Long Kist Poems

Long Kist Poems. Below are the most popular long Kist by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Kist poems by poem length and keyword.


Premium Member Split Wide Open

In quiet, space breaks down into insight.
Opposing the edge amidst deceit and blight.
Imperceptible resonation is reflected back.
On a hunch, or at the stroke of night track.

A lethal tree is still close in the woodlands.
The spirit was trailing on the kist of the tree.
At first, kids looked to chip with their hands.
Seep into the night in a ruddy shrunken spree.

I wake up early to the Greek myth of Zeus.
A vessel drifting on the Dal Lake in Udaipur.
The sound of a woman sobbing in sadness.
Over calm green oceans, echoes in Jupiter.

She was performing in a velvety baritone.
Pain in the midst of the tranquility of dawn.
Endeavoring to perform the icy top in June.
Mountains that frame the Kilimanjaro awn.

Ghastly calamities smash and deeply devastate. 
I rightly fear that wide-open harm didn't recover.
You can expect the best, yet I will never hesitate.
My dear life depends on your choice; kindly usher.

I regularly defied to bid someone to criticize.
The one-sided truth was dazzling blindness.
My space was thwarted in the related size.
I felt as if somebody led a ruin process.

Sacredness to which humankind might relate, 
With the moon sitting on edge of the world.
Mountains meet to uncover the ornate.
Smiling and radiating, from high observed. 

There are times when I can feel the crests fly.
I'm being held down as my blood is drained.
Brain scars result from ruined sight and sway.
When I perish, a chasm arises in my mind.

A lean, edge-on which rests one's optimism.
Please be cautious of steps you split wide open.
In fate, a walk on shells will be optimum.
Shift much fatal shooting and be woken.

I minded my name being said in a whisper.
I was adducible of a hand tapping my forearm.
When I swung around to direct a look closer,
I found myself alone and aching for smarm.

How might a heart that dorsum and delicate,
Have the sway to bear a vast part desolate.
But we're apt despite our humble eyesight.
To discover the earth and the vast infinite.

The monstrosity of the encompassing world. 
Encompassed by both the sight and the sound.
Emotions energize the heart within the darkness.
Eyes that can consistently scan such elegance.

1st Place Contest Winner.

Written: June 01, 2022

This Or That, Vol 12 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
© Sotto Poet  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme


Topiary Comes To Life

Non descript hedge rows sculpted into ornamental animal 
via botanical artist wielding pruning shears and chain saw 
carved, limned and sculpted with wrist wrought voila uber
prestidigitatiously head turning botanical picturesque Sun
kist animals at an exhibition transformed miraculously via 
Te Deum divine fist bumping, whence realistic fauna burst 
alive with an explosion of colorful twist and shout of foliage, 
where scalloped superfluous detritus manna for naturalist
deciduous detritus capacious carpet boar animation punk
chew waiting groundswell Liszt ghost would arise from the 
grave to produce magnum opus without a beat missed such 
shrubbery mimicking the likeness sans glistening fleshy sin
yew, and gist about ready to become bone a fide (green be
hind the ears) thriving vox populist, per species and genus 
wrought thrashing into birth as delicate craftsman promised
to imbue life, liberty and pursuit of happiness whittling away 
leavings, thus did exist the nascent then omnipresent visible 
entity emerging from cocoon an herbalist metamorphosed 
from the imagination of a skilled, practiced and mentalist 
conniver viz extracting the initially obscure blessed beast, 
where with august magic wielding tools of this specialty vis 
a vis bringing breathing manifest destiny ala Pinocchio (trans
formed from wood to flesh), whereby finest dexterous 
chiseling blistering hands baffle onlookers as coterie of 
topiary harvest breaths mind bogglingly astoundingly 
authentic rooted ready to frolic in the grass menagerie 
a gamesome group of linkedin live progeny, the Michel
Angelo of dirtiest canvass, an earthen tabula rasa of sorts 
where application threshing re: electric cool laid ahs hid 
test brings out chlorophyll doppelganger green hued key luster.
Form:

' the Face of Love '

Will I Recognize… The Face Of Love?
Or the Wonderful, Bedazzled Appearance of:
A Moon-kist Meadow, Hushed and Dark
A Solitary Silhouette, this Beauty Mark,
Windswept Grasses, like a Babe’s Soft Lashes
Rippling across Earth, that’s smooth as a Cheek.
In the Hushed and Flowery Scented Air…
Your Face of Love Materializes, Silvery, Full
The Face of Love … is Unforgettable.

From the Face of Love … Will I Withdraw?
The Face of Love without Any Flaw;
As a Canopy of Clouds with the Splendor of Sunbeams
Piercing past the fluffy powder of Heaven, to Radiate Gleams
A Classical Cameo-Sculpture, Perfect Profile Structure
Yea… in the Bright Beacons, I see Your Smile
In the Illumed, Clear Sky, ‘Your Face’
Can Love’s Face be Touched … Attainable?
The Face of Love … is Unforgettable.

The Face of Love … I Have Visualized,
Potent, Breathtaking, The Vision Rised;
From a Sunlit Lake, Winking as Would Diamonds.
Your Face of Love, Emerging from Far Beyond
The Depths of the Lake, as My Heart Quaked,
because of the Wavering Portrait’s Peace
because of Water-Color Caresses.
That Face of Love, was so Tangible.
The Face of Love … so Unforgettable

The Face of Love … has Gazed Upon
Dreams of Mine, the World’s Not Known
… Out of the Woodland’s Emerald Mist
With Drops of Dew, Love’s Face Kissed
The Framing Boughs; My Relaxed Brow.
Floating… Breathing out the Mist of Morn Light
That I may Sketch Your Face of Love, in Life.
The Face … More Handsome, than Sons of the Womb, is Possible…
The Face of Love … is Unforgettable

(For A Medieval-Tongued Poet, I Found Here at The Soup...
          Ismael Nieves, this one's for you Kiddo

                                 Mistress MoonBee
Form: Ode

Boink Goes This Ratty Guinea Pig

Aye pride myself
     being sui generis 
     verb hose subject for a zoologist,
cuz webbed phalanges

     branch handsomely
     from mine feet and wrist,
where perforce great expectations,
     asper the next greatest (I SCREAM)

     scoop of the month intimated,
     conducted under top secret
     controlled laboratory conditions
     with yours truly (as the de facto

     par excellence)
     rodent named "Oliver twist"
Lady Dedlock key ping
     watchful eye within bleak house,

while Thomas Gradgrind 
     feigns tubby bad company
     during these hard times 
     temporarily all quietest

lull on the western front
     since Donald Trump
     detente foretold by a palmist,
whereby said President

     of the United States
     feeling as an optimist
met with Kim Jong-un, 
     (cautiously side stepping morass,
     viz hit blind side dare devil hoodwinking,
     via awe shucks faux bully)

     suspending noninterventionist
impact unexpectedly witnessed leader
     of North Korea as multilateralist
     on historic June 12, 2018,

     summit minus linguist,
where fist pumping in Singapore
     for unilateral negotiations
     offloading nationalism
 
     weighing down
     figurative chest i.e. kist
by resplendent sun, where ma lounge
     sotto voce, somber solemnly
     sober ensemble re: joist

uniting this stately isolationist,
whose approximate
      ten stone heft easy to hoist
merely sustains purposelessness

     this poem without a gist
hence if Yukon spare one
     (or more cruxes) lemme be fist
in line, though first, aye
     would need to convince thee
     this scribe doth exist!

Premium Member The Samoan Bash

I was working in the Capitol late one night 
When my eyes beheld an eerie sight
Nancy Pelosi began to rise
And suddenly to my surprise
She did the bash
She did the Samoan bash
She did the bash
It was a liberal smash
She did the Bash
It gave me a rash 
She did the bash
She did the Samoan Bash
She denied American Samoa minimum wage
Somebody left her out of her cage
She could care less, no conscience found
So Star Kist stock didn’t go down
She did the bash
She did the Samoan Bash
She did the Bash
It was a liberal smash
She did the bash
It was her husband’s flash
She did the bash
She did the Samoan bash.
Now all is peaceful in socialist land
As we watch our retirement sink in the sand
You have to give the devil her due
When she’s done shafting them
She’ll shaft me and you too.
She did the bash 
She did the Samoan bash
She did the bash
Now they have no cash
She did the bash
She believes we’re all trash
She did the bash
She did the Samoan bash.

This verse was inspired by "The Monster Mash" which wasn't near as scary as 
Congress and the former Speaker of the House
Form: Rhyme


Diamond

YOUR A DIAMOND IN THE
ROUGH:I SEE THE TOUGH
EXTERIOR. YOUR HARD CORE
FACE.THE TATOOES ALL OVER
THE PLACE,YOUR JET BLACK
LOCKED HAIR,YOUR EYE
CATCHING BODY,AND YOUR
CHOCOLATE SUN KIST SKIN....

STILL I CAN LOOK BEYOND 
THE EXTERIOR INTO THE INTERIOR.

YOU ARE A DIAMOND IN THE
ROUGH:INSPITE OF WHAT SOME 
MAY SAY...I KNOW YOU IN A
SPECIAL KIND OF A WAY. NO!
IT'S NOT PHYSICAL IT'S ALL
MENTAL. I KNOW THE SONGS
YOU SING TO ME; AND IT'S
BEAUTIFUL IN MY EARS TO HEAR.
YOU SING WITH SUCH WONDEROUS
MELODIES.

MELODIES THAT MAKES MY BODY
NUMB...THE LOVE DOCTOR HAD
TO CHECK TO FIND A PULSE.
(TO SEE IF I WAS ALIVE) AM
I STILL BREATHING...OF COURSE
I AM...I JUST NEED TO SMELL
SOME OF HIM AND I AWAKEN.

YOU ARE A DIAMOND IN THE
ROUGH: WITH A TOUGH EXTERIOR
BUT I LOOK AT THE INTERIOR.
YOUR MIND HAS ME INCLINED TO
KNOW YOU ALL THE MORE.IN A 
SPECIAL KIND OF WAY.NO!IT'S
NOT PHYSICAL IT'S ALL MENTAL.

YOU'LL ALWAYS BE A DIAMOND 
MULTI- FACETED PERFECT FOR
ME.MY DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH...

Premium Member A Blues Sonnet for Jan

Event: Anglo-Boer War 1899–1902—Measles epidemic in the concentration camps.
In the voice of: Sannie Botha (a survivor).

Jan’s cough kept me awake all through the night.
The children are all coughing in the night;
the fevers gave us all a mighty fright.

The red, now itchy, spots on body parts;
“Oh! Son Jan, don’t you scratch the itchy parts,
as scabs and scars will follow just like warts.”

If only I had negosiekist* at hand.
The muthi† in friend's kist – her helping hand – 
but mothers dug graves with bare hands in sand.

Now I might stop to shake my balled fist.
The Tommies‡ shake their riffles in tight fists;
they're no older than Jan when they enlisted.

The torment was breaking all of our hearts
and the fragile peace brokered, never lasts.
Form: Sonnet

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