Long Presuming Poems
Long Presuming Poems. Below are the most popular long Presuming by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Presuming poems by poem length and keyword.
Bygone recollected reflections while perched atop storied roof...
years gone by now with a poof
constituting one garden variety generic goof
bolle yours truly sprawled himself aloof
The celebrated sailing frog
from Montgomery County
went a court'n, or so the tale iz toad
to a grand ole mansion built around 1910,
and e'en 'pon
being razed ~2012 ah no dummy
sea worthiness still plainly showed,
twas February 28th, 1968,
when my father
bought the house at 324 Level Road
majority thrice score plus deux years,
rush back with unfettered exuberant zeal
this aging elf spent psalm tranquil
May days sung sotto voce
atop memorialized, prized,
shingled out, ship-shape valued,
venerated, vip voted faux vulgar demesne
"Glen Elm" named private
100+ acre wooded common weal
many a pitch perfect spring day
found yours truly
frankly basking atop the spacious roof
oft times begging the cosmic force
irrationally lyft ting this Earthlinked bing,
this uber dreamer (uplyfted Dharma) bum
willingly taken with "poof"
(magic amazing dragons)
presuming my absence,
would not be missed and whereabouts
no cause for alarm,
but the usual antics of a contemplative goof
ball, and aware
a minor for hair (Sunkist) gold
Helios innocently beckoned,
this then sole Sol tanned
within the solar raised fold
surrendering while atop
the multi acred roof where any cold
melted away, whence became bathed
like a bronze statue of auld.
Lost and Found
My name is Daniel. For 70 years--from age 14 to age 84--
I was incomplete, bereft of mother, father, my identical
twin brother Joshua, and all my boyhood friends who were
with me that day in 1944.
Some of the stronger men had strained and struggled
to force apart the bars on the window of the railway cattle
trailer packed to capacity with Jews bound for Auschwitz.
The results of their labor was an aperture large enough
for the egress of very slender people--like Joshua and me.
"Go, my precious ones!" cried my mother.
"Go, and LIVE!" said my father. "GO NOW!"
I grabbed Joshua's hand and pulled urgently. He wrenched loose:
"I--I just can't! I love you. Good-bye."
It was in this manner I escaped terror and death, but--Oh, there
was so much I could never escape. Each day since then, I have
seen their faces--those anguished,tear-stained faces, especially
Joshua's. Soon they were all dead; they had to be, didn't they?
I grew up, married, worked hard at a fulfilling career, raised three
fine children with my wife, and played joyously with children and
grandchildren--but still was incomplete.
On mild spring day, the greatest void in my life was filled when a
stranger approached me at the park and said, "Daniel (he knew my
name), a very important person is waiting for you a few yards ahead
on the next bench." Then he just walked away.
Sitting on that bench was the near-mirror-image of myself. He stood
and smiled broadly. He had my eyes, my build, my crooked smile,
my snow-white shock of hair. Then he said it--he said "Daniel"--
like no one else who has ever existed could say my name! It was
then I noticed we were dressed alike--same style, same colors!
He told me of our parents' deaths from starvation, of his escape from
Auschwitz, of the life he had lived, of his seventy-year search for me.
My heart broke, and I begged his forgiveness for presuming that he
was dead--that they had all died at Auschwitz. Then he spoke the words
that dried my tears: "I've nothing for which to forgive you! You must now
forgive yourSELF and be whole."
We are inseparable.
Hundreds of people escaped in route to Nazi concentration camps and from those camps.
written for Silent One's Long Lost Family Contest on July 22, 2016
Death of a Virgin
I lost my virginity...to another woman, like myself. I am a Lesbian.
I cracked my knuckles as the prosecutor began to beam away from me.
I am a virgin whore.
Those thoughts continue to trickle down my mind. My husband was open.
He was an imaginary person in the about of a dream. My thoughts run rampant.
There is no time for folly; no time for clearance. My heart is sinking...and then...
