Long Perused Poems
Long Perused Poems. Below are the most popular long Perused by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Perused poems by poem length and keyword.
Nobody Likes A Know-It-All
(Or ... I Know What I Know)
(Prov. 1: 29* / Prov. 1: 22-33 / John 15: 19 / Matt. 7: 3-6 / Prov. 3: 7 / Prov. 9: 7, 8)
Nobody Likes A Know-It-All
They Either Get On Your Nerves
Or Make You Climb Up The Wall
They Come On Like Squalls
Their Opinions Sprawled
We Shake 'Em Off Like Tattered Shawls
... Nobody Likes A Know-It-All
So, If I Happen ... Across Your River To Row
I Don't Mean To Come Sounding Like An Old Crow
Or Waste Your Time If You Say No ...
But Listen ... I Know What I Know ...
I've Read & Studied & Meditated
Perused & Pondered & Got Educated
In Reason & Rhyme - I've Ruminated
My Thoughts Into Rooms Are Relegated
Raised Questions & Quizzed & Investigated
(Even Made Some Folks Uneasy & Agitated)
but GOD Said That 'That' Knowledge Would Be Hated
(John 7: 7 / John 17: 14 / John 15: 17-20)
So With All Due Respect -- So and So ...
... I Know What I Know
... of Innocence & Intelligence
Ratified Ideas & Reference
Cataloged Diligence & Resilience
Always Bravo'd The Beauty of High Brilliance
In Conventions' & Congregations' Confidence
& Assemblies & Achievements' Evidence
In Citadels of Archives' Residence
In Colleges & Scholars' Licensed Competence
In Trust's of A Counselor's Expert Guidance
and In The Word of GOD's Reverence
With Lessons' Continuance' Vigilance
In Meaning of Life & Purpose & Spirit's Significance
and Carpe' Diem When Possible and Patience ...
So, That Even In Philosophy's Status-Quo ...
... I Know What I Know
... From Countless Hours - In Half A Century of Years
In Conversations From A Constellation of Peers
About Life & Death & Future & Fears
About Love & Passion & Lust & Leers
About Laughter & Joy & Pain & Tears ...
About Mercy & Justice & Truth So Clear
About Fame & Fortune & What's More Dear
About War & Peace As World Totters & Veers
About Freedom As Kingdom of GOD Draws Near
About Why We Cheer & While Others Jeer...
(Part 2 of 4)
Written & Copyrighted ©: 9/20/2013
by: MoonBee Canady
(Part 2 of "Nobody Likes A Know-It-All" is the serious side of addressing "Knowledge ... ... So, this free verse is really about Godly Knowledge, Biblical Learning and Spiritual Intelligence ... (first) ... and then about education and different areas of study in an academic way. So when reading this write - that should be kept in mind, to get the most out of it ... MoonBee
Under the shadow
Of your past mistakes, you live
And the way you perceive
Life is itself a deceive
For there is more to life
Than occupying space and time
You think you live life to the fullest
But you are the most clueless
And blindest
Get a life
You pursue happiness
But you don’t see the pass through
Because you must carry it with you
Like a guitar
For happiness cannot be pursued
Like information perused
Or like a child amused
It must ensue
Not like the life
You intend to live up to
Traded by living
Someone else’s opinion of you
Like many times they have told you
You amount to nothing
And even though you are always bluffing
To be bravely bold
You seem like you need to be consoled
For you grumble, get angry
Eat too much, drive too fast
Your life is caught up
Like fish gills in a net
And frankly while others feel the rain
You just get wet
You don’t even know the difference
That is why you have resigned to exist
Instead of living
You don’t know the strategy to exit
Or the quickest escape
While friends tell you that you are in shape
You wish they could strip naked the truth
Or undrape the reality
That you are but a walking corpse
And every day that goes
It gets worse
Get a life
You say marriage
Was your greatest achievement
Because it guaranteed you sex
But even dummies marry
And one of them happens to be your ex
Now what?
You don’t understand
What has brought your marriage to a sweet end?
Or perhaps by moving on
You have begun to understand
And that doesn’t make you under achiever
Get a life
Not a rifle
To end your own life
For your mind is tainted
With to-do lists
Shame you don’t know
Which one you should do first at least?
So, you weaken your thinking
With the drinking
Thinking the stress would go away
But instead, you let stay
Of misery
And so good plans
That you make go astray
Get a life
Someone once said
Aspire to inspire before you retire
And I say
Inquire before you set it on fire
Forget the past and hang out with the yet-to-come
Just like love
Life too is not just a common noun
It is also a verb
And if Mario got one
You should too
So, walk the talk
Get a life
I remember the night of our anniversary so vividly.
