Long Mendicant Poems

Long Mendicant Poems. Below are the most popular long Mendicant by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mendicant poems by poem length and keyword.


The Mystic Mire

To touch a leaf upon a tree and watch it shiver with delight 
and when the sun comes out to play to watch it swing and sway 
To gaze at shades of verdant greens intoxicated by their light     
anticipating hugs of warm from arms that want to go away 
this druid girl has had enough of cloud filled skies and endless nights 

To bow to nature like a Queen and serve it like a Regal King 
and as each thought of poor old me releases gifts of sympathy
I will bestow on Mother Earth my mended piece of broken wing
Perceptive with psychometry and mendicant telepathy 
this alchemist of touch and smell will tip the balance of I Ching 

To seize that moment of arrest when all the stars of heaven's pyre  
are plum content to glow and shine above a sky of April wine 
To fall in love beyond the hour with tenderness and deep desire  
to take what has been given sure and leave behind what isn't mine
this medium girl will walk the marsh and swim across the Mystic Mire   

Oct 10 2022 
Sponsor	L MILTON HANKINS
Contest Name	THREE STANZA POEM IN QUINTAIN (SICILIAN)


Footwear and a Mendicant

Footwear and a mendicant
After going to several shoe shops, I found shoes that fitted me
happy, I walked along and saw a woman sitting on the pavement
begging, she looked old for her age severely marked by poverty.
I stopped and looked for change; I didn’t have any, the woman 
waited, what to do now?
I could not walk past, like not noticed this wretched soul
I gave her a note of ten euros and cursed myself, but it triggered
a memory from my childhood.
Mother had gone into a shop she had stamps to buy woollen socks
nylon socks were for the rich; a lady walked past, saw my holed
tennis shoes my brother had outgrown.
She went into a shoe shop, came out with a pair of black shoes
gave them to me, they fitted perfectly; I couldn’t wait
showing them to the children on our road.
Mother came out in her hands had the woolly socks, 
I showed mother my shiny shoes; take them off, she said and 
put the tennis shoes on the new shoes are for Sundays only.
© Jan Hansen  Create an image from this poem.

Formidable flourishing fiends

Formidable flourishing fiends...

harangue since landing 
yours truly immersed 
in a dream-like 
fiercesome state of war,  
not quite a dream 
can be described 
as a "hypnagogic state" 
while virtually in Singapore,

where Katy Perry 
namesake of a lion doth roar
noise amplified courtesy dissonance 
while nine inch nails synthesize 
scraping across chalk board
evoking discordant soundcloud 
foo fighting beastie boys 
comprising a quatuor.

Socked away within
cerebral nooks and crannies
house mailer daemons
inconveniencing yours truly
i.e. an Indus das scribe
hub bull mendicant
bullying jimmying,
jump starting, joy riding
junket at breakneck speed
disregarding dangerous signposts

warning reckless (heedless) highjackers
speeding stolen heavily
sedated body (mine)
slap happily, obliviously,
jauntily (devil may
care attitude) careering
across rubble strewn
bombed out stone age terrain
gunning engine like
there's no tomorrow

zipping past crumpled
suspended abridged abutment
jarring sole abducted,
bound and gagged one tramp (me)
hurling over edge of cliff
temporarily free of gravity,
(albeit an infinitesimal eye blink)
between life and death
rapidly descending in accordance
with laws of physics,

when suddenly motion stops
as if thee Earth stood still
freezing all life forms
held as if invisibly tethered,
when ghostly debut appearance
courtesy Rod Serling
rattles of his trademark narration
"...fifth dimension beyond
that which is known to man.

...This is the dimension of imagination."
I resort to aforementioned loose analogy
to approximate mental state of limbo,
asper...this man falling to Earth
minus parachute on par
with crash test dummy
an absent firmament
to feel securely grounded
held stock still,

when moments before plunging
pitched head over heels...
only to find this mortal,
either entering or exiting
somnambulant state
only groggily awaking
out of deep sleep
falling out of bed
singing hup bout poor lovely bones.

