Long Imported Poems
Long Imported Poems. Below are the most popular long Imported by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Imported poems by poem length and keyword.
He is cranking up the old rusty engine again, but all that work is in vain, sweat is running from his anxious face and grease is spilling all over the place. There he goes again with his tool bag and greasy overall lying flat on his back underneath the truck, pulling screw, by screw from the belly of the old truck.
Monday comes at a price, and he has to pay a painful sacrifice, fix it or dump it he has no choice but to squeeze Monday into his chest. The old truck is draining the life out of his pocket. It's just the other day he fixed it. He replaced the engine with a second hand one that he imported from Finland. It worked quite well for the first few days but soon it starts to die away.
He pulls down the whole thing and drain the oil out of it, the heaven doesn’t know what this man is about, thirty different parts staring in his face and the oil and water is dripping all over the place.
The Engine block, and the Cylinder Head has sucked out the pressure out of the living dead; the piston, crank shaft, camshaft, and Timing belt are not in place, and it causes the vehicle to wobble and shake. Examine the engine valves and combustion chamber carefully; there is a hole in the oil pan and a blunt on the connecting rod.
The intake manifold and Exhaust manifold has something in common and can heat up your face and plant bitterness into your grave. The spark plugs, piston ring and flywheels are out of place, and you have to tighten them, or you will end in an unpleasant place.
Look at the head gasket, cylinder liner and crank case, they are shifting around, and the distributor ring is hanging on the ground; the cylinder head cover, the rubber grommet and camshaft pulley are out of line, and you have got to replace the oil filter, water pump, and oil pan drain bolt.
The turbocharger and supercharger are defected, and you must replace the timing belt, drive pulley and the starter motor before the engine fail. You need a brand-new truck to satisfy the daughter she will never come back in that truck with you unless you do what you have to do.
The wind is blowing softly, and the trees are shaking violently, the weather is fine, but his emotion is out of line, the sun is peeping beyond the hill and nature is sending him a bunch of daffodils look carefully into the sky and you will see shades of Monday passing by.
IN A TIME OF MICRO-IDENTITIES
At my Unitarian Universalist Society
no one is Jane Doe or Jack Spratt anymore!
A person being introduced or referenced for their
political, social or spiritual wisdom, their positive
impact on business, industry, education or community,
inter-faith connectivity or even their potential for
simple friendship and warmth, must be presented and
pre-validated by their ethnicity and race, their religion,
place of origin, their sexual irregularity, behavioral
irregularities, and any number of special pronouns or nouns
that have multiplied like weeds after a soaking late spring
rain or like non-native species of flora or fauna,
imported to address problems both real and imagined,
that have become prolific and invasive, pervasive and
problematic in unintended ways, like the popular new
sport called “daring us to get it wrong”….
These micro identifications give the person being
presented an unnecessary social asterisk that divides our
collective focus, fogging up the intended message, diluting
the joy of engagement, perhaps rendering inconsequential the
reason they are even there!
They are no longer simply folks but a type, a brand, perhaps
another public admonition to check our social attitudes, maybe
scold ourselves a little, and it makes me irritated rather than
appreciative, jaded rather than enthusiastic, somehow
cornered rather than free, a little wary of presenter and
presented, more weary of division, classification and the
perpetually annoying tactics of moral correctitude!
My pronouns, as you can see, are he, him and his, as normal
as water and oxygen in our planet’s biosphere, but more
important are my aspirational adjectives: open, giving and loving,
which admittedly, I’ve discovered, are subject to tidal fluctuations,
my diurnal disposition reaching out and pulling back. But this
disclosure not-withstanding, let the person and the message speak
for themselves like the sun speaks of light and the moon,
like my wife, speaks subtly in phases about sunlight at night!
Let our penchant for insight and moral validity allow us
to determine if speaker and word bring us clarity and truth,
encourages our efforts to find ourselves in each other in this
reckless adventure we call humankind!
"Christmas Spirit"
(Christmas Day in Italian Culture)
as a snowy blanket of white caresses in Winter's glow
and frosty icicles kiss windowpanes in glazy show
a silent atmosphere embraces a starlit sight
while magnificent choir of Angels sing Hosanna O! Holy Night.
Church bells chime in twilight mist to welcome Christmas day
wishing holiday greetings while children glide on sleigh
glorious festive mood captivates inspired light
as heavenly Angelic voices praise Hosanna O! Holy Night.
decorations adorn to honor the precious Infant King
candlelight illuminates the Manger Scene as carolers sweetly sing
the scent of fragrant pine cones creates an aura to ignite
hymns of worship as heralding Angels proclaim Hosanna O! Holy Night.
soon family gathers to partake of traditional Christmas meal
"Feast of the Seven Fishes"prelude to tree trimming feel
the fireplace mantle glows where stockings smile so bright
and hark the herald Angel hosts greet Hosanna O! Holy Night.
Joseph is the patriarch who shelters newborn babe
a gift of God from Heaven sent to Earth to save
a glorious time for celebration in precious moment of delight
majestic music from Angels chanting Hosanna O! Holy Night.
sheer warmth of having a personal relationship with the Lord
a unique experience enlightening as He is adored
sharing love with everyone, the human spirit takes flight
melting their voices with holy Angels singing Hosanna O! Holy Night.
*For Cyndi's Season of Lights, Delights & Enlightenment Contest.
*Nov. 14, 2012.
in the Italian culture we begin our Christmas celebration ...
Christmas Eve - Feast of Seven Fishes Dinner for good health & prosperity
Tree trimming ceremony with music and singing toasting wine
Midnight Mass at Basilica in Rome or at Church in N.J.
Dessert Party after Mass with eggnog
Christmas Day exchanging gifts and visiting children and seniors at hospitals
Pasta dinner with salads and baked stuff shells with meatballs
Desserts of creme puffs laced with rum, cannolis pastry filled with chocolate
Wine tasting from orchards of Italy imported with olive tray
Candlelight ceremony where all hold a lit candle making a wish for a
Happy New Year.
I stand on the premise of time wondering if this day will be mine, the rock is fastened into the ground and the bad weather is driven from the town and courage is onward bound. I stand on the premises of time and gazed beyond the horizon and penetrate the distance that I am coming from and the long empty days that trapped me on the island. The mountains stand up like man in the sea and the heavens rest on the clouds beneath it glorifying thee, the energy is strong and the distance is long and, I will never go back there to help you sing that song. When the sky breaks loose I will start wearing a different pair of shoe. I stand on the premises of time, running away from the love that is not mine, everybody that came back from there, each has a story to share, the native on the island are not aware of it, and they have not noticed that the devil has escaped from the bottomless pit, roaming the island for five long years, trapping the innocent and the guilty underneath its wings but mercy was just on time to get some people out of the bind. It is not quite over yet some people are still caught up into the fisher man’s net , the days are running away from me but hope has come to set me free. I stand on the premise of time looking at the mountain across sea and the everything that I wanted is coming to me, and I made a narrow escape to break out of the gate and cross over before it was too late. Everything is imported to me and the army has removed the entire booby trap, the land mine and all the diabolic dangers that were set to destroy me. The frozen hill is slowly drifting on the sands and the ice on the mountain is slowly melting into the ground and the multitude is staring from a distance. It was just the other day they were there and today they are celebrating the love over here. Our eyes have behold it, our mind have absorb it and destiny has taken us out of it; and so we have escaped the precipice. I am standing on the premise of time, the sun the moon and the stars are divine and I have finally got what is mine but I will not go back there. I will celebrate love with you where everyone can see, I will not go back.
AS OPIUM OPINED
On the mantle of my memory over fantasy’s fireplace is the remembrance of that one most precious evening when snow consecrated and baptized our roof along with its promise of a childish sleigh ride in the morning
But that single cherished night meant so much more than the next violet colored dawning
We watched as the flaming fireplace splashed dancing and ever changing shapes and shadows upon the wall of imported Spanish clay
Images you imagined and described in such a childlike and universally unique way
It was a moon’s minute after the joy of a snowball throwing and love growing day
“Oh honey, that shadow looks like a cameo of a lady from the eighteen hundreds who once knitted two pairs of mittens for her twins
And that one looks like a guppy with his flighty colored fins”
I was left breathless at your beauty and the fantasy you wove with wonder bewitched by your giggle witnessed to by your winsome and wide eyes
As you allowed a fairy tale combined with youthfulness to become our guide
We were already middle aged but the middle of that night created the height of heat
And your attempts to decadently decorate the dull spaces in the living room of my life were deemed complete
The shadows still danced upon the wall but our eyes were shut tightly and forthrightly while wrapped in a mystically magical embrace
You wanted those shadows to remain alive so I stoked the logs just in case
As the fire fueled passion while I gazed at your silhouette so silken and sleek
Then we closed our eyes once again and let our lips, although silent, begin to speak
They swore allegiance and reliance for the two of us to share
While the fire flickered on with finesse and fiery flair
My head would have been in the clouds but the nighttime sky projected only stars
and swear I your countenance of comeliness could heal even the scars on Mars
while you formed words akin to the purest Oriental opiate that sent me two galaxies high
But those words, as did the shadows cast, faded at your final and forever “goodbye”
© 2012…copyright PHREEPOETREE..~free cee!~
The dawn spoke her name like a silken secret
carried carefree by the tradewinds of lust and larceny
imported from the traderoutes of paradise and pandemonium,
sequined with violet venom she venerates the virtue of volition
her love is unlawful, unequalled in unrest, righteous in conquest,
tender in temptation, torrid your surrender, her beauty a will bender,
Queen of Empire Passion, warrior unknown to submission
her kingdom was not inherited, glory and throne ungifted,
the treasures, stables and territories, battles and crown all won,
rich in intellect, endowed with rare resources, affluent in original passion
bejeweled in natural beauty, she bewitches beasts and men alike,
Poets pen her preciously as Woman Total, Priests implore her pardon,
male servants pander to her anger and ardor, satisfaction she commands,
Sisterhood the symbol and soul of her mission,
I was just a man, a wanderer wading through her reign,
from the unsubdued North I came, a curious traveler with ancient name,
my tribe unfamiliar, underestimated, a Chieftain of steady pulse,
tresspassing towards her roots my aim was direct knowledge of her
woman of renown cunning and learning, woman of exotic ability,
seeking teaching and romance, though I would not be her Subject or victim,
this she knew, this she abhorred, a challenge to her dominance,
I agreed to meet her alone in the open morning of war,
in an abeyounce of gliding fire she comes riding out of the sun
regalia of black roses against red tears flying above her shoulder,
our horses begin a battle tromp, breaths heavy with moist mania
she has leopards in her eyes
poinsettias and death's palms painted on thighs,
scalps of exlovers and enemies slung on sadle
we acknowledge one another with ritual yell
I exclaim, Warrior Poetess, she screams Poet Warrior!
dismounting with mutual vigor our combat erupts
cutting my cheek with her blade's lip
kicking me in the ribs
I clinch her collared throat
and heel trip us to the ground
she snarls, I growl,
a glimpse of rescue in eachother's eyes -
J.A.B.
Eccentric Emma, third world charity advocator
Posts smiling foreground photos in mud slewn villages
Personifying inconsistency wafts remote mantra
Mind realm torrents when Followers Like - limitless!
Travels to India restore her heart's connection
Finds enhanced spirit to spruke eco awareness
Flying globally promotes environment's protection
Inspiring group loaded Moped selfie shared with us
Music festival painted face participant
Conjured creation poetry flow in cosy yurt
Auto biography depicts flatulent elephant
Busy vision mushrooms make logic inert
Occasionally posted toddler rememberings
Receive role call of awe drawn replies
Blond curled spark eyed munchkin grin
Retained young outlook, fart poem supplies
Updated page sells self painted guitar
claimed to have been owned by AC/DC
Imported stock sees profit from spirulina
Entrepreneurial shift from childhood ADHD
Nomadic yoga posing 80's born alternate
Emma, changed her surname to Everfree
Her permaculture preach has holes in it
New living quarters each month or three
Sporadic travels to soul's partner, Hawaii
Engaged by quest to marry herself
Masculine inner attributes enlightening
Complexity must be hers uniquely dealt
Keen Facebook fan of spontaneous dance
Rolling to Random Rab, office chair expressive
Arm fling brings shattering of glass desk lamp
Naming failure destiny, stalled artist replenished
Close to home exploits in essays documented
Park brake left off vehicle, ensuing downhill chase
Securing it heroically before damage (almost) resulted
Brings multitudinous comments of (unearned) praise
Originated: 14th June 2020
Subject' s actual legally changed name
rhymes with 'Emma'
Satire Saturday passed without posting,
so I went with Rip the Crap out of Someone Sunday!!
