Long Glossing Poems
Long Glossing Poems. Below are the most popular long Glossing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Glossing poems by poem length and keyword.
When the Universe created the Universe and allowed for challenge
It was quite open to change and the preponderance of ageing times
Youth is not a crime and the respect for seniority has to be earned
Oh my Lord let there be earth under heaven it might have intuited
A primordial bang and atoms swished as mute mutations ensued
It had not considered that people were to talk back or quite forward
Like moody teenagers or wayward sycophants refuting the Source
Seven days later the mess was complete and an apple indigested
Abel was disabled and begetting begot generations of philistines
Time is a stretchable concept but conception quick and unpredictable
Dinosaurs passed in the flash of a pang before stones turned to bronze
And into dogma of gold mined for the pockets of inequality and gluttony
Arcs for walking on water and one lousy fish for many wretched souls
A sole and meagre bouillabaisse yet diamond soles on feet in contempt
Dinosaurs came and went stones turned to bronze and with it tools
Of destruction where synthesis and harmony should have prevailed
But that was then and there and today is here and now and counting
We have lost the abacus in computerized algorithms and the plot in the
Process of post modernity and post selfies and trivia on glittering face book
Discarded essence and existential meaning on face value of tale telling times
An icon once had a different meaning as smiling faces are arrested in botox
But not all is lost when social media and mediums hex and bewitch the planet
Opium for the masses finds novel experiences addicted to shallow delight
Ten Year Challenge before and after a self-righteous pride in rigid acclaim
A decade is a miniscule timeline of Self that speck of dust in a galaxy
And thus I cherish my wrinkles the grey in my hair the scars and defeats
Have no need for glossing and photo shop and for the denial of passing
A crooked tooth here or there and a broken crown of vital humanity
And thus I will not diminish my hunger for living in the moment of truth
22nd January 2019
Sometime, in July's budding charm
when the harvest of earth's clay affirms
that which exposes a content heart,
I remember a glimpse of rare delight
accepting the slow exposure of one morn
when daylight warms Grandpa’s hands
soaked in earthy glow on his farmland.
A rumbling wind turns amiable,
as bamboo drifts along lush curls
glossing the husk of our fond whispers,
oh, it is as simple as that:
his gaiety becomes an answered prayer
tasting the bliss of simple favors
bestowed by a yield of cornfields
reflecting the thrill of labor harnessed.
In a flash, I watch Gramps' hat flying
like a kite across a wispy sky,
my innocence releases a laughter’s dance
playful and blithe at age seven,
while he, born from fruits of life
ripens still, on his golden year with ease.
Rob Carmack's Golden Days
4/3/2015
Jack Sprat and wife Mary, lived in a glory of lemony, chiffon days;
Like maroon birds keep on singing, until the sunset, orange phase.
They were comfy and happy, like a picnic in lavish, emerald grass;
And had a black dog and a calico cat, like red Mars making a pass.
While Jack was a large man, his beloved wife, contrarily, was tiny.
They gardened after church on Sundays, as sweet time went slyly.
At the mauve hour of dinner, they enjoyed each other's company,
As well as a single glass of wine, while the animals played clumsily.
February fawned over early flowers, smiling fondly into sun's face;
As friends came in feathered hats and finery, through jaded grace.
Floating fuchsia clouds were frilly, in futuristic times of red sunset;
And family visited the fun hours. Moon pearls were not falling yet!
They lived in the house of amenity, like living with ones most loved;
And a fireside welcomed evenings, under skies with dyes smudged.
Swift, strawberry seasons were somewhat surprising, and sudden,
On their street of purple sage. Redbirds visited by striking dozens.
Noteworthy navy blue twilights brought nearby neighbors, laughing;
And new night was bejeweled with stars, that were forever flashing.
Frolicksome freesias were in full boom, in pretty, prismatic colors,
In dusky days of dandelion delight, when sun rays crept in shutters.
Rainbow eucalyptus trees enchanted, as if glossing skies had fallen;
When 'strangler figs' wreaked crime after crime, noted by red robin.
Jack Sprat and Mary received bad news, within months of each other!
The doctor placed Jack on a strict diet, so his health would not suffer.
And Mary, who was undernourished, was told to eat more, and often!
She and Jack vowed to obey doctor's orders, like tonic rains of Austin.
Jack began to eat less and lose weight, and Mary made tasty meals;
And gained weight and hale vigor, like when purple sun's colors peel.
'Jack Sprat could eat no fat.
His wife could eat no lean.
And so between them both, you see,
They licked the platter clean.'
An assemblage of stones and grass
poses to reveal a canopy of clouds
trailing like petioles of luster beneath
my head, air-stroked by eve's approach.
I feel the hours passing wretchedly unhurried
as nimbus fog breathes of radiance,
not partly dim but like a tiara
warmly shimmering, glossing over its cape
in daring pink...transforming in a blink;
flare of haze bursting in the air.
Wondering if I should turn away from this dazzling
spectacle of colored skyfoam ,
I watch my body writhe in disgust, this soul raked
with discontent where the burden of beauty grates this skin :
Till cloudscape evanesces, reminding me of past anger
unfinished --which mirrors my autumnal haze,
lingering ... still.
EVERY TUNIC’S TUCKED
squeamish that every tunic’s tucked
on one side, lopsided, uncouth
on the page, in the book - why is
every model told to tuck her hand
inside her pocket, jam her socket
into her pants, plunge me into distress.