Its My Birthday Every Day

Its my birthday every day just because I awoke to see another day 
a new breath an extra hour beneath my belt, I am God's living ray 

Defying all odds I am still here stumping the experts with my drill  
dancing in the sunlight like a dervish mendicant ascetic, no pills; 

I remember being six and blowing out the candles on my frosty cake 
mamma asked me sweetly to make a wish before the first snowflake 

I wished to live forever so I could find the secret of a well lit firefly 
and summer after summer I watched them as they lit up the sky 

It is my birthday today, every hour succinct to the next I like it this way 
twirling like a wild baton in a parade I bang my drum and I sing all day 

A new breath an extra hour beneath my belt, I am God's special girl 
a Mystic soul that refuses to lay down and die, while the stars unfurl 

I'll lay on the freshly mowed lawn and watch the stars shine from on high,  
while I recall mamma's birthday cake and the fireflies that once lit up the sky.

Date: April 22, 2021 
Sponsor Name: Charlotte Puddifoot 
Contest Name: Open Poetry 3
Form: Couplet

Waiting For Good Dough

No matter yours truly
(potential rising star -
analogous to ascending yeast)
bred for easy street
life of po' witless
mendicant nimbly,

pointlessly, and rhythmically
shuffles (think tramp)
along his poetic little feet
garden variety beastie boy
aimlessly, fortuitously, halfheartedly,
and mindlessly follows

one after another backstreet
revisiting, reminiscing, and relegating
lofty mollycoddled station bittersweet
birthright fame and fortune
teasingly did greet

finding twenty first century hobo
shack hulled with poverty
(think dirt poor),
I shoe cannot defeat,
which accursed fate socked yours truly,

where one after another failure did beat
once unassailable esprit de corps
near ready and willing to meet
exalted, fabled, gilded... seat
but woeful naiveté tricked with deceit

mine childlike innocence dripping effete
characteristics easily swindled for Pete
sakes since... young manhood, now wizened
old looking schnorrer marveling,
imagining, envisioning aggregating riches

coaxing, forming, hatching...
liaisons particularly romantically discrete
lavishing untold money during heat
of passion oblivious,
how ingénues with sweet
enticingly, ineluctably, luridly, beckoned

eventually no exit and other ploys
playfully blindsiding me with
one after another promiscuous tweet
barricades no exit wrought
with razor wire and concrete.


Damaged

Damaged

I try to love others,
With the hope of loving myself.
I cry when alone,
Because I feel so unloved.

My heart is bleeding, torn
Lost in unclear emotions.
I pretend to be happy to get by,
So that the world sees a star trying to shine.

I try to gleam but my moods confuse everyone,
My heart has lost its pigment to pain;
Trying to give out the little love I once had,
Like a mendicant, I entreat with the world to love me.

How sad it is, feeling like a nobody,
Always trying to push everyone away.
Yet I strongly need someone next to me,
Lost in my own body praying for something I don't even know of.

Every night sleeping asking myself questions,
They call me a mad poet, for I always feel like dying.
Not because I want to but because I feel like it's a need,
A solution to my emotional devastation and pain.

Poetry trying to give me a solid reason to try,
To try and strive for a better future yet I ask why?
Not knowing who I am anymore since I lost myself to you,
You broke me down into pieces I can't even figure out.

I'm a complicated puzzle you can't solve,
Even though I am trying to mend myself together.
I'm still much of a wreck trying to find the end of the tunnel,
Because I feel so bleak and tortured.

My tears have run out and my cheeks are dry,
All I want is just to die because it's not easy being me.
Life as hard as a piece of diamond,
Of course, I do pray 4 times a day bu,t it keeps getting darker.

God, please hear my prayers before I give up,
Help me oh Lord before I quit.
Because this pain I'm in is overwhelming my body,
My heart always beating endlessly a drum.

I feel like a damaged like a mirror,
Pieces can be brought together but never the same beauty.
I'm molested by the pain I face every day,
Yet my body can no longer sustain the pressure.

Despite all this torture I still smile,
Pretending that everything is fine with me.
Telling lies to the world that nothing is wrong with me,
Always around my friends with depression and anxiety

Fruit Vendor John

Fruit vendor John was polishing his pomegranates
The green piece of clean poplin was kissing warmly
He once rubbed the pinkish crust with the soft cloth 
Would then look at it with a mild pomegranate-care 
Is he looking himself into a mirror, I was wondering
Dissatisfied he would now collect a piece of muslin
That too as I saw got into a purple stimulant dance
Now pleased the vendor put it with its other siblings
He was treating every fruit almost in the same way
A floating bridge of friendship in the scented breeze



Above photo, I took yesterday early in the morning
At around five in the evening, I revisited his stall
Found him sitting with his chin held with his palms
Blank eyes face down focused at the flat pavement
What might have happened meanwhile, I wondered
Lips tight he moved his eyes to the empty grey kiosk
All the fruits have  left me, Sir,  leaving me all alone
No angel in the air, a hollow world in the bouquet



John lived just two houses away from my apartment
Around twelve in the night a sobbing sound alerted me
I stole a look through a window at the revolting scene
He was beating a pretty woman seemingly his wife


This morning I heard a mendicant passing by the road
Singing a  folk song of Bengal current through ages
You have no idea my heart you have no knowledge
How many persons live inside you, you have no hunch


August 23, 2019
Wow Me Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Nina Parmenter

Automobile Blues Fuels Exhausting Lament

Automobile blues fuels exhausting lament...

Indicator light signaling door(s) ajar
least significant issue concerning
2009 Hyundai Sonata car
applauded craftsmanship darn exemplar,
thus said vehicle deserves favorable avatar,

nonetheless vehicular maintenance
exceeds king's ransom by far
takes lion's share comprising regular
costs of living bar
none versus stream lined budget

regarding: accommodations,
food, medical coverage... far,
and away much more amenable
regarding no frills bizarre
lifestyle of yours truly plus costar

ring the missus, (who lacks
income unearned or otherwise)
our saving grace courtesy avuncular
Uncle Sam, he electronically deposits
social security disability embar

hissing mendicant wannabe
mental illness exacerbated
meting scant monies weakens flimsy pillar
buttressing minimalist existence par
for the course financial angst

ratchets psychological radar
impending crisis looming me... war
reed upkeep with automobile
which additionally includes... Omar
dog: lapsed emission/ inspection

passenger right side tire slow leak,
like gray matter of former scholar,
whose accomplishment
less substantial than agar
on petri dish loathes

his tractless doomed station,
nor his he advocate being a beggar,
yet series of unfortunate events
(thank ye Lemony Snicket)
bedrock steadfast credo secular

humanist never doth waver
amidst adversity though
perpetually unmoored buoy
weighed and zee gull live insular
lives bitterly weathering
psychic pestilential buggar.

Dust To Dust

He doesn’t remember 
his great grandfather
who passed away when he was five
He can’t recall the wooden heart 
he painted in a kaleidoscope of colors
that his father helped him to place 
carefully in the casket
His developing brain at some point 
over the past decade
determined the record of that day
and of the man himself 
he'd hugged before leaving the hospital 
when last he saw him alive
who had existed on this earth
for eighty one years 
to be dispensable
superfluous
It doesn’t matter who we are
mendicant or movie star
Someday no one will remain 
who retains memories of us 
It is not only our bodies 
that decay into dust

Premium Member My Favorite Legend

A prince born in the cradle of royal opulence
in the picturesque vale of the Nepal Himalaya, 
Siddhartha Gautama renounced worldly life,
turned a mendicant, embarked on spiritual quest.

Striving to escape the mist of mundane illusions
in the mortal life of overwhelming ignorance,
mind intensely controlled meditated beneath Bodhi tree,
until awake enlightened to become the Buddha.

The tanets of his teaching seeded in the Gangetic plains
flourished as a new spiritual concept of awakening,
spread beyond the shores of ancient India
to emerge as a world religion, the Buddhism.

Distressed mind withdrawn from the sense-responses,
stilled in the quietude of mindfulness,
finds the beam of divine light at the end of dark tunnel,
the righteous life gets the insight of wisdom.

Unsatiated cravings open the floodgate of suffering,
leading to karmic cycle of dying and being born.
The Buddha, my favorite spiritual legend, showed the way
of liberating the soul to attain the essence of nirvana.


Written : March 11, 2020
Contest : Completely Your Choice (7)
Sponsor : Brian Strand

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