Parody speaks its flattery
Curiousity reeks of jealousy
OPIUM OPINES
On the mantle of my memory over fantasy’s fireplace is the remembrance of that one most precious evening when snow consecrated and baptized our roof along with its promise of a childish sleigh ride in the morning
But that single cherished night meant so much more than the next violet colored dawning
We watched as the flaming fireplace placed dancing and ever changing shapes and shadows upon the wall of imported Spanish clay
Images you imagined and described in such a childlike and universally unique way
It was a moon’s minute after the joy of a snowball throwing and love growing day
“Oh honey, that shadow looks like a cameo of a lady from the eighteen hundreds who once knitted two pairs of mittens for her twins
And that one looks like a guppy with his flighty colored fins”
I was left breathless at your beauty and the fantasy you wove with wonder bewitched by your eyes witnessed so winsome and wide
As you allowed a fairy tale combined with youthfulness to become our guide
We were already middle aged but the middle of that night created the height of heat
And your attempts to decadently decorate the dull spaces in the living room of my life were deemed complete
The shadows still danced upon the wall but our eyes were shut tightly and forthrightly while wrapped in a mystically magical embrace
You wanted those shadows to remain alive so I stoked the logs just in case
As the fire fueled passion while I gazed at your silhouette so silken and sleek
Then we closed our eyes once again and let our lips, although silent, begin to speak
They swore allegiance and reliance for the two of us to share
While the fire flickered on with finesse and fiery flair
My head would have been in the clouds but the nighttime sky projected only stars
and swear I your countenance of comeliness could heal even the scars on Mars
while you formed words akin to the purest Oriental opiate that sent me two galaxies high
But those words, as did the shadows cast, faded at your final and forever “goodbye”
© 2010…..free cee!
To a child with no direction
I have found no place that I can call mine, in these thing call life
For all that I wanted, didn’t find me,
And all that finds me, I did not want.
In-between these rubbles, I came across time
They told me to go forward, that I shall find some permanent joy
From thunderstorm to thunderstorm,
Hurdles yet again to cross hurdles……
I am the wanderer with no direction
The lone ranger in-between rubies of life, yet I still breathe
Those who sold love here, have gone bankrupt
Life and people had pushed me forward, tied me a mile away.
Our people say, if you want to walk on soft spots, wet the ground
I had washed the soil beneath my feet
Fill the bellies of men, and serve kings, some treat me like a slave,
Better a slave, than false love, for these my people has a lot
And so again I walk through the lights that oneday I shall find
Those who do not sell love for lesser price
I have no place that I can call my own,
For all the place I taught permanent were all made with rods of temporary
The beds I sludge my head
Where leaves rotten in the abyss of time
I came to the imported home of a religion my people are fond of
Yet iniequality lives here.
They say it isn’t the creed, but the practicers of these creed,
What good is a way of life that changes not all, but a few
For my heart remains insatiable
I have come these far, not to settle for the hypocrisy of men
The hypocrisy in the eyes of the ones I call my own, and in the eyes of the ones who taught me how to lie and love again.
So I ask, where then can I find satisfaction from the bottomless whims of men
They told me to go forward,
There they pointed, and forward I roam,
Into the dark and endless pit men call life
Into the oceans of blues and hatred
Into the thunderstorm of little relief
For the doors where truly dim, and logically pleasing.
Right there I found life, life eternal.
Kareem Itunu Azeez
Anthology of the waiver bird
2022
I am November, the chilling winds
blend with the conditions in my heart
My heart blends with 13 years of not
blending to the conditions very well
I am December, the morning shares
the same blackness as the nights
To which I divert from the light
calling for the morning to prolong its darkness
I am January, 5 days since you first said
my full name without a word being spoken
As my ice dispenses a single drop
unfelt before you appeared in a shadowy halo
I am February, too soon to whisper
three words into your untested by me ears
Though 14 days in, I find comfort there
while you reach for the top shelf of doubt
I am March, uncertainty keeps the ground
wrapped in snow and the lake waits for
Lovers to fall deep into its trap
one in which we barely escape
I am April, change has captured a soul
within the song of a bird that decides
Not to fly but instead make a home
of old leaves and unbloomed flowers
I am May, now into the 5th month
of finding a home, a shelter for brokeness
A hand to be unheld but very much held
in a quiver of complete togetherness
I am June, there is sun...vigorous sun
shining across ponds and glistening into
Conversations of a life to be lived and others
to be brought into our world, our home within us
I am July, I am tired and battered
by the maybes and some days
I am restless in a worn shell
that dreams of being in that lake still
I am August, gardens have given of themselves
and now drift into the acceptance of expiration
There in all that greyness of upcoming death we find
the tethers of a tomorrow bonding our ankles to the bedposts
I am September, how the moments now go do not
will not and can not matter because
I am you and you are me and from this month on
we breathe in the love and only exhale to the Heavens
I am October, I am blessed by the cool air
that rises from an imported breeze
that has taken this heart, the one once frozen
and given it a beat, a hop and always a skip