Long Hubbub Poems
Long Hubbub Poems. Below are the most popular long Hubbub by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hubbub poems by poem length and keyword.
I had a dream that I was a butterfly
winged iridescent; my life would flutter by
as I was dreaming a dream of a dream of
my own lepidopteron being above.
Hither and thither I flightily flitted,
or so it seemed, as illusion befitted,
with troubles, eidolons, and nebulous fears.
And thus it continued for one hundred years.
In the Nymphalidae family was I,
akin to the nebula high in the sky
with beauty Cithaerial shimmering bright
in colors that cover the spectrum of light.
Knots and shells detailed in this Hubble capture
glow in light show that can bring about rapture,
cause soulful poets to sing about gladly
(seeing a butterfly wing about madly)
or brood over sadly with soft doleful sighs
the ultimate stages before its demise.
Stargazers perceive it with scientists’ eyes
and give facts and figures astronomer-wise.
The lobes of Twin Jet PN M Two Dash Nine
expand ever outward in pinion design
from central star system, in gaseous streams
of splendorous rainbows pellucid in gleams.
The binary stars at the nebula’s heart
go round one another in luminous art,
spending a century in this rotation,
and form the wings through their stellar gyration.
But let us return to the classical theme
of the Chinese philosopher’s famous dream
(which these rhyming stanzas have sought to extol),
where I found myself playing a starring role.
Diaphanous butterfly wings had I then
in the long-lived dream that I dreamed ten by ten
decades lastingly onward in cosmic time,
as did Sleeping Beauty in legend sublime.
Yet when I awakened, no alae had I.
No longer was I slender winged butterfly,
but veritably was a human once more,
with life to engage in, encounter, explore,
or just suffer through in a sentient state.
How would I create my tellurian fate?
Still I wondered if this was ‘reality’.
Could I be a butterfly dreaming of me?
To die, perchance dream; ay, indeed that’s the rub
that makes us endure the heartache and hubbub.
For death claims all beings as part of its sum.
And in sleep of death, who knows what dreams may come?
~ Harley White
______________________________________________
Inspiration for the poem was from the article, “The wings of the butterfly ~ New Hubble image of the Twin Jet Nebula”, of August 25, 2015, on the Hubble Space Telescope Org website.
The last trailing tendril filaments
of moon beams nocturnally trace
fashion an illusory gilded chariot Ark,
whence upon celestial runners,
the approach of dawn's early light
illuminated terrestrial space
which nebulous solar city flanges
revisited since time millennial
hubbub of human race
nsync with Zodiacal constellations,
which appear to shift
as planet Earth axis place
alternated in accordance with
inexplicable universal teenage
mutant Ninja turtles joint pact
with power rangers assumption
sans quotidian playstation remotely
controlled by aliens upon
oblate spheroid figurative stage
set whence commencement nudged
village people foment quiet riot rage
and rant against
uncontrollable catastrophic frenzy,
when cosmic creator
rehearses another page
from playbook, which
color coded cobbled Bible
emanates with radiant hues
of yellow and osage
nonetheless, no mortal adept to predict
(only within plus and/or minus
some marginal variance of error).
oft times punishing atmospheric phenomena
incarcerated, pistol whipped
(if anther incorrect),
whiplash unleashed, oppressed, imposed
challenging condition testing ground
flora and fauna could thrive,
whereat most hardy
plants and animals didst abound
linkedin upon terra firmae
murmur of orchestrated
organisms devising fitting
evolutionary survival traits
plentiful glory vis a vis L'Chaim;
gnome hatter outlook required
sprinting thru uber vanguard,
where zero sum game pitted
disadvantaged Feng shui
living things poorly sparred mismatched
against itching attired egghead,
kickstarting netzero beastie boys
indeed emulating hotmail prodigies
holding greensward ground.
scrimmage fostered, elicited,
dictated, commandeered nature
going full throttle with pings
across biological labyrinth
positioning glommed, peeved,
mis tweeted seeds of life, and white lily,
within soil lent green grubby business
whereby herb and woody stemmed
recalcitrant proto flings
wrote toe rooter bakers
gave Gaia a run for her money
to buy Buffalo wings
chasing miscreants nimbly
outwitting, out-rigging
outsmarting nettlesome stings,
and sage protuberant fungi,
released messengers where rise home
spore ports left nada mushroom,
though symbiosis wood
bark a roll a cord.
Wisdom and understanding do raise their voice
On the stands beside the paths they yell that you make a choice;
At the gates of bazaars both do cry hoarse and loud,
And wonder how orderly the world would be if all fools vowed
To live according to their simple dictates,
And leave all evil and unwholesome tastes.
When shall the simple gain understanding and prudence,
And the unknowing embrace a life of sense?
