Long Perusal Poems
Long Perusal Poems. Below are the most popular long Perusal by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Perusal poems by poem length and keyword.
Yesterday, turned out,
To be, a magical day...
I got a great new drummer,
Totally excellent, I must say,
And he took the band,
To his amazing studio...
With every bit of exotic equipment...
A musician could know...
He mixed in like magic...
Making the band's chances
of reaching success to greatly grow...
And, though my physical pain was
much greater than usual,
We went to a diner in Queens,
for a menu perusal,
I treated my mates,
To a hearty dinner meal,
Glad for once I could treat,
It seemed no big deal...
From there on we went...
To the Howard Beach Yacht Club,
To play a musical gig,
The kind of job we do love...
Hosted by Queens Hell's Angels,
A fund raiser for poor kids,
For the "toys for tots bike run",
Sounds unreal, yet it was not,
It was just what it claimed,
That it really was, and every year
It still is...
We played for free,
though we got food or drinks,
Without charge...
And helped them earn money,
In their own hometown biker's lodge...
Well we were suplimented by
by other good musicians we knew...
We played an awesome set,
We knew what, and how, to do...
As for me, when I received,
What I perceived as a musician's slight..
Asked not to play...
every song that was planned,
For that big night,,
It seemed to me....
To be not being treated quite right...
So, yet, when we played,
We were sharper than a knife...
And were heros for the night...
Every song quite tight,
However, this somewhat offensive remark,
That was made to me,
Turned my playing skills
Up quite a mite....
And when we reached...
A great level of musical
Excellence,at that point,
And when it was at it's height...
We were rocking that joint,
We played way out-of-sight.....
But regarding my minor ego wound,
I somehow made my point,
So by a long night's end,
I had easily won that
Stupid and needless musical fight...
Picture "biker chicks" dancing
Exotically in front of the band,
Seemingly in ecstasy...
Which gave us a hand...
You see, such a thing...
Will make us play all the better...
And thunderous applause,
It seemed dotted the "i's"
In that letter....
We "Smoked 'Em" real good,
They loved every song....
Seemed they wanted us,
To play all night long...
Great satisfaction, and fun,
I really did have...
For at least my tired soul,
It was a heavenly sent salve.
Dear Awakening Poet
Do not fall into the trap of succumbing to “Modern” as a type of poetry. Write as if the ink would disappear when the poem was finished knowing that once written it would live forever.
Allow me to offer you a few suggestions as you gaze at the naked page. First and always “Don’t fight it – Write it!”. Don’t ask what poetry is, ask rather “what is a poet”. Make one of your goals to write each day. Save what you write no matter how “bad” you may believe it to be. Revisit these writings and rethink, rewrite, re-imagine and recreate them. Read, study, listen, touch and feel the poetry of others allowing their tempo, cadence and rhythms to tantalize the muse. Play with forms and styles knowing that you will discover the vibrancy of your poetic voice. Cherish the honest critique allowing its sting to stimulate the muse and invigorate the poet. Seek the aid of others who have trudged poetry’s bumpy path. And write, always, from the heart of the aspects of life and love, of sadness and jubilation, of pain and catharsis, but always....always write.
In my own experience poetry has been a constant cathartic tool. It has allowed me to place on paper thoughts, feeling, fears, demons, dreams and demystified them, soothed them, giving me pause to reflect on the words brought forth by livings fire.
I write about what I think, feel, see, touch, hear, imagine, dream. and use nature as a constant theme-prompt.
Here are 10 of my poem for your perusal. 1) Catharsis, 2) A Silent Good-bye 3) Many Miles Away 4) Why Poetry Must Be Read Aloud 5) Write Right 6) A Good Clean Slam 7) Don’t Fight It – Write It 8 )True Love Waits 9) Who Broke It
10) Beware, The Huffle-Winks.
My literary background started, and ended, in High School with a dispute regarding the interpretation of a poem. So I set off to find my “poetic voice. Leading me to my poetic mantra – “It is the nature of the poet to provoke, not to explain.” I’ve had a few poems published and been invited into the classrooms in Elementary and High Schools to share my passion for poetry.
©5/15/2018
The Little Sisters of Divine Disapproval
A holy order with a long long history
Known to women but to men: still a mystery
For ascendance of our gender we are crucial
The little sisters of Divine Disapproval
When your men are being tiresome, acting stupid
Disregard kind impulse and the darts of Cupid
Make a call - for fast stupidity reproval
To the Sisters of Divine Disapproval
If your husband’s being stubborn a real pain
There’s no need for you to argue and complain
You will find us if you go on line and google
‘Little Sisters of Divine Disapproval’
With lips tight pursed and frowning eye brows darkly set
We will shovel on the guilt and shame, you bet
Til they realise their protests are all futile
For we’re the Little Sisters of Divine Disapproval
Call on us whenever men are acting badly
They’ll capitulate, surrender to you gladly
If you follow all our guidelines with no scruple
The Little sisters of Divine Disapproval
There’s no need for words aggressive or of violence
Don’t forget cold shoulder and the stony silence
Just hold on and he’ll confess, make no refutal
To the Sisters of Divine Disapproval
When he comes back with the boys from a bender
He’ll be wise to not make jokes but surrender
Should be cautious looking sheepish, a bit rueful
In the face of your Divine Disapproval
If he fails just one more time to clean that plug hole
There’s no need to shout harsh words in his lug hole
He’ll make sure of every blockage’s removal
For the Sisters of Divine Disapproval
Behind each great man a woman goes along
To keep him abreast of all he’s doing wrong
We are proud of guidance given them for perusal
By the Sisters of Divine Disapproval
Let us all unite in fearless sisterhood
For we know we do it for our men’s own good
Without us life would be hell painted by Bruegel
So God bless the Little Sisters of Divine Disapproval
You were like the proud king lion,
Strong with thick main,
No hair out of place deliberately.
