Long Lode Poems
Long Lode Poems. Below are the most popular long Lode by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lode poems by poem length and keyword.
Inspired by Jan Allison's brilliant "Eye Rowed My Hoarse",
top winner of the July 2021 Word Play contest.
I'm knew to this language; it baffles me sew!
With so many mysteries I wish too no -
I came to this country wile seeking warm climb
but I get awl flustered when righting a rime.
Sea, homophones throe me, they drive me inn seine
each weak I fined gnu ones, their such a big pane.
That last couplet had maybe seven ore ate
(I red it allowed butt I cant keep them strait!)
Eyed herd that this language can be vary crewel,
two words sound alike but there meanings are duel.
They say it’s the most daunting language yule find -
two solve this wood take a reel lode off my mined.
If a rose is arose, then wheel call spayed a spade,
let a male be a mail, and a maid be a made.
A horse is a hoarse, but of course, but of coarse,
though the rules of rite spelling are hard to in force.
I've pulled sow much hare out, aye think isle go bawled -
I'm certain I've misspelled sum words eye just scrawled.
Its enough to make even the mightiest feint
but aisle martial my forces and rays no complaint.
If this struck a cord - if you feel up a creak
know you're knot a loan, yore dismay's not unique.
Perhaps it is fête that has shone us assign,
let's bye some pail ail aura glass of wight whine.
And pleas don't dessert me, I so knead ewe they're,
I still wont to learn how two wright with moor flare.
Buy now you've disk hovered I rote this ingest,
if ewe care to try won yourself, bee my guessed!
A rhetorical question finds me ask
king (to no one in particular) why I bask
with recollection the names of blank
exclamatory staid grade school crank
key teachers approximately
42,0480,000 breaths aye drank
fifty years ago (most whose names frank
lee listed below),
when the need to access
and retrieve
immediate necessary information
analogously interleaved
among coaxial bracts
during examinations relegated
as hopelessly lost
into interstitial invisible cranial cracks
irretrievably buried
during examinations, which age
(feels like a million years ago)
often found me seized and caged
with sudden inability to remember
any vital answers as gauged
evidenced by nothing writ
ten on paper (even including my name),
thus loosely similar as aye sit
to compose poetry,
and/or prose tempted to quit
asper defeated by resignation,
and sinking sensation in the pit
of my stomach (more so regarding orbit
ting like an unsound garden
black hole son around cold (mit
ten necessary) awful days grudgingly
handing over like a lit
till insignificant being,
a test paper devoid of academic grit
analogously surrendering
(while feeling fit
tubby tied, sense internally emit
ting abnegation sans chafing at the bit,
2.
yet no sooner did buzzer indicated test
time over, then (of course),
an instantaneous pest
that blocked chunk dramatically
flowered gloriously invoking nest
head treasured mother lode
of learned information invest
ment accounting for principle ball lanced
formerly figuratively barricaded facts
suddenly at my behest
ironically retaining to this day
dogged details amazingly,
now gracing lix spittle fist size gray
dictating academic failure
forcing laying down pen hay
for ma forgotten requisite thoughts may
king skepticism about self thrive, ray
zing mailer demons impossible to slay.
Write Eleven Beautiful Lines Poetry Contest
Constance La France
"A rush of excitement fills the air as their maiden voyage comes to a climax."
By author
Up in the sky, baby seagulls leave the crib
Taking virgin wings to the blue skies and puffs of clouds
The siblings' baby steps come without a rattle
Only a blanket of wind at their backs
As they glide from their playbox in search of silver
Below, they see their mother lode
A pacifier, a fishermen's boat netting jumping sardines
Together, the seagulls fall from their highchair
And dive towards their food chain
That they'll hang on their dinner table with all the silverware
With their catches, the seagulls return home with their calling
hands rapturously slashing satori, bang !
light droplets filter down, bats brushing skin
to fly knowingly low, then water gushed
through cracks, bring —
snakes, spiders, scorpions across our toes
stones spoke in singular sighs as
golden orb set in whirlwinds high
velvet night descends, opposites attract
poles swing — >
cave was nowhere, yet everywhere
Mozart symphonies were future
shadows written on our vacant palms
to sojourn with Harry the Strandloper
was unspoken song by GRACIOUS ALL
for beloved paleo pole points, Call !