The Almighty detests deeds devoid of reason,
For His perfect nature is never perverse
But just and fair in His rule over the universe;
He thus like Him wants all men to be
For nothing short of this can His heart please;
Not even valued incense offered my men of hearts remiss!
Choose understanding over quick silver
And understanding over choice gold;
All who these chose in the world of the old
All possessed and lacked not a single thing,
For nothing desirable can be compared with wisdom;
It is the ferocious guard to watch your home,
And your delicious meal in the face of hunger!
Fear the Lord and hate all evil
And it shall not destroy your grain any weevil;
Hate the perversity of crooked and warped speech
And among men of sense carve yourself a niche;
Let counsel and sound speech be yours
For these alone are limitless power
To wield for help in the need's hour;
When troubles and adversities betide,
Wisdom is a sure place for you to hide.
In wisdom are enduring honor and prosperity,
Truest valor and freedom from all forms of temerity;
It's the only scape from all shackles that engulf,
Amnesty from all follies that grind!
They rule with justice and without fear of overthrow
The wise kings and princes who fear the Lord,
Who marked the boundaries of the seas
And demarcations of the dry world!
He who fixed the clouds and the firmaments,
Has with Him all treasured endowments;
Blessed be those that keep His ways
And many shall be their days
That hearken to His wisdom,
Obey His decrees plain and clear,
And His hallowed name fear!
Be not beguiled by the cacophony and the hubbub,
The law of the Lord remains unshaken and superb;
And the fear of the Creator remains the only refuge
In the face of disaster and drowning deluge!
Paternal grandmother's headstone - Beth David, Elmont, Long Island
Shaindel (Sadie), variant of Shana Harris
died May 13th, 1959 exquisitely chiseled
alphanumeric characters legibly engraved
sepulchral casket entombing lovely bones
deoxyribonucleic acid repurposed into me
Matthew Scott Harris patronymic protector,
when I die taking family surname to netherland
who unwittingly named his youngest daughter
after his recently deceased father's mother.
Mortality encompasses subsequent cremation
never mind death of yours truly unbeknownst
mine soul will migrate towards deceased kith
kindred folks only known courtesy genealogy
descendents called Eastern Europe homeland
upon landing at Ellis Island émigrés hugged
immigration officials and illegibly scribbled
unpronounceable/ unreadable birth names
subsequently adopting common shorthand.
Chromosomes reconstituted genetic material
gifted from forebears ecstatic immigrants apt
to be regaled by relatives hustling newcomers
into fast paced frenzy, the latter gesticulating
at cityscape marveling over hubbub jabbering
babble synchronized in tandem with hawkers
and vendors selling, peddling comestibles,
gewgaws, papers, et cetera predating buyer
beware analogous to innocents abroad say
by George an American in Paris humming
Rhapsody in Blue.
Agog regarding novel sights never seen within
father/mother land, viz supposed New World
blitzkrieg eventually quieted, relegated, shelved...
analogous by Dickens perusing tchotchkes
commonly found within olde curiosity shop,
yet no matter acclimatization arose espying
eye opening merchandise, the dirt poor status
regarding bloodlines a couple generations ago
immediate deterrent experienced by Aaron
Harris (papa's father) as a boy, who provided
for his family, their hardscrabble existence
only somewhat alleviated thru hook and crook.
Please pardon poetic license usurped,
especially slight exaggeration of penury
promulgated concerning up by bootstraps
scenario evinced by paternal grandfather
after he attained and emerged out boyhood,
though destitution imprinted thru his infancy
until growing up hardened qua hard school
of knocks limiting him to eighth grade education.
Ah...Satisfactorily Succumbing Into Salubrious Sleep
Aye sandman, I surrender to yar supreme governance
surreal spectacular soiree gifts subconscious sphere
soothing (analogous to natural palliative), ah...REM
member nought, asper exquisite entertaining cerebral
kaleidoscope replete with nonpareil visual trappings
aesthetically tantalizing unforgettable..., but lo' eye cant
captcha scenario upon awakened state, tis bothersome
transcendent, resplendent, quiescent,...transient dream
ticking escapement shuttered against recollections...
aye plead mercy to jog, (and gently jimmy - yeah of
course figuratively) shuttered facet slammed tight soon
nee immediately inaccessible dimension brought forth
teasingly, phantasmagorically, numbingly ephemeral,
nonetheless temporarily liberating, enshrouding, and
cocooning against incessant drubbing mine corporeal
wakeful body electric relentlessly fraught with profuse
inexplicable perspiration (principally palms) recurs
like clockwork (despite prescription medications), this
physiological discomfort hazards livingsocial quotidian
joyless agonizing oft times including courtesy, not
"FAKE" panic attack, these anxiety less debilitating,
when emotionally torturous teenage years wracked
every cell (no matter how fast I ran - just Kuwait, the
mailer daemons threatened) to undermine even flickr
of happiness, hence suicidal ideations (eternal slumber)
tantalized (still populate though processes) as surefire
solution to mitigate despite leaving those who love,
and especially hate yours truly, his existence bereft
of quality, though tranquil physical quasi rural setting
(Schwenksville), a naturalistic, fantastic, holistic balm,
here quiet as a cemetary removed, not considerably
distant from Philadelphia (hubbub disagrees with hair
trigger vulnerability), where madding crowd affects my
innate neurological predisposition, these lovely bones
easily rattled, quite aggravating to live verging upon
tremulous agitation assuaged through writing - catharsis
delivers temporary alleviation as doth solitary voluntary
sequestration poor substitute to relish L'Chaim!