I embrace her wet lips and begin to devour her bosom.
Her love was as strong as it was unwavering: the perfect vestal virgin suicide.
Like making love to a man but better, but not a dog, and yet, but not a ravenous
beast either...
I feel content here writing these words: the presuming words, presumptuous. As in,
pre-SUME. As in Virgin suicide. As in. Perfect harmony. As in, Virgin prostitution.
My walls are filled with love-making. I feel the cold warming up into splinters and it
nips into each pasture like a dew of a dawn of a reindeer or a doe nipping at wintery
trees into the solstice after Springtime had just arrived.
The battering cold was predatorial, and masculine, as the artificial rod from which I was
thinking simmered down into her and made her moan, fiercely.
I lick the remains like the jaws of a lioness after it kills its prey, constantly tasting its blood.
Its womb was worse, a virgin woman's, and I, its paternal partner.
How elaborate a thought this was. How to color a treat. To reconcile my ultimatum. Remaining
absonate, eternal.
After the aftermath
of the cisterns quieting,
a moth flutters free
then drops into the nest
of sounds that crickets weave.
all of our away-words
wait the gathering of ground.
between our usual state
of lost and found.
we hesitate in leisure,
presuming to douse our thoughts
with memory’s perfume,
intoxicate our wilderness
with stupor,
known to render children mad
and madmen to surrender.
Some call us, pretender.
So light a breeze upon us
one could scratch to catch
a tick of something licking
at the bottom of your mind.
You cannot find a trace.
It has no face.
Some believe it has no place.
There is no there from where
you feel you are
and though you wish upon a star
or carry moonbeams in a jar
no ordinary miracle can reach that far.
For far is work, when close is easy;
now and then are whence;
and where you were
is where you are;
all else
is just pretense.
On the news today
The headline storyline was presented
and reported as follows
In Liverpool today some local right wing
protestors who's arms are up in flame's
replacing pitchforks for placards
Which was later retracted in place
of rabble of lawless youths one as
young as just age 15
Causing and terminating in a riot
and remonstrating outside a 4 Star
Hotel
Currently turned into a hostel or facility
to accommodate Asylum seekers
Because and due to according to official
press releases and reports
Misinformation being posted on social
media platforms
Which left the male only residents inside
traumatized and fearing for their own
safety and lives
So much so they do no longer wish to
stay as are now so fearful to even
contemplate leaving the confinement
of the building let alone venturing outside
Now it all depends on what and which
you as individual choose to be believe
As everything unless you were actually
there to witness it with your own eye's
and for yourself
You have no choice unless you know
someone who was actually there
But to take onboard the way it is
reported by the news media believing
they are holy trustworthy
Like in the aftermath the very next day
a reporter is stood outside interviewing
One of the Asylum seekers describing
exactly how bad it actually was and the
general mood and feeling amongst
those inside
With not a scowl but rather a broad
smile seemingly more than willing
actually happy to be interviewed
With what appeared to look like or
be a backpack as if he was just off
out for a morning strole to the shops
for the maybe daily milk or bread
Not someone in fear all dressed up
well prepared in expectations of an
impending fight
And granted that I did not see the
contents of hidden inside his bag
I'll have to rest my case
Otherwise I am in fear of falling into
the same category of what the media
do ever so well
Like insinuating presuming and making
things up as I go
And never letting the truth get in the
way when trying to embellish and
over egg a story
RAPUNZELS' DOUBLE LIFE - ONCE UPON A TIME
Not so long ago
A housewife named Rapunzel
Lived in a modest bungalow
A white picket fence contained it
Flowers filled beautiful garden beds
A swinging seat Rapunzel would sit
Golden ringlets tied upon her head
Daily she'd greet the postman
And wave as the buses passed by
She's sit and dream of a life beyond
Questioning herself as to why?
Why is it I don't have glamour
Not even glitz or fame?
Why is it my life seems dull
With everyday just the same?
