Long Lore Poems
Long Lore Poems. Below are the most popular long Lore by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lore poems by poem length and keyword.
Though (supposedly) only
the good die young, urn holding
cremated ashes a mere cup
full, every last man standing falls,
cuz nobody else
escapes un pup
yule lore blitzkrieg,
or aging gracefully,
the unavoidable eventual fate,
(mortal fateful demise),
sans the remaining unsung
anonymous peoples meet up
with the grim reaper,
who will ineluctably disrupt
the carryings on
with each and every individual
(non plus ultra all other
life forms as well)
gradually or with abrupt,
and unannounced debut
scythe lent lee appearing
to whisk away the
honest and/or corrupt
whether taking their
first meal of the day,
and/or last sup
per, perhaps sitting quietly,
when body electric
amp pare rent lee
receives ohm
my word fatal invite,
whereat permanent shocking
quiescence doth, sans
stealth maneuver erupt
tragically, indiscriminately,
and blithely
mowing down innocent civilians,
and/or training fate squarely
upon heads of soldiers
life during wartime,
where opposing armies regale
while marching men go hup...
to three fore (akin
to a story field day),
winning booby prize, viz
counting on qua,
asper winning lottery
and/or Stanley Cup
major blood bath rendered
significant counting coup
whereat each opposing fighting
force figuratively doth slew
the other, analogously dost defeat
making mince meat
re: as uniformed brigades in heat
of wanton killing
fields sliced minced,
chopped nada so vary neat,
via stealth unable dupe, nor cheat
death be not proud,
et cetera, nonetheless,
grimly forced to greet
a bonanza coup won,
only tubby beat
tin to pulp by adept
skull and excellent fleet
of foot (top
notch crafted) sweet
(albeit) temporary victory
tasting said treat
assailing, bruiting , and/or
weathering stance versus
alternating between defensive
and/or offensive
use of cross bones,
in a hail of bullets
instantaneously didst greet
fast and furious i.e. suffering
deadly raking har row
ring slaughter, an entire
phalanx gone, where
(metaphorical terrible swift sword)
no uniformed fighter
can never call retreat.
Three Score and Fifteen Years Ago
By Franklin Price
11/14/2020
Three score and fifteen years ago
I was born upon this earth
Joined a family of eight,
Was the ninth, for what it's worth
Four sisters and two brothers
A mother, father there for me
I was to be the last of them
That nevermore would be
Was brought home to my siblings
Who were shown I was a boy
They were told it was not Christmas
That I was not a little toy
Spread of ages, ten long years
Stuart Taylor to begin
Then, Nancy Ruth and Shirley Lou
Stopping then, would be a sin
Earl Joseph, Laura Gertrude
Were the next ones in the game
Judith Carol just before me
Franklin Arthur is my name
Brought home to Merritt Island
Yes, the one of lunar lore
Was then a growing citrus place
Barely had a country store
We had no city water
No AC then, you know
No TV there for watching
Listened to the radio
Milk brought by the milkman
Port Canaveral had no cruise
Truman was the president
The local paper brought the news
Many years have gone by
Helped shoot man to the moon
My father and my mother gone
Some siblings, way to soon
Nancy Ruth and Laura Gertrude
And myself are still around
They're now octogenarians
Five more years and I'll be crowned
My life has been exceptional
The best wife for fifty years
In seven days it's fifty-one
Can still remember that from here
Left High School in sixty four
Sixty- eight in Vietnam
Sixty-nine sent man off to the moon
It's great to be the who I am
Married, November, sixty-nine
To my wife and daughter too
They were the rocks within my life
For the things that I would do
Involved with start up ventures
Traveled all around the globe
Collected hotel ashtrays
Lots of shampoo and a robe
Had my own small business
A little longer than a score
Rode on Harley cycles
Three hundred thousand miles and more
Rode all the lower forty-eight
Three provinces above
A thousand miles in Africa
All of these with my true love
So you see it's been a great life
And I'm only seven- five
I got up this fine morning
It's still great to be alive
Friends and family, who read this
And know of these things I say
Know you helped to make it great
As I traveled on the way
Here's a toast to all of us
And the passed days since our birth
I'm sending love to all of you
For all that may be worth
