Long Portfolio Poems
Long Portfolio Poems. Below are the most popular long Portfolio by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Portfolio poems by poem length and keyword.
not in the heart again
for chrissakes it's like Swiss cheese
decoffinated please I'm a yet ambulatory zombie
off his medication as usual
alternatives to logic 101 with Prof. Spike
far too much work for a dead end
saw his only ally the embalmers needle
left his innards spilled in the sand
history in its entirety mocked his comprehension
had the nation in tears and then nausea
several dueling scars graced his genitals
if our perceptions already lie
why shouldn't we
I had to laugh
it was all I could do to keep from smiling
even after a thousand years of AI research
the electronic government was helpless
my Microsoft forehead radiator
absolutely charmingly couldn't get any focus
but the Royal Society of Blind Philosophers
helped me with my little problem
a miracle of recipe repair
because our endorphin soup is a bit thin
the quicksilver cooks ate first and fell asleep
having thrown away their brains long before
in the field kitchen of the gods
after the air raid sirens of postmodernity
can there be too much truth
for an army of blood diamond merchants
now a bit more about para electrics
if only I were at liberty to discuss it
yes imprecision can carry signal
but the place is crawling with dilettantes
wearing their secret butt plugs
it's a guessing game as you can see
petitioning for a visually diagrammatic idiom
although it's a devilish seesaw but let us restart
The Oblivion Ride was the big theme park attraction
my extended family was in the sideshow
justifiably taken for a pack of fools
then the sun went down and never came up again
and we stepped into the stone circle
chanting evidence is preferable
to the moonlit tombstone
good luck with that in your airwaves
broadcast on radio Sarajevo
signal drifting drifting drifting
with minds great and small
and smaller and smaller
the Internet is the yearned for Messiah
there it's done and out and not to be unseen
you wrestle with it while I proceed
dashing among startled commuters
mesmerizing the fact finding committee
their dictatorship of x-ray leeches
tossed him out of several monasteries
apparently the production quotas were relaxed
in a kaleidoscope of normalcy
the style crazed mannerist martinets
howdy do nail in my shoe
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Just in case you wondered...
Yours truly, (i.e. I) quickly
became hypnagogic afore
subsequently segueing soundly
into autohypnosis booklore,
while binge reading courtesy
regarding aptitude chore
treasure trove books galore
five dollars as many
paginated fictitious stories ('bout deplore
hubble basket cases) fit into authorized bag
infernal challenge sifting evermore
alum skid more or less
bending and reaching skyhigh
toe tilly (ejaculating
what the heel) footsore
compromising writing, rather heretofore
indulging insatiable knowledge
(surpassing narcotic fix),
the world wide web hide ignore
engrossed various and sundry
enchanting, kickstarting, and revelling - bonjour
dear reader buzzfeeding...
Till chief hankering
(regarding appeasing passionate
word loving aficionado,
albeit temporarily ceased
(think intellectual fancy feast)
getting imagination (mine) linkedin
outspeeding lightning greased
experiencing cerebral capacity increased
virtual make believe
terra incognita leased.
insatiable jabberwocky yen
countless hours elapsed when
inconvenient wont head sleep
wracked courtesy (bowling) ten
pins nabbed mettlesome ambulation
often found me - hen (pecked) hex pen
sieve dishabille scattered brained brute
somnambulant analogous awake burning ken
kindled smoldering cognitive tinder even...
Chilly cooling off, where
temporal lobed hiatus taken
beefing portfolio in effort to scare
back poetic proclivity despite near
severe withdrawal symptoms
reacquainting novelty here
with effort to jog capacity
to craft poem quite aware...
