Long Intermixed Poems
Long Intermixed Poems. Below are the most popular long Intermixed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Intermixed poems by poem length and keyword.
The sun had risen but could not be seen.
Still daylight was welcome in her studio.
She stood hunched with pain over her easel.
The landscape was not quite what she wanted.
She had decided to portray the joys of nature,
Lovely cerulean firmament with hazy clouds
Hovering in the background just beneath and around
The majestic mountains of her new abode.
Stately trees dotted the countryside and
Intermixed with cosy cabins, smoke curling
Into the sky because it was a cold and humid place.
Even inside her cabin, the air was irritating.
Outside, the continual grey rain would not stop.
She felt cold and coughed a lot, as well as chest congestion.
Darn, raining cats and mice today! She felt confused.
Cats and mice? Or dogs? What did it matter,
Once the foul inclement weather would not change?
to be concluded
Lost Mayans
Ancients who lived long go
Living for the sun and waning moon
Some hoped to be living by noon
Children laughed in the maize fields
As elders struggled for the grasshoppers wisdoms
Life was simple
Daily toils and simple strife
Intermixed with love and social struggles
Lost Mayans
Sifting in my dreams
The ancients have had many a princess
As have I
We both are buried deep within our dreams
Longing for days when love kissed our salty lips
Wine flowed like riverbanks at their brink
Only when the waters ebbed did the sadness make the noon
Now the Mayans are but stories in a book
I often wonder
Who am I?
If not a line
In someone else’s story
Skeletons of love
Inside a burnt out heart
For I myself have nothing to tell
Being lost long ago
In origin, all form in chaos lay:
One wilderness of warped and seething spray.
Thus, intermixed lay Earth and Sky and Sea,
Until a cooling calm let order be.
Cool crystallized, the Earth and Sea didst fall
Beneath the Sky, which cast its golden shawl.
Whence, from its warmth, the silver seeds didst spring,
Each words within the song the heavens sing.
So verdant were the ample paths of Earth!
Eternal summer and eternal mirth!
The gods, conceived in chaos and despair,
Gazed down upon its streams and meadows fair.
And as a child born to the very poor,
This point of light they loved, and didst adore.
So swiftly sped they down the Milky Way,
From stars to sylvan Earth, to smile and play.
Then tended they this garden of their hearts,
In stewarding each measure of its parts.
Across the lovely lands their garden built,
Which everlasting summer ne’er would wilt.
With all allicient arts their grounds didst gild,
With selcouth statues, fabrile fountains filled.
To share their joy and trouble raised they men,
Those fateful friends in forest, field and fen.
The thoughtful clouds that graze upon the air;
The questful waves meandering from the mer;
Where meadows melt into the beaches fair;
There bound the regions gods and men didst share.
It is a dainty thing, a golden age,
When grace exceeds ambition, greed and rage.
So soon the sunny smile, it doth depart!
So soon the squabbling squalls their season start!
So soon the cherished meadows rang with war:
Where gods had tended, mortals ripped and tore.
So swiftly seizing didst sectarians slash,
For separate wealth, celestial wonders smash.
So long as greater theft brings greater kings,
So long spoilation spreads its wicked wings.
As some avert their eyes when beauty dies,
To hold remembrance of where ruin lies,
So sadly slipped the gods back to the skies.
And gathered in their velvet, starlit land,
The future course of mortal things they planned.
We are the huddled masses
yearning to be free
but living in itself lay is often rose-colored glasses,
and remains quite the mystery.
We ache for freedom transfixed
some random yet open display
of races, children, braggarts, heroes, and cowards intermixed,
with declarations of straight, transgender and gay.
What does it really matter as we align
when each one of us live separate lives
barely marking time with impacts undefined
just giving everything in life a try to survive
We rarely know what we want or need,
buried deep lay the truths of who we are
shouldn't we be grateful that we are free to believe
that a god, kind and loving created dust from stars?
It doesn't matter if you're white, yellow, black or brown
or if you're straight or gay or a giant tree or mustard seed
each is creation of an unseen god pulling up when you fall down
god doesn't answer every prayer, god gives you what you need.
Born under the watch of disinterested Gods,
in a wretched house, I survived all the odds.
I overcame hardships, brutal and untold,
outlasting deprivation, outlasting the cold.
Into an unwelcoming world I was thrust,
where ashes become ashes, and dust turns to dust.
But life was for living. I attacked it with zeal,
I embarked on a quest, all pleasures to feel.
I discovered knowledge and a beauty so fair -
she was bright as a candle, and soft as prayer.
In those times of enchantment, in those times of lust,
I never thought I would, one day, turn to dust.
I've crossed many bridges. I've slain a dragon.
But these feats pale to when I hitched my wagon
to the ravishing heart and soul of my life,
the lady who said, "Yes" when I said, "Be my wife".
The best thing I ever did was to gain her trust
and I promised marriage "till I turn to dust".
The years disappeared like leaves falling from trees,
and old age brought this proud man to his knees.
When one's time is up, that's the time one must go,
When the leaves are all gone, and they're buried in snow,
it's the hour to say goodbye as we all must,
and return to the earth as a body to dust.
In this dust, where my corpse is now intermixed,
I have good company about and betwixt.
I'm with kings and queens, and the leaders of men,
with scientists and poets who wrote with their pens,
and as the wind awakens in a great gust,
we rise up together, all of us turned to dust.