Constantly parading by your pack;
Commendation stood tall in there,
No questions, phraseology or rubs,
The podium harmonised plans,
To scrub up for an alighting,
Before medium light settled;
Hereward stood better than the rest,
And all needed to agree with you,
Then you roared at me with jesting jaws.
You were like a bird,
Not specifiable,
Except by the RSPB,
In a crowd which could only brake,
Under a focused eye,
One son too unstable,
Flying through the clouds,
In a flock,
Only falling for a reason.
You were like the hawk’s eye,
On me, all the time, relentlessly,
To see if I wanted to follow,
Or else love the arm amputee;
My friends were not yours,
Your mind was not mine,
I was your perusal,
but I was also your feed,
To sicken or to satisfy.
You were like the bear,
Dangerous because you swear,
Calling people skanks,
Just for walking able-bodied;
Separation has its faults,
And Hereward students,
Were only assisted anyway,
To love able-bodied people,
For their sameness to us,
In mind, body and fashion,
In heart, beliefs and views,
In vision and in choices.
You were like the sheep,
Most truly, conclusively,
With secrets and shyness,
Insecurities filled your vision,
Until the leader in you died:
You resided within your norm,
Of wheelchairs being normal,
Mounting the ewe in incest,
To your sacred inside.
But you were frightened inside really,
If the truth is to be told,
Of enrolling in Coventry University:
Your Hereward lane,
Of educated brains,
Of medical people and care staff,
Of other disabled students,
Who had been in physio like you,
Made you recline into your sleep,
Didn’t let you live or jirate.
But you were my sheep,
And you lost your white coat.
A bookworm since I have learned to read well
I’d devour leaves which printed knowledge grants
feasting on sumptuous reading delights
to appease cravings of perusal buds...
hence, books as gifts are my precious treasures.
Amidst spiritual metamorphosis
blessed transformation in Christ gripped me
when by faith I trusted the Saviour God
Who offered redemption’s love, grace and joy
through Book of Life He perfectly authored.
With divine freedom, I keep on venturing toward the eternal
propelled by wings of wisdom against fears
thanking the Lord Who authored the Book for mankind
“Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth”
the Bible --- inspired, revealed Word of God.
Complete as milk and meat for soul’s growth gain
great Book nurtures the spirit with virtues
exposing transgressions as mirror does
in reproving, warning, checking the heart…
I welcome in meditating its texts.
Thankful for the Scriptures’ nourishing power
I praise the Almighty with His revival omnipotence
strengthening, sustaining, satisfying
toward meaningful optimum service
while abiding in the Book of the Law.*
Today, I do strive to share the Book’s message
reigning with hope, propped by God’s compassion
prevailing over doubts upon His truth
vanquishing deceit through His assurance ---
that’s my testimony… and grateful for the Word of God I possess.
*Joshua 1:8 This book of the law shall not depart out of thy mouth; but thou shalt meditate therein day and night, that thou mayest observe to do according to all that is written therein: for then thou shalt make thy way prosperous, and then thou shalt have good success.
May 17, 2021
1st place, "ALL YOURS (Jun 12)" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 6/12/2021.
at the entrance to the drive-in church the road divides deceptively
the sign signals divisive directions but mediates midway at midnight
Saviour salvation spirit Satan superstition sacrilege
God giving guidance gluttony greed gyrations
resurrection rejuvenation revelations agnostics atheism antitheses
righteousness roadside assistance available ‘enter at your own peril’
prayers pious power soda pop popcorn psychedelics putrid paranoia
temple tables terra-firma trivia temptation tribulations
selfless sacred sustenance slivering snake salivating
the slow-motion picture posits poignant perusal but it’s a silent movie
apart from back seats groaning settling for sex sperm and splits sheaths
scripted sanguine suggestions sighs salubrious screams
sanctimony shelter serenity suffering secrets sneakiness
spare me serpent and ravaging rod please hit me with your rhythm stick
appease the apple anchor my appetite avert my agonizing aspirations
Eve enters the epic production while Mary Magdalene marries measure
suddenly the speaker system sounds in supersonic spectacle’s squeals
sheep and shepherd apparition or angels dreams or duped delirious dance
purity pinnacles pentacles punishment penetration perspiration
chaste cinematic celebrations cradling caresses X rated cross
on the way home the bubble and the tyres burst into almighty shreds
but the spare rubber went missing and God works in mysterious ways
29th August 2020
Book-engagement to me is indeed a God-granted privilege…
Exposing me, through printed words, to realities I acknowledge
Imparting knowledge and wisdom since pre-school to post-college
Delighting my educational journey’s mileage!
