Long Heaped up Poems
Long Heaped up Poems. Below are the most popular long Heaped up by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Heaped up poems by poem length and keyword.
Now see a fine display in market hall
Where fishmonger's stalls sell the freshest catch.
A world of wet white tiles and melting ice.
Seafood displayed, arranged in rank and file.
One Scottish salmon commands centre stage
Stretched out upon its own tray of crushed ice
And next to a few Icelandic haddock
Along with cod trawled from the Dogger Bank.
To one side are some plaice all flopped and flat.
Seems they are staring up with fixed focus.
A side display of small fry, placed parallel
And herrings heaped up in sad slump of grey.
Some calamari, tasteless rubbery squid
Are off stage with other seldom sold bits.
In the corner there's offal bin with heads,
Guts, skeletons and several layers of skin.
Take for your cat. Put pence in charity box.
A fine display we see in market hall.
at the tavern in the darkening hours
a drunkard swallows the small world reflected in his glass
at one gulp, emboldened, he dances with inflamed eyes
brandishing the ornamental sword taken down from the wall
and yells “I conquered the world, I unified the country”
“wow, be careful! you may hurt the others”
when the sword, however, fails to find the sworn enemy
to thrust or to slash
the aimless point of the sword flashes through the air
and each time he wields the sword sparks fly
when the sword dance becomes wilder, the world
under the drunkard’s feet staggers; the drunkard
pours the unbalanced world into his glass
and shares out his spoils looted while dancing the wild sword dance
“hey, you! haven’t you heard of Hess’ Law before?”
it’s pitiful to watch the defeated ones lying on the floor
bleeding from their wounds, the horrors heaped up all day
turn into darkness, and as darkness thickens
a stray glimmering star appears in the sky above the horizon
the star looking at its own image
reflecting in the little world in the glass
falls from the sky intoxicated by the smell of hard liquor
becomes a drop of dew and sleeps lying on a street lamp
Fascinated by a word ‘lofty solitude’
I, as a tall and dignified pine tree,
once stood high on a mountaintop
that stands there from a time remote in antiquity
the unfathomable height.
However, I have burned the pride of the pine tree
to ashes in the sunset glow
because no one ever noticed the trail after trials of hardship
the pine tree underwent to sustain the self as pine tree
on the summit of mountain, and, therefore, I felt offended.
Bewitched by a word ‘tragedy’
I was, as a fluffed giant rock,
stood on the cliff no one ever stepped on
in one of those stormy night,
the roaring thunders, dazzling lightening
and the darkness reigns with flapping huge wings.
However, unable to hold own weight any longer,
wishing to mount on the back of a cloud,
I tried to hold a drifting cloud struggling with tiptoed stretches.
Becoming a captive of a word ‘anguish’
I wandered the wilderness
with thirst under burning sun
and hunger in chilling air at night.
However, the word anguish was the fierce torture
the whip inflicted on no one but self,
and, therefore, the deep wound never be healed
gives sharp pains unable to bear.
I thought the word 'loneliness' becomes to me,
I sat by the window counting a lot of stars in nightly sky
heaving with sighs as many as the stars I have counted.
I spent the sleepless night longing for an unknown love
in the ripples of moonlight,
the breaking surfs by the window.
However, throughout a night’s loneliness
I was overcame by sorrow, and became the drops of tears
and heaped up to overflowing in my heart’s river,
the solitary stream had nowhere to flow.
For a word ‘moksha--spiritual awakening' is so awesome
I roamed here and there wishing to find it the meaning of life,
and when I found it, I have collected it with joy
and packed it in old beaten knapsack I was carrying and returned.
However, when knapsack was unpacked and found was,
neither the will nor the way as I was expected all along,
but full of useless stones the darkness that is darker
then the raven’s feathers.
After all,
I think I do understand the meaning of the word ‘life’
though vague and fragmentary, now, I am standing
as a stem of reed in the marsh by a river
while swaying about in the wind
to tattoo the word ‘life’ on my sick and weary body.
A time to rake; to search embers,
for fingerprints and the scorched optics
of the scattered and blind.
