Long Montage Poems
Long Montage Poems. Below are the most popular long Montage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Montage poems by poem length and keyword.
There’s quite a sale in my garage,
A poet’s plethoran montage
Of metaphors and similes
And verses guaranteed to please.
A nest of nouns, a vat of verbs;
Some quotes quite perfect for your blurbs.
A carton filled with stale clichés,
Which budding writers can rephrase.
I’ve baskets filled with parts of speech
Left from the days I used to teach.
So many sentences to choose,
Ambitious wordsmiths cannot lose.
So come on down – check out my stuff;
Describing it’s not good enough.
A poet’s sale is most inviting –
It may spark a love of writing!
Ilene Bauer
September 6, 2012
(this was accidentally deleted from my poems list, so i wanted to reenter it)
Disillusioned
She remembers her childhood.
The thrill and new penny feeling of being outside when the sun has set! When shadows drew shadows that grew shadows.
The intoxicating sense that she wasn't being a “good girl”, that she was doing something forbidden. A feeling only, she had no words to define this.
All things were alive and friendly, all things and all people loved her. Never had she known low morals, harsh judgements, base emotions.
Why, an eight or nine foot tall mouse with a silly name and gloves was exciting and fun! Something she laughed at and clapped her hands with joy! A super friend she could play with…
…not a terrifying diseased rodent, protecting itself from fingerprint analysis, with idiot, inbred eyes and needle- sharp teeth hungry for her blood!
No, to her child eyes, her still under warranty, blue eyes, the crescent moon was a smile on the friendly face of the night sky. The two brightest stars, the eyes, that look at her with approval and decency.
A Montage of calendar pages rip away and float off screen …
…and we watch as the young blue eyes subtly change. They slowly lose focus and begin to look past us into the distant past, the soon to be future? Who knows.
She remembers her childhood.
When she believed no one meant her any harm. When she trusted that the dark night face of the sky, the crescent moon, was a smile. Looking down on her with love.Now…
...Now…
That bright crescent moon looks like a sneer. A sneer on the face of the demented, psychotic sky…
…leering at her.
LEERING. At. Her.
Fragile resolve aspires
to capture the residual rainbow,
weaves the lattice of life
with spectral ribbons,
turns into a self-destructive
psychosis syndrome
that fails to fling
the insane illusion
in the cloud of dreams,
for it has hypnotic leverage
on the mind,
mangled by
s t o r m.
Wedged by the splitting bevel
of slashing time,
the frail fragments of failure
get lacerated from life,
scatter on the path
to the rainbow,
yet untraveled,
meanders marooned
in debris of derelict dreams,
disappear down the deep sinkhole
of dusky oblivion.
In lucent mystique mind,
transmuting thoughts
flash on
ebony emotions.
Absolved of self-qualm
psychic crystal sparkles
in sense stars’ aurora flare,
traces the prime trajectory
from the cosmic soul’s
nebulous abyss,
within.
In the mesmeric meadow
of the inner topography,
seraphic shadows dance mystified
with gorgeous sequined glitter
of the sensuous stardust
in the tune of
buoyant bliss.
The discernment mindscape
makes the montage
of the existential rainbow,
d i s m a n t l e d.
I stand
Standing upon the emerald landscape
posture stiff and still
Eyes like black holes
devouring the space around me
Glass horse galloping, prisms
exploding through the plainlands
Time passes faster and faster
the clouds cocoon and bloom
into a wrinkled face,
nearing a necessary wail
I blink
A cliffside abbey, tourmaline waves
crash into the fissured face
Hung to the horizon, dangling
like a Christmas ornament above the sea
A gaggle of nuns gather to practice their vespers
clasping on their ash wood rosaries
The atmosphere arranges
in etudes as the cliffside ascends
I fall
Wading face up in a bog
a common frog hops along my halo
I saw a woman I once loved
wrapped in the storm clouds, gliding
There's a murmur in the shifting
leaves above me,
the purest peatland water slowly rises
as though I’m an egg to be pickled
Drowning in the songs of the ancient
the spectral, the still unknown
I sink
Suspended in the cloudy drink
a liquid haze
a glowing quilt finds itself
around my shoulder blades
Where I imagine wings
would be surgically stitched
Adrift in the murky space,
I am an audience to an Annunciation
of marbled crawdads birthing clones
of nature performing miracles
Now I finally find a restful peace
amongst the kaleidoscopic
Fresh home from therapy,
and resonate with zeal
tush air cerebral cogs a turn'n
analogous to and pinion wheel
hence attempt made to bare soul,
sans thru poetry re: veal
ling avidity, asper barreling neurological
daily kos loaded truck full
heading toward figurative
lifelong landfill deposits
on weekly psycho
logical session I unseal
manipulating bothersome issues
controlled via bot size thumbwheel,
which grave undertaking i.e.