Children’s books on alphabets, numbers, shapes --- my academic foundation
Atlases, encyclopedia, general references ushered me to diverse civilization
School literature immersed me into the complexities of socialization
College libraries opened me to verities and enigmas of course specialization.
As a teacher now, books prop me in my mentoring authority and integrity
In my research, bibliographies substantiate every information-bounty
Meanwhile, electronic books try to load up my intellectual capacity…
Book perusal, I testify, upholds my sanity.
When it comes to childhood favorites, I was addicted to detective stories
Such as Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys in solving mysteries;
Inspirational and divine love-anchored pocket books help vanquish worries
As well as social work and law documents needful in my professional victories.
Concluding bookworm confession is my constant Bible reading
Believing that the Scriptures are authored by God to Whom I’m fully yielding…
With 66 books, I’m nourished; my faith, their precepts are upholding and strengthening, while my soul and heart, joyously feeding
Such is the Law of the Lord*: precious, perfect along truths-unfolding
profitable, powerful in life-building!
*Psalm 19:7 The law of the LORD is perfect, converting the soul: the testimony of the LORD is sure, making wise the simple.
March 14, 2019
The poetical books are nearly, by me, complete;
Next follows those once-furled, parchmentlike
Scribal tablets on which were calligraphically
Indited the books classified as
Naught but "prophetical"-
After the major and minor scribes,
The authors of which, and those of the first grouping of the
Newer set of scriptural books:
Those of the evangelical order;
The momentum engendered by the narrative flow:
The alacritous, celeritous, positively propulsive flow:
Of the Bible then stalls out,
Mired in and run aground
Amid the impenetrably deep
Bedrock of the various epistolary, predominantly Pauline books
(Paul, being Mosaic in his inditing of just as many and more books than
Those writ by Moses' own hand, for one has the tally of a mere five or six to his
Luminous credit, whereas the other has something on the order of ten, at least, to his).
Not that those, the Pauline books, are of a very poor quality,
But to segue from the narrative and story, poetry, law,
Prophecy and history and the narrative flow thereof:
To turn from these to abstruse missives
Of a yet abstruser philosophical
Bent, then one finds that one yearns anew for the levitical, mosaical books,
When their perusal of books biblical desists before the gates of the
Sadly boring New Testament-save naturally for the gospels,
Which are themselves poetic and narrative and fast-moving.
Such, at least, is my appraisal of the matter.
Form:
Dedicated to Kyle, my son ... my smile
I recall many unique meals of special appeal
but one dinner replays on a fav memory reel
that I shall never forfeit or agree to forget.
This meal was years ago yet still remains clear.
I will not err as I share about this meal so dear:
1. One box of complete HELPER contents
2. Two six-ounce cans of tuna that to item one are lent
3. One can of lima beans as chosen by ingredient number four
4. One eight-year-old son excited for cooking fun
Once ingredients were gathered and patience near battered
from repeatedly explaining all preparations while choking
frustrations at ingredient four's refusal to voice them over
and over for maternal perusal, it was time to pretend with
a bent peace of mind that cooking could begin. I know,
because this is when four said with nervy ease, 'Out the
door until I'm ready to serve. Please.'
While waiting, cardiacs were avoided so dinner wasn't aborted
before four, smiling grand, served the tray held in his hands.
All dismay was forced to abate while viewing the plate.
Four's enthusiasm should not be parent zapped
just because he served unknown brown and red crap.
A smile was forced as he explained that he spiced it up
by adding his own creatively thought up stuff,
Chocolate Sheen Beans and Cinnamon Bazooka Tuna.
... CayCay
July 31, 2019
Culminations of Beauty
Culminations of beauty cascading down from a twighlight sky
Ruminations worth refuting while I’m always asking why
Communications leave me fuming as the point is lost and denied
Calculations that are looming while my economic apprehension is justified
Impressionistic teenagers looking for the next influencer streaming
Chauvinistic infiltrators preying on the innocence of those still dreaming
Pessimistic stenographers documenting the planet screaming
Unrealistic photographers trying to capture all the underlying meaning
Pedantically populating another conspiracy theory for the masses
Semantically stipulating violence as their dopamine level crashes
Sycophantically stimulating silence as I take my hundred lashes
Romantically emulating nonsense as the nightmare returns in backward flashes
Insidious indictment for one who seems above the law
Hideous excitement showing as the twisted watch you get up from the floor
Envious confinement knowing that I am one of the working poor
Fastidious refinement lowering me out of the back of this metaphor
Refusal to participate in my own life story
Per usual I’ll invigorate the empty and the boring
Perusal of the pages to investigate as I sleep into the morning
Excusal to proliferate as I heed the sternness of the warnings
The End