A new day perhaps, of immeasurable tin, sound of din
A hurricane noise, a thrall of riotous cuts, although thin
The blood-curdle choke of rage from before
Now purchased like plasma from the needle store
Go hump yourself, If you want my schtick, you vampire whore
You’ve had enough since the Garden, Lillith, you’ll not get more
Now the ratio between human, vampire, dragon and other dead
Has been cast with fair radiant echo against the nuclear thread
A shroud sewn with Alcubierre’s hand and Teller’s eye
Will re-write the laws of your time to die
Not forced by the forced prison of your local priest
Or enticed by Babylon to take part in it’s wicked feast
The work that was promised to Adam and re-framed unto Cain
To un-curse the valley, glen and land: to filter Acid from Rain
With thorns o- the rose coming loose from the Bush
And snakes running hither or thither in scintillate Rush
The Oracle of Satan found new charms to spread in perfect Cube
Could be the shape of Sound Maynard or Max’s Cubic Rube
The Time of Orwell Now and Jobs spelling Apple at his Side
And Sting writing programs for the Cops, whom along for the Ride
the Bladerunner checkin for humans among the technical horde
Huxley detected the separate spirit, lobotimized souls, Model T Fords
And Harrison checked again with electric sleep on the Brain
A tear for Summer, or a vision for Canticles, a wave almost Inane
With countless ages past since the Dust of Sumer lent
It’s hell-bound rasp of gutteral destruction spent
The awful wave of gas, a riotous nuclear blast
In the once Green land where sage grew fast
The dim spectre of time has given up the ghost
With markets bazar and material plenty, yet consider the cost
From Alabaster bone the Ocean’s a-shallow
The Mermaids remember the times that were fallow
Year upon year the bi-peds walked without aim or deed
That could count for fullness, even yet upon steed
Even in those ages of lore when upon horse they’d trot
Or with Gasoline chariot to the park like Mel Ot
None could account for the empty space of land
Or like Kieth Stone, bend down and till without turning into sand
The eidolons of time, immemorable: drooping, eternal clocks
An echo of murmurs, drogue and sorrow, indifferent as the rocks
Whom would not cry out, with refusal of price
None could garner their strength or bleed them twice
A hint of helping this wholesome Harris son
can across thru the air
Hence this poetic expression
of gratitude Matthew Scott wants to blare
And communicate my genuine
appreciation crystal clear
Toward one whose existence
more valuable to me and dear
As thee doth become older
with natural diminishment with eyes and ear
But lo…tis unproductive to fear
The diminishing sands
of mortal time as cognitive gear
Doth get clogged as well as one
or the other organ allowing ye to hear
The sound of silence echoing
memories of the past – now a blur
Akin to a warm fuzzy feeling
soft as moss or lichen – precious as a coat of fur
Which tomorrows speed faster
becoming yesterday’s lore
Mixed with trials and tribulations less or more
Thickening as starch and ever more difficult to pour
From the egged on noggin blended
into one glob kept in secret store
Perhaps comprising partially healed wounds
at your heart tore
As if a drafted soldier once
in tiptop shape now to the bone years wore
Away whet dreams housed
within myths indistinguishable from truths of yore
Though I too sometimes fret
as tempus fugit slinks away
Where methinks how the years spin
at a quicker pace each day
Inculcating me to savor each moment,
whether weather sunny or gray
Taking stock of self of natural world
as one named John Jay
Audubon, who captured pristine lands
of America as a frieze zing May
Whereby bounteous creatures
large and small at play
Until…the inundation
of settlers did slash, burn and slay
Indiscriminately - setting precedent
for Earth in a precarious balance oye vay
Whence Mother Nature
will win this global Olympic match – yet
By which time, both thyself
and ye will be long turned to ash
Descendants will be dust off
faded photos of me self
before senescence did dash
Totally unaware that me papa Boyce Brandon
with clenched and teeth did gnash
When I fought tooth and nail
and without a word did lash
Back as protestations against behavior
of mine ye disliked and found rash
With frustration spilling forth
like acidic froth that did splash
Slash and burn within,
yet kept mum no matter
from within did thrash.
I LOVE YOU TOO DAD
NO MATTER BACK IN THE DAY YE GOT MAD
YET NOW, AS A FATHER TWAS FRUSTRATION
PERHAPS FUSED WITH BEING SAD
AT MY LIFE & HARD TIMES WHEREIN
TURMOIL ROILED MORE THAN A TAD!
In magical verses weave your fated heart's request,
With metaphors holding the shy choir of light abreast,
When hearts corroded by hatred in barrenness rest,
And chains of thought whip gently the gentle flight's zest.
If you are to regain control once more,
When friends of yesteryear were but a lore,
Whose drab garments through time emphatically wore,
But forgiveness you've secreted from its core.
And if in hope you can stand upright,
Not raising armor before the liar’s project slight,
When rage whispers edicts as if to indict,
Melt it in calm, with spirit bright.
Show the world whole your portrait fair,
No masks, no regret, laid bare,
And if you dream of deep breaks in despair,
May you not become in others' lives a dismal seer.
When eternity throws its cold shadow in your corner's crease,
You should gaze with eyes that do not buckle under time’s caprice.
Every living moment in time's palm surely will not cease,
On the heart's scale, they demand to be released.
If you can listen when the truth is spoken,
Alien and shifted in a world that's been broken,
And to persist through the common lies outspoken,
To find faith beneath the frothy spray's token.
If you dare face decay’s embrace without dread,
Avoiding the gilded pleasure's feigned spread,
And in autumn whispers feel your stern fall ahead,
In the poverty of a sky that once display had fed.
Risk carrying on the die heavy, precious pearls,
Wager all that you've got for a fleeting twirl,
And then, whoever you are, learn not to hurl hopes like chaff,
Your failures become a path leading to something more sacred, more daft.
Endure, in a feeble body, remorse and persistence,
Wearing a smile as a shield, melting the tormenting ice of existence.
Cherish the moment that remains in unending instance,
With a soul lined in armor's silent resistance.
If you can fill the silences in empty spaces,
When shattered times speak with yesterday's faces,
Replenish them with fresh sparks among the disgraces,
Then you will build from seconds, unbroken traces.
And the Earth shall through you be magnified,
And all that writhes in its infinite tide,
And in this great shaken, you'll uncover as scribed,
That you're a whole man, not just a soul that's been pried,
Not part of the herd whose times have dried,
But master of the strength from your own dream derived.
I WISH I WEREN’T A BUNNY
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
I never wanted to be a bunny, I’m not playing this game
I’d reconsider a puma: a lion with a frightening mane
But that’s not my fate, I’m a bunny, a defenseless toy
Other creatures have fangs, claws; they can deploy
I have no defensive arms for use in personal defense
Why nature created a sitting duck, just makes no sense
My choice would be the fiercest critter ever seen
Yep, you got the picture, the ferocious wolverine
Indian lore says, one could cause a village to vacate
Moving in on his territory was a fatal mistake
He’d come after you, if on horse back or if on foot
He’d destroy your tepees and lodges all gone, kaput
But alas, that’s not me: in spite of what I’d like to be
I’m a bunny with soft fur, that’s something we all can see
I have soft long ears, and a wiggly waggely tail
A cute sniffing nose, my gifted maneuvers never fail
Maybe for you, but doesn’t satisfy my lifelong dream
I’m a ferocious beast inside willing to dominate the scene
Mother nature could have given me more traits to bear
Like those big hind legs and speed she gave to the hare
Or a cotton tail that can avoid danger by simply leaping
I spend the day, daydreaming or silently sleeping
But all in all; the object of my wishes and self esteem
Is to wake up tomorrow in the body of a wolverine
Each day when I open my eyes, it’s the same old story
My status hasn’t changed, I’m the example of lonely
When I first arrived every body came over to see me
I was the new thing on the block a real live novelty
But as time progressed visitors were fewer in number
Reducing my activities to intermittent slumber
Bunny (2)
I can’t complain I have fresh vegetables every day
And usually some company, if the kids decide to play
But I’m a one man show unable to live up to my reputation
As a prolific contributor in expanding the population
Each night I pray when I wake a willing doe will appear
I know she is somewhere but unfortunately, not here
In a dream the other night, I was lightening quick
Instead of hippity n hopping, I was lickety split
Those wishes that constantly flood my senses
Doused by the existence of surrounding fences
I’ll just have to accept my lot, be docile, not mean
But between you and I, I’d rather be a wolverine
In the silent corridors of the cosmos,
where whispers of ancient wisdom entwine with stardust,
lies a realm unseen by the mortal eye,
where truths, pure and untainted, float like ethereal whispers.
