Long Perchance Poems
Long Perchance Poems. Below are the most popular long Perchance by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Perchance poems by poem length and keyword.
Donald Duck Chancellor of this fowl kingdom
wearing an upside down smile's raging hypocrite backwards
this deranged Duck twitters to and fro as his unhinged subjects
unwittingly applaud him onto a victory march that never appears equal
except in his alternate universe of oneness
Calamity Jane perchance is on the horizon
while war looms close by this feathers pride himself
on his big show asking for a mirror to check his orange glow
he jokes and preens fading in and out so it would seem logical
tearing down all good morals he alienates with his constant magic escapades
Sleight of hand reflections move
with this fake news it gets exposed
the big top rotates under an eclipsed lie
fire breathing condemning all those against his way
entering the arena for the next late show
Now Big Bird has been caught fibbing
just when they thought everyone was safe
getting off the band wagon or so to speak
Just signing the pact with her feathered friend
letting on they are getting on so well for the world to see buddies
Almost joined at the hip like in their loyalty reigning over truth
in this ungodly circus of the vainest sort
Where the funfair clowns abound
under fabrications an orangutan watches on
beating his chest in an ape like manner and solid hands
he has no way to express words
puffing and panting swaggers
living under thee umbrella protected from the truth’s influence
Alvin and his chipmunks sing the national anthem
while the confederate flag waves goodbye over democracy
begins the three little pigs stages as they enter the building
their houses from clay flamed with truth
ransomed for vanities sake no good ending can come
Earthquakes separate the earth
floods come with grave disaster
hurricanes winds rise from the greatest source
even this cannot deter or distract this awful Duck
one mission under a selfish chant of
quack a doodle quack, quack a doodle quack, quack a doodle quack
which only translates to me
only me, me only me, me only me!
a co written piece by Donna Loughman and Liam McDaid
Karen Windle roughly on par...
with being a miniature poodle size dogsend
Apartment B44 one bedroom unit
at Highland Manor low income facility
housing older folks convenient starting point,
to launch poem and invite reader(s)
reason(s) without rhyme
why yours truly (me)
chose to express heartfelt gratitude
toward resident Karen Windle,
which named individual most likely unknown
across world wide web
(hmm... maybe methinks perchance
possibly ye did sound her out courtesy radar,
especially if thee dutiful patrol officer
generously handing out -
not necessarily) winning lottery tickets
within vicinity encompassing
University of Delaware.
We (myself and zee missus) inhabit
aforementioned single bedroom abode,
allows, enables and provides
convenient reference point
upon exiting our dime a dozen quarters
(housing near penniless occupants)
verily orient toward left of hallway,
no need to access global positioning satellite
leisurely amble short distance
just count three doors down on the left,
thee will espy name tag printed
small letters Karen Windle
her acquaintanceship we did kindle,
now greater value when measured with corn,
wheat, or other commodities
approximately equal to three bushels,
but varying in different regions.
Explanation whereby appreciation
toward Karen (spry firecracker, energetic,
diminutive, albeit frail looking gal)
materialized when series of unfortunate events
rendered me and mine spouse
without ready immediate access to automobile
near necessity within quaint enclave
identified as Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
affords absolute zero public transit,
hence necessity for chauffeur de jure arose,
whereby availability to shuttle us
found monetary compensation declined,
thus stymied intent regarding how I could
communicate sincere thankfulness
relieved when she would accept
poetic endeavor incorporating
best college try (mine) to alleviate
imposition if/when opportunity exists
to scrape meager money
and expect to sink a fortune
maintaining, insuring, fueling vehicle,
significant portion of social security (disability)
allocated to sustain reliability of car
dollar figure greater than buzzfeeding
caretaking, duties linkedin to
mental, physical, and spiritual health
concerning this aging baby boomer,
plus his counterpart approximately
previous couple dozen years.
Early/mid afternoon May 22nd, 2020...
