Long Mundane Poems
Long Mundane Poems. Below are the most popular long Mundane by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mundane poems by poem length and keyword.
Have you never tasted hunger
Tread the alleys with the stealthy
Cried the tears of someone younger
While you dined among the wealthy
Shuffled through the papers
Through the pages of despair
Embittered by the capers
Neglect, hanging in the air
Step with me through the sadness
Let me open up your eyes
Weave, careful past the madness
Past the sorrow and the lies
The chains of bondage tighten
No future's in your sights
Do you wish to be enlightened
To embrace those dizzy heights
Piled high upon the pyre
The lost and the insane
The corpses piling higher
Entombed in the mundane
The root of all that's evil
A meaning to their end
More money than they'll ever need
More wealth than they can spend
The scales of justice tipping
With the deadweight of their sins
The wings of Angels ripping
As the final count begins
The boatman treads the water
As you wade the river Styx
The silver in your pocket
For to score the Devils fix
Lost in this sea of torment
While Hell exacts its toll
Your name is etched, inclement
On His register of souls
I try and try to read long poems
But then I find if it carries on
I daydream or lose focus
A.D.D. does hocus-pocus
I try and try to stick to a plan
But find myself wondering and
Traveling roads less than ideal
Who’s to know if it’s worth thrill
I try and try to use my muse
But in time I become her fool
For she leaves me in a block
My writing has been ruined stopped
You can tell this when you read
My words lack a certain quality
And it like a babbling baby blurts
Drooling in ink on paper as works
I suppose I still find peace
Even in mundane writing
I hope to write something great
To make a difference in a literary way
Words sculpt ideas in a fond gist,
Thought flow reveals day's poignant feel;
Movement made clear in some odd list,
Work and play thrill a spur of will.
Moments move brisk with swift surprise,
Action primes moods in splurge of fest;
Purpose greets risk to seize the prize,
Passion feels good in profound zest.
Each day I pause to write fine fit,
Allow my mind to collect thoughts;
Diary stains course of precious bits,
Memory finds how word scripts plot.
Pieces and bits of that and this,
Observe odd spills of happenings;
Jot cheer's fond wit in wordy bliss,
Time does reveal thoughts and feelings.
Days and weeks pass and months roll by,
Each day a link in time's passage;
A fragile glass of timely sighs,
Thoughts in plain ink for my message.
Highlights and trace of moments here,
Jolt of bold stance of inner poise;
Life that I face ample and clear,
Cheer knows the dance of charming voice.
Now when I flip pages to check,
Browse on old tact or mundane acts;
I come to grip with random deck,
Pace through past fact in previous pacts.
Words I now cite as events wrought,
Self-talk can tell me where and when;
Notice how writes spell what I bought,
Review propels the way back then.
Leon Enriquez
13 April 2016
Singapore
If I were a ballerina,
as graceful as a swimming swan,
I would joyously pirouette before You,
my God, my audience of one.
But I am not a ballerina,
I am clumsy and inept,
but You, my God, still bid me dance,
and You applaud my every step.
If I had the voice of an angel,
if I could sing with purest tone,
I would sing a song of worship,
while kneeling at your throne.
But I am but a clanging cymbal,
my voice harsh, not fit to sing,
but You, my God, still bid me come,
and sing my song, an offering.
If I were the greatest poet,
with words of golden rhyme,
I would write the perfect sonnet,
to honor You for all time.
But I am not a famous wordsmith,
my poems simple and mundane,
but, You, my God, are my inspiration,
let the words I write, Your praise contain.
Let everything I do be for Your glory.
May my life not be a sham.
I can be all You want me to be,
'cause You accept me as I am.
7/3/15
“Only from the heart can you touch the sky.” Mawlana Jalal-al-Din Rumi
I am a garden of Monet
thriving amidst
watercolor wilderness,
mourning the death of greens.
In pursuit of peace, where lilies
are tangled in tranquility,
I let my eyes slumber,
allowing my thoughts to wander
through an iridescent landscape
of unnamed orchards,
outlined with moon diamonds~
flickering luminous beams
upon my melancholic mind,
that remains a nomadic sojourner,
traveling through shifting time,
like kaleidoscopic roses,
splattered across the milky-way.
Happiness is more than
just an illusory noun
engraved from electric pens,
by passionate poets in quest of
a chivalrous expression,
intoxicated by ethereal imagism,
woven when life unfolds
a mundane cycle
flowing with razor-sharp regrets,
where we drown, paralyzed and lost
within somber phrases of serenity.
Yet, I refuse to pirouette like
a lamented leaf fleeting
above flowerless fields.
I am an amateur artist, painting
my sadness in captivating genres,
my brush is like an
odyssey of rainbow petals,
steered by a sleepless muse,
selflessly guiding my blushing heart
to sculpt sorrow with periwinkle dreams.
There I find blissfulness within
the butterfly breeze
of sakura sunsets,
falling upon my breathless ink,
longing to be traced
in musical tenderness,
illuminating this spiritual connection,
set aflame by embers
of fervent devotion,
dancing across the smooth sky of
sanguine seas,
where tides of infatuation
rinse away ripples of remorse.
For in this world of woes
I found a lyrical line
and turned it into an
illustration of sensuous sonnets,
emanating love and light
when metaphors have no meaning.
