Long Pretense Poems
Long Pretense Poems. Below are the most popular long Pretense by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pretense poems by poem length and keyword.
Notice the way the good times roll,
Sliding away as pain unfolds.
Notice the sting in bitter thoughts,
Harsh, heavy flings that make things rot.
Notice the plight of mad desire,
Weird, crazy sight that curl of fire.
Notice the sway of naughty moves,
Tempting to slay that selfish groove.
Notice the rhymes that feel awkward,
Rancid such chimes that crash backwards.
Notice the smiles that cynics cast,
Skeptics now style words fading fast.
Notice the touch of ugly things,
Pain alters much with suffering.
Notice the pain that crushes will,
Words cream complaint as breath is stilled.
Notice the dirt of death's debris,
No pulse to flirt for time set free.
Notice the play that drama streams,
Enter the fray to cast new dreams.
Notice the way life knocks you down,
Get up to play the part of clown.
Notice the route that hard knocks hurl,
Be down not out and rise to swirl.
Notice good sense in being you,
Mask your pretense and weave your dues.
Notice all stuff both good and bad,
Feel just enough and dare the mad.
Notice that's all that you can do,
Heed your soul's call to spark fine cues.
Notice the way of appetites,
Fickle whims stray with stolen bites.
Notice the dead that lie so still,
Face then life's dread and live goodwill.
Notice the signs that symbols hint,
Link heart and mind to know fine mint.
Leon Enriquez
03 November2014
Singapore
Queen Elizabeth I
A ll things are as it may, beckons a queendom of two faiths,
B orrowed Boleyn's "B" blue brocade the better choice made,
C ancer claims the spring, agrees with the passage of her sister,
D elves to part the heavens anew throne, amidst assassins, lurking
E ffervescent Elizabeth surrenders calmly a surreal destiny,
F orward justice by the will of grace, and a whimsical gestured cloaked puddle
G reat be her ascension not quiet to title claimed by Mary,
H eretics purged sweetly returns, catholicism stands down
I n a realm of stories a chapter freshens a protestant queen
J oyfulness echoes chambered walls, as a parley of power slithers
K ing bequeathed in a woman's dress, as a pence-less nation recovers
L ustrous gems befall righteously, as Spanish gold doubloons are pirated
M en neath ruffles maneuvering positions placates a capricious court
N orfolk his grace whose days are numbered for treason, pride begs none
O nly wisdom and loyalty keep heads secured, within a fickled court
P alace breeds a treacherous bedfellow, proffers an end worse than death
Q ueen banished him to seclusion as a fading insignificant consequence,
R ewards Drake, Raleigh and others from a grateful empire as her saviors
S aves her empire whilst arrogant Philip of Spain loses his in humility,
T enders Raleigh to his Virginia pretense in her name,
U nsettling execution of Mary Queen Of Scots, in harm's way, opens floodgates
V ersed in archery and horseback riding ascertains her birthright,
W ell endowed in the role of the sciences versus human endeavors,
X enial role model for women, mirrors removal tames loose tongues
Y ields to her title as the Virgin Queen, as her treasury is restored by the West
Z eal was her marriage to England, strengthen via the bogs of Ireland
2020 February 07
*1st Place*
ABECEDARIAN CONTEST
~~Caren Krutsinger
*Honorable Mention*
STRAND SELECT G any form,any theme
~~Brian Strand
Are there any patriots left
to howl and cry for the sake of audacity
that echoes through eternity?
Is courage enough to defy ghastly death?
Stand on a pedestal and declare victory,
while tyrants continue their walk to enmity!
How often does someone come along
with a plan beneficial to Humanity?
Isn't greed their rising to power from thin air?
We've heard the hypocrisy of their song,
no mention of trustworthiness but fanfare!
Is this a play written without irony?
A cry of audacity is greater than cowardice,
to hide prospective and strategic ideas;
a throne was the centre stage of kings,
they governed according to empathy or malice!
Does a pathetic liar fall flat on his face,
and yet unharmed gets up to redo his betrayal and win the race?
Bigots follow him to his end, not weighing the cost of pretense!
The deceiver lives in luxury,
he wears designer clothes,
he looks elegant, a politician so creepy,
on the front page of Time Magazine:
is he another fake generator so mean?
Who's paying for all costs,
is he minimizing losses?
His fallout is an accurate prophecy!
They allow him to do more damage,
no blind can see the actual carnage
of bleeding folks who are denied pity and clemency;
they count nickels and dimes to feed their family!
Some folks lack guts; they let fate run its course!
They stay silent, allowing things to get worse;
lift your cry of audacity; it can't lie in dreary shadows:
doers are heroes, lazy people only wait for handouts!
A lawyer is an ace of disguise
Blurring lines between candor and lies
Clouding pretense with truth
Dimming wits as a sleuth
Estimating each gray enterprise
Forming verdicts, his art, imprecise
Grounded lawfully in sound advice
He can make each dark smear
In your life disappear ...
Just as long as you honor ... his price.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Limerick II" Poetry Contest, Joseph May, Judge & Sponsor.
* Syllable count of 9-9-6-6-9 X 2, counted at HowManySyllables.com *
Afterglow
by Michael R. Burch
for Beth
The night is full of stars. Which still exist?
Before time ends, perhaps one day we’ll know.
For now I hold your fingers to my lips
and feel their pulse ... warm, palpable and slow ...
once slow to match this reckless spark in me,
this moon in ceaseless orbit I became,
compelled by wilder gravity to flee
night’s universe of suns, for one pale flame ...
for one pale flame that seemed to signify
the Zodiac of all, the meaning of
Love’s wandering flight past Neptune. Now to lie
in dawning recognition is enough ...
enough each night to bask in you, to know
the face of love ... eyes closed ... its afterglow.
