Enlightenment as well.
The New World spawned a tyrant king,
who would rule The Divided States,
fomenting fears with false dictates.
He'd boast that he knew everything,
a claim the test of time negates.
Galumphing loud he’d hit the links,
while flashing flaming orange hair,
and a most massive derriere.
His minions thought it ugly stinks,
but if he knew he didn’t care.
Sometimes he’d putt without his clothes,
few dared tell him he’s forgetful --
those who tried were soon regretful.
For it’s the truth that he most loathes,
and Media makes him fretful.
What is the measure of a man
who walks naked from his tower
while his Party members cower?
Has no patriot in his clan
the spine to speak truth to power?
When pictures in the Press were viewed,
“Fake news!” he’d claim. “This I decree.
I wear fine clothes, as you can see.”
Blame hubris? Blame ineptitude?
Let’s let the judge be history.
So, let us speak of history,
to the feckless that forget it
the words “Vestis Virum Reddit.”
Let truth be not a mystery --
give Quintilianus credit!
February 2022
"Latin Lessons" Poetry Contest sponsored by Margarita Lillico
With utter dismay
I sank my red eyeballs
Inside a dust filled pillow
I wept for her profusely
I wept for my love
For my love is still sick
Fourty five moons after
It was fourty five moons
Still,, she stay glued
Still, she was without movement
Paralysis crept into her
From toe down the head
She was a living corpse
She was stroked with stroke
The sickness diagnosed
Drugs and remedies found at last
But the in-house parasitic rodents
And the foreign greedy wolves
Would let loose heavens
If my love is revived from the sickness
Why? We all echoed !!
Why not? They replied firmly !!
Looking terribly mean like a wolf whose
Prey is about being freed
She is our prey !!!
They roared like a wounded lion
She shall be ruined by debt
She shall thirst only sorrow
She shall die of hunger
She shall continue to swim in misery
Even amidst plenty and many
They laughed whimsically
Fear garbed my nakedness
With cold and fever
As I shiver and quiver
I lift my head off the pillow
Tears seized my eyes
As I sight her still in trauma
Why would they do this?
Where are they? I queried
Where are the wolves and rodents?
But for how long will
I weep for my dying love?
For how long will
I gnash my teeth in pains still on earth?.
On the bull of struggle
I shall take the horns
My kinsmen I shall rally
Against the rodents and the wolves
We shall wrestle power
To restore my love back to life
Where we can raise her from the lower
Only to up there in the towers.
Alayande Stephen. T
27th of October
9.00am
Form:
Tormentous is the titan’s tear
So tranquil he thus aspires
To catch a fleeting grasp or care
When the morbid moon expires
Pale beneath the endless moon
Within a coffin quietly
A ghost aghast quiescent lays
Nocturnal in his holy state of death
But like the moon will thus arise
To wander beneath midnight’s gentle hand
This vagrant soul shall wake and roam
Nocturnal as some serene nosforatu
Whom creeping bereaved of all but thirst
Looms like a shadow so obsequious
To woo some dreaming maiden’s heart
Farewell I ponder so tranquil
The kiss imparted unto death
That tarnished all her pleading soul
Pale beneath the endless moon
Garbed in white so Gothically
Yet paler still the vampire moves
Forlorn but vogued by fate
This kiss so sensuous in its despair
Fate eternal hath made its vogue
She wandered with a gentle heart
Redolent to the crimson taste
That gives a solace to his soul
So burdened by cruel melancholy
And death’s eternal touch
Allured by words of time
This fiend should thus entice
With lips and fang upon the neck
To cast casts his silhouettes about her form
and wrap her thus in such embrace
Till he hath drank his fill
Lo! upon the wake of night
O fate eternal with a kiss
To taint the even tantalized
Beat of her unbreathing heart
I ponder silently thus the fangs
That leave her weary of her life
Perhaps a quiet rectitude
Left no mark upon the neck
The kiss of the vampire!
By his hand was grown a forest
trees aligned as fence posts
trunks accentuated lavender and blue,
but not as a spruce
and purple strokes, not disguised as prose
in a woodland cut short in proportion
somewhat a distortion of towering height
over wildflowers it stood,
sans a canopy of leaves
for the profusion of those umbrellas
would've barred sunlight from the copse.
Botanicals, merely painted as smears
A scene filling my senses
with thoughts of Spring... except
to mourn for branchless trees
barren to give motherly birth
and nurture buds as their worth.
Reflections on canvas of golden blossoms,
topaz gems and white faceted diamonds
windswept by Mariah's winds
blowing North and South
then, changing her mind... East and West
temperament is what she does best.
An undergrowth of green but
I don't find it serene
as side by side two plod
through stems and grasses
feet tangled in masses of vines
Was that a wise decision?
With derision, I wonder...
if the brush strokes had a purpose
a plan for the man to be more relevant,
standing tall, garbed in black, high-top hat
while barely visible, the fem
camouflaged in Van Gogh's jungle.
Whether facing front to back,
one coming or the other going
there's no starry night to be found
That would be profound
even to an eye that's unappreciative of art
when part of the scene
has no semblance of a sky.
The following scenario occurred via the guest sharing with me
when I was managing the front desk at a hotel in San Francisco,
fronting Union Square. I found his morals promising and conform
to a highly acceptable standard of right and wrong. The ambiance
at the time was understandably festive, and he occasioned me the
day after bearing a pleasant decency. A pricey hotel and a priceless
moment in my lifetime.
~*~ ~*~
A man deplanes
Key Biscayne's flight
take pains planning.
City center
car renter or
enter BART train.
~*~ ~*~
Opts for mincab
as confab airs
quick grab sightsee.
San Francisco
cross the Golden
Gate overwhelm.
~*~ ~*~
Mark Hopkins suite
exec beat and
retreat a bit.
Up and at 'um
took humdrum hence
therefrom outside
~*~ ~*~
Two souls passing,
eyes lashing while
dashing connects.
Man out in town,
Lauren brown suit
and down-brim cap.
~*~ ~*~
Her nuanced face,
garbed black lace that
draped mace hides well.
The schemed conversed,
his bad nursed, hers
rehearsed ensue.
~*~ ~*~
He treats a fine
place to wine and
to dine, ere show!
Ceremony
Christmas Tree Lights
City main square.
~*~ ~*~
Union Square drinks,
glasses clinks, the
man sinks, blacks out.
Wakes--finds--back--the
Photo...huh?...reads,
I'm...wha?...Steve!--(SMILES).
~*~ ~*~