Long Manoeuvred Poems
Long Manoeuvred Poems. Below are the most popular long Manoeuvred by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Manoeuvred poems by poem length and keyword.
The sky and sea intermingled as a mist evolved.
Soon a moon appeared surrounded by tiny stars.
From the beach, a whisper of awe arose, all wondered
Onlooking the misty phenomenon of a beauty rarely seen.
Night fell and some bathers rested on the sandy beach.
Could the sky kiss the sea, most wondered musing a lot.
It was a sensation of wonder and mystifying occurrence
Yet finally most lay down into a deep sleep and dreamt.
A summerlike breeze swirled around them prodding dreams.
Most wondered what could one find beyond the horizon.
Many felt that beyond was a void, others dreamt of sunken ships.
But many dreamt of fantastic beings that hovered around.
Soon the sun rose from faraway. Ships sailed placidly
And on the horizon, a cruise ship manoeuvred to far off lands.
Deceit of sun when rays are still but porous;
unwelcome thief, afford my dream more seconds.
Some dappled shadows flit through mystic keyhole;
alight upon pellucid remnant image.
I stifle yawn as thoughts embrace the vision.
My ever-restless spirit merits story
which doesn’t evanesce at first obstacle
encountered when issues foisted upon me.
Embarked on travels, trinkets of high finesse
that crossed the boundaries of reality.
The past firmly imbedded in the future,
illuminating a path predictable and
imbued with fantasy and peccant grandeur.
Adroitly I manoeuvred through initial
self-doubt that plagued a multitude of people.
Circumlocutory whim of eidolon
expertly gathered evidence to support
demand that’s straddling realms, but I will resist.
I read the missive through and then carefully
enfold my dreams in cocoon, preserving them.
Unpleasant facts I spat out like an obol
that’s placed under tongue of recently deceased.
The critics can wait with Charon for day of
reckoning – future set aside for visions.
My dreams swim at the edge of river’s conscience.
Expectations made dreams luminesce brightly,
but withered in morning sun’s naïve splendour.
Like sands in the hourglass, the grains of wisdom
filtered through consciousness and needled thinking.
I set aside the search for epiphany.
The old ice house is where it happened
The old ice house where cold still grows
We ventured down the hidden old footpath
By the stream where now only the ducks go
A dare to see past the old iron fence
A dare to go over the ivy strewn wall
To creep through the overgrowth
In the sunken garden where wild flowers grow
'Tis there where we witnessed something strange
An eerie shadow cast over the stone
Behind us fast movement but nothing seen
Though we knew something was watching us go
We stopped and looked at each-other
We knew something now was wrong
Had we ventured too deep past the folly
Had we stepped where no one should go
Now movement happened around us
With sounds unholy and low
Shadows danced through the bracken that shouldn't be
Without some kind of form
As we looked up-ahead we could see
The old ice house entrance; like a hole in the wall
We wanted to go further but we couldn't you see
Because as we looked we saw a dark shadow grow
Then some noise of a squawk type of moaning
Then a figure out of the shadow was born
It looked at us and appeared to stand staring
We both thought it's time we should go
I have never moved so fast with such dexterity
Like a commando I manoeuvred over the wall
Like a jungle cat through the trees
Until I got back onto the old road
I turned to see where you were
I heard movement, some weird sounds, then there was nothing and none
I know this sounds so weird but please you must see
Please Mr policeman I can't tell you where he'd be or where he has gone
But please Mr policeman don't try to see what we did see
Please, please, please don't go over that wall.
The magic of the puppeteer’s hands, brings life through the strings
The mass of wooden limbs on the floor, unrecognisable as things
They all applauded as they watched the master puppeteer at work
He made his puppets dance, his duty he did not shirk.
Then the day arrived, they all became bored with dancing marionettes
The stage was empty, the puppeteer sad, the stage was up ‘For Let’
He vowed that he would win them back, and he reset his new stage
With magic in his masterful fingers, people returned of every age.
They clapped and begged, they shouted, they wanted to see more
Never had such a sight been seen, the puppets danced across the floor
He said my puppets I will dance, but one thing I ask of you
There will come a day a question I ask, I wonder what you will do.
They all cheered willing to pay the price the puppeteer called for
His dolls, the wooden limbs, rose and danced across the floor
Wooden limbs that came to life, all connected by some slight strings
The puppeteer manoeuvred them, they became as living things.
The crowd roared and asked for more they had never seen the like
He said now for the question I ask, you may answer as you like.
To keep the puppets dancing there is one thing I will ask from you
Will you always watch the puppets dance? If so, I will see they do.
All agreed to pay the price to watch the magic puppets dance
He asked the question they all affirmed, quite willing to take a chance
Now you are mine, the stage is set, the curtains will open, all looks well
It’s time for you to follow me, then he pulled open the curtains to hell.
The audience became the puppets as he toured the wider world
Come see the magic dancers he cried, and watch the marionettes twirl
Never had there been such a show, the puppets they looked so real.
Until the audience started to stray, and anger the puppeteer did feel.
Once more he promised them magical dancing, even through hoops and rings
He tweaked and pulled, the puppets danced, as though there were no strings
But the strings were hid as long as they danced, and did what the puppeteer bid.
So read the print before you sign, never let the magical puppeteer you kid.
© 7/01/2013 ~GG~
The Inspiration for this poem came From Harry J Horsman's "Entrapment"
I watched a dog sweep across the land where no man stands;
So delicate in his every step—
He manoeuvred across it with a strange familiarity:
The mud to him was not a problem,
Though it clung to his feet like it was trying to drag him deep down.
He lifted his nose into the air to sniff the scent of death,
And trekked over lumps and bumps to find where a cold man lay.
