Long Levant Poems
Long Levant Poems. Below are the most popular long Levant by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Levant poems by poem length and keyword.
a tsunami catapulted cruising skiff
skyward landing with quiet thud
across undulating infinite granular waves
formerly solid state rocks and minerals
optimism vibrant upon initial unforeseen
crash asper for test dummies
foundered as undertow fostered diminishing hope
initial faith for survival quickly ebbed
nsync with retreating tidal wave
pessimism dreamt fantastical holograms
farther from beached berth
immediately transformed into quicksand,
while off in the distance
a glimmering chimera
(the first of many) appeared
amidst the desert sands one mirage
after another falsely broken promise
buoyed drained salvation
quick decision decreed each man for himself
thus disseminating banded bruited "brothers"
condemnation, damnation, excoriation, fulmination
hurled at cosmic creator thwarting intercession
dehydration, exhaustion, ingratiation, jubilation
foretold merciless portentous demise
witheringly desiccating lovely bones of mine
no doubt raw elements of nature wrought
fate worse than death sans, cabin "mates"
lost among expanse of whittled quartz
across chronometer measuring millions of years
now subjecting one measly mortal i.e. me
to cruel unforgiving, unrelenting,
unwelcoming petty coated junction
blistering hot wind obliterated
fellow travelers convoy deeply
within diabolical dunes
eternally erased doom
awaited for 21st century explorers
to discover scattered wreckage
both beast of burden, outrigged contrivance
and starry trekkers, who vanished without a trace
a handful of scrappy rapscallion existences
blotted (like ink, oil, or other liquid sponged),
where subsequent seasons
of wicked bewitched slow torture
akin to being raked over hot coals
exception made for this interminable sufferer
at the whim of sadistic
persona non grata evil spirit
n'er obliterating diehard survivor instinct
a foreigner to yours truly
but atavistic primitive fight or flight
witnessed relieved whence absently blinking
this life married to indiscriminate
clamped, harried, styled devilishness
evaporated in thin air
upon tentatively opening myopic brown eyes
horror, twas boot a dream.
Anna Belle 1619 (Part One)
She set out to Jamestown in 1619
She's a Nordic ship on the sea
She's purple in shades in streams
She bathes in the Caribbean breeze
She needs no bard's flattery
No barroom cajolery
Only God with His love sets her free
Along the Levant coast, Aqaba, and Red Sea
My Shulamite who longs for me
She whispers softly, a euphony
Her chestnut flowing glory
Cascades oh womanly
And shaded for only me to see
A music-box dancer
Flawless she prances
Her beauty captured in Renaissance fancy
Reciting "I do"
My bride in June
My beloved in truth
As we walk together towards God
Anna Belle MMVI (Part Two)
Streetlights lead the way from home
Into the distance I drift and and I doze
Off to sleep where I meet Anna
On the coastal retreat out on the veranda
I hand her a poem and it reads:
Anna Belle
You have a lover's light
It is a beacon to this traveler's eye
You are grace and life
A sunburst shining Christ
Luminosity on this day which God has made
I m-i-s-s-i-s-s-I miss your kiss
When you're away
She sighs, what a look in her eyes
I desire to know as she ponders each line
In her heart unfurling more woes
A cascading of tears and hopes
Holding hands, we share our dreams
Of a journey together, the valleys the peaks
Our eyes meet, we momentarily hesitate
Then univocally say "You are my soul mate"
Goodbye Anna Belle (Part Three)
Preacher by day, poet by night
This hero's weakness is iron pyrite
A ship among ships
I sail on by moon eclipsed
No stars or astrolabe
To navigate me me towards my babe
The captain of the Eternity
Has set course and ushered me out to sea
With memories of her and dreams of home
I seek the shore in the sad poem
As I roam and comb Rome
I see faces from pages I've written in tome
Familiar, I see her everywhere
In the euphemistic flower and cascading hair
I ponder the thought of all thoughts
Why did Jesus endure the path and the cross
Out of love, a love that leads step by step
Through a mystery of enigmatic depths
I say my goodbye in this melancholy ode
I mourn, but not as one with no hope
You hear it said a lot these days,
“Reparations! Someone must pay!
Our ancestors suffered, it’s true!
For that we’ve come to take from you!”
Now we could just point out the fact
none of us were alive that far back,
that sin can never be passed down,
we’re sovereign actors, here and now,
we did not commit these mistakes,
and by no right can you come take
what we have earned through our hard work,
that doing so makes you a jerk;
but I think it’s more fun, my friends,
to stretch this crap out to its end...
Since slaves were taken, long ago,
I think it’s important we know
that Europeans could not seize,
Africa killed them with disease.
It was done by the ruling blacks,
a method they used to attack
their local tribal opponents,
take people to their detriment,
so black Americans should try
to get cash from all of those tribes,
go to the west African states,
they should be targets of your hate,
they own you cash, they did the deed!