Cyril, who locals call 'Cyril the Squirrel' because he's such a miser,
had just taken a seat at the next table with his date Muriel, the local gossip.
Muriel was clutching a wilted red rose that Cyril must have given her
I could clearly see a half price sticker on the wrapper
He really is so darn cheap!
Cyril sat drumming his fingers on the table whilst Muriel perused the menu.
"Hurry up and order, Muriel.
It's buy one, get one free if we order in the next five minutes," he barked!
The waitress arrived to take their order.
She didn't have a chance to say a word before Cyril declared,
“You certainly took your time.
Muriel tell the girl what you want and make it snappy or I’ll miss out on the special offer.”
Muriel ordered tomato soup followed by roast chicken.
“I’ll have the same," said Cyril.
“It will save on the cost if we both have identical meals.”
I was feeling sorry for Muriel when the soup arrived and I could hear Cyril twittering on.
“Hurry up and eat your soup, Muriel .
We can go dancing at the Palais ….
It’s free if we get in before seven o’clock.”
“OH I LOVE DANCING!
BUT NOT WITH A PENNY PINCHING SCROOGE LIKE YOU!" she screamed in annoyance.
The restaurant fell silent; all eyes turned to their table.
Muriel stood, tipped the bowl of soup in his lap,
and whacked him across the face with the limp rose.
"First and last date, Cyril, …
and it didn’t cost you a cent, after all MY meal was free!"
She turned on her heels and stormed out of the restaurant.
Cyril’s face went puce as he looked like he was going to explode.
I'm sure Muriel would head straight for the bingo hall to tell everyone about her first date with "the squirrel."
And by tomorrow, her disastrous date would be the talk of the town.
"Happy Anniversary, Honey,"
my husband whispered to me.
He looked at his watch and exclaimed, "Oh dear!
“We were so busy watching the floor show that we’ve missed the special offer!"
08-16-17
First Date Contest
Sponsored by Kim Rodrigues
The dichotomy prayer
I'm free, my will
So stagnant this standstill
designed by He
Of metaphors and mystery
My mountains of molehills
no carrots yet im gold
So it's said , "only one you".
Talent unused -a crime
Oil crude untapped, and yeah still unrefined
Some say it's true -that's that.
Please see me through I'm trapped.
I'm in the pews -I've asked?
This stop in time-I've perused
This Catholic boy at mass
Which voice's or choice- need clues?
God for your will, let me be used
The many for the few?
Too many just do you?
Answers I've seen plenty
Is only one what's true?
A number in a stack? It's two.
God right now it's me n you.
Inside I'm so dirty, hands just washed I'm clean.
Body language 101
we all know what that means
I wander
yet I stay on track
Move forward then slide back
Ambiguous I happen
docile I attack..
Up-down, left-right
I Wait-i stop- slow down.
A soldier I see red
So serious a clown
Straight ahead...
The record circle's round and round
A lush- a softy made of lead, in such a rush...
Sirens all around
Right where I was
A code, OD'eeed-male
In silenca, a man down
He's cool, clammy and pale
From defects I was drowned
The hurry from the country to uptown
Loved people in a rush
don't touch, so much is still unfound.
I look around, I'm lost
A pilot on the ground
Im hot, I'm cold- but clutch
Not now
Calm then told "im bout ta bust"
these drugs a crutch, for way too long
Too many times discussed
Lord, just where do I belong?
In you I trust- My faith a must
In silence I stand strong
You choose us-it's left then right?
For insight I do pray
Left, right
What's left -I write
Each breath I fight, i say:
Now in sorrow -right is right.
"Some direction" if i may?
Right where im at -tomorrow?
I see right past today.
The here - why, where n how?
Good moments passed away
Ambiguous I talk
Rhetoric Q "n" A?
But mine! -just lines of chalk
an outline where i lay!
My question of all time
Was I grateful for my stay?
Are we like the mythical Adam and Eve?