Raindrops percolate Perkiomen Valley watershed
pleasant reprieve versus quite warm temperatures
yesterday found yours truly averse attempting re:
ding outside, the secluded alcove visible looking
thru single bedroom window here, once upon time
former Schwenksville Elementary School, now re:
purposed Highland Manor apartment alphanumeric
unit B44, 2day precipitation lightly palpitating terra
firma quenching thirsty flora and fauna donning viz
age fifty plus shades of lush green meteorological
regular phenomena offsets prospect where drought
would deprive biota requisite liquid nourishment
speculation June, July, and August promise triple
digits essentially forcing creature comfort ala air
conditioning as climate control to weather extreme
hot temperatures linkedin with global warming, a
grim prospect lately tempered courtesy coronavirus
COVID-19 inexplicably temporarily giving respite
the Earth atmosphere purportedly less toxic since
countless manifold modes of industrial production
lockdown subjected since employees in quarantine
to thwart contagion infecting adjacent areas, thus
impacting transportation hub, no substantial traffic
most rerouted thru information superhighway data
bits and bytes sent to and fro, hither and yon, until
"green light" signalled for businesses to reorient
themselves to alternate paradigm, hoop fully more
eco friendly less dependent upon fossil fuels, where
greenhouse gases deplete ozone layer compromising
delicate balance offset severely trending toward by
Yoda - star wars pitched battles witnessing galactic
empires armed 2 teeth with supersonic weapons mass
destruction spelling demise of human civilization
think brinkmanship whereby within eyeblink en-
tire realm encompassing eastern, western, northern
southern, brethren and cistern multifarious legacies
snuffed out without a trace extinguishing gamut of
living things great and small, perchance world wide
web overtaken with radiation resistant critters, an
unrecognizable changing of the guard when no pry
mates abled (Cain not) wrest control against giant
size carnivorous entities deliciously feast carrion
until nothing but lovely bleached (bomb shelled)
bones scattered across the pock marked terrestrial
landscape - mush room 4 opportunistic organisms.
*Image of Patronus by Wizarding World
The White Doe and The River Of Life
Comes a white doe, quaint sight a wandering,
Murmurs, her head swerves about, hesitates,
A snow owl offering sky, pondering,
Nibble's green herbs with care then elevates,
Hooves paves a path, my blue being, surges clear,
Alert nose take air, head bent back, above,
Unaware, her head drops, tickles my sphere,
Cast her spot of me, blanched soul feel her shove,
Tempt, I tide my being, yet pursuit was keen,
The full breadth of her trots to my chilled beat,
She alights her weight to level her being,
Trots to shore, genteel flow, dares to repeat,
Perchance another day of challenging,
Comes a white doe, quaint sight a wandering.
2019 May 12
*1st Place*
ALL YOURS(JUN 8)
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2021 June 08
Would you still love me ... perchance I was half a man?
My carnal, physical core torn from me like ragged raiment,
Off to war in courage and heroic sacrifice ...
Returned by God and country, as barely half of what I'd been -
The half that could never again join with you in passion ...
Would you still love me?
Imagine I was a monster ...
Deformed by happenstance or accident,
Still a man in the technical sense,
But with face and sinews that repulsed even himself,
Though the heart and spirit you adore still thrummed inside ...
Would you still love me?
What if the day came - a reality as viable as any,
When I lost everything of earthly value and worth -
All possessions, comforts, conveniences, and financial securities - gone,
The talents and abilities and experience to support even myself,
Blown to the four winds by careless fate or folly ...
Would you still love me?
Consider if I were human, inside-out ...
The abyssal and dark, troubled corners of my being
Worn on hapless bones like sodden skin,
The fearful ids and psyches, thus laid bare by illness or substance -
Free to dance like a demon for the porcelain moon ...
Would you still love me?
And pray, what if I were YOU ...
And you were the reflection of all that your dreams dare weave,
The horror and ecstasy that awakens you in the night -
Shivers and turns to ice on your faultless, barren skin,
Choking the screams from your chest ...
Would you ... could you still love me??
~ 10th Place ~ in the "2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 25" Poetry Contest, Mark Toney, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Would You Still Love Me?" Poetry Contest, Edward Ibeh, Judge & Sponsor.
“This is what I believe: That I am I. That my soul is a dark forest. That my known self will never be more than a little clearing in the forest. That gods, strange gods, come forth from the forest into the clearing of my known self, and then go back. That I must have the courage to let them come and go. That I will never let mankind put anything over me, but that I will try always to recognize and submit to the gods in me and the gods in other men and women. There is my creed.”
(D.H. Lawrence)
"The Beginning of Memory"
Wouldst thou reconcile thy fate
with the turn of a card?
Sweet child doest thou tempt all the Gods
to "Lost Woods",
beckon to thee the Three Moirae,
to question perchance your dreams
spin them gold thread from reel?
Or to romance Court Jesters,
leading them freedom fluttering
**** to the Wind,
a kiss to be sealed?
What beckoned you here in the first instance,
a whim of the heart?
Or perchance to hunt for an intriguing tonic
to tear it apart?
Wouldst thou be seeking the words for a book
carried by other Blue Crying Larks?
Twouldst seem, thou art consumed by
overpowering memories
of some wretched cursed pox
of a dream from thy past.
But time is bleeding into days waning fast,
life’s to be seized to be blunt
Plundering, efflorescence for Kings
to pin them with blessed Purple Hearts
Consorting with legions of temporal angels
to tarry and gander a golden egg pass
Perhaps it is best to seek guidance
from Shakesperian Masters at last
How would I compare
a love joy kind of Sonnet
to better unfurl their Venetian masks,
to a frolicking Midsummer feast in the dark woods
e’er to be lost in the maze?
Is this pure folly or reckless courage ablaze?
"Tut-tut" from the pulpit, "today’s not the day…"
Sigh,“So long as men can breathe and eyes can see,
long live this and this gives life to thee”
So tarry not too long here my Palimpsest Dreamer
My embrocation to you, Deus Ex Machina
(Lovejoy-Burton/Jan 2018)
1. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pA9q6uwcBio
"You dance love, and you dance joy and you dance dreams."
- Gene Kelly
I am lost in an endless dream
My love and I are together
Dancing hand in hand, we're a team
Like the zephyr and a feather
Swirling and swaying to the beat
We are caught up in love's sweet trance
To the music, tapping our feet
Adrift in our fantasy dance
I do not want this dream to end
To wake up and find I’m alone
But dawn breaks in to apprehend
Into the real world, I’m thrown
I await night’s darkness to sleep
To dream of my love and our dance
I am lost in fantasy deep
Hope this will last longer perchance
3rd April 2022
Syllable count: 8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
A God-honored teacher, Miss Ruth Vance
His gift to our town, His circumstance.
No replacing her bulging tote bag -
It was priceless, minus the Gucci tag."
and now the rest of the story....
Teacher extraordinaire, Miss Ruth Vance
taught eighth graders about life, perchance.
From first grade to twelfth, school musician.
Music was her primary mission.
For Halloween, she'd parade the whole school
round and round the gym! What a jewel!
Her eighth graders always danced the May Pole.
Pomp and Circumstance, our seniors' goal.
Christmas plays displayed her special niche;
school choirs of all ages sang without a hitch.
Our Mary Poppins with overstuffed school bag -
Miss Ruth, musician, teacher and wag.
Sundays at noon, she played the town postlude
doors thrown wide open, all ears were glued...
Baptists, Methodists going home from church
heard Miss Ruth, at her Presbyterian perch.
January 4, 2021
When It’s Time to Pay The Piper
When it’s time to pay that infamous character known as
“The Piper” and then, to face “The Viper” at the end of
one’s life, it shall behoove thee to make sure that thou hast
all of the necessary pleadings and exculpatory notions and
the reasonings at hand, in the hope of a divine intervention
from the angels in Heaven, since “The Viper” by legend
hast that noxious-nasty strike and sting in the Devil’s own
tradition, and both shall bring thee swiftly to the front of
Death’s Door whereby, Death’s immediate and compelling
grip is at once flash-quick and flash-fatal, which is not at all
merciful in the end. One’s immortal soul may be at risk too!
If thy exculpatory and most humble pleadings do meet,
perchance Heaven’s angelic standards, then thy immortal
soul shall be safe and sound in Almighty God’s kingdom.
Deus miseratur. Deus vobiscum.
Amen. Amen.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
December 10, 2018 (Narrative)
One piece is broken and lost
Now I'm paying the cost
It's a very high price to pay
For letting it slip away
It happened so innocently
I was cutting so carefully
Cutting the ties that bind
Encased in a thicket of lies
While I cut away to the truth
The last one was hanging loose
Then a final slash with the knife
Suddenly changed my life
I didn't notice at first
Freedom had numbed the hurt
But after a little while
I realized I'd lost my smile
I decided to look in the past
That's where I saw it last
But had waited a little too long
The past was already gone
So I looked around in the present
Trying to find my lost face crescent
But had no luck with that
All I found was an old dirty hat
But thinking I could fake it
Well, that just didn't make it
Just one close look in my eyes
It was obviously a disguise
The future is so uncertain
I know it's lost and hurtin'
Perchance if it comes your way
Please pick it up and put it on display
Cause if I ever see that smile
I'll know my time spent worthwhile
Since I can't find it, you see
Then maybe it will happily find me
an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner