Long Intelligible Poems
Long Intelligible Poems. Below are the most popular long Intelligible by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Intelligible poems by poem length and keyword.
MELANIE DEPARTED
Melanie departed. His habits cured her of moon-shine and bambi-eyes. The huge door slammed so tight and her deep footprints in the mud that night made it intelligible to even him that she never would return. This crystal clear taunt was haunting. A spectral of fear hung like a teardrop chandelier, ready to loose a torrent of vacuous time….tick tick tick
tHe raFTers dark and eerIE
CrEak
the cyclone in his head wh-O-rls
and the O-cean of his stomach drops
a ghost’s in flight
its chAIns
they claNG against the treMblinG Ceiling
portenTIOUS stars where light shouLd shiNe
a shadow stuns, IT PeeKS
at him, smiling so vaingl-O-riously
he faints
as he revives
he opens up his eyes
a green sheet with holes for eyes, speaks
“b..o..o”
he loses his booze
runs from that O-pen space
the chains they r U m B l e
the apparition gives it straight,
“your d...e...a...d fool”
8/5/2019
When eternity and the moment embrace under the dome of stars,
Love, the soul's royal garment, confronts the sword of time.
It is the torch that burns to the bone, battling against death,
And with each pulsation, it inscribes the essential, the sine qua non of existence.
Oh, love - the unexpected radiance in the eye of darkness,
Turning the void into a song of light, of life.
Through it, the universe became intelligible, speaking its secrets;
It is said that a star cannot shine unless it loves the infinite.
What is love, if not the silent dialogue between atoms and comets?
A weave that unites the fibers of the cosmos with those of the heart.
What battles hidden in the quiet mystery, of all that breathes,
Stretches and lays out like a cloak upon the shoulders of broken reality.
If love is God, then we are the spark,
The moment when the divine and human intersect in a kiss.
Walls of flesh and time, but also the church where the ritual is performed,
And in the final numbness, we, a fragment of the sacred, return it in an embrace.
Under white sheets of clouds, on the azure bed of night,
Love silently weaves the path to the source of ultimate reality.
Leaving the garment of flesh, we hope our particle of eternity
Will build a bridge to where everything is pure, before beginnings were written.
The earthly eye closes and the celestial one opens,
Love takes flight, free, in a cosmic river sprinkled with possible worlds.
Now and forever, in this dance with mystery, a step towards death,
Another trembling with life, we inscribe on the map our way to that endless beginning.
Lincoln never imagined
today’s white victim zeitgeist,
pouting persecuted supremacists,
their clenched jaws and fists.
Civil war rages in limbic memory.
Encoded somewhere,
the panic attacks and mirages.
Nobody is qualified because everybody is responsible.
So many whites have graduated from the struggle,
showcasing their diploma from the mill.
Lincoln never imagined
modern virtual vitriol,
merciless memes lashing out at specters,
infusing, inciting depravity among the sleep deprived.
These words are battleships aimed at the reviled.
The unshielded summon civility.
They beckon familiar principles.
But rabid cougars wait in hiding, eager to pounce.
All the feeble markets for platitudes have failed,
as subliminal cavities endure each generation.
Mental lynch mobs, rebel flags, supremacy’s utopia.
Lincoln never imagined
a 21st century cartoon president,
a white nationalist clicking social network epithets,
a whining overgrown tormenter
with a cult of Stalinist believers.
Where are the intelligible?
How is all this animated fury converted?
What is the lesson plan?
Who will bury the code?
How long this agonizing journey into normality?
Lincoln never imagined.
Published Tuck Magazine 04/ 2019
Here everybody drains the swamp
The chunks of toxic glitter
And brazen meat
Intelligible only to the daunted fool
Who filled it so
Pour the acid wash
Of peace and indulgence
To cleanse the slop o’ plenty
Time for mixes and fixes
That clear paths meant
For hot-air balloon rides
The kind that tussle deep in minds
Your liquid child
Who gulps, swallows and bears
The scorekeeper’s duties
Flits to the sounds of no one
The barracks are full this morning
Everyone spent from their rustic tasks
And yet for each
An adventure conducted
A melee for the me, the you
Which song was meant for
Nature, well-planted
Well-colored and ready to play
Nurture, whipped and spun
By the gunslinger’s steady hand
Brought together by
The collective spirit
Lurking in each room
Strewn, lathered across
Each chaise lounge
Splashing, soaking
In the wet, cool debris
Healthy debris
Doggy bags supplied
To bring home
The leftovers
Eager to be consumed.
