Long Macbeth Poems
Long Macbeth Poems. Below are the most popular long Macbeth by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Macbeth poems by poem length and keyword.
may be astounding
often gets the heart pounding
this life which we lead
spiraling onward
in expanding cosmic sea
the planet and we
we carry the backbones
our genes allow to be grown
free standing not prone
eschewing timeworn
helping concepts to be born
egos we adorn
rehashing the past
brings relief which does not last
anger rises too fast
beyond good reason
some humans hope to squeeze in
a full afterlife
searching for a role
wanting not half but the whole
how fragile this soul
life but one small blip
upon eternity's tip
a truly short trip
no one avoids death
everyone takes one last breath
reference Macbeth
and yet in the end
while there is still time to spend
this life pleases me
Is dance a metaphor for sex?
You’d think so if you knew my ex
(at least the barflies all believe
she’s hoarding something up her sleeve).
But what makes people want to dance?
An aural frenzy? True romance?
Would Hamlet, Shylock or Macbeth
ever dance themselves to death?
Strasbourg is the kind of town
that’s unassuming, buttoned down.
These people don’t let down their hair:
rarely reckless, somewhat square.
The year before a reign began
(that’s Charles the Fifth – the Habsburg man):
to celebrate Saint Vitus’ Day
a Strasbourg woman’s new ballet
was launched in Rue des Hallebardes
(a strange event in all regards).
Right outside her Strasbourg home,
a stone’s throw from Strassburgerdom,
one Frau Follea hit the street
(and man, that chick could move her feet!)
We don’t know what her motive was:
perhaps she did it ‘just because’.
Did she deserve the looney bin?
No - other folks were joining in!
With twisting torsos, poor and posh,
the city streets were soon awash.
Without the need for record player,
the followers of Frau Follea
bopped and boogied through the night,
as hot as Rhineland anthracite.
Did scruples sting at morning mist?
Did conscience prick them to desist?
Did people halt their hellish dance?
Not one mosher! Not a chance!
On they conga’d, rocked and rolled,
oblivious to heat or cold.
More Alsace dusks, forever amber,
reverberated to their samba.
The local grapes are full and juicy:
the people step a mean watusi.
There’s such a thing as civic pride,
but this lot cha-cha’d till they died!
Housewife, beggar, baker, barber
were parties to the danse macabre.
Was their motive pleasure? Fear?
Penance? Sydenham’s Chorea?
The reason for the quick-quick-slow
I don’t suppose we’ll ever know.
If we could look into the seeds of time,
and say which grain will grow and which will not,
we would arrange our affairs defiantly
in the face of current opposition.
If a thought should geminate and flourish
in the barren soil of the status quo,
it would likely be by sheer providence
that ideas would come to fruition.
Our dreams, our very imagination,
are what keep our momentum in this world.
Sans the prospect of incremental feats,
we would not strive to attain excellence.
If the portent of riches entices us,
would we forsake every value system
to attain the pinnacle of success?
No one could portend the foreordained path.
This need is hidden by a thick shadow,
it conflicts with awareness so shallow;
my searches for unexplained truths
revealed facts I had doubted all along,
was I blamed for creating absurd myths,
defining life a multitude of doubtful events
that decide whether or not one survives...
pushing through a noisy and frantic throng?
Allow worry, arrogance, power, and impatience
control you and you'll have ambivalence;
recant your luck and favor whenever doors won't open
for an easy escape from folly and death...
instead of silencing words and fear harsh judgment:
be aware that what's kept inside becomes regret!
What was the real purpose of mad Macbeth...
to draw the sword with the intention to kill Duncan?
Ponder the source of your insanity today,
and suppress the urge to harm and slay!
This need is hidden by a thick shadow,
how priceless it is not having been discovered yet,
and until freedom is declared by I will shout it:
feeling free, spreading the wings of a sparrow!
Marx and Spencer
Were I to tell you what I think of Spencer
(the middle-manager, without the “man”,
and vilest cockroach since the world began),
my poem would incense the meekest censor.
But when our hands in insurrection join,
we arm ourselves to take back what is ours,
red banners streaming from the highest towers,
my first clip’s going straight in Spencer’s groin.
Don’t tell me that we’re going to do it clean,
that revolution’s flawed unless it’s surgical.
Old Shakespeare knew (and why not get liturgical?)
let slip the dogs, you get mujahideen.
Drag Spencer out and bludgeon him to death.
Revenge, and not reform? I’ve seen Macbeth.
William Shakespeare's plays, as most people know
have been around for four hundred years or so.
The Bard wrote plays that were comedies.
He also composed works that are tragedies.
"Twelfth Night" and "As You Like It" are in the former category.
"Romeo and Juliet" would be considered a tragedy.
