Long Pawned Poems
Long Pawned Poems. Below are the most popular long Pawned by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pawned poems by poem length and keyword.
A Game
Chequered
!
Verbose;
Pawned divinity
Words are pieces
Phrases are moves
Players' wordsmiths
Egos crowned kings
Drawn out are words
Empty stands sheath
Reveal your Chess
Strategy-Tactics
Grand master Mikhail Tal speak
On checker board strategies.
"The deep desires
Of a chess player
To lead opponent
Into deep
Forest
Dark
And
The
Path
As Way out
Narrow enough
For only one to fit.
Quintessential paradox
Of battle games with words
Insiders from their prison cages
Re-arrange pieces in endless loop
Noisy minds trapped in eerie silence
Tactics is knowing-
What's done when there’s something to do
Strategist is busy -
In making, in contemplating counter moves
The gamer: the cold calculative mover, brutal
in purpose, moves words, forward and backward
The gamer knows; the words shall be rearranged
Checkered boards of Chaotic; Noisy; Wordy; Game.
The sale
Buy one
Get Two
The-Chessmatic mover
The-Charismatic Baiter
Squarer of self and ego
the believer;the knower
Biting bytes; Now is No
In -A never ending loop
The Self
But One
Not Two
Settled-flow-words when soaked in love
Entrenched-in- compassion all powerful
Wherein in-mated in thoughts and deed
To,
Checkmate the words-as-bait- is tactics
Know,
The web of words is A dense wild forest;
It is A habitat of 'Mind's wild wanderings.
.
The gamer; moves words; fore backward
In another brutal checkered board game;
~
Earth bound soul went about it’s quest
Burdened by desires on his chest
Enmeshed in fears, by ego spawned
Dark despair, hoping to be blest
Before many gods, this soul fawned
Yet clear light of truth never dawned
Trapped by ritual and scripture
Felt wisdom for knowledge was pawned
Head and heart chasm, ego puncture
Widened by dos and don’ts stricture
Sound current ohm, amen, the word
Within heart, paints the true picture
Rebel, a nerd, followed not herd
Until bliss throb, within him stirred
Recognising God dwells within
Vaporised self, free like a bird
No sooner he chose to begin
Pilgrim felt rapture on his skin
Emanating from joyous heart
Luminous presence, free from sin
Voids filled when love added to cart
He saw all are one, none apart
Being by God Himself so breathed
Love and light His beauteous art
16-December-2021
A daunting press of gifted dreams
The boyish boasts and sculpted schemes
Brother, fore, and brother, aft
Stead to ply their father's craft
Each consecrated to the rest
A journey spun at hap's behest
Sad the sojourn, seasons spent
Demeanor, too, in slow descent
A tattered sheet aside the mast
The binding brag that held them fast
A parried genius pawned for pay
Extorted art, la grande touche'
Spoon-fed faith to temper sins
God's impressions, yangs and yins
A sextant set to split the tacks
Fair, the wind upon their backs
Betting talent - an epoch's wage
Trust to rust, on scribbled page
Pride integral, misplaced in time
A poor man's Eden - a canted rhyme
So ford the moat, up castle's wall
One faded echo, Caedmon's call
Expired breath, a sparrow's verse
To strain the wings of kingly curse
Scabbards crossed and gauntlet down
Such gallant lads to charge the crown
The hallowed chapter of gloried tome
A heart-child lost, now hailing home
Thus ripe with moments to impart
This rarest seed with callow heart
A pauper's rhyme thru' all the years
The sweetest music to my ears ...
A music poured ... to douse the tears.
Written and submitted on February 16, 2019
For the "Music To My Ears" Poetry Contest
Silent One, Judge & Sponsor.
Woe unto the land, for her streets are paved with promises,
Yet her children drink from broken cisterns.
The wells are dry, the lamps dim,
And the cries of the poor rise like incense unreceived.
Corruption sits at every corner,
Like merchants of deceit weighing lies on golden scales.
Judges sell justice for coins,
Leaders feast while widows gnaw at shadows.
We are dependently independent,
A nation chained by the hands that claim to free her.
The anthem is sung with cracked voices,
But the stomach is empty,
And the flags wave over graves of forgotten dreams.
Basic needs are luxuries;
Water is a pilgrimage,
Light is a visitor who forgets to stay,
Hospitals are tombs disguised with paint,
Schools, mere echoes of what they ought to be.
Tribalism, ethnicity, nepotism
The three-headed beast devouring unity.
Brother turns against brother,
Appointments are crowns for kinsmen,
While merit weeps at the gate, unclothed.
And religion becomes a sword
Fanatics build walls in the name of heaven,
Preachers trade paradise for tithes,
And the faithful drown in rivers of division.
O land, how long shall you stagger?
How long will your watchmen slumber?
Your future is pawned to yesterday’s thieves,
And your hope is mortgaged to tomorrow’s liars.
As I write,
For in lamentation there is remembrance,
And in remembrance, the seed of better future is bury in hope
Perhaps the bones will rise,
And Chapter Sixty-Five will be the last
Of endless mourning .
