Long Onetime Poems
Long Onetime Poems. Below are the most popular long Onetime by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Onetime poems by poem length and keyword.
Inside The Mysterious Enigmatic Fragmentary...
Mortal Mind Of Matthew Scott Harris
ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK!
Seedy gobbledygook ergot
visibly argot bubbled, burbled, bustled...forth
yea...give garbled, jangled, warbled shoutout
if ye doth render
mug gadabout totally confounding,
this unfettered voluminous confection
ruff lee in toto as sample
doggone freelance gargon
sublime red rover - misaligned with
twenty first century time
emerging, fishtailing, kvetching,
slithering, whipsawing
during springtime
thaw - oozing out primordial slime,
schlepping aboard bissel mishuga train
while kibitizing with longfellow
ghost hosts Bartleby,
thee Herman Hermits,
and Stray Cats caterwauling
scrivener circumlocution showtime
evidences troubadour prima facie
tremendous struggle rustling rational rapport,
ruminating, citing his dismal schooltime
track record muddled, and hence
questing to cobble a rhyme
distilling, harvesting, and
leaching (out pulpy, knotty,
Max Headroom Ancien regime
filmy... gray matter) in realtime,
while strains of Ragtime echo
from late nineteenth century
tin pan alley, nsync, linkedin
cubist, dadaist, existentialist...
mine poetic melange jerry rigs
flashes random discordant phrases
kickstarting hotmail...faintly
analogous to processing quicklime
mucking with abstract alphabetic
mire ranks as playtime
forging whimsical tactical trippy thoughts,
nursing eternal idealistic Earthly peacetime,
worrying away looming mortality,
noshing post death as pastime,
welcomes input and alien abduction – ME,
mine "FAKE" existence, sans charade,
facade, masquerade onetime pantomime,
no second act allowed, nor
revising questionable tour de force
I claim NO pièce de résistance, nor overtime,
asper waning game
of thrown away Life
approaches nighttime haven
soon...forever rest in peace
surrendering requisite burnt offerings,
sans (cremated ashes) - meantime
fete grateful dead
scythe lent hoodlums on warpath
to incite bedlam
postprandial mealtime prayer final -
deathly hallowed gleeful grimace
witnessing successful electroshock therapy
of yours truly emotionally frozen
decades long comatose state
thankfully oblivious, when impending
curtain call signals finis!
The wrapes of Grath adorn the path that slammer klingks had tread
when turning spades in everglades to flosticate the dead.
Along the way the snorbels bay at freebled sprutelned
that boogeymen had once again uphove above the shed.
The buildings tall that housed the krawl are pictured carved in stone
and all that’s left is now bereft of wrapes that might atone
for scabs that feed our wrinkled breed, distraught and lying prone.
Yes, flonk replaces merpeled traces deep inside, alone.
There’s no retreat from incomplete, so durbies never dared,
but streaped instead beneath their bed with franjent fangs unbeared;
they knew the past could never last although the trumpets blared,
for doogies, stripped, were ill equipped, no longer bald or haired.
Like cavaliers with gougejent spears, well triggered for a tiff,
slank vankulures with silver spurs embussed for grimp and griff
(no question why, for “we can’t die”, the oft regleated riff);
with little fuss the blunder bus krunged glimpfly off the cliff
and fetid breet of grim defeat gave Grath its final whiff;
the catapult had one result, all life lay lazelled stiff.
The plastic waves that washed the graves, now homeland for the rutch,
though faring worse when quenching thirst with warples in the hutch
were nonetheless, as frunks confess, so pleasant to the touch
exturbing sinks that watered wynx and onetime life as such.
Like burning blotters slurping waters, skindles sipped their fill
from koozing cracks between the tracks inhumed beneath the hill,
then spawned the spores of Grathic wars that profit from the kill;
their victory tales, like crimson crails, reside in dung and dill.
Those scrilly clouds that cowed the crowds neath radiation snapes
left little less than watercress beneath their coffin’s drapes;
yes, those unborn cannot adorn the pallor of the prapes
so scrundlemun tinge bibberun, we ones who reap the wrapes.
Yes, now-abandoned hetzelspan were once in time embroiled
with merikained that firps extained until the weather roiled.
What more, perchance, can happenstance inflict upon the koiled
when pendlesnips are in eclipse and wrapes of Grath are soiled?
Mother:
Shivering nights follow me as my stomach grows
I feel her inside me
I can picture her face, smile, personality
Worth such a huge future
But I couldn’t give it to her
I’m not ready…
He doesn’t want her
We couldn’t handle it
The pressure, the responsibility
And god the things that are happening to my body
I’m not ready
I’m not
My mom cries whenever she looks at me
My dad doesn’t even look
I couldn’t take care of her by myself
Maybe…maybe I can give her away
To a family that could love her until I’m ready
There’s so much I haven’t done
Goals I haven’t fulfilled
All my dreams are gone
Because of a mistake
A onetime mistake
I learned my lesson
But I can’t take care of this baby
She needs so much more,
She deserves so much more
I can’t let her come into this world like this
I’m not ready
Daughter:
Its ok mommy
You don’t have to worry
You’re not alone
I still love you
You can still follow your dreams if you try
And teach me how to do right
I’m going to be a sweet baby
People are going to call me your twin
Don’t you like the sound of that mommy?