(6/10/18)
notification of fire evacuation
slated to occur
April 12th, 2018 (between the hours
of 9:00 am and 12 pm) did spur
me to validate Google asper,
that direct object heave ving,
pro noun sub bull, verb bose,
ingenious American historical figure
attired in tailored clothes
careful sans his just keen
liberal mien pro
claiming necessity to doze
when body politik
didst need restorative source
analogous to drained battery expose
zing lack of electricity
mechanisms need did tubby supplied
(in one direction) flows
accorded stealing thunder and lightening
from Zeus where prominence glows
vis a vis via leaving
his tell tale fingerprints
upon flame inextinguishable hose
imprimatur of renown Founding Father,
a one man gifted born
improved quality of life
during Colonial American stage
buttressing forlorn
during his deux score and four years
fledgling United States heed add horn
bequeathing blueprints
(functional contraptions,
posthumous patents procured
after populace did mourn
gadgets kickstarting leveraging more novel
Ongepatshket prescience,
quietly revolutionary,
strikingly timesaving),
utilitarian value shorn
tattered stitched timeless totemic tenets torn
unimagined visionary watershed worn,
where underworld webbed wide world burned
with thermal coupling that churned
ferocious infernos
describing how Hades learned
tubby managed
to maximize efficiency
zealousness zeroed Zyder Zee
in said Netherlands
and hellish hot house turned
into a near utopia (More
or less nsync) with Doubting Thomas's,
where many mortals yearned
to escape corrupt fat cats, sans
those condemned to mortality
found minimally a mew
zing, and doggedly trudged 10,000 leagues
under the sea, entombing
jewels for vernacular speaking Josephine shew
wing scars from fire
that threatened Philadelphians thorough
lee hence, forcing many civilians
to dive vining Davy Jones's locker pre view
in 1736 after swallowing embalming fluid
ha I did "FAKE" you
tubal heave poetic pablum from human zoo!
Strange things happen in politics
We cannot trust the polls
Life has its own dirty tricks
We can play divers roles
This is not business as usual
Always fight to save one's soul.
Things are upended in politics
Ignore the belligerent critiques
Everything happens in a season
For an un-intelligible reason
Nobody can predict the results
Of an election filled with insults.
Politics in many countries are very dirty
We all can see why. Politics are slushy
Voters lie. They mislead the pollsters
Who behave like palm readers
Like inexperienced magicians
So they can foul the naïve audience.
Things are pell-mell in politics
Life has its own yucky tricks
Everything occurs for an obscure reason
Under the lights of an unusual horizon
No anchors can predict the results
Of an election filled with assaults.
Copyright © November, 2016 Logerie Hébert, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
In tight embrace of time
I live life of compulsion
Not of choice
I have to go, forever
Whatever I do, good or bad
Odd, but strict is the order
Is Nature absurd and brutal?
There may be some wisdom
Not intelligible to me
Because I love myself
Is it wrong if I want to live?
Uncertain moments
Imbued with perpetual peril
Do not make sense
I cannot go beyond
Weaving thoughts and concerns
A sterile exercise
In the realm of secret rule
Of the unknown, full of
Opacity and ordination
So, I bow before the inevitable
I have nothing against
traditional presentations
of poetry –
Though, not for me! –
personally liking a winged start:
projecting freely...as a good
enema or vomit....
letting my expressions splatter loose;
somehow mentally, spiritually willing
them to frenzied, explosive evacuation –
spewing them, by simple prayer, or devout
incantation, trusting they will somehow,
miraculously, morph into intelligible, literary
art for the less pompous man –
Indeed, I feel poetry, like a painting, as
with a sculpture is an extension of one's bleeding,
pleading, confounding, lovable, adorable blood-pumping
absolutely essential-circulatory-driving-part –
Words coming in all shapes and manner
of phrases; but mine, truly written to
slide off numbered pages – composed
for street-type rebel-folk – leaving more
learned forms to Academia's demagogues
and sages; tenured tyrants of esteemed
taste, whose treasures, to me, often have
little more appeal than dime-store paste –
So, let the suits and ties have theirs –
while my fellow Loin-clothes the choice
of these – not advocating necessarily for naked truth,
when it comes to all poetry – but do enjoy also
a good earthy tease –
Do not Push It
I’m like horses do not like the wind today, it is northerly and
The sun, despite shining free of clouds, cannot warm my chilled bones, symbolizing a disconnect between hope and reality that resonates with political disillusionment.
Horses turn their considerable behinds against the wind and keep
My behind is skinny and does not protect my neck, but a scarf offers a quiet reminder of resilience, inspiring hope in the audience.
But a scarf does. I used to have strong fingers, but now they are thin and look.
Like a Bangladesh river delta, and to think there was a time I laughed.
at the face of frost, and if needed, would run bare-chested across
The unfriendliness of the plains of opposite Poles, me, the leader of the pack
And I, the leader of the pack, once met Fidel Castro-an, an icon of dignity, yet his conversations often circled only around himself, a humorous critique of political egos.
God, he was boring —only had one subject — himself.
But I do deviate, I’m only an Argentinean horse adopted illegitimately by
A general major, his wife wanted a foal. The landscape now has a hundred.
Colors of green, but it worries me that if ISIS takes world power, vines will rot on my land, reminding us of fragile stability and shared fears.
Rot on my land, and when they pass on their pick-up trucks, I must wave.
A black, inartistic flag with intelligible writing on it. My wife is the practical one.
Will say: after the Islamists took power in Portugal, my husband finally got
Sober enough to be offered a job as an Imam.
hearing the word
through
the speech of God
said to them
a voice in the ear
an intelligible word
He put out His hand
touched the mouth
inserted words
in many portions
a gracious preparation
illumed by the Spirit
a revealed truth
from
a God who acts
a deposit of revealed truth
inspired
to become inspiring
brought to mind
by
the Holy Spirit
with
divine intent
that teaches
as it
touches
salvation history
in many ways
God speaks
cumulative
revelations
from
outside of self
found&
imparted
from within
a divine act
of a poetic nature
a secret reality
of counsel
of the Lord
released
into sweet
fellowship
expressed
by human nature
in His image
by humanity
enlarged
inspiration
sanctified
whispers
of oral
transmission