Long Leavened Poems
Long Leavened Poems. Below are the most popular long Leavened by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Leavened poems by poem length and keyword.
When all is said and done and finished
Every clock is punched in time for work
That last job too would be completed if not
And who cares if it is lost to sleep or not
Or if you forgot to set the time on time
There is that final walk that you must take
Around the park to feed the squirrels
To watch the pigeons bob their heads
As they beg for bread still fresh and leavened
There is that corner you must find
That final turn about the road that bends
Unknowable at best and better left unsaid
Where tall buildings grow in numbers
Tower just ahead above the right of day
What is beyond there remains a mystery
Take that last walk into infinity
Past the corner of the mind aware
That sets like every sun set in the west
But this time don't forget to sleep
You are working with reality here
A place where steps are never kind
And you may not awake this time
Be what you wanna be
Don’t let anyone judge you
Or mistaken you as a fool
Be what your heart desires
Don’t let anyone control your life
Or stomp on you like a mat
Be what you were destined to be
I can care less about what the others’ think
Don’t let them bother you so
Forget about the others…worry about yourself
Place them on another shelf
Be strong…and you’ll belong
In the arms of angels…comforted by cotton candy clouds
Don't allow the liquids to spring out of your eyes...
God will reveal to us His replies
If only we've prayed sooner...but He forgave us immediately
He'll set us free...
Be brave, unlike me
There will be an end to pain and suffering
The chaos will keep on erupting…
Danger is coming our way,
But stay calm and it’ll soon go away
Like the storm…diminishing
And transforming into a sunny day
I pray that you have a blessed week
I'm feeling weak from this fever that's burning up in my head
I'll try not to puff up like leavened bread
There's something up with you...
What is it? Is it something new?
I feel for you...I really do want to help you out
I want to lead you to a peaceful route
And shoo those enemies out!
They can tell their insults in my face!
I'll slap them and make them look like a disgrace!
They can say anything they wish,
But they won’t be able to reduce you to anguish
The theme park was crowded. Elephants on roller coasters, mosquitos bracing the water slide, ferrets enjoying the ferris wheel and leopards shooting crack in the gallery. A myriad of personification and abundance of fairy tailed suggestions. ‘Its a small, small world’ blared from Magic Mountain as Cinderella dressed up as an indentured laborer in a fancy shoe shop. A comedy of terror ensued in the ghost train, conducted by a retired wall street banking giant resuming the corporate identity of a demon slayer. seemingly seeking redemption, but of course, he had another ace in his sleeve.
All animals were equal but of course the apocalypse had struck in 1984 and the Lord of the Flies was buzzing disguised as an orange clock, collected tickets and sold strawberry ice cream.
An English patient from a nearby lunatic asylum, thought he was a beetle, but Kafka had married Mary Antoinette and was sipping champagne from her braw. She, for once was not eating cake and was thus unveiling the myth of leavened bread at her altar. A merry go round of deception in the snake pit in which a contortionist was trapped in limbo and loin cloth from hell. Mary Magdalene teased him with with a vile of anti venomous serum and soothed his wavering agony in anticipation of saving the world.
Hot cross buns offered cold comfort, but the world was on withdrawal after management had banned coke as a sugar substitute. Sweet dreams were made of lactose free roach skin and the party dwellers reveled in aspirations and nightmares, elevated to prime position in the national canon. A truly amazing ode to joy and poignant distraction from the pawn shop of modern living.
But when the bell struck midnight and Dali melted his digital clock, all went back to the nothingness of the human condition. ‘Your shift starts in eight hours, nothing has moved because of a little fun in paradise’s ante chambers.’ Thanks God the crowd were already wearing their flannel night gowns. ‘Gotta live life to the full and heaven can’t wait.
Dearest Amelie Beth Harris-Mcgeehan
If royalty moost likely
spotlight ye would dodge
nonetheless anointed, deemed, granted...
within humble abode
of your lodge
most righteous, magnanimous, gracious...
among confrère noblesse oblige.
Methinks twas foolhardy of me
when joost a mere young man
(more'n half agoo me lifespan)
ye always acknowledging me birthdate,
(although tomorrow a day early,
and dollar long)
regarding thirteenth of Jan.
Your sisterly affection doth buoy
inside mine heart and soul
first born of three offspring
begat courtesy Boyce
and Harriet Harris handed lead role
par exemplar to officiate (figuratively)
filial obeisance, particularly
when older analogous to foal
abiding maternal horse sense, thus I extol.
As your brother, rhetorical question I ask
how often did thee deserve to bask
within metaphorical sunshine to exceed
regarding care and concern emotional task
tenderly "mothering" kith and kin,
ye divinely didst shew,
especially yours truly
now he dost rue
he rarely did communicate -
hermetically within his
hermetically sealed queue
detached, isolated, outsourced,
I may as well lived in Peru
(think Machu Picchu)
courtesy schizoid personality disorder
leavened, prepared, and sprinkled with
obsessive compulsiveness
for good measure ooh
and aah barely registered
consciousness, and knew
not what blessedness constituted hew
as tremendous precious jewel few
chore birthdays promise with clear clue
how ye go above and beyond
call of sisterly duty aware remaining life
(mine) would be far inadequate to accrue
equitable devotional, emotional,
and financial recompense.
Hence feeble attempt
to distill some essence
with words that appear
incomprehensible and dense,
cuz writing more comfortable
verses talking, which
often jabbering (more like a wookie)
(think fictional hirsute humanoids
in Star Wars universe)
often makes no cents.