So listen closely, and take heed,
all of your woke recriminations
should target west African nations!
But why stop with colors of skin,
that’s not where slavery begins,
eighty million African victims
were seized by slavers quite Muslim,
and marched north to the Middle East,
castrated so they could not breed,
worked to death by Mohammedans,
Africa deserves cash from them!
And Europe too, one million souls
seized by corsairs, then bought and sold,
when will the Muslims pay for that?
They owe Europe and should give back!
An even greater debt is owed
to the Greeks who ruled eastern Rome,
their lands invaded by the Turks,
it’s stolen land, repay that hurt!
Anatolia, the Levant,
Northern Egypt, taken! Gone!
This truly has gone out of hand,
Muslims, return the stolen land!
And what about little old me?
I’m owed money by Britain, see,
for what they did to my Irish kin,
during the potato famine!
We were driven from our soil,
and before that, forced to toil
for those damn Saxon conquerors,
I am owed money for that hurt!
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
On that summer’s day when we first meet and kissed,
I knew you Madelaine as one I could adore.
Against your family’s wishes, I still persisted
in wooing you; we’d wed or I’d be your paramour.
The levant winds blew through Spain’s hills unfettered
bringing death to suitors far and wide from above.
We had cause to feel our choice had made us debtors,
leaving our love a littered path, a ball-fisted glove.
Like Romeo I’d leave, not die, but without a trace
for I’d not hurt you more and death would be too much.
I’d give you time to heal your sorrows to embrace,
to come to terms with the rightness of our chaste touch.
In a far off land, I recall your devotion;
your lamented father’s wish for a princely dower,
but all have died who wished our love to be undone.
Soon, I’ll claim my Lady from her empty tower.
Fate gifted us passion, drinking from its chalice.
We waded through flaming waves of rising ardor,
in your summer home, your primrose covered palace.
The memories of your touch make absence harder.
As I looked across the wind-blown spray of ocean,
my mind turned to the sadness of our parting hours
Kneeling, I begged for a distance closing potion
so I could reclaim you to our rosy bower.
I see your longing, desperate, lovely, face
endowed in fears dire depth as we parted from the clutch.
I reminded you distance could not erase love’s trace
or lesson my need to feel your soft, gentle touch.
Last week, I sent a love-soaked, tear-stained letter;
now I return aboard a ship to my sweet dove.
I hope my missive sent has made you feel better,
nevermore will I be denied the touch of my love.
By Robert Lindley and Deborah Guzzi
History, it has always seemed,
at least it always has to me,
Is not something to be forgotten,
For from it much is gleaned.
It strikes me as more sensible,
if I may be allowed to say,
that's history is not a dusty book,
it's an all-you-can-think buffet!
From the ancients of the Levant
Ten Commandments do I take.
From the doughty Middles Ages:
Chivalry, a fine impression makes.
From the minutemen on Bunker Hills
comes a true love of liberty.
From the trappers in high Rockies
A sense of true independency.
The cowboy age it gives me
an appreciation of the grit,
along with a strong desire
Not to take any lip.
The roaring twenties gives me
the thrill of living it up.
The thirties taste strongly of thrift,
Of how to suffer through the rough.
Of the forties came a craving
for punching evil in the jaw.
From the fifties: Domesticity,
it's great rewards I saw.
From the sixties I take little,
except maybe rock and roll.
Though I admit as I grow older
Its seems tasteless and cold.
The seventies and best not eaten,
On that most will agree.
But the eighties' flavor is the power
of man's ingenuity set free.
From the millennium I consumed the fact
that Islamism is not that great.
And the present taste teaches clearly
not to trust those who cry "Hate!"
And this is just the beginning,
so many ideas out there lay...
A bit from here, a bit from there
A plate built of every age.
You leave behind the gristle,
though it make take some time,
but eventually you plate is choice,
and free of fat and rings.
And why some folks flee from it,
I cannot begin to say.
All I know is that once you start
you will always crave the taste.