After the violence, fagots, and reeds
are heaped up into pyres,
but first the sorting,
the probing for trinkets of flesh.
A silver crucifix, smutter tarnished,
lays blackened by the avid impetus
of quick flames, it is held up,
by a tattered man of woe,
he calls out:
"I found something!"
Death's archeologist huddle,
wipe this soot-seared relic
with sweat
laced with new revealed
sorrows.
The recently threshed look upward,
not down. dull eyed, they peer
as though through the bottom of a fishbowl
at the red and bloated
afloat beneath an unblinking sky.
These smithereens of mortality
slowly bob in the ether,
they wait for the hands
of a meek fisherman to haul them in,
to take them away.
Do we all hear the rumour? A funeral draws near.' A spectacle is intended I think that much
Is real clear.' There will be black gloves and the
Muffled drums, that measured tread..Somber
Theater spun.' Staged to draw compassion from those (who might come?) The cornet may sound? Majestic..But I think we all know
What's the come..'
That vic-pols funeral is marching in the shadows here thrown long.'
Under the sun, As many narratives un-ravel.. That they still try to grow.' So will the
Blinds be drawn upon them? Will the windows
Stare out blank.? And also will True Blue Victorians 'about-face?' And here I shall be quite frank! Leave
Them to realise.? What a mess they have banked.! Heaped up like those mountains.'
When (they turned on their own?) Yet I think its not Victoria.? Nuh..Thats not where their
Love; and loyaltys are sown.' May they well listen.. And deeply' to that winds lone lament and moan.'
In a broken-hearted city.' Where they once did strut.! Its recorded and shown
To posture and enact such wicked anger, to vent, Yes I see, And saw
For me it has stuck deep in my heart, and in my gut.To remain reminder forevermore.'
Located where the mountains and the sky collide,
The great pagoda floats amid the sea of clouds,
With a luxuriant garden stretching far and wide,
And solemn sculptures monitoring the sacred ground.
Along the thousand steps up to the holy site,
The usual peaceful atmosphere is swept away
By swarms of people coming for the New Year’s rite,
Who slowly trudge ahead in total disarray.
The strident screams and bitter curses fill the air
Instead of hopes and wishes for the coming year,
As the exhausted pilgrims jostle in despair
And rush to fill the gaps as soon as they appear.
The tribute of all kinds is carried up the way,
From lavish feasts to gems and gold in heaped-up piles.
And those who only manage just a humble tray
Are met with mocking glances and disdainful smiles.
The central square lies shrouded in a veil of haze
As people light their incense and the chant begins.
Each man thrusts money into Buddha’s hand then prays
For power, fortune and atonement for their sins.
Observing the surroundings from a stairway yonder,
My heart grows heavy, and my mind begins to ponder:
How far has this corrupt society gone insane
When people bribe the deities for their vulgar gain?
the leaves fall not from the tree
because of their own weight
but the weight of anxiety
heaped up like unpredictable tomorrows
and days after days of dismal weather
compel the leaves to leave the tree
pretending to be feelingless
without leaving any sort of emotional reflection
the leaves fall and roll on the ground to find a place
where they can take their hearts’ misery away
the leaves roll over the street
not because the wind blows
but to forget the meaningless days they have spent
because the past of the leaves are full of embarrassment
the leaves cry in unbearable pain without a sound
while kicked and tampled by indifferent passersby
a last leaf hangs on the tree
as if saying “don’t cast me away
but let me just hang on to…”
filled with sorrows unbearable
this one fell as well
sobbing soundlessly
heaving its shoulders
Last night I slept
And last night I dreamt
Of what has come and gone
And that which is to come
It was a revelation
Of an impending revolution
The dream made me to dream
The dream is my dream
I saw my kinsmen in chains
In foreign lands
I saw them in pains
Working their oppressors' lands
There were times there were tired
But were deprived of rest
So they worked without getting tired
Unhappily doing their best
Then I saw the same people
Who came to us like eagle
And took our kinsmen from us
In our own land oppressing us
We became slaves in our own land
We were oppressed in our fatherland
But when the yoke was too much for us to bear
We fought and gained freedom
The dream I have for my nation
Is bigger than I can say
And this is my aspiration
To be the change all the way
I have my inspiration
From the heroes of yesterday
Who heaped up motivation
To outlive everyday
I see people everywhere
With middle fingers in the air
Curses fill the atmosphere
'cause life itself isn't fair
My biggest dream for my nation
Yea, my biggest aspiration
Is for everyman in my nation
To be his brother's inspiration.