Everywhere I go, you’re still there.
They say all’s fair in love and war
And before, I believed it,
But deception is a wake up call
And I’ve received it.
Love and hate,
How you manipulate the past to suit you.
I can’t even tell if what I remember is true
Because your lies and facts are so intermixed,
Like flowers and weeds in a dirty garden.
You’re a constant reminder that
Life offers no guarantee
And no happy ending.
You keep bending the story until
Even my friends don’t know what to think.
Tell me to come back
And I’d do it.
Swallow my pride-
No, wait,
I won’t put myself through it again.
You’re the cigarette left in the pack
After I quit.
The booze left in the bottle
After the liver’s gone to .
And now I’ve accepted it.
Upon reflection, have you had a bittersweet experience of a powerful, brief connection?
Something so intense, meaningful, but ultimately temporary, that still left a lasting impression?
Impressions of sublime moments that burnt brightly and then suddenly disappeared.
Leaving behind only grief intermixed with happiness and reflection.
Title.
Ephemeral
(A lone voice whispers)
I met you like the thunderous rain meets wet leaves
Fast and so unexpectedly, that the rain grieves when it leaves
For soon nothing will remain when the sun comes out again
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Afternoon duty session
After a hearty lunch
Only luck avoided
A nearly disastrous crunch.
For a split second the Controller
Let his attention waver and slide,
Which, for a brief instant, caused
Parallel dimensions to collide.
Dinosaurs appeared on
Many a sleeping city street
Causing that alarm and confusion
When ancient and modern meet.
Things that should have happened
Didn’t, or happened slightly late,
Leaving, for a little while, both worlds
In an intermixed confused state.
The Controller quickly corrected,
Things quickly settled down,
Leaving minimal damage
In the odd modern town.
New species instantly created
Were just as quickly gone
As the dimensions re-split
And normality moved on
In one world’s future
Hybrid remains would be found
Causing archaeological confusion
And many theories to abound.
And in the ancient world you
Could read the shock and surprise
That was for while was reflected
In many a dinosaur’s eyes.
The controller sighed with relief
The incident had made him think
And in contrition he’d resolved
To stop that extra lunchtime drink.
In the Controllers rest room
He was greeted with a sigh,
Many a colleagues thinking
There, but for fortune, go you or I.
He would be king, oh yes, he would
if there was a way he could.
He'd be ruler of the realm
unquestioned captain at the helm.
The lies and truth would flow intermixed
with no one left to decipher the hijinks.
A wall would stretch across the states
blocking all openings at the gates.
He would be the reigning unchallenged emperor
none dare speak aloud lest rise his temper.
In the background stand all supporters
not daring speak or be overcome by words and mortars.
His future lay in wait just biding time
to grasp his kingdom most sublime.
The average citizen is low down in the ranks
as he claims control of law and every bank.
His relationship with countries east and west
shower them with warnings of his threats.
The world is thrown back to medieval times
where he is king and innocent of any crimes.
With money and power comes absolute rule
and the masses below are part of the fuel.
Clinging to the folly of his wild and radical whims
with no plan or agenda in place he would begin
The cry rings out
to those with doubt -
Off with their heads
lost be democracy's last thread.
He would be king, believe me he would
if it were possible he surely could.
within the under belly of
this hob bull ling Leviathan beast
induced roaring hungry soundcloud issued
within abdominal folds
finding they in creased
never diminishing, matter
whether I turn north, south, west or east
this adult desired,
soon after he envisioned
buttered crispy dish eyed fancily feast
culinary cut throat Michelin meisters
(pit a less lee) pitted
against Pillsbury doughboy greased
imaginatively gobbling hectare
thousand island inlaid
juiced kickstarting least
unable to pay thee Monsieur's consigliere –
damn, hard cold cash just shy by a nickle
aye first taken got taken hostage
as a wreck loose poet,
the anti write cadre
strip searched
every stitch of clothes I wore,
then subjected me to an aye tip pickle
pun hush ment,
where this deplorable basket case
stood aghast as hounds from hell
got loosed by thee Don Rickle
lathered canine chops
slapped by foamy salivating tongues
poised to ham er and
make mince meat out this pop sickle
but...lo and behold, as vicious
snooping doggy dogs
approached within a hair breadth
minecrafted fingers fluttered
in the air asper ready to tickle
whereat the snarling killers (bon jove)
rolled with faux pas in the air
kicking, laughing (or a similar
fox simile thereof),
inciting Major Domo tuff flair
his nostrils (like...well
an amazing dragon)
with blood red eyes didst glare
while fur sprouted over his bare skin
honor ably dispelling every last hair
which bizarre circumstance, an opportunity
to escape from this thieving Magpie lair
approved by the ghost of Rossini,
who suddenly prestidigitatiously
magically brought to my defense William Tell
(in the guise oven
instant activating App) pull lick caisson
thus juiced by a whisker avoiding a scare.
Perhaps the realm where dormant ideas germinate
will coalesce into sturdy tomes even if posthumously late
recognition gets affianced with a memorialized slate
where no body will lie,
cuz this mortal will get his ashes sprinkled
intermixed with wildlife,
who will unknowingly consecrate and sanctify
rack and pinion traction,
where dost dust will fertile lies
to become reincarnated
via blessings sans creatures who defecate or urinate.