Nestled in verdant woods on a hilly terrain,
The sequestered chapel stood, tranquil was the place
With a calm drowning the hubbub around
With blooming plants adorning the encircling space
Gently moved to that well protected chapel
Tip toeing through the arch entrance
Entered and knelt down before the holy altar
The serenity there overpowering all my sufferance
Inside was nothing of grandeur to arrest the eyes,
Save a simple crucifix hung on the wall,
And a statue of Mary and Joseph at the side
With empty wooden benches lying in the hall
As I stood in humility with folded hands,
Nothing did I see, but a gentle whisper heard,
Suffusing me with feelings, delicate and beatific
And within me a strange sensation stirred
A riot of colors and gorgeous spires emerged,
And legions of angels gently falling in line
I saw winged seraphs with bugles in hands,
Singing hymns on end in lovely notes divine
How long did I bury my (self) in that blissful state?
Or was it a moment when time refused to budge?
Before me, I saw a slice of paradise unveiled,
A scene even a heretic would begrudge.
In the stillness, the song of birds from surrounding woods,
Sifted down through the murmur of wafting wind
Pleasant was the sensation that replenished the soul
Deep it was fanning all anxieties away from the mind
Sucked to the fill, the peace that exuded.
Lay afloat in the joy that welled.
It was a feel far too deep for words.
More appeasing than all the riches of this world,
Like a child cuddled in sweet embrace,
I felt sheltered from all storms and gale.
Trapping that celestial feel, and wrapped in grace,
Came out from that quiet place, calm and hale
Into a busy boisterous world, with a wise spiritual insight
To be a never dying wellspring with resurgent waters of love
For many to drink to their fill and appease their thirst
And become a symbol of peace like an olive bearing dove
Placed First
12- December, 2021
Beatitude Rhyming Poem- Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Beata Augustin
Resubmitted for A Spiritual Wisdom Downloaded
Poetry Contest.
Sponsor - Unseeking Seeker
daybreak calls off moon's whitewash
in the wee of this morn I startled up from what quite seemed like a crash landing from midair plunge of a fledgling's first flight—thanks to my false 'alarmers'; the plantain eaters, I take them for angry doves, and yet, the laughing doves do coo me down in these dawns. Yeah... few months ago I stood behind my window bars, peering on as usual to catch a view or Olympic squirrels hopping from branches to clumps when I saw this floundered bird, soaring downwards, dipped through and crashing into razor leave and needle sharp branch nodes and some weather eroded bamboo sticks—the first time I might have witnessed a fallen angel, it was like a burning out star, this time shooting upside down.
emergency
circling above leaf falls
hawks siren
the day getting fast heat up as noon approaches, there's a whole of this host of hawks, rounding up the clumper and close by rooftops with squeaks and squeaks upon squeaks; what I thought at first was a catch that got dropped off grasp has become the target for rescue—like a fledging hanging frail and exhausted, trapped. But, the mating season of the African Harrier Hawk is just on, so could it be a male who got attacked by another male who tries to protect its territory as these hawks are found to be monogamous? I still focus on this rare scene in the air by the arboreal.
saccade
distorts in the dry wind
dragonfly drifts
eventide's in a frenzy and row, black and white mannikins chirr and ambience suppressed as squirrels chirp, join the coucal's moans and a choral flock of yellow warblers that doesn't wobble in a field of bromes—no ventriloquist's effects. Haven flown in wavy slides up and down, skimming near to claw and drag the victim out of the snare-like nest unsuccessfully, some hawks perch to catch a breath between the laughter of doves, the plantain eaters, claiming territory on the mango tree too, crackle and chase the hawks one by one, so I wondered if the hubbub had been intended for a jeer against the predators.