Written by Kanu Ekpezu
© Laureates' Media 2018
Silicon city
That pulsates,
Both day and night,
The Tech Capital
And the sky, veiled
With urban haze
And dense, sprawling cityscape.
Grey city of its
Gridlocked roads
Surrounded by
Towering skyscrapers
Inspiring
The coder
And the entrepreneur.
Glass city
Of its
Modern offices
And its apartments
Compact and sleek,
New and bold,
A striking, sure testament
Of the presence
Of the FUTURE.
Neon and chrome city
To reinvent
The bustling rhythm
Of its progress
And yet retains
Echoes of the past.
City of early mornings
When the techie
Leaves his flat
And in the busy metro
Taps his laptop
The commuter,
Eyes on screens,
In air-conditioned cars,
Mimics and rushes
To connect
With the world
That fuels their DREAMS
As a true Bengalurean.
City of endless startups
That illuminates the path
Of the innovator
And the visionary
Who disrupts
Tradition,
Complacency,
And long
Established norms.
Green-grey city
A mixture and contrast
That modernises,
Reshapes the landscape
Of time accelerating
That unleashes
And propels,
Surges swiftly
Unstoppable
And holds in
The tech parks,
By the malls
And facing the
Global IT hub
These dreamers
With cutting-edge ideas
Sitting at the edge
Of this vast
Transforming metropolis,
Creating
The digital future
That captivates and challenges.
City of diversity
Of heaped-up talents
With global backgrounds
Who meet online,
Collaborate,
Innovate,
Connect, Expand.
Disrupt,
Complement,
Enrich,
Express themselves,
Coming just
From every corner
Of India and the world
To the heart
Of Bengaluru
And the epicentre
Of South India's
Tech revolution.
And nostalgic old-timers?
The ambitious Newcomers?
All together
They coexist
And merge
Their traditions and
Their aspirations
In progress
And innovation
But New Bengaluru
Carves out for itself, indeed,
The future's share.
A dynamic and complex present
Whose energy
Excites and overwhelms
Leaving digital footprints
In cyberspace
And experiences
Virtual,
And actual,
Fast-paced
And relentless.
Rodents can be loquacious
That includes your average gerbil
They love to prattle, chat and blather
They really are quite verbal
Hamsters are talkative too
Just as garrulous as can be
With running mouth and wheel to match
They are a sight to see
But I am loath to squander words
Sparing usage is my way
I gather them like so many acorns
Against a rainy day
Yes, word collecting is the passion
Of this precocious squirrel
I garner adjectives, verbs and nouns
Be they singular or plural
The park is fecund land
There a plethora may be found
Vociferous, vehement and vex
I lately scooped up off the ground
The verb tree is prolific
Its discovery quite a boon
The other day it bestowed upon me
Flaunt, foster and festoon
All along the sidewalks
Concrete nouns lie strewn about
How blithely I did snatch up
A lummox, a laggard and a lout
To command a better view
I nimbly scampered up a pole
From this lofty perch I spotted
Wheedle, coax and cajole
Away in the distance
I spied a tempting pile
Heaped up for the taking were
Enticing, alluring and beguile
What do I with so much verbiage?
You would be fair to ask
Squirreling away so vast a lexicon
Must prove a mammoth task
The answer lies in my arboreal abode
Where these many words I stash
In alphabetical order they are arrayed
From zealous to abash
In a capricious mood one day
I grouped them by part of speech
Such a cacophony arose from clustering
Banter, badger and beseech
No matter how I sort them
The wasting of words I spurn
Reserved for rarest use I keep
Reticent, laconic and taciturn!
_________________________________
by Brian McClain - Feb 17, 2016
Originally posted Feb 17, 2016
Accidentally deleted Feb 22, 2016
Reposted Feb 22, 2016