Long Postponement Poems
Long Postponement Poems. Below are the most popular long Postponement by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Postponement poems by poem length and keyword.
Since the elderly king greatly loved music, his court esteemed it, too;
As sun and moon smile on myriad colors, during the butterfly revue.
The king was well loved and jolly, with the queen, always by his side.
He ruled with caring. Like rainbow hued peaks, where indifference died.
His glorious reign had been lengthy, and the vast kingdom prospered;
Like the kingdom of regal, red lilies, blooming regularly as clockwork.
Fabled, flighty, fall days brought friends, on the spur of rare moment,
Often from faraway kingdoms, like night, after colorful postponement.
Fragrant night fell so familiarly, in the ashen shadows of flaming day;
As family arrived feelingly from France, like the heartfelt communique.
The king lived in the house of harmony, like ruby stars dancing in sync;
And green birds sang in its courtyard, under pink, lace clouds, indistinct.
Reliable raspberry sun rose rapturously, along King's Road of old roses;
Replete with robust raven cawing, like when confiding cricket discloses.
The king's musicians gave daily recitals, like the nectarine sun, shining.
Noble courtiers attended every noon, by windows of minty ivy, twining.
The 'orchid valentine beauty' fell in love, in frilly, red petals, cashmere;
As 'crown of thorns peppermint candy,' bloomed throughout green years.
'Miss Jekyll' blooms, sought places to Hyde, since all were colored blue;
While red 'spider lily blooms' spun silk, to be adorned in something new.
One day Old King Cole called for his pipe and bowl, and his fiddlers, too;
And they played as they never had before, like pink finch's sunrise debut!
All windows were open, green leaves quivering. Songs paused in the tree.
'Twas if nature were in hushed rapture, in bygone days, far from the city!
'Old King Cole was a merry old soul.
And a merry old soul was he,
He called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl
And he called for his fiddlers three.
Every fiddler he had a fiddle,
And a very fine fiddle had he,
Oh there's none so rare, as can compare
With King Cole and his fiddlers three.'
In the Darkened Foyer
There you are again.
Walking this darkened foyer, and that carpeted hallway,
Eyeing the sunken-eyed dancer who forgets she’s not alive;
She’s just passing by all the sickness of dissipated humanity,
Wrapped in a single walk, and a solitary stretcher,
With a squadron of crucifixes affixed to the skin tags,
Applied with holy powders on these ancient, prayer-eaten walls,
These never-ending white walls that stretch before us,
Telling stories of prolonged death spasms, and postponement,
Of human decline in the face of the hopeful ones,
And the healing ones, with shocked knowing grins,
And the comatose ones, who know when to at last wake up;
Wake up! I say to the dead ones, the digested ones, long interred!
Now is the time to move your monuments and your dirt.
Now is the time to complain to the clock, the cold twitching clock,
That now holds no eternal sway in either direction for you or me!
Or all the dead ones, lying over there on solitary stretchers,
Under white sheets, in the darkened foyer.
It wasn't the truth they wanted, but an illusion they could live with,
A canvas woven from moonbeams and delicate shadows on the water's face.
They were seeking a tale in which to slumber, beside a fire that burns without warming,
They, the night's navigators holding the broken compass of dreaming.
They had clasped in their palms sand crystals - hourglasses for time that does not pass,
Their hourglass was filled with moments smelling of eternal postponement.
Under the guidance of a star that does not shine, yet carries them through the darkness,
They dreamed of horizons without land, of casting anchor in a harbor that awaits not.
In worlds composed only of echoes of fulfillment, they carved their path among promises,
Chasing a marvel that embraces the spirit but does not encompass it.
It was a languid dreaming, a spell poured into the cup of unspoken longing,
A sweet melancholy, like dark honey, that kept them afloat on the tide of life.
Thus rose smoke castles, on summer evenings too lengthy,
When the sky seems to speak in the forgotten language of eternity.
And so they passed, shooting stars through their own unseen galaxies,
Voyagers on a paper ship, embracing a dream, an illusion they could live with.
Blimey it’s hot
Though moan I must not
As to see the sun high up above
Evokes wonderful memories of summers gone by
Of weeks in the sunshine and temperatures high
With no sign of clouds in the stunning blue sky
From May to September, wearing summer attire
And not till November did Mum light our fire
Spending days on the beach building castles in the sand
Eating nice juicy peaches mixed with sand from our hands
There were days when we had too much sunshine
and Mum put us to bed, bathed in cool Calamine
Our scarlet red arms and our scarlet red legs
Made it painful to sleep as we took to our beds
And the sunshine brought out my freckles
Sun kisses, is what my Mum said
The sun she liked me and kissed me all over
From my toes right up to my head
Now moving towards my twilight years
The finale draws closer, but I have no fears
'cos inside my head I am young again
Reliving those wonderful carefree days
Though now looking back through my memories
they often appear in a rose tinted haze
As my time runs out I try to live
my life in every moment
Not wanting it to end just yet
I've requested a postponement
I enjoy each day
each hour
each minute
not from the outside
but from within it
So gratefully I will end my days
Recalling my memories
I assess and appraise
My next journey onwards
for me holds no fear
Finding peace from the sea
how I love living here...