Literal thinking, a shadow upon the sacred light,
turns the divine into chains of superstition,
crystal-clear waters of wisdom, now murky and confined,
where once the spirit soared, now tethered and bereft.
In the twilight of understanding, where shadows breathe,
a journey begins, a river of consciousness unbound,
flowing through the valleys of forgotten lore,
where the heart's whispers are the compass true,
guiding the soul through labyrinths of light and dark.
In the dawn of creation, where the first light kissed the void,
truths whispered by the divine, gentle as morning dew,
were pure as the first breath of dawn, untainted by man's hand,
yet as they touched the soil of mortal minds,
they hardened into idols, rigid and cold,
sculpted by the chisel of literal thought.
Metaphors, the language of the soul,
once vibrant and alive, now dulled by concrete minds,
where the moon's gentle glow becomes a sterile sphere,
and the sun, no longer a celestial flame, but a mere star.
In the silent temple of the heart, where shadows and light dance,
a candle flickers, fed by the breath of the divine,
its flame a guide against the encroaching dark,
where superstition lurks, a specter in the mind.
The inspired truths are rivers, flowing free,
unbound by the dams of dogma's cold embrace,
seeking the vast ocean, the infinite expanse,
where the spirit merges with the cosmic dance,
and wisdom's light shines in every drop of time.
Oh, to break the chains of literal thought,
to see the world through the eyes of the soul,
where every leaf whispers the secrets of the cosmos,
and every star sings the songs of eternity.
In this sacred dance, where metaphor reigns supreme,
the heart finds its voice, the spirit its wings,
and the truths once perverted by the concrete mind,
become again the living breath of the divine.
So let us journey, with hearts unbound,
through the mystic realms where wisdom dwells,
and find in the dance of shadows and light,
the inspired truths that set the spirit free,
in the sacred whispers of the cosmos’s embrace,
where the eternal song of truth and love forever resounds.
In Celtic lore, Lig Na Basate is a dragon that terrorizes Ireland.
Through the rough and rugged bramble
Lig Na Basate was boldly sought,
By a band of hardy hunters
who cared not of the danger t’was fraught.
The Lig Na Basate had killed three hundred men
and wounded two hundred more,
And the only way to stop the beast
was to pierce him at the core.
Turn away ye wee small men
lest the beast come pick your bones,
Return to your loving kin and hearth
and start to rebuild your homes.
Pray then that the Lig Na Basate
has moved on to other hunting grounds,
But wait, too late for now they hear
the burble of the beastie’s sounds.
Then there at the edge of the wooded glade
they saw their quarry sleeping.
And silently the four brave men
drew near as they were creeping.
Then with a snort the terrible head
was lifted into the air.
And sniffed at the scent with dreadful intent
until he found them skulking there.
The four brave men with lance in hand
Stood north, south, east and west.
In hopes that one would find the mark
and send the beast to its final rest.
Ne’er had the beast encountered such men
who showed no concern towards death.
Yet no pity would he ere afford
as they met with the heat of his breath.
With dodge and thrust they went about,
looking for a spot.
To drive home a deadly lance,
before he killed off the lot.
And quick the battle was enjoined,
with blood and spit and sweat.
In hopes that one day their victory,
would outlive their regret.
The beast grabbed one valiant man
and snapped him at his back.
Then ate one more while the other two
continued on with the attack.
The Lig Na Basate swung round
to slice them with his tail.
But a lance pierced his wicked eye,
and he let out a ferocious wail.
He turned his head to gasp the pike
that had nearly left him blind.
Exposing his own naked throat
to the two men from behind
A plunge by one and the next
a gurgle of blood the only sound.