Khoisan shores we tread profoundly
adorned with seashell bracelets
before on red concert seats to
sit enraptured, opposites horned
no thoughts tornadoed continents waiting
our ignited centres spaced dichotomy
unnamed species inhabited surrounds
we knew not of wisdom pounds
crystal shafts in dimness protected
our irises reflecting stalactite,
dolomite, Dynamite !
anchovy offering themselves
for hunger appeased
white-black apart yet fulcrum starts
we were Power of One in two
~ seasons our compass
naked emperor with empress embraced
celebration, protection or
fool interventions unknown
variables, not yet defined
contrary poles merging with heather
whispering as copper painted patterns
etheric on grotto’s sotto ~
voices faraway clamped our knees
it was future shackles of Bastille
through time tunnels terrible
vacant minds a pair to stare
simply sky, earth, two lode stars as one
wolves, bears, squirrel frequencies
to dare a similar stare !
womb then lustily grew —
berries, tubers fat ripe
nipples started leaking, crows cackled
she was born in running river, pinking water
cord to trout we fed, who offered us
their firm flesh in turn
clouds melted into navel smooth
moon our compass soon enabled
cavern walls slapping spring to bring
spirit expanded fontanelle
winds chiming bells
hammer forged to chop stone found
swallows still equalled fellow tribes
harmonious cynosures more inscribed
my eyes drew out his to flush awake
nostrils flared flaked, two at stake
slowly malachite dragons dissolved
paleo quintessences evolved
swinging space-time into now
once more polarity’s
sublime ~
___________________
3rd Placement: Premier Contest
Rob Carmack: July 26
Prospector Pete had roamed the hills fer years searchin' fer gold!
He and his faithful burro, Fred, were both growin' weary and old.
He'd looked fer color in many a mountain and stream in Colorado,
Lookin' fer that mother lode, that elusive vein, his own El Dorado!
Oh, he'd found a few nuggets here and there, but didn't amount to much.
Those he did find he'd blown on gamblin', women, whiskey and such!
Pete would save a bag of dust or two from his many wanton toots,
To grubstake himself to re-supply his picks, jeans, shovels and boots.
He staked his claims along ripplin' streams and left many holes along the way.
The mountains and valleys are pocked with his many diggin's to this very day!
He'd come up dry, nothin' there, and move on to more appealin' pickin's,
Burrowin' and pannin' with elbows flyin' workin' like the dickens!
Pete would winter in his cabin 'til spring then he'd begin his annual quest,
Packin' his tools on long-sufferin' Fred and headin' fer the hills to the west.
If he didn't find that elusive bonanza this year he swore that he would retire,
To his ramshackle cabin at the foot of Mount Pisgah and enjoy the blazin' fire!
Years passed and Prospector Pete wasn't seen 'round town much anymore.
One wintry day his friends found him froze to death upon his cabin floor!
They dug Prospector Pete's grave and buried him outside his cabin door.
Eureka! Six feet down was that vein of gold that he'd been a-lookin' for!
Prior To Commencing Poem, I Dreamt Contretemps Escalating fusillade...
Galvanized hotheaded idealists (jaded
locals - kindled moderates) nursed
oppressive proletarian quavering riot
spearheading triumphant utopian voice...
whether contrived right here and now,
or purportedly fragmented remnant
occuring during REM sleep
beside the point, asper conjuring atypical
bent arising within mindscape,
sans garden variety *****sapien.
he laments instantaneously forgetting
intricate webbed tapestry comprising
unconscious manifestations nearly every time
reluctantly opening eyes,
whereat realistic landscape within noggin
vanishes without any trace
try as I might to induce recall
asper impressive world within
hydroelectric powered illusory windmills,
despite non cacophonous disruption
i.e. natural awakening processes,
yet for the life of me
after effect bruited
within entire body electric,
hence envisions some contrivance
mebbe mental construct
prior to awakening
to captcha essential details.
Ah...mother lode of ore ridge and hill
elusive material could perhaps yield
adequate money order to pay one bill
alleviating penurious state, so I can chill
without succumbing L'chaim going downhill
fast, especially since monthly social security
taken in toto with more'n
one bitter medication prescription pill
(father's little helper) eases panic/anxiety attacks
plaguing yours truly since...reciting
storybook rhyme 'bout Jack and Jill
argh, how an overdose quite tempting
escaping once and for all where little doth fulfill
me, cuz thankfully individual choice of freewill,
not banned by pro life fanatics,
imagining to wrest free millstone
formerly revolutionary war gristmill
sitting idle (billy me) bidding one final goodwill
to deux daring daughters,
ditto same number twisted sisters mentally ill
papa and bro respectively
understandably justifiably, emotionally deserted
detached baby boomer whole existence a standstill
overly cautious livingsocial,
what...repeating mundanity till...
death, a tragi/comic relief.
Part One
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/mid-summer_night_dream_1482320
Concluded
Elves, dwarves, mini giants, and hobbits all performed.
But last was Fili as he strutted to the middle of the glen.
Secretly clutching his alexandrite lode, he flew
Straight up ten feet with a view for all to see.
Fireflies flew erratically around him, a ghostly shine.
As Fili moved his clutched hand, he turned.
Somersaulted, spun and returned to his standing stance.
Below the people of the glen clapped in awe.
But now Fili was worried, how was he to descend
And thus receive his well merited prize?
It was the River-maid who rescued him, as she flew
And whispered in his ear. Change the lode to the left hand
She whispered, giving him a luscious kiss.
Soon Fili landed and the Fairy Queen beckoned him.
You can take your first midnight skinny dipping and eat all
The strawberries you like so much, she graciously said.
She took his lode, put it on a crown and on his head it sat.
And now Fili, the hero, was annoyed no more.
Once upon a time in the land of the Hobbits,
Fili was annoyed. He wanted excitement.
He was the youngest of the twelve dwarves,
Dressed in a blue cloak and sporting a yellow beard,
He entered into his tree house in an angry mood.
Up in the attic he sat on a stool and pondered.
That night all fairyland would celebrate
The great feast of Midsummer. And everyone
Would parade his oft practiced skills.
Alas Fili had nothing spectacular to show.
In the dim light of the attic he spied a shine.
Fili had the best eyesight and somehow knew
There below the cupboard lay an alexandrite lode.
It shone and magic oozed out of it.
What could it be? He grabbed it and saw
A parchment with strange signs he could not understand.
Yet in the bottom was written so very clear:
Use me to fly, turn, swirl, but you must
Understand the signs or suffer you will.
A Catherine wheel opened the feast lightning the glen.
Immediately thousands upon thousands of fireflies
Flew around and illuminated the open grassy space.
Elves brought in the beer, sweetmeats, firewater.
The Firstborns danced around the Maypole,
Frog dances abounded as elves escorted the Fairy Queen
To her elaborated decorative throne. She smiled
And after a while she clapped her hers, and amid the clapping
She gave the sign that the much sought contest can start.
To be continued
Notice the mood of festive poise,
Allow fond good to spur fine voice,
Thrill feisty brood that sanguine choice;
Imprint sure signs where crowds now peak,
Observe clear finds as action speaks,
Note peace of mind as posture tweaks;
Align the day with message bright,
Look to wise play to set firm sights.
Dance on the way as style streams light,
Abstract as soul that wears a face,
Yield precious whole to profound grace.
Gain now unfolds that savvy pace,
Love sparks a mode of actual thrill,
Intent sums code in tact that wills;
Mind finds the lode where true health fills,
Poise shows in truth the touch of wit,
Sounds flavour proof in poignant fit,
Exploit proud moves as grandeur hits.
Leon Enriquez
09 August 2015
Singapore
A rhetorical question finds me ask
king (to no one in particular) why I bask
with recollection the names of blank
exclamatory staid grade school crank
key teachers approximately
42,0480,000 breaths aye drank
fifty years ago (most whose names frank
lee listed below),
when the need to access
and retrieve
immediate necessary information
analogously interleaved
among coaxial bracts
during examinations relegated
as hopelessly lost
into interstitial invisible cranial cracks
irretrievably buried
during examinations, which age
(feels like a million years ago)
often found me seized and caged
with sudden inability to remember
any vital answers as gauged
evidenced by nothing writ
ten on paper (even including my name),
thus loosely similar as aye sit
to compose poetry,
and/or prose tempted to quit
asper defeated by resignation,
and sinking sensation in the pit
of my stomach (more so regarding orbit
ting like an unsound garden
black hole son around cold (mit
ten necessary) awful days grudgingly
handing over like a lit
till insignificant being,
a test paper devoid of academic grit
analogously surrendering
(while feeling fit
tubby tied, sense internally emit
ting abnegation sans chafing at the bit,
yet no sooner did buzzer indicated test
time over, then (of course),
an instantaneous pest
that blocked chunk dramatically
flowered gloriously invoking nest
head treasured mother lode
of learned information invest
ment accounting for principle ball lanced
formerly figuratively barricaded facts
suddenly at my behest
ironically retaining to this day
dogged details amazingly,
now gracing lix spittle fist size gray
dictating academic failure
forcing laying down pen hay
for ma forgotten requisite thoughts may
king skepticism about self thrive, ray
zing mailer demons impossible to slay,