Long Plumbs Poems
Long Plumbs Poems. Below are the most popular long Plumbs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Plumbs poems by poem length and keyword.
4 and 20 Pies – No Blackbirds
Oh, spare me the plethora of pies
the thumbs-up plumbs,
the pie in the sky dreams
of the pie lovers,
the onerous moooo
of the piebald cow
being milked
by the pie-eyed farmer
as his pied piper wife
lures the chickens
into a pot pie.
Pie charts to measure
children against nourishment,
who cuts, who chooses,
statistically
who wins, who loses,
“pies the type”
of apples on the floor.
It ain’t that simple, Simon
say the “pietist”
who fear
that if Pi can’t be squared
pies end is drawing near.
John G. Lawless
10/9/2014
submitted to – Sheri Fresonke Harper
Plentitude of Pies – Poetry Contest
I happened to hear a cover song
on the radio the other day,
by some band the couldn’t write a hit,
or their instruments manage to play.
My first thought was to just shake my head,
and wish they had just left it alone,
then thought it everyone had done that,
would these songs by anyone be known?
Think of the songs that don’t get covered,
that are a hit for just a short time,
how many thousands fall in this camp,
doomed never more to come to our minds?
Yet every so often one stands out,
and we come back again and again,
because it speaks to use way deep down,
what it is to be women or men.
It’s the cover bands that keep them fresh,
plumbs their depths so the people can see
the genius of the original,
why it deserves immortality;
enriching the whole of the culture,
with constructs that even time can’t break,
tying the present to those before,
an eternal connection it makes.
And honestly, it’s a lot of fun
trying to guess what songs are of worth,
which of them will still be listened to
when our great-grandchildren walk this Earth.
Who will become the next Hank Williams,
Stephen Foster, or Irving Berlin?
What tunes will the weird kids listen to
for solace because they don’t fit in.
Heck without covers ol’ Beethoven
would not be something most people hear,
orchestras cover that curmudgeon,
and the music still brings folks to tears.
They’re giant symphonic cover bands
that preserve masterpieces through time,
I’m glad they do because can you
imagine a world without the 9th?
So go cover any song you want,
from Led Zeppelin to Frank Sinatra,
if you like it so much it has worth
regardless of your band’s many flaws,
If it were not for the cover bands,
most would not know these songs in the least,
through them the best will rise to the top,
they’ll reveal the timeless masterpiece.
(Wimpole Street, in the West End of London,
has been the scene of many interesting events,
from the elopement of Elizabeth Barrett Browning
to The Beatles composing "Help!")
The Long, Unlovely Street
It’s such a straight and long, unlovely street,
not quite the retail zone, not quite the mouth
of Regent’s Park. It plumbs a line north-south,
where Mayfair and more middling London meet.
Come walk with me on Wimpole, feast your eye
on blue ceramic plaques, as thick as leaves
that strew the brooks so loved by Freddie Treves,
where tall town houses shoulder out the sky!
Elopements, easements, songs of yesterday,
bereavements, human elephants and more:
we’ll see enchantment pour from every door,
and find a little help along the way.
Where legal precedent meets Mersey Beat,
come tramp the straight and long, unlovely street.
Death By Murder:
Murky water left to drink
floating particles of death.
Erie presence leaves discontent.
As something wicked floats in it.
The bone chilling cold wind doth blow
off Lake Erie with flurry snow.
Late at night off cold dark shores
shadows of a floating barge.
Clouds of soot from steamers clogged
Pollutes the air with killer smog.
When something wicked this way flows
poverty on desperate corners pose.
Perverts prey on angry streets
Homeless children on which they creep.
Desperately at the mercy of,
as something wicked this way comes
Young ones get plucked,like sweet ripe plumbs
As something wicked this way comes
.
Contaminated, where no herbs could purge her
Strictly becomes death by murder.
Others with blood dripping from lips
Every scary thing flung and flipped
No caring soul feels to investigate
As vampires odors fumigate
There's no friend to even extend
a stick to beat the bush or defend
The evil deeds that ignorance brings
desecrates the graves of all good men
We make loud noises and pretend;
While something evil this way spins.
The screams are loud but know one heard her
Ignored are cries upon lake Erie's borders
Spores that spawn.. these deaths by murder.
"We are cute spring chicks with fluffy feathers that keep
us warm; real small, like to run, and we are adorable ! "
Quote by _Constance
On a bright morn spring chicks hatched,
as the first flowers of the season bloomed;
oddly, not a single chick matched,
their fluffy feathers delightful plumbs.
Each was silly, playful and gay,
they would run every which way;
often, they wandered the barn yard going astray.
Those sweet chicks had no fear,
sometimes, suddenly they would just appear;
and to their mother would adhere.
So whimsical and frivolous to watch,
and almost impossible to catch;
I love each fluffy chick's feathery splotch,
and have a favorite that I call Butterscotch.
"Streams of Gold, Blazing Andromedas"
Engagement came at a cost
the written word read
and worn like a purple robe
to keep out the cold
stave the hunger off,
feed the soul eveything,
Everything, is what it wants,
silky words like feathers
tickle the closed throat,
the lips open the kisses
like envelopes
eternal sweet plumbs,
like losengers
in a glass swear jar
too many now,
innumerable,
judged and fined,
selected and sucked
unreasonably
for some kind longevity,
the life, for all it's worth,
in treacherous weather,
sometimes flounders,
pauses for a while
looking upwards towards
an empty sky searching
and waiting, for far away lost gods,
then uncomfortably dressed,
the robe, loosened, like a pagan,
the written word read
and worn on the outside
like a purple cross,
the stars glittering in
reflective windows,
the view immeasurable,
the external shell
disgarded and dropped
at the feet of absent minded
causes, the reviews smile
like wolves lost, they're
missing the red hoods,
they're missing
the real treasure,
the deep buried plot
the naked pleasure
of walking away
graces a certain freedom
priceless, like rare diamonds
entwined with diamantes,
who can tell the difference now?
twinkling like blazing andromedas
at the distant edge of their worlds
Engagement locked in at a cost
fresh water pearls
au natural, nothing
false here, the
kintsugi veins glow
lux vitae
in fig leaf stories
a naked life shining,
seen running in
broken streams of gold
the missing Page left opening
marked unopened books,
walks like a lost adventurer
through stories
that arrive on leaves
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
“fantôme du noir chevalier”
whither doth thee cometh from?
Strange voice that I see
Coldness of ire burns
the skin beneath sheets
paper white guise
black ink heart bleeding within -
stranger the walls do speak here
in the mirror swimming See
the lost reflections of souls
the misguided forlorn
disenchanted do scry
their petulant perplexity
ghosts for the haunting
picked like ripe plumbs
legions illuminating dead dreams
the devil beating his drums
in her spectral bed
the incubus arrives
the succubus hums
once were bold quills tracing
curves cursive passionately clear
near human once attempting sincere
to unlock love with blind faith ne’er fear
I hear your tome calling
fantôme du noir chevalier
erudite Faust waives
ignores lore written before him
I hear your tome calling
fantôme du noir chevalier
Salome is her name
a new dance appears
She will take you
before morning
a promise forewarning
I give this to thee
fantôme du noir chevalier
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
“Here in My Room”/ Incubus
https://youtu.be/0IlPlKBXRHE
Sonnet LXXXVI
He walks by day the northern woods
He seeks by night the skies
He sees in stars a face he knows
And one he knows no more
He plumbs with vague suspicion
The abyss of his soul
And calculates the irony
Of what he does not know
He is at war, he is at peace
He is beyond the pale
A portrait of a modern man
At manhood’s tender age
Who knows of no restrictions
Nor limits understood
Yet knows the truths that must be told
To beggars, and the proud –
Accommodating challenges
Summoned from within
He looks beyond the you and me
For where he wants to be
And walks by day the northern woods
And seeks by night the skies
To find in stars a man he knows
And one he knows no more
Written: September 19, 2023
______________________________________________________________
In a world where gratitude often fades,
And thankfulness is lost in the haze,
Let us appreciate the gleam and sheen,
Of the amber sun in the sky's iridescent scene.
For the unappreciative, the ingrate
Who fail to grant and undervalue the straight,
May they witness the stirring warmth it brings,
And learn the meaning that gratitude sings.
In the depths of ingratitude and despair,
The grateful ones find solace in the air,
They weld their mindful hearts with love and care,
And their appreciation for the life they share.
With each tender moment and each sort word,
They recognize the blessings that rise unheard,
Their gratitude plumbs the depths of the sea,
As they return kindness with no answer or plea.
In a world where thanklessness can lead,
The grateful ones bear the lead indeed,
Proving that gratitude is a remoter,
That can brighten hearts and be a comforter.
In their beds of thankfulness, they lie,
With a sense of gratitude that reaches the sky,
They realize the concession of appreciation,
And the value of every heartfelt commendation.
God, you are, you're more than everything;
God your everything;
Father, of heaven creator of all things;
God, you made all things, everything;
And you are the valley of flowers;
A galaxy of brilliant lights;
A rainbow promised for all mankind;
Golden plumbs of mercies race;
Overwhelming forgiveness amazing grace;
Father, of heaven creator of all things;
God, you made all things, everything;
Father of all creator of humanity and angels;
Allfather creator of matter and dreams;
Originator almighty conceiver
You've made me a believer;
God, you are, you're more than everything;
6/13/19
God your everything;