(A lone voice whispers to his true love as Mother Moon, watches)
My Sophia
Are we are like the mythical
Adam and Eve
Walking upon the grey shores
Of a lost planet
Hidden in the deepest of space
Our true love holding us
Knee-deep in make believe
As if buried alive
Where we will witness
The birth of nebula's
Stars
And rediscovered Old Gods
A new Atlantis
Filled with wild pagan beasts and jealous old women and men
Where we will stride beyond the reach of the
Masters of the Masonic Temples
Erecting their secretive
Light barriers
So we can part the soft pink pages
In our own Books of Exquisite Pleasure
To be then perused and used
At our inquisition and leisure
As we watch the fall of the new AI-driven human
With the rise of the
Cosmic Red Serpent
Laying upon the yellow sands and shorelines
As the new time of crucifixions begins again
To see the visceral sights and smells
As new spellbound disciples yell
Palaces and institutions
May burn and be
Aflame before us
A new vision of a world consumed with
Corruption and sin
For as we watch, we will know
We are lone riders of
The Great Red Dragon once foretold
We are some of the mythical poets and writers
World and Empire
Watchers
Who never grow old
We
Me and you
My Sophia
My queen
Who collects the Universes many hidden stories
For in time
To be simply retold
We
Just reborn as poets today
No longer
Citizens of any known countries
Just sent again
From The Great In-Between
To release new thoughts and words like red balloons to float
To encourage and nourish inquisitive minds
Which are perpetually hungry
For enchanting new stories
To rebel in this glory
Contained and captured in this
Our everlasting promissory note
Released like celebration balloons
Into new readers minds
To forever
Settle or float
Copyright John Duffy
They lived across from each other
on and off the center floor dorm hall,
both on the much discussed
controversial LeftWing side.
Yang perused Yin's CDs,
"I see you like that ***** music,
Elton John
and Luther VanDross
and George Michael.
I didn't notice that before."
Yin responds quietly
calmly
amused:
First,
I don't believe music is gay or straight,
but most everything wave-linear co-related in-between
harmonic and dissonant,
diminished and replenished.
Lyrics may be wavey *****
or straight-line predictable
but usually flow well
either spiraling way
telling co-relating creation stories
of nature's neural positives
and negatives
surfing back and forth
in and out
before and after
here and there
now and then
and yet to climax
polypathic health
as polyphonic wealth.
But, Second,
Feels to me all music,
maybe all muses,
are *****
when I think holistically about it,
us,
them,
verbally thought and non-verbally felt,
internally touched
By a rhetorical moment
we curiously know as music
without noticing how radically unlikely
regenerative processes
compassionate evolutions
could ever reproduce such homo-ingenious sounds,
rhythms,
patterns,
colors,
textures,
stories,
epic original empathic creations
and co-empathic octaved recreations
within such a LeftBrain heterosexual white privileged
RightWing capitalistic
narcissistically greedy
UnQueer Line Marching Against
the Great Historic/Futuristic muse and prophets
of unboxable harmony,
despite dissonance,
resonance,
despite fading resilience of Baby Xers,
polyphonic yin-mused light,
despite polynomial not not
climate of touch and feel
polyphonic dualdarkness.
Meanwhile Yang
couldn't hear too well
since opening the window
facing spring
listening
to a cranked up RocketMan,
while athletically dancing to hot not unqueer music,
and Yin's ears swayed tenderly after and before
***** musing
straight talk.
My abiding memory of 2015 is of events that are so sad
With my father’s death, it’s the worst year I’ve ever had
It has been the most challenging year for me
But with amazing support I remain pretty happy
I don’t want to dwell on events that have past
My memories of the year 2015 will always last
I want to leave the year on a humourous note
With a true tale of a gift that didn’t get my vote!
Mum and I went out to a local church fete
It’s very well attended and the raffle is great
We perused all the stalls and brought a few things
I got some lemon cake and some brand new earrings
The raffle stall bulged with wonderful prizes
With boxes that ranged in all shapes and sizes
One pretty white gift box really caught my eye
Four ‘Dior’ perfume miniatures for a lady to try
We brought some tickets then sat and drank tea
I said to mum, I’ve seen just the prize for me
The raffle got drawn and mum’s ticket was pulled out
I collected the prize of Dior perfume without a doubt
Mum told me I could have it as a Christmas gift
I was overjoyed and it gave my heart a huge lift
The gift box was placed under our little tree
Its pretty gold ribbon was there for all to see
I didn’t open the box on Christmas Day
Until Boxing Day the pretty box did stay
We were going out to friends later that night
I thought my new perfume would be just right
Taking the pretty white box from under the tree
I pondered which scent would be perfect for me
Upon lifting the lid of the perfume box
I returned to the school of hard knocks
To my consternation and my deep chagrin
There was a void where the perfume once had been
An empty box was my only present from my mum
My gift is that I still have mum, so my poem is done.
This is a true story - someone had put an empty box as a raffle prize!
Contest: My abiding Memory
Sponsor: Viv Wigley
9th January 2016
A canticle I think I'll be,
A rimed thought, hoary and ancient,
Stinking as the dust heaped up empyreal on the hills of
The Judean sands;
And as dulled and dimmed as an archaic coin tarnish'd.