Unsuspecting readers breathed
sigh of relief interim joker I went absent
posting trademark gobbledygook,
now unnamed fool rushes in,
where angels fear to tread - nay cent
return of native son unequivocally, pinterestingly
digitally... afore written dive versification
brandishing said as unsung literary event
psalm time sacrilegious Jew bull gent
bringing entertainment intent
to thee anonymous
analogously, humorously, and parenthetically
lamely affecting (i.e. poorly emulating)
Shakespearean belles lettres,
perhaps coronavirus pathogen
t'will cut me down, whereby
microbial size Clark Kent,
whoops twas Lois Lane I meant
to empower one meek and obedient
primate even during
but, and, or conjunctive
rutting season quiescent.
Author's note: This is an epic length poem that will have to be split into parts and will be serialized in successive posts.
Part 2
act three
in the third act delirious
the laws of physics etc.
he coughs his lungs out
in wheezing jets
internal combustion is internal combustion
his bed of wheels begins to roll
first one wheel then the others
cough cough cough
his wheels roll the length of
NEURO WARD 4's corridor
to the NEURO elevator
and its NEURO music
by now familiar to you
as that song in the head
cough cough cough
3 2 1 doors open out
upon the concrete parking lot
out to Lucille the Oldsmobile
they recognize one another
why no one knows
this is an orphan's tale
composed with the licensed use
of Orphan Guild secrets
raised on the back seat
suckled by giant oranges
weaned on foot long hot dogs
at the nation's roadside
Musella my injection!
act four
in the 4th phantom of the opera
the tank hits empty
his lungs flat and black
as a piece of big rig recap
in desperation piles bricks on seat
heaves bricks back onto concrete
salutes au revoir to the mirror's horizon
and rolls onward
propelled by what is equal
what is opposite
according to St. Newton
the law of the motor
what goes in must come out
seriously Lucille rolls
upon the concrete gridway
steering herself autonomously
everything left to chance
we now know any nightmare
propelled by what is equal and opposite
will roll through the divider
and off the bed-road
Musella vacuums up the glass
and sorts out the tubing
our fugitive lays low by his radio
signal up full
awaiting the footsteps
and stethoscope of Tex Amphora
the archaeologist cowboy surgeon
took my case in a bar stool wager
betting on flesh made perfect
the fool the angel
5 minute intermission
they taught me how to act
onstage I mean in stages
strangers said I'd grow out of it
friends said I'm gonna die from it
there comes a time in a youth's youth
when he discovers
that the machinery on the interstate
can play the sound of skidding wheels
on a Steinway
so
a much needed musical interlude then
acto sexto
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
http://tinyurl.com/nhfk6dr
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.site11.com/
i hope you don't mind
if I wander in through your front door
and reset your clocks to headlight savings
life requires humor he said to the lens grinders
as he rode his all terrain moon beam to heaven
where they were eradicating stupidity with fairy tales
same **** greater magnification was basically it
slipped on their own icy hearts
applying one clever artifice after another
but after all one wants to hasten
the modern world along clippity clop
impediments to traffic flow were to be shot
what happened next is not in the dictionary
which is fine don't get me wrong
beats the nuts off hunger
but the world is not nice anymore
isolated pockets of rebellion perhaps
out in the bleak lizard sands hanging from a tree
but the rest stuffed with foam peanuts
that could turn you to ballroom dancing
your narrator being the test case
for daisy picking the numbers the samples the statistics
I love you just the same she whispered after the operation
the entire ABC unit was called in from the chalk mines
and the XYZ crew was called in from the slate quarry
but no amount of preparation could have warned them
of the melancholic yet piquant sagging of standards
his mind had turned upon itself out of shame and envy
he had an entire city in his head
that wasn’t in Architectural Digest
honkings sirens gunfire breaking glass
spasms and outbursts and phobias and anxieties and
compulgings and obsessities and hallucinotions and
mysterias and distortoons and damplifications and
twitchings and itchings and may I add bowel flux
we haven't even begun to look at his libido
which had shrunk from a blacksmith's forge of intensity
to the vague expectation of an afternoon nap
better than living the prelude to a beheading
you decide if hiding in the bushes permanently
like a grinning jack in the box with a message
is the same as dancing through the forest
dressed in leaves and emeralds
pantomime after all is deception
random at first then shapes intervene
there is no random he said over and over in proof
they say the devil spoke Hebrew
and Popeye smoked his spinach
a contemporary exercise in
signal location
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
the serene people whose ease of manner
once made him yearn and confabulate
are laughable cartoonish and piteous now
could have been much worse he said
as his last breath left his scarred throat
feral hand closing his own eyes
St. Pudenda greeted him at the tall gates
under the lights at Checkpoint Charlie
Mariachi trumpets rolled out the mauve carpet
and a dog barked from behind the garbage cans
from all infinity we end up with this
a realm of syntax governed by ambiguity
she read from a large ledger atop a marble pedestal
why a ledger rather than a laptop is anyone's guess
apparently the vanguard party had been evicted
by Frankie Boxcars and the Hollywood mafia eons ago
in the great schism over the digitization of paradise
no jury of his peers he noted with unease
nothing of telling import she imparted casually
eyes darting up and down the pages
as if something previously detected had been airbrushed
arrested for self amplification she went on
and sorcery and coughing in quiet places
how did you sleep she asked with a beaming smile
I don't know I was asleep he intoned
I suppose we can reveal the joke she mused
but I was dreaming he countered
backed into a tight corner by snarling lap dogs
tossed into a kidnap taxi with a sack over my head
marched with a gun in my back
through a forest of clichés
fed lines from a hideous new sitcom
about sex among the homeless
a weekly broadcast on Piñata Vision
of course it was more fun
not being an active target
but what choice did I have
knowing what I know
poor dear thing she continued
there is a better version of everything
a law of nature completely natural
and yes it is densely beautiful and
smoldering with awe like a corpse in a bathtub
try to avoid the truly grotesque
in favor of the marginally grotesque
we love having you in our science dept.
with the state secrets and midget **** videos
masquerading as the way things actually are
where the misty cows moo in contentment
and the Vaseline runs hot behind sanctuary doors
horrors altering the course of suns
between the here and the there
every bit of it needless she giggled
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
If ever I had to have a country victim of pedophily : LXXXVI
[Note: 216,000 cases of pedophily, perpetrated by the clergy, have been recorded by the Catholic Church in France since 1950.]
If ever I had to have a country, would that it be a country where no infant boy or lad need ever fear of being the victim of pedophily
Let it also be a country that sent no Albuquerque or Vasco de Gama, Drake or Raleigh, Cortes nor Dupleix to undermine the « street arabs » and « orphaned » heathens under seal of the Papal authority
For, remember how I was persuaded to assume the rôle of Ministre d’État Plenipotenciary without Portfolio or Duty, the Saviour of down-trodden Womenkind (O, « A Daniel come to Judgement ! »),
for I’d turn Torquemeda, revive the Inquisition, the Ace of Papacy
Will I let fresh-cheeked choir boys nor novice sacristans in strict page-boy linen, candle or Cross in hand lisping psalms disappear in the dense stench-filled folds of priestly « soutanes » behind pillars under Roman arches or polished teak encrusted encasements their stifled cries for help choked through holy promiscuity
Nor will I let Henry the VIIIth behead his wives in the Tower for failing to provide him with a male heir nor let no Archbishop lie bleeding at the Cathedral at Canterbury nor no politicking murder
stain some Florentian cathedral to foist the House of Medeci
You guessed right alright, I’ll take over the Tower of London as my foremost torture dungeon, call out the Swiss helmeted Guards with their spears and while I keep puffing at the Havana cigars (a chest-full gift from Fidel Castro, in grateful acknowledgement of inestimable services rendered to soft-ball gals in shedding excess weight on the ground) and keep crying out « Habemus » Pope to drown out the squeals yells and screams issuing from pedophiles pierced by Swiss lances in the rears of millions of priests found guilty
You bet that’s what I’ll do even if the entire Order of the Malte forgot about the Crusades against the Turks and Saracens - and poor one-armed Cervantes – during the Battle of Lepanto just to crucify me
And so what even if I never ever had no country with orphaned infants and laddies to pity
© T. Wignesan, Paris – Octobre 14, 2021
Jealous, Jealous, Jealous
The swiftness of the Vessa just killed me,
That speed and the grandeur of the seat,
The frame’s shine and the four wheels free,
The maroon leather upholstery neat.
The diagonal pattern on the seat and back,
Which made diamond shapes all over,
Reminded me of Pringles golf wear sack,
That sportsmen buy, their goods designer.
The prestige of owning one was immense,
A Vessa with thin black joystick, gray box,
Orange on/off button for your own sense,
To use wisely to be the batteries’ prox.
That privilege, that air that they all held,
Even made their severe disabilities trivial,
Counted them as people who so gelled,
With normality, the cool and the convivial.
I couldn’t walk at all well, sore feet often,
And in Primary Two asked of my physio,
That she give me in order to cheer, soften,
An electric wheelchair for my portfolio.
I wasn’t asking for a Vessa, not at all,
Just a Bec, ‘cos that could be anyone’s
They were blue, just for indoors, did stall,
And there were some just sat there, tuns.
My feet got sore and I was badly in pain,
Because mum insisted on Clarks shoes,
Old fashioned, hard, so I did complain,
Ås I saw trainers that would fit my toes,
My mum’s strict faith said no to sense,
No to love and yes to abuse, I’d loose,
So I explained to my physio, no nonsense,
That Christianity meant my pain, choose.
My mum thought trainers were worldly,
Demonic, non-Christian, rough and sinful,
But I didn’t know my credibility fully,
And so my physio said no more mouthful.
I knew it would’ve given me a life,
A mouth, a mode that could let me talk,
‘Cos I couldn’t talk and walk, my strife,
Together, simultaneously, talk and walk.
So at school I was always jealous,
Of those with a Vessa who got respect,
From every staff member zealous,
To enhance their freedom prospect.
I got my Vessa at university, shiney,
But I saw it rationally and with thought,
Understood something had blatantly,
Gone wrong, since it I’d only just bought.
But I appreciated my Vessa so much,
At Uni, no-one knew the status or fuss,
That’d been attached to it, not to touch,
At my special school, uh ha, for all of us.
I seem to have forgotten
the purpose of civilization
we are to animals
as animals are to a basket of forks
C.J. Jung as the UFO pilot
in "Freud Attacks" a talkie
a flaming romp through the hubs of hell
hI kids it’s time for potty training
let's rent a car and take refuge
on the runaway truck ramp
I reached for the emergency brake
got a box of cigars instead
one of the 7 Psychological Wonders
the six others are too hideous to mention
I think we'll need subtitles for this movie
10,000 years of metaphysical illumination
and it's still all work and no play
Where might we find the Way of Fun
although when the black and white keys
all sound at once it still makes me wonder
like tearing your clothes off
at a funeral and jumping on the casket
screaming I've always been ready
OK that's death wish Wonder number 2
apparently life is not a symbol for something else
sponge my brow nurse this is delicate
but is it a subset of something else
as a catalyst to sensation
that's the appetite monster Wonder 3
mom made voodoo dolls from my ****
art is the candle in the skull
I have the power of death she moaned
where language is used to annihilate language
using words as an accusing narcotic
in the holy 4th Wonder of guilt for all things
a lot of ifs in there searching for what's next
tinfoil helmets will be issued
for the car bomb inferno
of the internal saboteur Wonder 5
next a blank diploma emeritus
from the Wewelsburg Engram University
a knife in the Oedipal eye Wonder 6
needless to say the Clinic of Doom
quickly ran out of volunteers
needless to say my chromosomes
cringe under their bed
awaiting a wonderful martyrdom
how did we become radio transparent
and make bargains with man-beasts
I guess a person is as smart
as they want to be
rather than as they need to be
the aid of uncopied ideas never hurts
the act of abstraction is child's play
I feel it my duty to tell you
you can do it in your sleep
but yesterday is gone for good
mourning and loss leave behind
a bed of fragments from Wonder 7
a person incapable of introspection
is a total failure as a human
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
World War 1
I scrawl these visions
in the light of exploding shells
and the grey sleep of a million corpses,
making my pencil the last witness
to the moments between life and death.