I promise to do my best in everything
So I can make you proud mommy
When I come
We’ll have each other
And that’s all that's going to matter
We’ll prove everyone wrong
And do better than anyone expected
We can do it mommy
You can do it
I believe in you
Mother:
I can’t do this
I can’t
I’ll try again when I’m ready
It’s not even alive yet
So it’ll be ok
He said he would leave me
My dad said I was stupid
And my mom…
She had such high hopes and dreams for me
I can still do it
I can make them proud
But not with this thing growing in me
It’s ok
It can’t feel anything
And later on ill be the best mother ever
But not now
I’m not ready
Atlantis will be proved,
one day soon.
when the moon the planets are in tune,
and we will see 4 self,
crystals were yes, used for health,
used for power, perpetual motion,
Tuaoi stone the great crystal,
could direct you on the ocean,
conversation's, spirit's dwell,
came direction high Priest tell's,
the one Gods word to fear dispel.
and for computers we might tune,
Tuaoi stone the seers rune,
the guidance system 4 Valixi, (aircraft)
submarines & electricity.
all proved of the seers loom,
when brought forth from the sunken room.
Egypt's and Yucatan's rooms, the
lesson's of history....
thanks Tamas & Vienna, I scanned the well...
Don Johnson
Yes Russell,
If you apply pressure to a crystal it produces a voltage, power....the vibration at the frequency the crystal is cut for, can become a power supply....ultrasonic machines apply power to banks of crystals to shake the dirt off blinds and jewels in the cleaning water at the speed of the crystal vibration, i used to build them 4 a boss.....Tuaoi stone was the ultimate power supply and also a means of talking through the veil...
Vienna,
very interesting story on the light coming on above a power crystal .write a poem on it perhaps..yes crystals do put out a voltage sometimes ...my old mum got a small jolt from my crystal ball :)
she said it didn't want her handling it :) We use crystals cut to frequencys to hold a certain speed and vibration in radio , tv, computers etc...
they are magical devices, crystals...everything vibrates , we vibrate 6 times a second and 10 times a second can make you sick as an elevator was doing onetime...so the story went.....faith is the other part of the equation...
we do have mental unknown forces methinks...
110% of faith can and will produce more than the expected outcome.
on the healing side, which i dabble in...peace n love....Don
I have this awful feeling that the universe is changing its shape, and the earth is going to increase the human race, the Meteorites are sailing through the sky, and the earth is racing in a different time to honor a period that has already died.
It’s hard to set the world in motion when three-quarter of our planet is sinking beneath the deck and the sun is moving closer to the earth to suck up the moisture and heats up the land, a piece of paradise is falling from your hand.
I wonder what they will find up there when the universe has so much to share, the moon is full too soon and flowers are blooming under the crescent moon, the temperature is rising, and the earth is blazing, and the ocean level is rising.
A strange wind from the East is passing through the sky packed with nitrogen and it will make you die, it has come too close to the earth and mingling with the elements that is made up of dirt, it is stuck behind the mountains, and it will stay there until the earth changed its form.
Oh what wonders lies in those tiny sockets with imaginary strings floating in the air as they parachute and float inconspicuously in the atmosphere. They are holding the universe together and they make our lives better. I can see the valves opening and closing and the air pressure slowly releasing and the mugs dancing and bouncing in space.
The air above me is mixed with grime, the air around me is laden with slime, the deposits from the sea and the spaceship debris fell right in front of me but mercy was right onetime to rescue me. The mission to the moon will return to earth sometime before noon, position someone at the gate to measure the temperature before it burst in flame. The air around me is polluted.
“Can you feel the soul of an abandoned house,
can you hear the whispering? "
Quote by _Constance La France
Standing before this old, dilapidated house
Memories leap out from the moss-grown crevices of my mind,
Like snakes uncoiling, rather like bees swarming,
Fragmented, scented and sour!
I remember my old maternal uncle,
Who had turned a widower at forty-one,
The presiding deity of a joint family of fourteen.
Most of the time he sprawled in the armchair,
In the enclosed patio of this massive homestead
In the living room was an old grandfather clock
Ticking away like the faint heartbeats
Of that decadent house with crumbling plaster
He had seen heydays with many a ceremony of great fanfare,
When the house used to board all kith and kin
And the granary was full of paddy and tons of black gold.
But as time slowly weakened his torso,
The house too lost its onetime splendor.
His children got scattered far and wide.
They went to hoard fortunes abroad.
But grand uncle refused to move away.
With a shock, one day we heard of his death.
He left the house orphaning it forever.
Now the house remains fragment of an old memory.
Though once I thought I had escaped,
The compulsions of the past,
Now I discern, I am still pinioned by it!
As I stand before this house, my ears perk up,
To hear what it whispers, its one-time glory,
Or its sad deserted state?
I wonder if I can ever enjoy the love and life,
That once so luxuriously bloomed inside!