Contest Brian's Choice 8
Sponsor Brian Strand
2nd PLACE
Even if we were to win
these hunting
and killing
and fishing
and devouring
and gathering
and hoarding
and victimizing
and offending
and criminalizing
and punishing
holy wars
and zealot causes,
We would lose
our vocation
to mentor and facilitate restoration,
ego and ecotherapy reforestation,
healing,
health,
measured in polycultural health outcomes
by all democratically respected
and trusted to remain interdependent
species.
Extended even to the vipers
and poisonous spiders and ivy
and choking evangelical fake-Christians
and jihad self-terrorizing fake-Moslems,
and fear and hate-mongerers of all bad faiths,
even those Pharisees and Sadducees
rich and powerful capital hoarding
already too aristocratic
for their own healthy extended family care-giving
and receiving love
and cooperatively owned and managed grace
and positive synergy and karma.
Deniers of NatureMystic Messiahs
and Bodhisattva PeaceCircle Witnesses
are rabid wolves.
Those who choose
to Lose
at shallow capitalism
to Lose
at deep ego-ecological wisdom
are fake-redeemer sheep,
with retributive justice discipleship ways,
concerns,
Hellfire issues,
and over-invested in Win-Lose means
to successfully deny
their intrinsic bad faith in the reverse of evolution.
Those who defer to WinWin evolution
toward
mutual good faith polycultural expectations,
Those who defer to Win-Lose
anger and fear management
through self-perpetuating postponement
of Win-Win commitment.
Those yet to eventually succumb
to denying Lose egocentric body,
then Lose anthro-centric mind,
then Lose ecological multigenerational
DNA-enscribed cooperatively organized Soul,
organic meaning,
synergetic purpose,
sacred vocation,
regeneration,
restoring sacred ecological climates,
Lose reforesting evolutionary Win-Win history,
reweaving spiraling 4D RealPrime
SacredTime.
Stuck back in pre-history,
before traumatizing others
became a Golden Rule offense
against all WindNature-WaveSpirits.
If we were to win
all our anthro-centric capital-hoarding games,
we would lose our ego/eco-centric
Win-Win revolutionary
NonZero-Sum Infinite
PolyPathic Soul.
The future called and I responded, armed with scars my years of acquired wisdom and rife experience, declared with voice of reason, a projection of matter, called for fellow age group, but trend and fame caught them in its web,
chose to ride alone for alone was I conceived, going against the law of humanity, the spirit of Ubuntu, my mind declared war, war on postponement and wavering, for the journey demands uprightness and bravery,
my undying desires for progress, my inner being erecting flag of hope for generations yet undiscovered, hearing simmering vibrations in my belly button, evoked by my birth cord right, a right to create and leave trademark meant to challenge what God hands designed to no limit,
my undying pride for better and transformative tracks with trails of gazing back no more for the enemy heading the forefront of the future, success. My pursuit for foundation meant to breed seeds of eternal challenged perception and visioning.
Being of the seed that refuse to go unnoticed, placing everywhere, marks that evokes minds and creative of the future, so unshakeable daily on mission to create possibilities where existed none, for the calling still yet not reached it's silent lay, fueling the course to wash every barrier at exposure,
with my contributions like statues meant for generational reference, a generation of matter and reason, of statued and statures, the remarkable signage of irrevocable pioneering for change and immensely innovation, a future called and I heed to the voice
#Poetic_Ink
Despite endless attempts to avoid it
We can't sidestep it forever
At one point or another
We all sail into stormy weather
When your ticket gets punched
You'll be flooded with sadness
Turbulently twisting and turning
In a constant state of madness
Next comes the hardest part
Your ticker just can't take it anymore
Furiously feeling the crack in your heart
Misery making you crumble to the floor
Dragged down into the depths of despair
Searching for a watershed moment
Surely there is a solution out there
To put your pain into postponement
Fortuitously stumble upon a toolbox
Time to tune up your heart
Grab the Elmer's glue for the fracture
Then duct tape other pieces that fell apart
Subsequently realize who sent the repair kit
Sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, fathers, and mothers
All chipped in to cobble it together because
Heart splinters get sealed with love from others
Memories are walls
desecrated by graffiti of remembrance
well intentioned people
all around
and me
playing that „warm rabbit“ game
(take a guess who the rabbit is)
it feels like I'm one of those happy faces on Kerouac's road
I feel like an idiot
it has to feel like that when you deliver a piece of self so other can step on it
even though stepping on it was not intended
but
not knowing what to do with it
they just step on it
when mistake acquires a form of face
leave some words unspoken – they taught me
it is nicer to be humanly than fashionably conscious – they taught me
so i just have a message for you: eat ****,
you have devoured all of my cookies anyway so
by academic degree
babbitry of yours couldn't be washed – they failed
when iron clew entangles in your chest
oversleep
it will go away
it always does – they failed
wrist is accustomed on postponement
and I have forced expression
for every urbanely pickled photography
that whore karma laid down one nice slap on my cheek
well
on what is left of it
****
... man is it's evolution
* warm rabbit was notorious practice in jail for political prisoners in Yugoslavia (Goli otok) where when a new prisoner came prison guards would forced prisoners to line up in two rows and new prisoner had to walk through and other prisoners were forced to beat him with any object available until prison guards said it's enough.