Truth shall guide my trembling hand
across a blank canvass that will inherit
this day’s memory of pain.
A transformation in the dark colours of suffering
that echoes the sounds of war
to a respectable audience,
taking their morning tea in England.
The epitaph of a race captured in a wooden pencil
sharing the blood of mankind
in another holy grail.
Come drink this sweet wine of youth
for it will never empty.
My pencil denied by the colours of life
creates glory on a foreign field.
The sons of mothers pose
in deaths final picture,
frozen for winter to play.
Till the heat of summer takes them away
on blue bottle wings to heaven.
A rotten imprint to torment the living.
They were once human as I remember
who came with wit and clean socks
seeking the approval of father.
All were looking for a road to be a man
but the road was a trench,
whose veins pulsated with the blood of the dead
giving birth to the shadows of tomorrow.
Shadows, shadows all is shadows
the pencil can tell no lies.
Life turned into spectres and flies
haunting the conscience of mankind.
We are no longer human beings
war in the trenches dulls the meaning of life.
Death is but a serial number and a victory
for tomorrow’s paper.
Life wasted in Judas visions for all to see.
And I who live in fear
cannot see the lines of humanity anymore.
Only images seeded in a fractured brain
whose portfolio burns in the corpse
that was once my soul.
This pencil has done its duty
The reaper can take these eyes,
eyes that see the shadows
dancing in the flickering flames of war.
A light that bears witness to my last heart beat
in the scribbles of a dying man.
My destiny foretold in my work
to spend eternity in the darkness
that surrounds the stars,
with a pencil that can draw no light.
Pass gently dear comrades from this earth,
time is the watch which knows no end.
Only the blind and the dead will hear
the last tick of this illusion.
For silence is the secret of the earth
everything dies, everything dies.
the list that was a fist
a) it is possible
b) it is inevitable
chained to a million pleasures
an astonishing compendium of compulsions
honed bright with a fool's ardor
the kind you'd wish for in a movie script
undulating at the tar pits of amor
the land rich with autographs
bruised and humiliated reciting the alphabet
backwards on the curb with Officer *****
a limited perspective but not without its ironies
blazing trails to metabolic equilibrium
using every crutch and cane there is
to seek out and embrace ignorance
in a fanciful play of medieval shadows
colliding with the grace of mosh pit elbows
and that pretty much nails it
the rest is a problem of amplification
if looking can blind you I'm blind
he seems to have a button gone missing
ripe to the skies with the stink of deduction
hell was upon us and none grieved
in statistically relevant numbers
apparently they had finally reached
the bottom of the barrel
we still wage war upon feudalism
good advice for any century or cemetery
touch something holy once in a while
and mighty Thor will wing above
ah sure right uh huh you bet
needing humor the wires tried to sing
the blades of the switch bit the anode
all is broadcast everywhere right now
on all the boogie woogie coordinates
how's that for karmic indifference
some curse some utter gratitude
may the good fairy console you
and turn the illusion of warmth
up a little higher
since it hasn't yet been made a crime
to destroy your own mind
until the foundations of the world
thunder and come apart like cooked meat
but working on the problem
is better than nothing
even if you really don't know
all that you think you know
even if hideously scarred in battle
a terra cotta bust hot from the oven
smelling of sulfur and bruises
tempted by radiance and music and poetry
which could get you jailed tonight
so pretend you have wide angle vision
under a curse with an escape clause
in varying pedantic proportions
for another illegal exit
from Average and its Law
played to hI fives all around
kindling fires of rebellion
the Metaphor League saw to it
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/