Angels fall at your feet ...
- To savor the tang of truth - to kiss Heaven's visage
And sate horrid hearts, they feign you - Immaculate ...
- To tend the scars of id, vacant, fallow and dry
Such sacred sacrilege, they revile you - Torrid ...
- Born of a godly fervor - white flames to ashes
Ashes to tears, entranced, they covet you - Righteous.
Angels fall at your feet ...
- To twist the spine of mercy, to advocate time's curse
Brought forth in floods, they employ you - Banal ...
- To fawn at fear's reprieves, to shred the Eden leaves
Stark and cloistered, coy, they encircle you - Sullen ...
- To pierce the side of virtue, to thrust a spear of verity
And taste its salty tip - they adorn you - Naked.
Angels fall at your feet ...
- To strain a tear in symmetry, pure algebraic forms
Hot breath and whispers, they laud you - Redeemed ...
- To Hell and back, abandon, a sultry paragon's allure
Off the cliff, a fall sublime, they become you - Oblivion ...
- I am broken, replete ... rusting in your yard, seraphic junk
Pawned by Heaven's deceit, to fall rapt at your feet - Rapt ...
And so tenderly ... at your feet.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "My Favorite Junkyard" Poetry Contest,
Craig Cornish, Judge & Sponsor.
Third floor over west lookin out the window Watching the lines form corner to corner for that dope
In those lines use to be my mother giving her last just to get through her day just so she could cope
Eight Ball a day blew her mind away But,her daughter still had hope
I didn’t get to see or talk to her much
When I did it was short but such an emotional rush
People don’t realize the levels to the highs
Until you are the one next to the hospital bed as they take their last breath and your crying Goodbye
I knew it was always her own choice
I never once blamed it on the coke boys
It was still her request ,his money,her voice
Her body,her choice
Pawned everything valuable,Even her children’s toys
How could her children have any joy
Twelve felonies by the time I was seven
Her choice lost her time with her children now she is peacefully in heaven..
I always wondered what life would of been like if only she never turned to drugs to numb all of her pain within
Would I still have a family here especially my sibling.
Emerging from the shadows of the mission’s broken wall,
The moon falls on her shoulders like a ghostly silken shawl.
She wears a chain of silver and abalone shells.
Her eyes as bright as emeralds, her voice, like Spanish bells.
She wanders past the courtyard, the potter’s earthen jars,
The lights of the cantina, the lullaby guitars,
To step beyond the threshold of conservative affairs,
And let her dark desires be the focus of her prayers.
She conjures desperados burning ranchos built of straw.
Her reckless indiscretions led to brushes with the law.
She’s broken her piñata and found herself beguiled.
Her heart was always restless, but now she’s running wild.
She glides among the canyons like a ghostly vagabond,
Her freedom the expression of the innocence she’s pawned.
She wraps herself like water around the un-carved stone.
It’s easy to imagine, but hard to let alone.
I look for her in turquoise that mirrors desert skies,
The wind that sweeps the mesa, my lover’s sleepy eyes,
The haunted midnight pueblo, the cool adobe dawn;
Though mountains rise between us whichever side I’m on.
Christmas for stolid, hermetic recluse
Recidivistic mind all sentimentality doth refuse
Token, lifeless symbols; pageantry will recuse
Pawned, second-hand trinkets now in disuse
Barnacled to limbs drooping to spindling angles obtuse
Garnishments that jilting time accrues
Hung sloppily, stunted timber's temporal dues
Strings of patchwork lights will fuse
Faded colored-cones baring every bruise
Creased garlands as tawny ropes the girth noose
Strands of tarnished ice sickles futility to infuse
Stale candy canes, last year's refuse
Dangling from needles now frayed, loose
A corrugated tin star the pinnacle to abuse
Under the tree, ribbonless, empty boxes complete the ruse
Maybe it’s time I spoke my mind.
Tell me, what’s the punchline?
The world is upside down.
So my smile becomes a frown.
Spending these dark nights
Alone, under these streetlights
With a plate of alfredo.
I sleep without you.
My friend is gone to Pennsylvania,
The rest drifted away.
I’m in love. It’s mania.
Wish it would stay this way.
Too late, you're a creep.
Pawned, manipulated by one.
You drove away the rest.
You gave everything but the best.
Everything is falling out of scheme.
Lines
Are breaking out of place.
Shattered.
Interactions flew by today.
The world is grey.
Day by day,
“Let’s play the funny guy.”
Let’s look at the upside.
Will you be my guide?
I’ve run out of ash and string,
And I’ve burned everything.
The town lost its street maps,
new plots of land appeared, houses were built
where just yesterday there had been none.
Her world seemed relocated,
changed, as if it had been redrawn.
They had not shared their likes or interests
they had not even shared an equitable life,
and at times had pawned and reclaimed each other,
negotiations and currency
always a part of an unwritten deal.
Now she understood how landscapes can change
minds see from their own windows
through different lenses.
She recalled with late regret
that each of them had not surrendered,
they coexisted in the same place
but a locality riddled with mirages,
scenes they mind-painted
with unseeing eyes.