Tempus fugit fleets at light speed
quasi immortality conferred as generations rebreed
all the while unwittingly transmitting indeed
idiosyncrasies, mutations, quarks... such as greed
myopia, selfishness... at death sorrow doth bleed.
fixity or flux
in the
evasion of monotony
a linear turn
to integrity
in phrasal inflections
scanning language
in signature verse
internal sounds
made prominent with
divergent voices
random shapes
on the
theatre of the page
circumstance
leavened by
understanding
at points of departure
into floods
of the experimental
in a inherent
impulse
an antithesis
of the
ambivalent
dislocated
by emotion
distracted by
banalities
sesoned with tradition
a spontaneous
cycle of seasons
the heritage
of life blooms
a sentiment
of trees
in a rare
but natural voice
eternally alive
in an annual
renaissance
of precedents
where
caution passes by
style detours in disguise
shameless
in deceit
sly&aloof
prudence laid aside
a
transfigured folly
yet
volatile
& naive
an antecedent
of
a
genteel
future
YEASTING THE DREAM
Sojourning through life,
we live and die---
in between, we seek triumph.
Yesterday we let our children slip
away to places of self perpetuated confusion.
Today they wander in a mindless inertia:
surfing wicked tides of self destruction.
Their chiseled stone faces
wear frozen frowns as they stand
motionless in the vortex of fleeing time---
imaging whining sheep on an altar of despair;
as they await deliverance through their fathers’ faith.
Who will become the new Abraham of our children?
Who will become the light for them to see and be
our yesterday, today and tomorrow’s eternity?
Come brethren, with the yeast of undying love,
let us kneed the evolutionary dough of our humanity;
that our children may become leavened spirits:
Raising the dream deferred;
that it not be denied its resurrected reality.
Oh the things I could have said
During the heat of our wrangle
I kept tact and class instead
Of controlling every angle
For every grenade you threw
I had two more on my belt
I chose to let yours accrue
Just to see how you felt
I took the high road
To say the very least
I could have leavened my load
Your humility, my feast
Instead I kept picking up
The insults that you threw down
Refilling the cup
You would spill on the ground
Hours you must have dedicated
Digging for bones in my closet
You must have left so frustrated
From chomping at the bit
I imagine a jarring epiphany
Leaving empty handed
A truly tearful symphony
Not the way you planned it
Quarreling with a nun
Produced no satisfaction
When your rant was done
You lacked my reaction
Surly you know what I left out
The words to fill in the blanks
The severity of stupidity so very stout
You will walk your plank
Nope reforming hardened criminal donning
scarred face, manacles jailhouse stripe, et cetera
nor taming screwish incorrigible guttersnipe
ain't most difficult enterprises
entailing me to wipe
dripping sweat from my hoary brow,
neither primary tsoris,
(i.e. Yiddish, asper in woeful gripe),
but reading tome thick as stovepipe
hat, I declare constitutes most grueling task
paging thru compendium of words A thru Z
may rank less purposeful than bovine tripe.
not surprisingly causing mine gray matter
(more'n fifty shades), to wanna up and scatter
fist size shot thru unnecessarily subjected
to feel like oversaturated blatter
vehemently aggrieved mad as a hatter
to appease, boost and flatter
ever shrinking fanbase blithely bandying
faux poetic pitter patter
trumpeting expansive vocabulary
enlivened, leavened, seasoned... smatter
ring poem to expressive affinity
how bajillion combinations
twenty six letters one can splatter
casually incorporating multisyllabic
word such as sesquipedalian
less to boast more so to chatter
up food for thought perhaps...
infect reader to accrue fatter
vocabulary than mine
actually rather paltry yoke cant argue
yukon (albeit figuratively) tatter
with little effort hen even
offer as hors d'oeuvres
to this storied scribbling wildcatter.
Written: May 5th, 2025, for contest by Brian Strand
Painting by Peter Doig. A concise abstract on Abbey Road and its pivotal moment. He subsequently produced outstanding music. His music resembled pleasant dew cascading as melodic notes, like honey smeared on leavened bread.
******************
George Harrison
moving toward a liquid abyss
after Abbey Road--
where no sunlight can seep into the hall
surrounding the mirrored pool
he draws the guitar strings
with notched arrows
tipped in flint
striking sparks
like match heads ignited
on concrete sidewalks
during the golden hour
heavy with humid
condensation
coating every surface
with sweet dew
musical notes drip down
like honey spread
on warm yeasty bread
1)www.wikiart.org/en/joaqu-n-sorolla/church-roncal-stairs by
2)www.artgeek.io/exhibitions/5bfdb7a272a1460a46f77fab/5bfdb7a272a1460a46f77faa by T. C. Cannon
3)www.wikiart.org/en/johannes-vermeer/the-milkmaid
We wanted to break bread
that was pure, clean, pristine,
stark white and wholesome,
with a crisp, but soft,
light brown crust.
The field was prepared with
thrice washed and cleaned machinery,
and spread with N, P, K fertilizer
applied overhead.
The soils was filtered to remove
all weeds, sticks and stones,
stubble and rubble,
so it was homogeneous,
with a uniform grain size,
The wheat seed was a proven,
ancient old world genotype,
with its genome still intact.
The seed was milled to remove
all traces of wheat germ and bran,
then twice bleached to stark white.
The dough was leavened with soda
and baked well-timed,
in a clean fan-draft oven,
at just the right temperature,
for just the right time.
Behold! There we have it!
Our pure white bread,
wholesome and perfect,
in every way, that we break
for breakfast at break of day.