Long Newfangled Poems
Long Newfangled Poems. Below are the most popular long Newfangled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Newfangled poems by poem length and keyword.
Newfangled wonderful ideas are swirling, twirling in my head,
elysian thoughts of total bliss and tranquility comfort me, and I am,
winding up to begin a new me, oh yes, I am on the threshold !
Blast off is imminent, a new me is opening like a red rose, I have
everything to gain_ time to put things into action. I have a plan !
Getting organized is part of the joy and fun, because
inside me there is a fire burning, and I am ready with a
new purpose and my motivation is at an all time high !
Nothing, nothing can stop my new beginning born from pondering
in isolation- I have found the new me (no, not new!) just lost.
Now, is the time for this girl to shine bright like a star !
Getting my plans in order- it begins with a first step, one- two- three,
setting in motion TODAY, but if I fail- will begin again, then, again !
_________________
January 23, 2021
Poetry/Acrostic/New Beginnings
Copyright Protected, ID 01-1323-264-23
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, New Beginnings
sponsor, John Hamilton, Judged 02/05/2021
Third Place
There is a cold and aimless fear
that grips our longing and aim—
like the talons of a hankered fowl,
readying itself to the plunge
of some inevitable sorrow…
The fear becomes a burning hurt—
one that is forgotten,
soon to be curled up and cold—
needing space and length to stretch
full bodied and shamed…
In the far-catching eyes of its skill,
it sees no goal—
only deadly possibilities
and drowsing hopes.
How can one write of such despair?
Humans cry out endlessly in the night,
forgetting that the day brings life,
and all breathe a newfangled breath
to conjure—
to capture—
hope beyond death!
How can they be fathomed?
these deep ends –
bubbling to begin,
stirring the earth
with fettered shame again?
Let their fears have aim toward the sky,
to the One who is the epitome of joy!
For in all the disappointments of this world,
every fowl thing will see its end,
every tear shall prove shameless,
And every fear only a dream,
A nightmare of weeping—
waking up eagerly to a love-filled day,
where all the previous cries of the night
have passed away
and warm, precious breath of gladness
eternally replacing the gray!
10/22/2019 - 10/25/2019
For three hundred thousand, of five billion years,
A fact never challenged by science or fears;
Upright Homo-Sapiens, embodied two genders,
Each body clearly favoring, the other body’s splendor.
But alas as we humans, have improved and evolved,
We decided old constructs, should now be dissolved;
By strong social order, and educated means,
Replaced by enlightenment, and the Science of Genes.
In a newfangled world where anything goes,
And dare not be challenged, questioned, opposed;
Men can be women, women now men,
A surgical metamorphosis, with the stroke of a pen.
As we blur the lines separating, factual truth,
Eliminating inequalities, deemed clearly uncouth;
Despite our clear difference, in gender and sex,
Fair treatment of genders, includes mutual respect!
We owe our world's progress, to mindsets deemed fair,
Of gender equality, that eliminates despair;
And instead of confusion, melding genders the same,
We should celebrate our differences, in far more than name.
Where are the magpies?
Where the ruined cathedrals
where are the birds
that once made their homes
in the hollow heads of saints?
Here all dwell in the new or the old
the days between are bulldozed,
the waste rubble resold.
Crowds seek out boarded-up exits
other crowds construct entrances
for new homes
that when assembled resemble all other's.
I need a hill to howl upon.
The land is flat, even the water is flat.
Mountains are small or not at all.
Yet there are midnight Magpies,
there are crows cawing in woodland churches.
Mythical back-eyed catbirds roam
from home to home. Many places are
not condemned to the newfangled
and yet still unoriginal.
Some magpie nests and appear almost near,
just under the eaves of a middling nowhere.
I’m falling, falling for you, entangled
in your crisp and shapeliness, newfangled
light and heaviness. Underneath I hide
the quiver of my chin, where smiles reside.
Innocence plays upon my lips, cerise,
the color of the maple, of Maurice —
you see i try to please all of my friends,
too many to count, to many attend.
I used to climb each limb - each branch and lean
into the lemonshine, the ground unseen.
The scent of caramel, burnt sugar, spice.
Nay - likely ice-cold rain and paradise.
The frond is gone, the hoar frost near of heart.
The soar, light whip of float - the eye in part
travels with wind and scent. The boa wrap,
variegated color — I take a nap.
Snow-white bungalow - an arctic igloo.
I must be rescued - ash soot up the flue.
Serendipity through the heap.
I’d been dreaming - up through the leaves I leap.
8/3/2021
An interesting Couplet
Sponsor: Funom Makama
Nature is whispering for me to come,
to meander in a forest- green hued;
and rest beside a gentle rippling stream,
then, lay among wild flowers in a field.
as butterflies float and my soul is healed,
and grief is washed away in a sunbeam;
soon, vine tangled winding trails still my mood,
and to the peaceful bird songs- I succumb.
Ducks and ducklings float in mossy pond scum,
as I watch them eat for an interlude;
oh, my view is a painting color-scheme,
and in nature all my pain is unsealed.
For it is in God's beauty I let go,
beneath a beautiful weeping willow;
I throw away all my sorrow and woe,
and because of nature- I can now grow.
________________
June 23, 2021
Poetry/Sonnet/A Newfangled Sonnet
Copyright Protected, ID 06-1366-334-23
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
A Newfangled Sonnet- abcddcbaabcd eeee- 10 syllable lines
Written for the Premier contest, Contemporary Sonnet
sponsor, Charlotte Puddifoot, Judged 08/25/2021
Sixth Place
Untangled at last, amid wire entwine, the lost connector newly found
It will not work without it so no picture and no sound
Next step to find the slot to put it in, not easy when there's a legion
There's one here and another in that region
Which one is it and in sets the panic
Frantically trying each aperture like some old manic
Still no pic, is that crackling I can hear
A faint smell of burning from somewhere near
Quick pull that wire out before something blows up
Too late! It's already begun to erupt
Like some latent volcanic mound
I knew this machine was destined to confound
Wrong choice of connector so it would seem
But the burning and crackling have run out of steam
Does anything at all work around here
Technology has given me no pic, no cheer
Broken, it's carefully placed with the others
Awaiting return and all that bother
I swear I will never again buy newfangled
That blasted machine I would gladly have strangled
It was 64ºf and overcast this morning when Lisa and I started our 5-mile jog to the Harbor and back. We always start our semesters this way. We’re emotionally ready for fall weather and hopefully, a long and cruel winter.
Sunny, Lisa, Leong and I were starting the morning with breakfast together. We have summer catching up to do.
Of course, Sunny never does the expected. Over a bowl of heart-shaped Cheerios in the cafeteria, she announced that she’s “really going to try this year.”
“That's a choice,” Leong admitted dryly.
“You mean academically?” Lisa asked, for clarification purposes.
“Wait,” Leong updogged, “Did your parents ask for proof that you were here?”
Sunny rolled her eyes, she knew she’d get trolled with a newfangled declaration like that, but she meant it and she wasn’t tempted to elaborate.
“You’re a phoenix, rising from the ashes,” I said encouragingly.
“It’s a 4th in a lifetime opportunity,” Lisa noted.
Handling university academics is largely a structural task.
All it requires is artfully arranging information and slices of time.
“You’ve got this,” I affirmed.
“Let’s not get excited,” Sunny cautioned, “One reason I’m so hot is that I’m emotionally unavailable.”
“It’s your best quality.” Leong observed.
Tick tock, we’re all still unpacking but things are taking shape. Senior year starts in 3 days.
.
.
Songs for this:
Suddenly I See by KT Tunstall
Don't You Worry 'Bout A Thing by Stevie Wonder
Our cast:
Sunny, (roommate) 21, is from Nebraska, she’s a cowgirl (seriously, she has a quarter horse and barrel races it), she’s an outspoken fem-facing ladies-lady whose life is an endless parade of ‘sleepovers.’ Sunny knows all the best gossip and she’s somehow befriended all the professors.
Lisa, (roommate) 21, A Manhattanite and reluctant ‘glamor girl.’ My bff. A fellow (pre-med) molecular biophysics and biochemistry major.
Leong, (roommate) 21, is from Macau, China - the Las Vegas of Asia and a proud communist (don’t knock it til you’ve tried it). She and Sunny are ‘molecular, cellular, and developmental biology majors.’ I speak Cantonese - I lived in Shenzhen China (about 30 miles from Macau) - maybe that’s why she was originally paired with us?
Me, Your writer is just a simple country girl from Athens Georgia.
The oranges came upon the
Reds followed too quickly by golden
Yellow leaves.
Hitting his own autumn the commuter took
One moment to suppose that
Tree had something to do with his own time here but
The metaphysical was beyond grasp.
He understood the sell and the buy
The unstoppable flow of raw goods
To manufacturer to emporium to consumer to junk yard.
He blew his horn anxiously at the gawker in front
And sped down the boulevard toward
Another day—telephone tied to his ear
Retailing and counting exchanges in minute specialty.
Outside, one child
Lays looking through the trees for the day to break
Catching for the first time the mix of redorangeyellow.
The horn breaks his moment.
He too remembers the school bell
And skips off for another repetition
Of yesterday.
I hold on stretching the moment
Out past millenniums opposing the rush
Into eternity proffered by the Wallstreets of America,
Walmarting each of us onto a higher plane of shopper madness.
Shoppers of America, lechers of our time,
Cannot even laugh at me for my leftover
Quixotic operation on the Schuylkill River.
For their stare is lodged at King of Prussia Mall
With its answer to the repetition of changing trees-
Newfangled toys for every day let alone Hanukkah and Christmas.
If they had seen me they could have pointed
To their children an example of
A wasted life without
A patch doll or plastic jack-o-lantern
In the window above the garage door leading into my home.
I kickedaleaf and tried frantically to slow down the trifling time
I had before the parts of my body wanted no more to carry the weight
of my mind digressing or my conceit.
I love a poem that I can understand,
not tangled threads(obscurity’s dark web),
but glove of silk that slides off Poet’s hand.
Newfangled poetry can have an ebb;
its words can from the shoreline of my mind
recede into their author’s murky sea.
Like birds on splendid wing, the poems the kind
I need are those which sing with clarity!
To soar, a verse best-written is sublime.
To such as this I’m drawn, so I essay
to pour my thoughts on paper, adding rhyme;
then touch them up, succinct in what I say.
How strange I sometimes hours might take to write
a mere fourteen-line sonnet that is trite!
Jan. 23, 2021
for Charlotte Puddifoot's the 'Open Poetry 1' Poetry Contest