i was listening to Levertov read
one of her poems
and as she spoke my mind drifted
her words were of those moments
when manunkind sinks its' teeth
into the bowels of the earth
rapes untold but well known
riches for itself
my mind wandered from the reading
a slow walk thru the cedar forest
of the Levant, now gone
sitting on the ocean's floor
in sunken ships, rotting
sad but it is a fate
commerce will never be denied
as the neolithic exploded
agriculture within that admixture
abundance must be moved
but the most horrifying aspect therein
it paid for a military
the wars began, humanity failed itself
the Garden's tale repeats itself
Denise proves the point
the poets' words are in themselves
moments when the rights and wrongs
suddenly appear in neural pathways
marching from the shadows
as Sherlock Holmes noted
hidden within until life demands a clue
why in Medieval times the adage
following the overthrow of a king
what should we do next, warriors sing
kill the poets comes the cry
which is why they live in no cages
they are free-range natured
to wander the land in freedom
where imagination and inspiration
lie in the most surprising places
neural pathways within
inebriated by atoms surrounding them
a liquor brewed from casks
where creativity floats in pearls
adorned in every jewel
gifts from the heavens above
where success is the sweetest
the moment it moves from the mortal
into the realms of the immortal
coming full circle
as Auden so well points out
time says nothing more than
i told you so
we were never a paradise lost
OKC 7/22
Villanelle: Wander not into a land where the indigene’s indolent
Wander not into a land where the indigene’s indolent
Likely as not the country will be run by interlopers
Open-heartedness is often a cover for self-bemusement
The first signs crop up when lax morals make him relent
Shuts an eye to alien antics on his wife and his daughters
Wander not into a land where the indigene’s indolent
When foie gras vacation rather than who runs government
Or the long weekend pont makes the migrant caretakers
Open-heartedness is often a cover for self-bemusement
Fanatics from dictatorships money-minters from the Levant
Drugsters* outsourced from banana republics’ carpetbaggers
Wander not into a land where the indigene’s indolent
And lo! Ere the cock crows every face in the pram’s sun-burnt
In one generation one-third pray through tongue-twisters
Open-heartedness is often a cover for self-bemusement
In two generations three-fourths take over government
Pimps drug-addicts loafers wage war with spiritual gangsters
Wander not into a land where the indigene’s indolent
Open-heartedness is often a cover for self-bemusement
* drug-pushers, drug-dealers, drug-addicts and their bankers
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Oscar Levant, American Author, Comedian, Music Composer and more,
Was born in the early 20th Century and died in the 1970’s
Each decade, or era has their comedians – below is one of Mr Levant’s quotes,
TWO BY TWO EQUALS FOUR
A young couple Clorrita and Dwaine,
Decided to spend a holiday in Spain,
Both vegans, enjoyed a good radish,
But either neither nor, spoke Spanish.
They carried masks, heard of an Epidemic,
The Spanish Flu could become Pandemic,
They lived in Europe on inland terrain,
So decided they would travel by train.
They asked for a sleeper for four,
The ticket officer asked, “Why Senor”,
“Well, there is me and I, and she,
And my wife, so four we are you see”.
They had never thought or planned,
People could not understand,
When they went out to dine,
“A table for four please, will be fine”.
Eventually returned home, all so relieved,
Even Clorrita and Dwaine heaved,
A sigh, people don’t do simple maths anymore,
Schizophrenics are two by two equals four!
“ROSES ARE RED VIOLETS ARE BLUE, I’M SCHIZOPHRENIC AND SO AM I”
Fortunately, medicine has advanced incredibly since the 1970’s.
There's the
Guy
In the corner
Strumming on his guitar
Singing of the
Good ol 2000's songs
Shaking his head
At the recent rap reps
The golden eyelet
Etched on
There's the emo girl
In all black
Tapping furiously
On her laptop
Emailing any
Cooperations
That would take her
Her sighs can
Be heard from the
Other side of the room
There's the dude
With the manbun
Tutting to the BGM
Muttering of
The Friday tiredness
Glasses hung low
On his eyes
The couple in the corner
Giggling ecstaticly
Sitting snugly
Sharing earphones
Gabbing
Of the dreams they seek for
Sweet high school
Innocence
Cigarettes burning out low
Feet out on the balcony
Overlooking
The sky full of stars
There's the salaryman
Sinking low into his
Wrinkled suit
Still in his twenties
Not wanting to go home
To sleep
And wake up to the
Same tedious routine
There's the girl
With the piercings
Smoking
Perfect rings
Lord of the rings
She smirks to herself
As she
Watches them
Slowly
Disappear
Into the air
Waiting to
See the
Soleil levant
Dripping of tequila
It never takes me
More than a wink of an eye
To travel from the Levant people
To the people of Minoa
Via yellow river, Norte Chico
Egypt, Harappa and Mesopotamia
I’d seen enough falls and rises
Like the ocean’s weaves
Embedded with few moment’s high tides
And receding low ebbs
While living in houses of Uruk and Memphis
I encountered with enough love and hate
To satisfy their basic instincts
Some went too low, some were too great
To preserve human development and progress.
In the course of my travelling
Through the great river Nile
Among the valleys of Euphrates and Tigris
I’d seen wonderful minds
In heaps of war, conspiracy, deception and lies
With multiple injuries
When I laid in the trenches of lust and greed
In the battle fields of Polynesia
I’d seen the indomitable human spirit
How it withheld the cruelties of Athenians and Spartans
And pushed forward the great human civilization
………………to be continued ……..