O sage silence,
in your unsung melodies,I found
a haven blooming with honeysuckles.
The sun and moon synchronized
into an amorous ambience.
Now I rest my angst
on pillows of endearment,
embroidered with sweet solace.
You will be the last summer
seeping along cinnamon
strings of my silhouette;
the aurora warmth to
my frosted dusk, forevermore.
I am finding that as I become creakier and so much older,
That I tend to keep peering back over my shoulder,
At the feckless and carefree youth I left so long ago,
Especially the happy times spent romping in the snow!
In yesteryear, I eagerly anticipated snow sans the worry,
For frozen pipes and icy roads with every wintry flurry.
It was my Pa's problem to deal with such mundane things,
Resulting from the howling blizzards that Old Man Winter brings!
A day wasn't complete without a rollicking snowball fight,
Or speeding downhill on my Flexible Flyer in headlong flight!
What sport to slide on frozen "cricks" using my boots for skates,
And falling on my rump trying to do fancy figure eights!
How pleasant it was after a rousing romp in the snow,
To gather 'round the parlor stove with faces all aglow,
Sipping cider with backs to the stove to warm your stern.
Oh! For the untroubled days of youth I shall ever yearn!
Now that I'm in the autumn of my life I have greater reason,
For having cast aside that childlike awe of the winter season!
For it is I who now must shovel snow and abide the cold,
As I hover nigh the fire and watch the winter storms unfold!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
If he were alive now, he would indeed be old,
my father, the scribe who held the code.
Genetic link passed on to me,
arranging words like these you see.
I would see him, pen in hand, late at night,
writing beneath the desk lamp light.
He showed me once a poem sublime,
mundane words transformed in rhyme.
I thought no more as it was past bedtime,
leaving him for the bedroom that was mine.
Skipping over that carpet frayed,
wishing now that I had stayed.
He died years later before his time.
His amazing poem held in my mind.
Until as an adult that seed has bloomed,
generation to generation, womb to womb.
in dogmatic stillness, since uncle died
he's been traversing the phantom dimensions
from endless skyscrapers to artic edges
through hailstorms of indignation
but then he met the pondering moor king
lost in abstractions of his cane castle
and blocked his everlasting glance for good
it was then, when mist(er)y girl showed up
eerie and blossomless, just like anathema
and took the hillside rambler by the hand
astonished spectators watched the lovesick couple
as they descended to the subway of hollow earth
crowded and restless, markedly hectic
everyone thought it's just a plain buffoonery
but no one could break the mundane restrictions
and all once for disrobe that badly sewn uniforms
then, the catastrophe - cyclonic catharsis
earthquake caused by the centipede march
sent the ones with fiery hearts down the drain
likewise the tin soldier and little Lady
and sentenced them to be lone again
I watch first rains on dusty countryside,
And know, no pathways etched are by despair,
And yet, hope comes like first showers to guide,
Give ample hints on how to go and where.
And a way out appears from nowhere,
With hope in heart walked hast man longer miles
On dead stretches, pathless alone that veer,
In darkling woods as in deserted isles.
Like migrating birds that on wide wings ride,
Hope seems to come on one’s own latent dare,
And sings eternal spring songs, fear decried,
Worry's no fond word, nor is fall unfair,
In hope man casts his net, wishes to snare,
To men of hope a begging bowl beguiles,
Busy that catch oyster pearls with hands bare,
Let darkling woods dare in deserted isles.
Yet, those that in great fear for time would bide,
Tying limbs and minds in ropes in mundane care,
Whence, wonder I, would hope come with fair pride,
How would fount hope in despair, all so rare?
It's hope, life survives from its wear and tear,
Hope, to walk free from edge of knife, time’s wiles,
And hope ‘tis that makes life easy to bear,
When darkling woods dare and life itself riles.
Envoi
So, let raindrops on dust never despair,
The first rainfall in hope hast carved out isles
In its diligent due concern and care,
That darkling woods dare, nor life ever riles.
___________________________________________
Musings (Ballade)| 02.02.2011 | hope
("Anagogical Moments Merit Badge" #39, 2011, original oil)
As Above So NOT Below
The tripartite world of material appearance
Sandwiched between the infinite depths
Of the unconscious
And infinite expanse
Of transcendent supraconsciousness
Encompasses all that is and isn’t
Known and unknown
Desired and undesirable….
Confused, turned upside down
By our own inverted perceptions
Most of us contentedly live
Lives of ignorant bliss
Even though it’s more often one of suffering
Nestled securely in the middle
Within the sandwich of two ineffables
High and low.
And then there are the few
Driven for whatever perverse reasons
To escape the safe and mundane
Striving for transcendence
Most often settling instead for descendence
Into the unconscious.
This is the easy path after all
The downward path of gravity
Earth Mother
Universal womb
And holy bhaga.
And so we go
Tempted by The Fates to strive
In whatever way they guide us
For the unattainable
Or that which once attained
Dissolves all other….
And so we rise
You and I against all odds
Against the force of Nature
Somehow turned upside down again
Totally mixed up and thus righted
In our confusion
Breaking for a surface
Which holds the light
A surface dividing
The above from the below
The earth from sky
The Mother from Father
Our past from future.
Rising, propelled with the last trace of breath, prana, chi
To break the surface
And cycle of existence
To finally at last break free.
To take another
And dive again.
(11/23/23)