This is what I think I might be.
I'd as lief be this as any other you might care to name.
Valid is this, my remote and removed claim,
And it all began hereon.
O, that was an age ago, that remote and bygone time,
Rimed with hoar-frost and the whitishness of ancientness,
When as blood-soaked, cruciferous hills remote and circumvallatory or else
Perhaps circumferential to the great, walled city, itself circumvallatory;
When all this began.
When this particular beguine to which we've all been dancing lo this many score of years began.
It was as a woman bedecked in black on a Sunday morning newly kissed by the auriferous dawn,
(A goldener dawn than even that on which she met the man whose coffin she was now appointed to follow in a moribund processional, a macabre and solemn, ceremonial dance of death,)
Going down to the fixed graveyard.
That day was as the day on which I first deigned to join this,
And adopting unto myself the sobriquet, shibboleth "A canticle I think I be"
(For I was not permitted to use the full appellation I wished to apply to myself,
Owing to some stupid and recondite rule regarding and regulating the use and due conservation of characters: Yet not those as those of the mainstays of literature, no! I mean to say the characters that are synonymous with words and spaces and punctuation and the like,)
And here the tale ends, though 'twas not Moschean nor Noahide as
I perhaps meant it to be.
Oh, well: All's well that ends well.
(For was this not an idiotic tale, yet a harrowing one, whose lightest word would harrow up the young blood of any and all who saw it, read it, perused it?)
Form:
Though discriminatory asper discerning
legitimate information TIME
Magazine considered
a reliable trustworthy,
and valuable source to this rhyme
stir, who perused cover story, sans
January 28th, 2019 issue as prime
material to concoct
more serious than amusing
poem mindful not to spoil mealtime
sharing insightful ruses not so sublime
utilizing underhanded tactics that chime
with markedly innocuous discordant
undertones for longtime
(within realm of information technology)
garnering bajillion zeroes
after face value of dime
(I chose that denomination...
just book haws), suit clime
mate here, plus yours truly
aspired to fuel inquisitiveness,
since text unable to display mime
relayed by this messenger,
who questions gravity of crime
head honcho blithely
involving selling personal data
thus affecting prospects of incipient wartime.
every keystroke action typed by me,
and everybody else linkedin into web
foregoes their life details free
for selling treasured binary binded bits we
bull leave tubby encrypted, yet algorithms
invested with secret electron size key
sophisticated to sniff out valuable trove
within every pixel typed into ever re:
screen of every Internet app pre
pair ring the equivalent
of voluminous dossier lee
ving nary a trace, yet data packets
more precious than fine spun gold,
invisible electronic bursts glee
fully swept up like nobody's business – see
ming to provide a wellspring
of many a cottage industry
similar to a pugilist on par with Muhammad Ali
generating revenue, and
driving profits with accessory
trinkets or gewgaws hyped up as de
facto plum purchases, perhaps purchased online
whereat vendor (unbeknownst to patron) sells
vital transaction information to data broker he
or she obviously for a price - yes our SECURITY!
Don't Look Under the Bed
- by Bob Atkinson
..........Oliver Goldsmith tells the story ....
out walking for his health
a man spied his friend of years on pathway
how "are you sir?" he asked with smile
"not well" the gent replied back, looked terrified
"... what happed sir to create this stir
you seem so stressed this day
do you feel under the weather
perhaps you should stand in shade? ..."
the man then told his story
one of dubious glory
had come home early yesterday
and found his wife not at her work
lying without on her bed
no stitch of clothes or hat on head
had looked down and seen some shoes
not his size, but a style he knew
looking further had seen his friend
under the bed with open hand
covering body parts unnamed
a context which him inflamed
"... hmmmm the first man perused
this situation's not so unusual
a fix of gross proportions
one of life's heartless distortions
the gent began to lament
how he's sending wife to mother
divorcing within the week
slapping her with lawyer on each cheek
his friend then held up hand to stop
this track of mind which he thought
not a path one should take
in this situation of disgrace
"friend," he said with saddened tone
"you have no witness on your own
just your word against your lover
should you really send her to her mother?
your word against her own
you'll alimony pay through the nose
and half your wealth will be disposed
to this woman of lover spoken
best never again look under her bed
when you come home you should slam
front door hard to make some noise
yell 'Honey I'm Home' loudly in bright tones"
thus, the gent saw sense in this
went home with smile to his sweetness
"Honey I'm home," he loudly declared upon entry
he never again looked under bed or pantry