Both kinds of plays were written with great quality.
"Hamlet", "Julius Caesar", "Othello" and "King Lear"
are what most folks prefer, it would appear.
This makes me want to ask: "what's going on here?"
Preference for tragedies I cannot see;
especially with all the shootings in the news recently.
Over "Macbeth", I like "Much Ado About Nothing".
In the end, all the characters dance and sing.
Two couples get married, and wedding bells ring.
Oh how wonderful it is to have a happy ending!
Nobody gets killed, and everything turns out nice.
Doesn't anybody here like to throw rice?
Inspired by Shakespeare's works and the 1960 hit song "Let's Think About Living" by the late Bob Luman.
The Swan of Avon known as the bard
Born on St Georges day
A wizard of words not one line marred
He wrote many a wonderful play
The legacy he left for us
Still can bring us joy
Star crossed lovers witches and kings
All did his pen employ
Julius Caesar and Macbeth
The Tempest and King John
Pericles and Cymbeline
The list goes on and on
His work was staged at the Globe
more than 400 years ago
Still seems fresh still seems new
And still moves us so
Yes this genius of a man
Whose writing was so fine
Was not of an age
But a man for all of time
The Swan of Avon still lives on
In every play that's seen
If you see one you'll agree
He is the greatest that there's been
With present great, O’ gracious hate
O’ hand in heart, neither tripp’d nor fear’d
Doth thine conquer, by thine of corrup’d lips
O’ Sicker thy pour’d thine sicken canst
Thy chanc’d on seated heart
Hath thy slate nigh single sinner hips
Wither’n hither if b’yond, where’n nought
With’n ernst wouldst prove best
O’er hung upon the dislocate
O’er hung ‘mongst the rest
O’ implor’d thine harvest
With thine of wicked hand
Thus thou shalt do, howst thou shalt plunge’n.
Murth’ing sex hold at thou’st darkling sight
Dost seem plung’d thou’n thy thick night
Night form foretold milk’d thine breast
Thou shalt b’sworn, bitter’n crest.
In swinish sleep, O’ grace of gurnish hell
Trammel’n surcease, deceit upon brow
Unknowest known, tak’n eye upon foe
How’st for, thou played’st most foully for
Give solely sovereign sway, sworn o'er swell’n,
Poison’d chalice, O’ in wanton fullness
Fall’n O’ fallace upon th’other
In punitive hail, O’ fall,O’ fail
How’st dare’st do’n all, O’
Doth crown’d th’thorn t’prick th’law
Thus thou shalt do’n, Thus thou’st forlorn,
Esteem’st th’privy procreant cradle
F’rapt fools of foolish valour
Succumb f’certain tongue’d desire, thou
Shalt reign ‘pon th’heavenly galore
For th’Christened babe
Wept ‘pon the cherubim whore:
“Great Glamis! Thou art shalt be, slain th’head ‘pon the Heaven’s decree!”
Hast form’d a kiss’n heaven,
Doth thou callst th’pure
Why hath th’crown crowd me by livid, in my stir
Ever hath thee crown’d withal
Hath borne a light,
So to withdrawal.
I know I love my mirror
A ***** choice
Beside the pool
The tormenting tool
Controlling from the unconscious
The omnipresent Narcissus
Repeated lakes
Repeated snakes
The lake-love in breath
Moments of repeated death
Macbeth in the corridor quest
Right left above and underneath
I hate the shadow
In the tank and meadow
In the ankle heel and toes
The pool with today and tomorrow
In dream the same stream
The child in the wild in the blood
The fascinating reflection in the lake
Mingled in a blue and pink sea gull take
The single aim and game
Always closing in on the heels
Placing the soul on the wheels
An illusory feel
A flame dance in dopamine
Rhymes after rhymes
Embracing the dewy you
A tormenting milieu
Oh ****
I disown it
Come tomorrow
I'll shut the gate at the bone marrow
___________________________
For the Poetry Contest : OWN IT!
Sponsored by: Cyndi MacMillan
Lady Macbeth, Lady Macbeth
Why did you want Macbeth to be king
Even when you have all you need
This is all caused because of your greed
You think you are like a bird
Trying to get away with what you did
But lo and behold!
Your spouse will die as the witches bid.
You may be proud of what you have done
But because of your guilt
You went mad
You know something was wrong, which was bad
Lady Macbeth, Lady Macbeth
Why did you want no sympathy
Neither did you wish for empathy
You wanted everyone dead
Macbeth, Macbeth
Bless his soul
But because of you persuading him to kill
His existence became a foul.
Your heart is as evil as witch
As hard as ice
If you had murdered someone before
It wouldn't be a big surprise
You look as gentle as a feather
So light and innocent
But inside you are nothing
but a crueler version of malificent