The beast turned to face the men
but with a tilt he hit the ground.
The scales of the mighty dragon
became the armor of the brave.
And the teeth were buried with the dead
inside their hero’s grave.
And still the tale is often told
of the beastie and his demise,
And in the great hall still hangs his head
as the victor’s well earned prize.
Today is the day I decided I'm not going to let my love for you hurt me anymore.
No more staying up past midnight wishing you were by my side. Or being crumpled up on the floor waiting for our issues to reside. I gave you my world moon and stars and you took it and ran and instead of apology you asked for my hand. You feed me these crumbs from rolls dripping with butter onto the sidewalk while you expect me to lick it up. Well my tongue is sore. My ankles are worn. I am tired of chasing after you while you treat me like nothing but a thorn.
Id plant you a field of flowers so you'd see something close enough to as beautiful as you are
But you picked my flowers and you threw them away.
I gave you my everything, my heart, my hopes, dreams and more
Yet you give me rude insults and stories, well babe drop the lore.
Because these ideas of me that you're feeding into the mouths of your so called friends who were once mine seem to be stories that are combined.
Were you jealous of me? My success and my smile?
So you ran and ran and took it farther than a mile
And by the time I caught up you were once again heating me up like a dial.
Were they combined with the hatred you feel for me because I reacted poorly to your actions?
Or was it because of all my retractions?
Yes my memory would put dory to shame but i promise you what i felt was real.
I loved you more than watching the sun rise.
I loved you more than my favorite hibachi rice.
I loved you more than the hundreds of dollars i spent on you
Or the hours I stayed up on school nights just to make sure you had a gift on our anniversary.
Was it really that meaningless?
Mean and abusive is what they call me right?
Well, do they know the way you made me cry?
The way I couldn't breathe because I was trapped by the weight of your words and my breath was taken by the breeze.
I sat in my room for days, weeks, months waiting for you.
Waiting for you to call me baby and the days to feel less hazy
And maybe I have an appetite today.
Maybe I'll have a second to feel right today.
A lot of things are questionable. But my love for you was not.
I proved it in every way I could and although I wasn't perfect I loved you.
I won the who loves who more contest.
Today is the day I decide you're not worth my happiness.
I awaken to the sound of your voice, your words, calling to me...
Calling to me...Petitioning me... like an ethereal Siren's Song
Moving towards me just as waves journey toward an empty beach...
Always and forever...moving towards that lonely shore.
The Inevitable.
The speed of their emotional swells depending upon the wind
and the temperaments of the day.
Soft and lapping curiously when all is calm and clear
Furious and violently agitated when darkness hides the sun.
In spite of Saturn's cruelty we were destined to intersect
to hold these ongoing conversations...
Venus had put forth her resolution and now I wait for you
Just as the sands have waited endlessly for the eternal cycles of the tides.
I have been waiting...waiting...waiting...
waiting for you to meet me
waiting for you to come flowing in
waiting to absorb and finally feel the liquid of your caress.
Morning, noon, and night
I wait to hear from you
I wait...the Bullish Immovable Beast...I am the constant shore
Shaped only by your fascinations.
And you come to me, changeable Capricorn
Fluid as the great blue divide that separates the firm continents
Always changing, never stagnant...Always moving toward or away
Timeless ocean, timeless current, evermore.
I hear you singing an Ancient Mariner's Song
Its meaning holds the depths of repeated sailor's lore
Your stories sharing vast oceans of wisdom
that may have been floating on some wizened seaman's mind.
His voice, as yours, always sure to find
A welcoming lonely harbor on an expectant, yearning shore.
The tides mark the times for when we will meet
For when you will continue your engraving
Etching your love on toward me
as a fine lithography for now and forevermore.
Waves serve as your wild embrace
You place your countenance upon my face
I am unable to resist your advances
You have laid claim to the barren coastline of my heart.
Although I long for a permanence
In which Venus would so rejoice
You always leave me wanting more
Saturn still rules your mind.
There is nothing I see as so inescapable
as your leavings and your ongoing returns.
There is nothing so inevitable between us
except the Terra Firma of our minds.
(December 1, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved,