Long Modest Poems
Long Modest Poems. Below are the most popular long Modest by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Modest poems by poem length and keyword.
"Having grown up in an idyllic village, I consider myself as blessed. I was rid of all rigid formalities of urban living. Enjoyed the artless innocence of countryfolks, breathed fresh air, occasionally pranced through wilderness, talking to wildflowers and butterflies" - By Poet
There’s nothing like the lovely rustic charm,
Sent out by far flung lush green country farm.
Where trees in glee sweep heaven with their crown,
And songbirds, the surrounding valley drown.
There the air, fresh and sweet like forest glade,
And Heaven blesses rich, the country wide.
Where the rural folk in their toil and pride,
With their artless and modest life reside.
To such idyllic bliss, I long to go,
Where life like a silent river shall flow.
(Re tiny box-like homes lining the west side of
South Bundy Drive, north of Nebraska Street, in West LA)
The soiled feeling comes not
From the indignant paradise
Scurrying past their frontal lobes
It arrived in silence
Borne of being first to the party
And the ensuing, deafening wars
With the partycrashers
With their cranes
Their progress
Their eclectic sense of
Civilized degradation
Squeezing the life from
The Boxes Before Nebraska
That modest set of
Stoic pre-war cookie-cutter domiciles
Perfectly groomed
Impeccably aligned
For Ozzie and Harriet, and
Their silent parade of nasty
The Boxes, they struggle
To remain relevant in the haze of
Modernity's hammer and
Banality's autoimmune disease
To avoid temptation as
The developer's succulent lips and larceny
Get wider and wetter
To simply let be amidst the swollen busy
Not to mention a new cast of characters to contend with:
- The brackish bendejo careening in stride, unaffected by the Boxes' sidewalk's ill-timed permanence and oblique conundrums, left from quakes and lashings of yore
- The livid madman embracing his next lethal dose of humanity as he marches, barks and feuds with phantom nemeses camped out at the Boxes' doorstep
- The ragged cougar across the street, squeamish exterior gone bad, pounded into Angelino submission by the tricks and spells she conjures and endures
- The dual threat of LA Fitness night trolls, basking in cardio vampire glow, while the next morning's brew of rainbow children percolates into G-d's bitter latte, sipped cupless on fresh asphalt.
And yet...they stand
Together as one
By accident
By stupor of justice
By de jure
By no better place to go
Testament to legacies
Begging to remain
Living proof that
Bounty, modesty and sanctity
Can be achieved
When you stop thinking outside of the box.
(4/11/15)
On Saturday afternoons long ago, when cartoons faded from the TV’s glow
A teenager earned a modest pittance, to finish the week with his remittance
From coins for cans and chores to do, the basement became the work place too
A weekly ritual dust and sweep, and memories were polished for us to keep
Years rolled on yet still there lies, a wooden shelf with the writing of “pizza flies”
A phrase half-lost, a family thread, echoing something once misread
From allowance paid to words unclear, the past returns as I sit here
In chores, in jokes, we had a good time, it’s these small moments of which I write
Understandable... the sensible
(three ringed circuitous) logic
to trumpet necessity
each individual moost heed
bedecking, cloaking donning,
ludicrous interloper facial covering,
(I prefer sporting
latest custom made
invisible máscaras faciales),
when commingling amidst madding crowd,
nevertheless coronavirus (COVID-19)
makes laughingstock kickstarting
maniacal paranoid testing yapping
authoritarians blabber ceaselessly
bleak household pandemic
plagues (sear ring)
robust human specimen,
hence yours truly,
a feckless (gibbon) primate
breathes sigh of relief,
why? cuz he counts himself insignificant
absolute zero worth
versus microscopic prickly orb
aging long haired pencil neck geek
best beat hasty retreat
to his man cave
not necessarily avoiding microbial denizen,
yet any potential suffering
scouting out troubadour woefully
jackknifed inept hideaway
availed no choice
rolls out Harris tweed Scottish matt
courtesy minuscule germ man
greeting me with gotcha!,
I willingly surrender
the only thing at stake iz my life,
which would immediately
ebb fate (mine),
automatically buzzfeed chap
offer no chance
for symbiotic relationship
as pathogens indeed choreograph
(dirty deed done dirt cheap)
loft hilly doth waft
through cellular skeins comprising
garden variety/ generic gent
herewith essentially crafting
his poetic epitaph
before onset disables,
disallows, and disvalues
one humble, intelligent, jesting
kindhearted, literate, modest
nincompoop aimlessly adrift
within Brownian movement
(*****sapiens random motions
viewed miles skyhigh)
ostentatious, piteous, querulous,
ridiculous, superfluous, et cetera,
thus forward donations
and/or pledge
(I promise you -
swear to dog
portion of me ashes)
to favorite charity
and will hoop to visit thee as repurposed
noun, verb, adjective, adverb, pronoun,
preposition, conjunction, interjection,
numeral, article, or determiner...
In school we're taught that laws will always last
Students were told to chase a college dream
Student debtors hoped their loans would clear fast
Building a world where knowledge remains free
High schools were praised for high admission rates
When their grads went to famous colleges
The government gave loans to fill the gates
Knowing how the price of school increases
Americans filled campuses with hope
The colleges raised fees and opened doors
Loans given with ease, but no way to cope
Put weight on student debtors evermore
This was a way to tie their futures down,
Shifting rules, breaking promises pronounced.
Women took out loans for grad school with trust,
Believing promises their debt would fade
Teachers worked twenty years in class, fair and just
Yet, watched their balance grow and not be paid
Their rising debt brought panic to their lives
They sold her homes and cars to meet the strain
Two decades teaching earned them money's strife
And left student debtors with modest gain
She felt trapped like an indentured servant
Whole interest climbed despite her earnest care
No matter how much she was diligent
No money, no path to get her kids there
Why must a teacher tell students to climb
Weak ladders built on debt for endless time?
End of two sonnets, full stop.
Shining gold afterthought:
Why encourage kids
To indenture themselves
For learning that should be free?
My favorite poem of the late, great Keith Bickerstaffe, Petal.
************************************************
Petal
Pink and perfect mystery
to which I ply my finger,
she ripens so exquisitely
the longer that I linger
and fluff the modest blossom
with my gentle loving hand,
teasing, ever pleasing
so that now I understand
how beautiful the flower
that yields without duress,
blooming now so fully
in the warmth of my caress.
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2006
*****************************************
RIP, Mr. Bickerstaffe. You are missed!
The Uncontest Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Anthony Biaanco
Date written: 06/21/2020
Without remorse, he told the tale
Of willful acts of poaching.
And I, his friend, had balled my fist,
Preparing to reproach him.
But he went on to describe the time;
Nine siblings of meager means,
With no father to supply them bread;
The meat had stretched the beans.
A blue-haired girl in studded jeans,
Piercings adorned her face.
I scoffed inside at this punked out girl
Who had set herself so out of place.
And yet her clothes were modest and clean,
And she carried her head aloft.
Her apparel screamed, “PLEASE, NOTICE ME!”.
But her spirit was mild and soft.
We live in a world with billions of souls;
Diverse and dynamic and vast.
We must yet find a way to get along
If a peaceable world is to last.
Yes, in judging the acts of our brothers,
I profess we react too fast.
For each sinner yet has a future . . .
And every saint has a past! *
* Oscar Wilde . . . "Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future."
Who stole the rainbow?
After the drizzle, a small rainbow appeared
that's right
Let it be clear, the professor said, not a hegemonic
rainbow strutting about the sky, demanding to be
admired for its bright colors
The modest rainbow was telling children it was safe
to come out and play, and never mind, a drop or two
from a drying cloud
There is no rainbow in Gaza, bombs fall,
fragments of steel kill children who have not seen
a rainbow not even in dreams
In a foreign land, young people demonstrate they
want everyone to have a rainbow
alas, arrested by the hegemonical elders
corrupted by artificial irises that fill pockets of gold
One bright spark asks, what about the children?
Are there any left?
They were both afraid and madly in love, but neither he nor she would say goodbye. They fought back the tears for the longest time before each of them
began to cry. They met in Paris and fell deeply in love, whereupon the greatest dilemma was born. Yes, their emotional world merged, and the
romance began, but they were deeply torn because they lived oceans apart. The time flew quickly by, and they were duty bound to depart. There were
sparkles in their eyes, but there was a despairing lump in their hearts from the start. She was very rich and he was of modest means; and it would take
more than love to unite them together. They knew that their lives would not become one, but their friendship could somehow last forever. Or could it?
Realizing that they had to fly or sail away, never to be reunited on another day, they bought a hand held replica of the Titanic, a symbol of despair and
tragedy to give comfort to their malady. He returned to his home in Sydney, Australia., and she to Manitoba, Canada, 8,926 miles apart. They knew that
the likelihood of them being together again was as likely as the replica being placed in the Indian Ocean and reaching her in Manitoba via the shores of the
Pacific, or her replica reaching him from a launching in the Pacific and reaching the Sydney shores of the Indian ocean. Nevertheless, when they
reached home from Paris, they did the unlikely. Two love letters, their last and only letter, were attached to their Titanic and set sail. In Paris, she was 20,
and he was 21. Now, both are widowed and remembering each other. Jerry is 81; Mary is 80. Both Jerry and Mary had attached a strong red
cloth to their letter hoping that someday it would be read. But until then, the wait continues as their lives sail on. Apart.
010621PSCtest, The Last Love Letter, Mystic Rose Rose
I have received an obscene comment
from a sick, slandering mouth on this poetry site,
calling me a filthy monkey with intense anger;
and is this person a human being or beast?
And how would I address this demon: sir or
madam? I use no discretion when dealing with fools,
and let them hear and feel the deep tone
of my thundering voice, bringing on a violent storm...
o idiot, approached by the Devil to manipulate such a worthless soul
You've picked your target, lashing at us with uncontrolled madness,
is your behavior, so bizarre and extremely rude, to embarass,
to harass and harm us? Be warned, it is to no avail...
the fairest reward for your obscenities is Hell!
You are messing with the creative minds of modest folks,
willing and ready to fight back and triumph over your wickedness!
Has Satan and his Fallen Angels ever conquered Heaven?
Will you, with your envy and vengeful words ever defeat us?
We are honorable, unfeigned, dignified and loved for our sharedl kindness,
and that makes us extraordinary beings among the unintelligent criminals,
who mortify, demoralize, threat, abuse, and kill the very essence of morality;
we excel in our unique and remarkable ideas that make many tremble,
and you will tremble at the appearance of the Archaengel of Vengeance!
Our spirit will not be demeaned by your constant and horrible curses,
we are united in this fight, not to let you seal our mouths with silence!
Was Brutus or Hamlet a human being or beast? Do you see a disparity?
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci