Long Procured Poems
Long Procured Poems. Below are the most popular long Procured by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Procured poems by poem length and keyword.
COAT OF ARMS
Last night I couldn't sleep,for thinking only you...
As I wrapped in warm embrace, your spirit tinted blue
To oust away thine pangs, in hopes to see thee smile...
I'll yoke ye 'pon my shoulders, to carry through this mile
To trade your tears of sorrow, and see them shed in joy...
I'd jest for thine amusement, and be your favorite toy
For thine malady been expelled, I'd invoke it banished 'way...
Taking it 'pon mine self, so you've strength to seize th' day
Though I'm not an king, nor prince 'pon ivory steed...
Th' possessions I've procured here, are thine if felt th' need
I'll sweep thee off thy feet, if not familiar with th' waltz...
To breathe ye 'cross th' ballroom, as an feather floating 'loft
Mark mine words I state here, and hold me to their true...
I'll prove I 'steem thee precious, as unfeigned I surely do
Just promise me one thing, that next time when your down...
You'll wear these words as armor, 'til I mend thy broken crown
?Randall ('~A~')zaza Martin
a.k.a. "Thunderwolf'69" ??????
Smokey hillside, offers flavors
of privacy bared open.
Reading like futuristic three,
maybe fourth dimensional sign
that says "open".
The neighbors business blabbed
all around by "Miss social, "the "original", organic-loving and down to earth hippie.
She corrals Betty's stew and wafts it up for my senses to approve.
As I walk the lush and the crunch
of her ravine.
She carries on about what a beautiful day it is-
Showing me the harmony of relationships that the greenery of the Glade has procured out of Barter alone.
Lifting my shirt in a tuft of tantalizing-underhandedness,
to persuade me to agree.
As she sneaks a charming smile
simultaneous in pure corruption to let it go down easy.
A sugarpill for my already cult hypnotized serenity.
Field urchin pick pockets flirt the occasional cameo, with tails in question or exclamation.
To show I'm headed the right way.
Like sports judges, critiquing my
choice of approach or in the approach my body language parlays.
The autumn air has an air to it.
A magic that lies in hibernation
the rest of the year,
letting you think it may never return.
But here it is mixed with stove smoke and creating thin tendriled and adult curved imagery from the chimneys, in snapshot fluidity.
Slow and easy so that I don't
miss a thing.
After a bit I find the birds want me to critique this time.
After getting poll position,
and stuffing their feathers,
they sound off.
With a contrived, but surprisingly,
not at all nauseating display of
look how small I am but!....overacting cutesy.
In a way, it's a bit disgusting.
In it's neediness in competition.
What is this Star Search?
I chose my favorite after long deliberation.
But told no one, so that no feelings
were hurt and next walk will be a
continuation, thawed, right in step
with today.
I used to have a lovely mini-dog
who followed me wherever I would go.
Nobody in my family cared for him,
for only I he loved – that Eskimo!
Into my arms he’d leap when I got home
from having worked. He’d wait beside the door
and know instinctively that I’d be coming.
No other doggie could I have loved more.
It happened that I had to part with him.
My heard was broken, but I’d been assured
a “no-kill” policy protected him,
and always by someone he’d be procured.
A few years later, as I lay asleep,
I woke, and to my great amazement, he
was right there on the bed. I said his name.
Excitedly, my dear dog jumped to me.
I felt him in my arms; I rubbed my face
into his fur; I smelled and felt it too.
He was as soft as I remembered him.
My dream to be with him again came true.
I ended back inside another dream
with my small dog; and here’s what I discerned:
his soul had flown, but right as he had died,
on his way out – to me he had returned!
April 11, 2023
for Unseeking Seeker's A Wisdom Download Poetry Contest
Incendiary heat lights up my veins
At humid nights of June, which forbid rest
To your bare lips drenched in the midnight rains,
From vaporous cloud of your raging breast.
How long can you withdraw from mutual spree,
As restive stallion mates with his mare?
Your modest ways somehow discouraged me,
The summer’s air invokes your dormant flare.
Your sacred spot hurt you for long, I know,
The yearnings for a gentle, caring stroke,
When heaven’s candle checked its passion’s flow,
Lest endless rapture in the middle broke.
A sunny day reminds us of delight,
Procured at a wet and exclusive night.
Date: 9th June,2020
Summers heat sonnet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
Gold ring procured from Navy exchange
Merry-go-round petals etched in black
Two lives in rearrange
Gifted a wedding plaque
~
I was expecting; he had tonsillitis
I carried child; he had an ‘ectomy
A throaty bangup to wedded bliss
Eureka earthquake; baby makes three.
~
Life was swell; ding-dong dandy pell-mell
Engaging in everyday realities
Smile-burps, cow-eyes, infantile dinner bell
Bottomless dirty diapers, scrubbing onesies
~
Who would stay awake and watch the kid?
I did it everytime…. “tag you’re it!”
No one can count sheep like a squid
Apparently, I’m in charge of this outfit
10/4/2021
You refuse, refusing the salvant call,
laying there in fetal position,
enthralled by my hex of vinegar and scrawl of liquids release that just seem to pour out of me organically.
Hissing in Wormwood's frequency dwelling, Hollywood "your signature home" learning-annex-auxilliary.
My park and recreation facility.
Reserved, this space taken.
A dump, next to unopened salve
and not knowing your own, side-bar-by-law$.
An unlived, contrived existence, of litigation before dawn.
So shine on, shine on,
Dear: ) (Newton Star blink out before the gravity of
persistence, taken aside, the watchtower of your keen eyed media straddle, beacons a distress
call, to your final hour.
The time your nightwatch is voyeur
procured.
Humpty Dumpty asses with sulphur in their saltwatering laffy Taffy maws, fixed, agape, ajar."Give me some sugar baby."
Jezebellians, you shunned, the truth, when it was audio visually- bore.
Gored yourself on the posts of a grinding of mandibles and dripping blood upon the crucible stone and forbidden bindings.
No white night when a guiding light
doth shine on dead eyes.
No silver linings filling those cavities.
Only self, depravity.
Will be mouthed from the still-shine forever moored.
Uttered where windmills churn electro
Codes of algo-executionary tables
to turn.
Churning the butter of temptation
with pouting maid determination.
Mitigated, my starlings it is for,
the ungrateful scored.
Cookie cutter milkmaids of
factorized words.
Music for Nations.
A union of the snake said Plato.
Fall from the night.
As an Nova of unbeknownst, essence,
implode yourself of something more,
lost in the mire of the ignorance of indifference, onloaded to fill an emptiness void of frivolous showroom and commercials shined core.
Enjoy the aftermath in my garden.
Take another bite of my lore.
Rise, a new creation, in new age culturism,
the retro- reel of Humanism, of illusionary-fusion of pride and behind the scenes thrones.
Slavery algorithms,
my Holograms of flesh and Bones.
Burning out on the Threshing floor.
Peering in the windows,
Of those lives I barely see,
Except when tokens are procured,
For rides, intermittently,
They look at me, I look back,
Nothing severed or taken,
My pith, unimpaired,
And by them, unmistaken,
Do they think that my life,
Should be transformed to theirs,
With foreign exclusions,
And tainted, quaint stares,
Their subtle indifference,
No case dares to appeal,
Embodies the essence,
Of a world they call real,
So they ask with green eyes,
Should I now switch with you,
Would that make my self-worth,
Somehow, progressively true,
I glance, to respond,
That neither is needed,
Because as tolerance failed,
Manipulation succeeded,
We both yearn to validate,
Our courses of being,
Amidst choices of learning,
And preferred ways of seeing,
For now, the windows are closed,
The Santa Anas, they're blowing,
And those lives which premiered,
Have no interest in showing,
We will then pause to wonder,
If the sill might be locked,
Therefore sealed from exposure,
And no chance to be mocked.
(12/30/01)
I have arrived gradually, in boxes.
from foreign places, unknown sellers.
part of me was procured from a man
who told his son to come get me or else five years ago
I am stealthily planning my take-over of this household.
slowly crowding the people here out of their space,
requiring more and more room as I arrive in boxes.
I am crowding them gently at first,
incognito practically until my drumsticks and brushes arrive.
all bets are off now, no more silence for them.
I am dying to drum out six or eight sets.
They know I am here now, as do their neighbors.
The whole town knows. A gentle, hostile mighty take-over
first a bedroom, then the great room. Now my pieces are
lackadaisically lounging around the entire premises, in a good way.
I am rhythmically and methodically sound. But sneaky.
Piece by piece I have inched my way into the human man’s brain.
The wife has been slower to come around. We still stick out our tongues when we meet.
I am the rhythm master, spreading my beat
enjoying my stands and my cymbals, loving the beat
as the human man plays me softly, then loudly with my sticks and brushes.
Crescendo now! Bam! Final finish! I am amazing!
This evening
I was humbled
by Welsh born artist,
Donald Jackson--
His profound dedication
and personal sacrifice
are truly beyond
my poetic
expression--
new insight and beauty
(such vision absent for
many generations)--
spiritual beauty
procured deep within
our cloistered archives,
written on
the sacred vellum
of human consciousness
and soul--
I was reminded so
of William Blake--
of course Donald is
his own man:
with a particular flare
of artistic genius
self indigenous--
for here,
like no other
(God inspired!)
painstakingly
peeled away
with instrument,
hands guided by
pure light
are flesh-veils
till the realization
as one's heart
leaps with joy
when seeing
seeming miraculously
for the first time,
The Illumined
Body of Christ!
A ton of hugs is for my dear for whom I care.
Barrels of fun together we both share.
Cookies (mostly chocolate chip) I make or buy,
Donuts too, for he is a sweet-tooth kind of guy.
Encouragement he knows I freely give.
Faithfulness, of course, is for as long as we both live.
Good home cooking for my dear - that's a given.
His slip-ups - no big deal - are forgiven.
In a terrible
Jam, he knows I'll have his back.
Kindness for each other we don't lack.
Love and laughter in our home shall reign.
Much sweetness we'll find as we walk down memory lane.
Nothing yet has been able to keep us apart.
Openness I give him - along with all my heart.
Peacefulness I pray for us will always be ensured.
Quality of life is good since by our working hard it's been procured.
Respect for one another is a must.
Space I give me dear, along with all my trust.
Tenderness is easy, for
Unconditional is our love forevermore.
Valuing each other as we do,
We can thrive, for our love is true.
X's and O's - these are key!
Yes, and my dear has eyes for only me.
Zealously we keep our love aflame - easy as ABC