Wanting to feel some excitement
A reason to dress up real nice
Rapunzel took to the city lights
And soon was living a double life
Rapunzel became known as a socialite
Golden ringlets hung down low
Mixing with all the rich and famous
Glitz and glamour was all the go
But then on one fateful day
Rapunzels' hubby caught her out
Her photo was in the social pages
He demanded "What's this all about?"
Rapunzel she was speachless
Thinking of what to say
"Oh Arthur darling that's not me
That's my sister Madeline May"
"Madeline May is in town for a month
I'm sure I mentioned it to you
She'll be busy mixing with the wealthy
Getting to know who's who"
Arthur replied "I must of forgot"
And with that Rapunzel sighed
She'd have to be much more careful
Arthur couldn't find out she'd lied
This double life Rapunzel lived
It filled her with such delight
Life had a sense of pure excitement
Being just a housewife didn't seem right
For years Rapunzel continued
Socialising with only the best
Presuming Arthur had no clue
She had no reason to confess
After a long and eventful day
Rapunzel discovered Arthur had gone
Finding a note it simply said
'You've lived a double life too long!'
04/02/2016
The Life of the Mind is extolled by Professors
Though when they think, they just guess or
perhaps idly chatter
There are some who won't use their brawn
And 'brainiacs' who won't mow the lawn
Others say 'they'll work with their Hands'
as if hands are not directed by the Mind of Man
All this, so far's neither here nor there
Here's what I assure you
Presuming you care
Reality is WHAT you perceive it to be
Perception's HOW you see it, subjectively
Life's In the Mind
'Tis the Mind makes it live
That is the Truth
Which Experience Gives
Life’s Drifter
Written: by Tom Wright
January 2015
For too long, I drifted, on the sea of time,
Presuming, in youth, that it had no end;
But, I was immature, and not bullet-proof,
With no infinite quantity of days to spend;
Within, I lacked impetus, to propel my craft,
For youth had been influencing my thinking;
As my life continued taking on more water,
I feared that my drifting craft was sinking.
Then out of the blue my great deluge came,
Leaving me inundated and without an answer;
I perceived my craft would surely capsize,
I was now an unsuspecting victim of cancer.
As I feverishly bailed, adding additional pitch,
I found a life preserver just for the asking.
All that was required, was that it I’d receive,
Since that day, in God’s light, I’ve been basking.
CONGENIAL IMITATION
Nature and collective idea
not modified by fashion or
by habit, enthroned to day
and dethroned tomorrow.
The artless balance of emotion
founded on propriety,art
emerged into life.An immense
connected well of congenial
invitation unmoved by the clamour
of the crowd not presuming to
exhaust the inexhaustible,
the harmony of the whole
when novelty and feeling warm
a bosom or extort a tear.
From Fuseli lecture to the RA 1801
*A Phrasis is a structured verse where the poet uses selected prose phrases of another writer’s(not a poet) to compile unique poetry therefrom as a tribute thereto,the word phrasis is Greek for phrase.
Listen to me read this and 80 other phrasis on youtube under name of ichthyschiro
Again, I take my pen in hand.
Bring words to mind, so I can plan.
Compose a verse quite fresh and new!
Deciding on what style to do?
Each letter then I will suggest,
Flows quickly through the alphabet.
Great, this shall give me loads of choice,
Hoping you out there hear my voice.
In-case you don’t I’ll write it down
Just to ensure you will not frown.
Kindly yes, I considered that,
Let me decide the right format.
Making the meter rhyme I say
No other style for me today.
Organised with this choice, just made,
Presuming brings me accolade.
Questions although could still be asked,
Reviews received could me unmask.
Still, I shall understand if you,
Turn aside and do not review.
Undecided? you may have heard,
Value now from my written word
Will bring a Merry Christmas too,
Xeroxed this now sending through.
Yes, lastly, I will cheer and say,
Zip-a dee- doo dah- zip-a-dee ay!