jungle marketplace
each seller and buyer bears
his woven basket
And after all, all these, my love
I adore you and will always love you, my dove
After so much hubbub and confusion
After so much chaos and tribulation
After so many wacky discussions
After so many funny contentions
After so many false accusations
After so many weak oppositions
After so many vain humiliations
After so many terrible deeds
After so many wills
After so many avowals
After so many strange rainbows
After so many real lies
After so many misunderstandings
After so many crazy pleadings
After so many futile quarrels
After so many useless looks
After so many hodgepodge and perils
After so many manias and childish gestures
After so much insults and chimeras
After so much contempt and paramilitary wars
After so many litany roars
After so many laconic reactions
After so many bitter uproars
After so many backward speeches
After so many elegiac poems
After so many demonic emblems
After so many incredible crevasses
After so many days and nights of irksomeness
After so many drunken and diseased sweats
After so many fast and furtive tears
After so many things that I wouldn't dare to detail
And after so many others that I wouldn’t like to list
I love you, I want you and I will continue to love you
Love is a madness swollen with inexplicable lust
Words and lyrics are sometimes incapable tools
To properly define the destiny and the exegeses of the soul
No one is perfect except a woman's imagination
Men are always wrong. Strong men never own
The appropriate reason whatever the season
After all, all these, my pretty rose
The firmament wouldn't turn tenebrous
The spring wind has come to garland Mother Nature
Birds fly and sing. What a joyous adventure
The future will tell the rest. Like a scribe in verve, I can't wait to write
And after all these, I love you and I want to confirm all my chitchats.
P.S. Translation of ‘Après Tout, Tout Cela, Ma Jolie Rose’ by Hébert Logerie
Copyright© February 2022, Hébert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
OUR LIBRARIAN
I once remember the
Librarian in my college
Meticulous ,and savvy
His love for knowledge
Knows no bound.
I once remember the
Librarian in my University
A man with a large heart for others
His glasses perking on his nose
His Professorial “penkelemesi” like
Grey hair connotes love for research.
But
I cannot but ask which librarian is this?
I cannot but query the insidious sudden
Love of this Huckster for knowledge
I cannot but be surprised at his hubbub
Declaration for his Library launch.
Oh ye people of our land!
Lets all give ovation du applaud to
Our land’s new Librarian.
The very one who rakes in seven
Of a billion cowries in a hurry
In the all looters Library launch.
The very one whose hatred for education
Towers so high and hit all towers of ivory.
The very atrocious leader of the ruling bandit
Whose avidity for money stares us in the face.
The very leading African Chimera whose
Chicanery we cannot measure
Has now suddenly fall in love with knowledge.
The very blood brother of “Haruna”on our campus
Who votes irritating meager resources for education
He is now our own celebrated Librarian.
The very illiterate Mechanic whose
Baleful gaze alone destroys our land’s Library
He is now our dreadful Librarian.
Sorry ,we know our Librarians
Our Libraries , we are acquainted with
Our Libraries are of obsolete materials
Ours is of more archaic facilities
With books and non books available
Two moons ago still branded new editions
This is our own Libraries.
Let the new Librarian disburse the seven
Of a billion cowries to our Libraries
Let him pump cowries into our education
Let their be more modern Libraries in our land
For is it of a nation that values knowledge
That gets the best of knowledge today and morrow .
Alayande Stephen .T
16th April, 2006
05.25pm
For Mr President 's special Library launch.
Hmm... on second thought
lemme join anorexic club
until rib cage protrudes taut and visible
doubling as drum to drub
synchronized within heart of darkness,
especially when electrocardiogram exhibits
absolute zero vital sign,
cardiac arrest translates
as cessation to lub dub,
hence yours truly
declared dead as doornail,
coroner report deems arrhythmia
directly linkedin to deliberate Machiavellian flub
courtesy the missus attempt to poison me
actually aborted cuz nanobots
loosed upon body gripped with rigor mortis,
a minor inconvenient truth
cuz odorless and tasteless deadly toxins
rendered me convalescing
from bout with death, an oxymoronic
former slenderman gourmand.
temporarily deceased
until said microscopic robots
avidly analogous to frenzied
figuratively hogtied pigs
buzzfeeding at a trough
creating porcine hubbub
invisible nanoids (0.1-10 micrometres)
accomplished programmed task
whereby fatal microbes they did scrub
away leaving me fit as a fiddle.
No matter she thoroughly, painstakingly
and lovingly didst strew
haphazardly she threw
leftovers together,
this blustery march like
November twenty six figuratively view
wing the remaining thirty plus days
of two thousand twenty one
thoroughly cooked in microwave until...
poor excuse for my meal appeared
with consistency of shoe leather.
Think the missus not afraid
of Virginia Woolf keen to experiment
treating me like the Gingerbread Hag would:
questionable resultant glop pantomimed
for my guessing pleasure
never figure out in bajillion years
as amateurish Marcel Marceau charade
performance courtesy the spouse,
an entrée she gave - yours truly
immediately sought to evade
me subsequently evincing
horrific puckered mealy mouth
as though I swallowed hand grenade
figurative exploding oral cavity
feeble futile gesticulation inveighed.