He was half-enveloped already—
The living, breathing mud having started to swallow him whole—
Even the dog was able to tell his fate:
His breathing was quiet and he laid so eerily still; like a ghost.
Anything done now was too little too late.
So the dog, empathetic in its very being, lay down at his side,
To comfort him as he said his final prayers.
The dog let the man stroke him, watching (with fixed intent)
The shaky rise and fall of his chest—waiting for death.
Soon the blood exiting his pale body began to slow,
And the dog knew it was over. His job was done.
He had offered the one thing he could in his primitive being: mercy.
To a scared and lonely man, in the final moments
Of his short life.
Sleeping book slept through years within a box
Never once woke up even through the knocks,
Transported interstate across the countryside
Manoeuvred here and there around the nation wide.
Sleeping book dreamt he was significant; held dear
Even though long storage he was just a bit of gear,
One day removal of tape and styrofoam
At last sleeping book awoke to a loving library home.
Now propped on a shelf in a feathered golden stand
Upright and proud for now he is not crammed,
Happy to be picked up and sometimes even fanned
Never wished to be the best or be on high demand…
For sleeping book faced toward Novel of much love
People only handled her with lint-free cotton gloves,
Illustrated pages every reader had admired
Sleeping book around her always felt inspired.
To be read is the ultimate goal that we all books do have
Essays, Publications, Pamphlets-all of them are glad,
Regardless where we are- a shelf or near ones bed
Every book contented when only being read.
High summer at the Regiment,
Admin Inspection coming around
So they placed a little saluting base
At the edge of the Parade Ground.
A coco matting covered floor
On a stout square wooden base
Which the fatigue party
Manoeuvred carefully into place.
Now I may have worn a uniform
And been a soldier by name
But i preferred to play
Very unmilitary games.
So, every night I visited
That special little place
And ceremoniously and seriously
Passed water on the saluting base.
How I loved the thought
That the building smell
Would make of that area
A pungently urine smelling hell.
Alas, all good things
Must come to their end
Because sadly I was discovered
By an equally discontented friend.
And before I knew it
Every single night
Folk were treated
To the unedifying sight
Of an ever growing band
In the process of urination
On that little coco matted
Official saluting base station.
Discretion being the thing
And the damage being done
We ceased operation and left
Further action to that of the sun.
Having sadly been posted for
Unspecified but suspected crime
I was not present there
Come Admin Inspection time
So I never did find out
If it all went well
And the Inspecting Officer suffered
My planned olfactory dose of Hell
So many many years later
In odd moments of leisure
I like to think it did, and that
Gives me such intense pleasure.
The pure pleasure or the serene pain
That oozes helplessly out of the deeds honest
Leaves no burden , nor squeezing strain ;
The cordial words of solace are blest
And are duly prompted by the just mind
The pure joy of a dancing flower ,
The warm touch of the moderate sun
The sprinkling drizzles from the clouds that hover ,
Have no match for the joy beyond fun ;
Enough and more, often choke the breath
An ignorant lie or manoeuvred gesture ,
A manifest design or clever artefact ,
Perhaps could never settle like the pearly moisture
On the lean grass or along a leafy tract
And instill keen delight in the wilderness .
It was an impromptu journey,
A sudden and quick decision,
I needed to unwind,
I needed to ease the stress,
Travelling was a remedy,
It was a panacea,
My cousins were delighted to see me,
So were their parents,
It was a memorable moment,
Every stress and burden eased off,
Then came the time to leave,
I had come to the end of my stay,
Lectures had begun in full swing,
Staying further was a death trap,
I had a grade point to salvage,
I took the morning bus,
The driver was a hell racer,
He manoeuvred, meandered and swerved,
Some passengers' hair stood on end,
They pleaded for him to slow down,
He said,
Time was of the essence,
Arriving early was paramount,
He had overtaken a truck and
was neck to neck with the second,
Out of the blues came another facing us,
My heart had left its chamber,
I had seen my end,
The driver slowed down,
Swerved in between the two trucks,
We heard the sound,
It was like a hurricane as the truck sped past,
That was a close encounter with death,
I had seen it staring at me,
I had seen it put out its hands for an embrace,
The rest of the journey was at a steady speed,
It didn’t matter when we arrived anymore,
There was a calmness in the atmosphere.
They thought i was disabled by choice, not by veracious right,
They thought, ‘cos i objected to medicine’s lady,
But my parents were both a malady,
To medicine’s elegance and height.
My parents were faith healers, into prayer,
For coughs, colds and constipation,
And so I did object to faith consummation,
Rather than medicine’s beautiful lair.
I was desperate to become independent by a male OT,
But I hid my yearning, covered by my face,
My sociology became bad and with a poisoned lace,
Until I had to escape the worlds of religion and disability.
My blue bird lifted upon my sight,
And then i confounded the solid door,
Manoeuvred into the computing floor,
In the stillness of the night.
A very small thought passed my mind,
Right or wrong? There’s morality in existence,
But i did just continue on without much persistence,
The keyguard from the cupboard to find.
After half an hour or so, there it was,
My name on top of the high score board,
RIM, never to be belittled or to have water poured,
On this gamer of much dexterity, cause.
So i was functional, that would just say everything,
But i knew and felt I’d turned the tide against me,
Hot with sweat, i did not have nature on my side umbilically,
And the law would also condemn my aiming.
However, i did think i could still complain legally,
Against no named person for living and loving,
And because i was also disabled and aggravated, in the ring,
I thought I’d not be charged necessarily.
Life under threat, but there are boats,
Sea water may not be right for an isolated disabled child,
And paddles can avenge the tide to forward gild,
That child from the darkness of no votes.
Nature comes back and people burn,
To help you up your ladder of reason,
And sea water is by no means treason,
So i did change from that day on to upturn.