professional counseling allows,
enables, and provides opportunistic
gradual process at selfheal
ling oft times necessitates
reviewing silent Virgina reel
comprising the story
of earlier life piecemeal
akin to a slapdash montage
chronicling existential ordeal,
now referencing adenoids
(removal first mention within
poetic endeavor, when young boy)
loosely linkedin with nasopharyngeal
pseudo oral palate
highway tucking each meal
across miniature bridgework,
ma late mum meekly
acceded to doctors orders,
said operation sub
sequently deemed unnecessary
affecting negligible decreasing nasality
predicated on split (bifid
or bifurcated uvula), viz laryngeal
utterances finds me speculating
speculating now, whether taking kneel
ling pose possibly coo dove
wrought divine intercession
giving me super powers ideal
for fighting off being bullied
gloating this instant imagining
bringing beastie boys to heel
actual reality visit my kid self,
a most convenient scapegoat
socially withdraw puny size lad
internalizing hateful barbs glom
ming up significant emotional gearwheel
inferiority complex predominating
supplemented with cumulative
anger, a potent feel
ling exacerbating anxiety prone disposition
courtesy chromosomal
(pop'n mom genes) art of the deal.
when her shadow cracked
fragments entered her mind
shards of false gold
pierced façade and persona
left her in pieces
splintered images and illusions
the mask had been held tight
a rope strangled the puppet
clown’s grimace incised
by strings of attachment
and forced assimilation
a mirage in the making
projection of fake courage
pied piper tune on the march
dissonant shrieking contour
silhouette of crushed empty words
with no choice left
she picked up the pieces
and timid surface tension
adhered to the task
of reconstructing a narrative
without othering
gendering
ab-normalising all rupture
when she looked at the mosaic
the patchwork montage
appeared more sustainable
self-sufficient and rewarding
as the sum of all parts
had been hidden in a whole
where the light needed to fill
crevices and fissures
and she began to accept
time lines and gaps
which assembled
the shape of outlines
of necessary change
12th August 2021
“In the twilight sky’s fading fresco of sensual shimmer
the sequins of memory sprinkle on me entranced.” – Quote by poet
In the misty milepost of the penultimate pathway,
at the faded fringe of the obscure future,
the waning tune of vibrant chromatic strings
of the setting sun in the twilight zone,
reverberates the requiem for the skeletal tree,
silhouetted tranquil against the sundown skyline
of transient radiance, witnessing despondent
the last sand grain mark the trail of destiny
in the cauldron of time, illumined by the final flash
of the decayed day, d y i n g….
In the gleaming twilight ambiance under dulcet dome
the sky is still to be filled with the chromatic pile
at the end of the pathway that will take me home,
I wish for me the spent sun waits for a while to set.
In the twilight hour the sky creates a collage of colors,
weave for me the panorama for the ultimate walk.
I stand at the signpost of the last mile of my journey,
wondering what lies at the end of the ordained path.
The deformed shards of the splintered sky
spin in gyrating gale with the shattered shadows
of the terminal torment on convoluted convoy
of the curled-up bleak clouds, the remnant rays
of sanguinity sparkle still in the departing flare
of the sinking sun, drowning the montage
of the migratory memory,
compose the latent melody of the unsung dreams
with fossilized life’s incoherent cadence,
sequestered in the spectral lyric
of the sunset swansong, r e s o n a t i n g ….
In a dream of future foreseen, a stranger I see,
Familiar, yet foreign, just staring back at me.
Lines etched by laughter, eyes bright with knowing,
Face creased, scarred and pitted with forgoing,
Harangued and haggled with lines of old age.
A tapestry of choices made, right there on stage.
Suddenly, I recognize this creature standing there.
It's a strange concoction of self-awareness in the glare,
It's my future self, rejigged and rearranged,
Of future and past potential, all there estranged.
There's a whispers of triumph in the hair,
Shades of regret, darkness under the eyes that stare.
Rosy cheeks beam the warmth of relationships much cherished.
A smile half-baked is tangled in lament, entwined, embellished.
I see a montage of moments I've not lived yet.
An amalgam of potential, of what not quite, not yet met.
Of things tried, juggled, shuffled, as corrections.
Of resolutions, lessons, and inner self-reflections.
What dreams were bloomed? What paths were trodden?
What mountains were scaled? In what sea was I sodden?
How has this future seen, and past reshaped, conned the future me?
It's mosaic of maybes, a collage of what could be,
A kaleidoscope of who I could, and might be yet.
An echo chamber for all my tomorrows yet to get.
Shaken and forsaken, I awaken to the real myself,
Saying goodbye, good riddance, to my future self.
The turning wheels of the fleeting transient time
rotate enduringly with life’s rhapsodic kaleidoscope,
creates the enchanting picturesque patterns prime,
crafted by the mélange of flashing mesmeric hope.
All the contrived chameleon colors transform
the visage of mind’s vast undulating topography
into an ashen wasteland ravaged by discord storm,
or into a tortuous glistening emerald valley.
I am flying beguiled on the butterfly wing,
flittering in the rippling air out of distress,
before it flies away beyond the spell of spring,
forms for me the tapestry of happiness.
My mind’s canvas turns into memory montage,
as the receptive consciousness free of strife,
configures bliss in the kaleidoscopic collage,
I see the reflection of joy in the mirror of life.
You came on the wings of zooming breeze,
blew a sensuous storm of fervor through me.
I held the petals of love in my heart to appease,
lest they flew away to the wilderness of obscurity.
The transitory flame of the trajectory of crave
furrowed in my mind a blazing trail of yearning.
I traced its amorous track with ardor to engrave,
even if like the flicker of your love it was fading.
Losing the longing in the darkness of desolation,
I ambled on sea-shore of sorrow, eyes full of brine,
swirled like the dislodged sands with split emotion
in the tide of remote times when you were mine.
Sleeping on the desolate edge of the lonely night,
I see you as a star in my dream sky in times tough
when it sparkles for a while to disappear out of sight,
and in despair I regret I didn’t dream of you enough.
As the winters of the old times get lost, to me it’s clear
in the life that awaits me what I could wish for as new.
I look forward to the future that’ll unfold year after year
with the changing vista of fulfillment for me and for you.
I’ll walk mesmerized in the blooming garden of glee
where I haven’t gone awhile though it’s just next door.
In the twilight gleam how the new leaves glisten, I’ll see,
observe the surreal patina of spring I haven’t seen before.
Sitting by the window open to enticing nature at sunset
I’ll see in splendorous autumn the trees gilded galore,
read the poems of love of an unknown romantic poet,
feel the passion of lingering youth I haven’t felt before.
Fragments of dusk, like a montage
The pagoda of trees
Nocturnal smiles and whispering;
Are caught up in the breeze.
Then a young star rises above
Her fingers warmly crown…
Dusk breaking nightfall, glints the air
While a city slows down.
* )
~ ] ]
Yet, fireflies rustle through the leaves
And naughty kids tiptoe
On slivers of shimmering grass,
Across the garden’s row.
Crickets trail into a backyard
Frogs moan a husky tune…
Where cats appear on rooftop walls
To serenade the moon.
Soon all these vignettes of the dark
Lay out a homey nest,
To gather strength for morn’s promise
Unfolding at her best.
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All The Little Pieces Contest
Rhyme xaxa 8/6/8/6
Sponsor: Broken Wings 9/17/2016