If they want us to buy online, can’t
we size it up ourselves. I laugh
like crazy…going crazy…the lazy
love to push buttons and tuck.
well i’m out of luck, looking through
glaring pages, glossing over, needled.
insensitive to my plight? perhaps
you have your own quirk. don’t
laugh behind my back…hit me
on the chin. just don’t tuck your tunic
with your hand in one pocket. i panic
at the unprofessional modelling. i turn
away, i scorn, i feel sick. the lazy
like to set up every one the same.
their camera should be ashamed…
how lame. let me speak…let me shout.
i was kidding about the chin -
keep it to yourself…
I fought one piggish Titan and I won
As if that devious Leech existed not;
Sealing the very firy nose of his gun
With ball-like rags to sap every shot.
A long-lionized mogul of giant name
Slew my low fists by a magic stroke;
Vilest Judas glossing in pesty fame,
I his two-timing fang spookily broke.
I know not if such a scheming villain
Fickle arms dim for want of glut gain,
Ever shall by Time's rare marvel floor,
And ink selfsame serendipities more.
May the Highest Star your ochre clip,
And pelt plagues and fates your ship;
Until Hades her filthiest minion finds
Sulfurous frying betwixt fallen minds.
May your fiendish bow of foxy veneer
Snap mid-hunt as looms hugest deer,
And life's fave tooth turn fatal sore;
Your daintiest morsel tartest grow!
Looking through frosted glass of windows' sorrowed pain I who
Reflects upon the frozen condensation in the shelter of my mind
Delight that there are crystals on the panel which refract the joy
On the grace bestowed upon me by hindsight observation glare
I do not always have to see what takes place behind the screen of
Time and reason well beyond my grasp and am contained within
The wind brushes against the frame outside and yet holds firm
Its paint has flaked but still reveals the layers of abundant paint
Where coats of varnish cover ageing primers glossing over fissures
Hinges are in need of rust converter and some lubricant although
A bit of grinding jambs on closure reminds me that I hear the sound
That reaches feelings and emotions when my moods begin to jar
I marvel at the crack that gives a certain kind of resilient contours
Which shaped my seasoned soul and tested skills and renovation
So far eluded the need for triple glazing double vision and repair
A spider though renewed its work and spun a web from musky curtains
To shutters up and down and weaved a fragile net quite unperturbed
Flies have lost their battle and I am grateful that I have not been caught
There was temptation to wipe the slate and surface clean and polish
Instead I take crayons out of the box and scribble on adjoining walls
I watch the canvass unfold and listen to the sound of scripted passion
Very soon what is called graffiti or artistic pleasure gives an easy glimpse
Into my heart soul and innermost desires careful not to hold my breath
Keeps some distance though because my exhalation could disturb the scene
Dusk settles quickly and I pull up my socks and wrap up in a knitted blanket
Put another log on the fire to kindle warmth and thoughts among the cold
The candle on the mantlepiece flickers kindly and grants a soft glow evermore
Looking through a frosted glass enhances rather than obscures all of my senses
Gives me the precious freedom to decide which side I'm on when evening falls
Now I can smell the crispy touch and taste of verglas and look out for silence
31st March 2020
How does one measure the past twenty four years
When smiles were so rare, drowned in many tears
Amidst trials and tribulations, the kids were our cement
Sadly glossing over our background with damaging intent
Trust went out the window, events were never discussed
Before I knew where I was, my life's in blatant mistrust
For many nights awake trying to decipher my way out
This I managed to achieve, now livings in with a shout
Separation, preparation, as I look to my future now
My flat, my music sanctuary, it's me that now allows
My future road I'll walk, but I'll never walk alone
For a Spanish Princess appeared, with I, she'll share my throne
This beauty who's entered my life, both to have a fresh start
I thank you my beautiful Lorena, from the bottom of my heart
For the contest "A Fresh Start" written Sunday 11th March 2012
A man was born to dignify
Deserving every piece of respect
For the fantabulous of intelligences
For the bright shine of mindsets
Of the pure and sharp eyesight
And of the facile and sturdy hands
Finely handles with delicacies
While the decency of the manners
Bestowed its glamourous graces
Of these evidence for the grades
Of its freedom and dominance
To be owned by a respectable man
No third parties could obstructing
Nor the contrived defer his shining
Of its presence as a master of men
With rights legitimated by nature
Rather, by artificially made with power
Into a headless minion of followers
Harvesting the man-made bumptious
Though, may success for glossing face
But deemed meaningless in a man's eyes
Artists are not so different,
at times glossing over truth,
hiding beneath a sheen --
some extra linseed goes
a long way...
What is this cry for realism?!
Picasso sought deeper meaning
via grotesque breasts~ elongated
elephant snout limbs -- perhaps believing that
the human tale needed elevation, himself
turned off by surface vistas; his squares and
points dulled by well turned chips, projected
missile-scraps flying from Leonardo's festive lathe of
tantalizing symmetries --
We marvel equally at
Dali's vaulted extremes, teetering balance --
a bleeding martyr of old Faith; despite all his
fiend distortions, imagined glorification~
dear, yet mere echoes, stills from the sable of
an unrequited Christian brush --
So...is the poet so different?
The Metaphysical digs, tunnels,
(anthropomorphic God)
chambers and catacombs to romp
about -- secretly displacing what
would otherwise be a straightforward
pleasant lyrical walk -- We
confound paint and words
presenting two types of portrait
of the same elusive image
the greater decipher, if there is
one to be had, will never be the
product of personal tribulation,
but the spirit behind, within, carefully
feathering, dotting and dashing
each of man's extended biographies --
a dance of human veils....