The Insurrection of Sighs
by Michael R. Burch
She was my Shiloh, my Gethsemane;
she nestled my head to her breast
and breathed upon my insensate lips
the fierce benedictions of her ubiquitous sighs,
the veiled allegations of her disconsolate tears . . .
Many years I abided the agile assaults of her flesh . . .
She loved me the most when I was most sorely pressed;
she undressed with delight for her ministrations
when all I needed was a good night’s rest . . .
She anointed my lips with her soft lips’ dews;
the insurrection of sighs left me fallen, distressed, at her elegant heel.
I felt the hard iron, the cold steel, in her words and I knew:
the terrible arrow showed through my conscripted flesh.
The sun in retreat left her victor and all was Night.
The last peal of surrender went sinking and dying—unheard.
Star Crossed
by Michael R. Burch
Remember—
night is not like day;
the stars are closer than they seem ...
now, bending near, they seem to say
the morning sun was merely a dream
ember.
The State of the Art (?)
by Michael R. Burch
Has rhyme lost all its reason
and rhythm, renascence?
Are sonnets out of season
and poems but poor pretense?
Are poets lacking fire,
their words too trite and forced?
What happened to desire?
Has passion been coerced?
Shall poetry fade slowly,
like Latin, to past tense?
Are the bards too high and holy,
or their readers merely dense?
The shattered remains of what I once had,
The hollow dreams still quite tall,
My mind of chaos driving me mad,
All behind a huge, transparent wall.
I hung my head low, slumped down.
I searched aimlessly in the darkness.
A picture lay there; on my face a frown,
But what was left of them all, they called it silence.
I caressed the picture,
My thoughts haywire,
The world is sinister,
Burning me up like fire.
Who am I? A meek peasant.
Knew no more than hardened violence,
A burdened past, a tortured present,
And what lay beyond, they called it silence.
Sorrow gripped me on the inside,
Lifeless and shriveled from within,
Merely spectating the secrets, they still hide,
Hoping that once again I could begin.
Sacked of my people, my life,
All while hiding under a veil of pretense,
Blaming me for the start of a strife,
And what they didn't need, they called it silence.
I let it calm down,
The whirlwind in my mind.
The warmth and laughter, I had them drown,
No place for joy will I ever find.
I ripped the photograph, my elixir.
The fire crackled in the distance,
All gone, I was forced to surrender,
And all that was mine, they called it silence.
IV.
Not that long ago a lefty journalist
put down an even madder take,
that the 1st Amendment got it all wrong,
and that free speech is a mistake.
That we must silence all the hateful,
and those that cause too much ‘offense,’
now who will decide what’s good and what’s bad?
They claim they will, without pretense.
The same left who whined the religious right
was censoring them all those years,
yet now they claim they know what’s best to say,
proclaim we have nothing to fear?
As if only their ideas need hearing,
diverse thought they won’t even feign,
a page right out of the tyrant’s playbook,
these lefties have all gone insane.
Adjacent profits are gained in purchase of information
Non profit lobby hides, assemblies
And congressional lobby laborers
Caught in data shortage
Corrupt a report purchasing shares of
Corruptible budget items
Obstructing legislation
Creating false pretense for arrest
Arrest of defined confine
The hide
The title
The bonds ageing interest
Non profit
Must eat here at specified time
In thousand oaks California
Only at eves Arch, after days end
In Ventura at Catholic charities
The food reception is all day Charity
And none are required
Available coordinates for investigative
Journalists
Publicly available languages
Drop all the pretense
and all inhibitions
Knock on the wood
of your superstitions
Make it your goal
along with your mission
To write in words open and free
You wrote in the obscure
before you found out
The power in the allure
of poetic know how
You say you want more
but is it allowed
This poetic nudity
In the poet's life
there is nothing freer
In doing what you like
when you finally get there
Like an open mic night
makes everything clearer
What's meant to be is what's meant to be
So take it all off,
the words used to cover
And set them all free
like a jilted lover
Then you will see
there's no need for another
When you go naked poetry
a cadaver is laid down on a cold dissecting table;
to study all about life, an anatomist ponders
which organ to be excised for examination without bias
he decided to use a median value of the life
from normal curve within +/-1 sigma area
after a thorough examination of the body
the anatomist who is still breathing decided to excise the heart,
which never was stopped until the cadaver breathed his last breath;
and the brain’s layer after layers of good and bad memories, caused from good and evil thoughts or his behavior while he was alive
inside his heart was contaminated from all kinds of waste
and that’s why it made difficulty in breathing; on the surface,
so many big and small cut outs and stab wounds all overshadowed
by the immorality of the mundane world it makes you want to turn
your face away from it
the brain is no difference, after chopping the skull, the anatomist carefully pulled the brain out, unfolded and examined every nook and corner of the brain. the connected cobweb-like thought’s narrow passageway consisting from all kinds of chemistry symbols; it was, found to be a lump of fossilized DNA so fragile that just a little touch of the hand would make it crumble
at the time when the pulverized fossil blown in the air
carried by a gust of wind, started to release an overpowering
stench so disgusting that nauseates the sniffer; however, as you sniff more
and more, it becomes sweeter and finally enraptured the sniffer.
and after all the mysterious aroma thus becomes powerful enough
to delude you into pretense that you bear a charmed life, thereby
dragging you to stand at the edge of a deadly cliff
if a day of life is entangled with so much oddity and complication,
there won’t be any better and simple life beyond death,
yet the grotesquely structured brain wanted to look into
the world beyond as ever