~ PLACED FIRST~
May.27.2023
Writing Challenge ‘C’ Quotes Poetry Challenge
Sponsor- Constance La France
A high trend economically tries a downward spiral of many neighborhood cries. Due to the mind altering ways abused violence gets a cheer as the young silence drops a tear. Nobility runs short and none lacks the necessary fear. This age has painted over the wise. A fortunate one tries, but ends up believing a pack full of lies. So many seek to live this regrettable lifeless trend. A law abiding sense never loses its rent on a search for a tranquil transcend. Departed from grace a master race of drug cultured slaves amputate the town of harmony and grace.
Scattering and living without a trace. A life can easily be fully disgraced. As the surrounding culture lives in utter disgrace. When ask of noble surroundings many hide their face. Confined to an outer space so many are shamed and put in their place. Domestic cases stack high as well as grieving those young who overdose and die. If they only seen that a onetime listen to the less street wise can eradicate fear and prepare many to hit a greater good and be able to finally put down the drugs or beer.
An action graces their presence. One with deep moral intention to leave a type a presence. Justice is now fought, yet the wolves graze and the power stays in the hand of those with higher names. Less fortunate ones are constantly thrown into the maze, as the higher nobility never pays. A blaze of rational blessings start to mend the aggressive wound. Conflicted are contradicted as they live to the dance of a different tune. Many dance with the graceful angel, and others still are stuck with the devil dancing in the moon.
All of my happy thoughts are dead,
I've removed them from my brain.
All they ever do is fade into reality,
leaving me in pain.
I'm tired of it.
Every time I get a little upbeat,
like a flood, life washes it away.
I can't remember the last time I really smiled,
it's been a year at least.
All I want now is to find some inner peace.
Slipping in and out of consciousness,
forgetting onetime bliss.
Happiness is something that I sorely miss.
I can't take the way my happiness is faded,
cutting like a jagged razor's edge.
Leaving me so disgruntled,
feeling utterly alone,
spending days within my bed.
All hope is lost within a fog,
one made up of grief and tears.
All security is forgotten,
as I'm drowning in my fears.
A bit of cheer is all I'm wanting,
something to hold dear.
The peace of mind found in knowing
that there's someone always near.
Slipping in and out of consciousness,
forgetting onetime bliss.
Happiness is something that I sorely miss.
The sun has set on the joys of my life.
Depression has risen in its place.
The flowers of my mind are wilted,
my skies are full of grey.
I'm stuck in the middle of a desert,
one plagued by a storm of my dismay.
I'm still waiting for the dawn of another day.
I'm still waiting for the resurrection of ancient feelings,
to shake me out of this daze.
Slipping in and out of consciousness,
forgetting onetime bliss.
Happiness is something that I sorely miss.
As I stand before this old, dilapidated house,
A structure fast decaying and about to crumble,
With its walls painted grey and white,
And the plaster bearing cracks and marks,
Memories leap out,
From the moss-grown crevices of my mind,
Like snakes uncoiling, rather like bees swarming,
Fragmented, scented, and sour!
I remember my old maternal uncle,
Who had turned a widower at forty-one,
The presiding deity of a joint family of sixteen.
Most of the time he sprawled in the armchair,
In the enclosed patio of this big house.
In the living room was an old grandfather clock
Ticking away like the faint heartbeat
Of that decadent house with crumbling plaster
He had seen heydays with many ceremonies of great fanfare,
When the house used to board all kith and kin,
And the granary was full of paddy and tons of black gold
But as time slowly weakened his torso
The house too lost its onetime splendor.
His children got scattered far and wide.
They went to hoard fortunes abroad.
But grand uncle refused to move away.
One day he left the house orphaning it for ever.
Now the house is sadly left to total decay.
Its life gone, its soul frozen,
A fragment of an old memory.
Though once I thought I had escaped,
The compulsions of the past
Now I discern, I am still pinioned by it!
As I stand before this house, my ears perk up,
For the lovely sounds this house once produced
And pine for the love
That once so luxuriously bloomed around!
onetime-
I was just one child all alone
and I wrote one piece
a day of poetry
grandma said
take one day at a time
uniqueness singleness oneness
one place I loved
was the attic
I was the only one there
playing make-believe dreams
doing the one-step waltz with dolly
it was a one-sided conversation
and I said
dolly I for one disagree
the one person I want to marry
will come one sweet day
and it will be a unity of two
and then I would sing her a song
in a one long octave note monotonous
uniques
singleness
oneness
I liked to tell one line jokes for grandma in the kitchen
put on a one man show for mom and dad after supper
dad gave me a one dollar bill
for every poem I wrote
I still have the first one he said
be oneself
take one direction in life
and I grew up solitary
to write poems
each one is beautiful to me
I'll get a break one day
one never knows about tomorrows
I hold dear my belief in
uniqueness singleness oneness
then one sad day grandma passed away
I cried all alone in that attic
I'll see you again one day grandma
______________________
September 3, 2015
Poetry/Free Verse/One
Copyright Protected, ID 15-705-869-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, One,
sponsor, Rob Carmack
Ninth Place