Long Glower Poems
Long Glower Poems. Below are the most popular long Glower by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Glower poems by poem length and keyword.
I received a re-invitation email this morning. A ‘come on, why don’t you want to?’ note that struck me as odd. See, I’ve been ‘tapped’ for a couple of final clubs at Yale. It can happen if you earn top grades and interact easily with male friends by day (the crew club scene is ol’ school patriarchal).
Three of my roommates have been tapped - for one thing or another. The upper-crust, traditional networks and secret societies are a huge part of why young men and women choose Ivy League schools.
I’m not talking about frats - I enjoy flippant misogyny as much as the next breasted-American and really, does “Yo bruh,” sloppy binge drinking, and sexual assault ever really get old? Yeah, it kind-of does.
And I’m not talking about the more open and popular ‘eating clubs’ - no - I’m on-about the elite social orders that enjoy a subversive and exclusive appeal.
Some students desperately want to be ‘IN’ and believe those memberships prove they’ve somehow ‘made it’. Let’s face it, someday - if you can’t actually earn it - that skull & bones handshake might open some doors.
I’ve attended a few meetings, meals, and parties in “tombs” (in upstairs libraries and houses) around New Haven, but I guess I’m just not a ‘joiner.’ Groucho Marx once said that he wouldn’t want to be a member of any club that would have someone like him as a member, maybe that’s it for me too.
Anyway, this harangue is sponsored by the glower that that silly email put on my face.
“What’s the matter?” Leeza asked, seeing my expression.
It reminded me of watching people suck-up and ‘social mountain climb’ to get into my grandmère’s (boring) circle. If your club is so exclusive (email sender), why on God’s confused earth would you want me?
Hey, I like parties, dances and hanging out with eskimos - but I'm a pre-med student and the time/value equation just doesn't stack up for me - I’ve got the M-CAT tests next summer and prepping for those has taken up my life.
It’s ironic though, how by day students at Yale go-on about ‘elitism’ - in stylized outrage - and then by night they strain to join these crew clubs.
.
.
slang...
final clubs = elite clubs and secret societies
eskimos - really cool people
crew = elite
The Butterfly
By Mystic Rose
As she drinks nectar from a flower, sweetness from heaven falls like dew
anointed with a gentle rain amidst sun showers she appears as if on cue
Lifting her wings she lands on a Zinnia beneath a tinted sky of April blue
flight of fancy fanning fast, fabulous marvel, she is beauty true on true
By Sean Kibble
A pair of glistening green eyes, glower in awe at the Morpho as she fanned
Fast as a flash, an imp with trusses of curly golden hair, swipes a tiny hand
To his wonder the elusive chrysalis hopped on to his outstretched arm
She hovered gracefully upon his palm displaying all its charm
Entranced by this serendipity, mum drew near to the spellbinding reverie
With a glint of mischief, face alight with joy he muttered “I think she likes me”.
Each ivory tower needs so much power and water
Society is the fall guy for the pie in the sky AI lie
Cultures savaged ravaged caricatures by vultures
Slyly trying to deflower mother nature’s daughter
Dodgy dealing resources stealing planet’s reeling
Preach each data centre like a cultural placenta
Layers peeling players say mentor no glass ceiling
Am a lamenter of break neck tech wreck dementor
No healing waste from haste paste without feeling
We’ve heard it before the computer is our future
Smoke and mirrors AI on the fly the latest suitor
Us all just a data commuter for a leech not tutor
Beseech purloining then coining no way to teach
The conceit of the deceit is an elite cheat ripsnorter
Train bots brain rots turns us into tots & lots of have nots
Only glower of people power can stop the slaughter
Stepped out on the deck as rain begins, Wind.
This is NOT a Summer storm with rainbow peaks.
Sans rescindment, the tip of the iceberg is here.
Leaves tickled by playful drops, flirtation of petting.
A smattering of autumn’s crop of leaflets color
the floor of the backyard moss. Betwixt seasons,
the late hurricane Helene gently rocks the boat,
for now, until she shows her victorious strength.
A low rumble as if a stomach needs to be fueled.
Not to be fooled, this fray will show its muscle.
Thank God for the warning, and early at that.
In past years, God’s mercy was needed in the trenches.
Inland Georgia, not so bad, but we need to stay indoors.
Stops along the Florida coast are more precarious.
Heavy rainfall, fast moving, tropical force winds
headed in my direction. Possible spin-ups.
It’s all a curiosity! A break from the mundane. Insane
to realize tomorrow it will be intensely gusting. Candles
might be lighting up my living room. Staying charged,
and in the know. Glower of the heap and holler comes soon.
Buttocks push; breasts boast
through non-existent crowds.
A choreographed squall
above the whir and clunk
of loaded appliances.
Hispanic girls acting out
in a Laundromat.
Hips gesture, hands stab
and tussle with unwashed issues.
I’m distracted by the overheated hum,
can’t read the print
of my paperback. Words run
naked over yellow pages,
sweat and lay down
under a fierce fluorescence.
Skimpy shorts and gang-inks.
The porous sound of feral hormones
seethes over some slight,
branded onto a Facebook page.
They flop onto the slatted bench
produce a smart phone,
scroll through pictures,
moue and glower softening
as baby shots are thumbed.
Melting smiles, then
they hold up the cell for me to see.
When they get up
the backs of their thighs
are marked by the wooden seat.
Washing spins on.
O April
how I’ve longed for your return
to breathe new life
into this gnarled body..
for these roots to be unfettered
from the grasping earthen frost -
the past season of fanged nor’easters gnashed
me bare - leaving me mauled and dulled
alone with stiffened limbs
lifted to face
the hard glower of old man winter
with not a morsel of mercy to be gained
but April
now that you're here to share
the innocence of the daisy
and the honeyed scent of the sweet pea
I feel inspirited like a sapling young and tender again;
mild is the fog’s embrace in early morn
as I taste your sweetened rainwater
and gentle is the rhythm of baptizing
showers bathing dark days away..
and ever grateful is my grayed heart
as it begins to beat
with the fresh pulse of verdant rebirth
oh April
how easily you inspire
my shy imagination to fly
with the zephyr's muse
to expand my artistry
in an afternoon’s brushstroke of forsythia light
dreams once frozen now thawed and golden
eager to flourish in bloom
awakening the poetry
in a new leaf’s unfurling whisper -
a whisper that grows a praising wind-psalm
as choirs of bursting buds
celebrate revival
with a rustling alleluia!
star-shaped sails rouse in swishing sounds
their leafy lyrical breath one with the breeze
my green-laden boughs now a wellspring
of exuberant born-again voices
a thronging rejoice lifted
to the heavens on the whisk of the westerlies;
supple is my sweep and sway ‘neath
the soft-bellied skies of Spring
dear lady, April
how I revel in the glorious abundance of your Nature;
your nurture enlivens my humble woody being
and though gray may shade my weather-beaten heart..
evergreen is my soul
Susan Ashley
April 12, 2021
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: April
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
Blowers basked in causing quite an iffy stir with his devious quip & slur on a previous Ashes trip…mischievous when tasked Customs asked do you have a criminal record, Sir ?
Delicious not really malicious..the Aussies beaten by the squiffy mellow spiffy commentary don from Eton.. as he did bellow in a jiffy "why my dear old fellow..do I need one?"
The blizzards of OZ.. team and crowd are bullishly proud about how it’s not allowed for them to be kowtowed..having the fizz to do the biz in any tizz..so crass..brash and loud.. Vultures
Which is why I still enjoy how that blonde boy.. sometime fool or tool & England envoy Lord Fauntleroy (yep Gower) did annoy .. as public school cruel did rule..
Dave did wave from his Ivory Tower...mean as Jardine made them glower when asked what he thought about the cricketing war between two powers & Cultures..
Like a lush lefty skied cover drive…the plush curly exponent hard as he tried couldn't hide enjoying the moment & ride...
As a proponent of some early hurly burly.. made them smart..denied being snide but slyly wryly and dryly replied without hesitation
The baronial blondie or country squire fondly did chide and deride with his aside..
Did confide the question implied but lied that there was actually factually a plied allied Culture..
Or indeed an applied appreciation of art in this dire Colonial upstart nation & his opponents entire side..
-another older poem re-posting -sorry!
Dark winds blow in an unwept hollow
Parting the dreary pathway to my abode
A syringe of chills inject my quivering pores,
A lifeless shutter—the single life near to alone
The space between waiting for the inevitable pull of tears,
The feeling of my hair swiping about my face,
Relieves me little from the breeze of whispering disgrace,
As light slowly begins to dim away
I feel the ache of the chill freeze my veins,
Because I remember…just how happy they were
I see the warmth and smile of every face
I see even her—dimming as the light fades
Another shutter brings me to hysterics, stammering at the sky,
Cursing the past—an alien-crazed lullaby
Words fall in an abyss of stillness
Never arising but arousing every inner bitter
A once sunny resemblance of wing-shaped hope
Is but a shattered illusion of fate
The brink of autumn mutters reveries
As fragments of summer and spring descend
A flock of mirrored leaves—dry as death’s gaping mouth
And colder than the stranger’s heart
My arms outstretched—my tears aloof
Eyes glued to the skies—where the treetops glower
As the brown and tomb-stoned leaves began to shower
One little leaf is suddenly seen within a gleam
As the remaining sun droops its eyes in a pensive doze
The wind allows those leaves to soar—only for a moment, till they drop
My eyes remain glued to that gleam before me
That one little leaf falls like all of the others
But it is strange how it floats and sinks
Lightly—charmingly—differently…
Though lifeless, cold…and dead
Open up the Mask Drawer Please
I cackled delight as I opened up my mask drawer.
Naughty Wednesday mask was on top. It had a permanent stamp on it that said “Call in sick.”
Wednesday is the longest day at work, an extra hour every Wednesday.
In the back of my mind, I felt Purple. Purple I kept thinking. I know Sunday’s mask is purple.
I glared at yellow-green mask; distorted, ugly, hideously angry. I tried never to wear my
Angry mask. Nothing shuts children down faster or harder than Angry mask.
Being a school counselor, I know that it’d be better for me to stay home than wear Angry mask.
On a whim I throw it on the floor and began stamping it into the carpet.
My husband comes around the corner and says “Boo.”
So glad I had that can of vegetable soup in my hand. I am in such a rare form mood when I’m
Anywhere near Angry mask. Husband yelps, and wisely retreats,
In a small scared voice I hear him ask, “Where is pink mask?”
“Probably in the washer, because I’ll bet you forgot to DRY it TODAY!” Angry mask and I yell, angrily.
I can hear the pitter patter of a husband’s feet. Hear the dryer open. Happy mask is flung inside the room with us.
Angry mask and I glower at it.
“Come on,” My muse says. “You could try to change your mood.”
You’d think me being a school counselor and teaching children they are in charge of their own moods – changes, swings, etc. I could do this. I struggle to think of my best lesson for changing attitude. Aha!
Now I remember. I pull out stop sign. Hold it up to the mirror where a mean angry woman is glaring at me. God, she’s old! Much older than I ever think I am.
“STOP!” the reflection and I yell. “STOP! Your mood is up to you. You can be mad for a week, a day, an hour, or….” A buzzer goes off. Time to get up. I run over and slam the alarm clock into the floor hard,
Breaking off every piece I can.
“STOP!” the stop sign in my head yells. “STOP! STOP! STOP!”
I am taking a hammer to it now.
I really have to get off the steroids.
Too bad my choice is between breathing or sleeping.
And yes, Mom, I have NOT slept in 5 days, and do you want to fight me, really?
You are 84 years old, and I know you can take me out as well as you put me in….
Damn steroids.
I’d best go back to the doctor today.
I love my job, and I certainly
Don’t want medication to
Make me lose it.
I reach for Pink Mask.
Penumbra Palimpsest
She leans her back into shadow comfort
not pitch black-
A penumbral meadow, behind a fence of flowers
not pure white...
Cool colours tattoo grey lace on face-
light and dark
link in mask's handshake with uncanny value
and micro expressions...
Suppression/Submission/Commission/Omission.
All too familiar.
Fiery eyes glower in dim gaslight-
Self worth lower -
Survival in flight
or feral fight...
Fireflies everywhere at midnight...
Contempt harvests hate.
Inhumane blows here or there,
Rampant thoughts she throws
in her own care less face...
Cruel price to pay.
Extort. Exhaust. Exhort. Implore. Ignore.
Struck by rocks and stones
on feet of clay...
Stumbles, fumbles in the blur
between night and day.
She falls further back.
Leans into deep shadow arms.
Away from lamplight stares
Backout blackout blots
shame spots, blame hotspots
on her unholy name.
Death maybe a gentler bed
to lay sins down to sleep undisturbed...
Life's forehead mark a stamp centre dead,
penumbra seal in perfect place.
Tomorrow is another day in time, in space,
to sew her self together,
true dimensions sown with grace,
Trace lines laid down in firm ground.
Erase....Retrace... Rewrite...Rescore.
Once more.
Aqua Marine.
23rd May 2026.
(When we can't forgive ourselves, remember this: "By this we will know we originate with the truth, and we will assure our hearts before him regarding whatever our hearts may condemn us in, because God is greater than than our hearts and knows all things." 1 John 3:19,20.)