Long Proffer Poems
Long Proffer Poems. Below are the most popular long Proffer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Proffer poems by poem length and keyword.
During a witchcraft ritual
the human brain surreptitiously enters
the surreal states of elevated focus,
lofty emotion, and altered awareness,
as the spell acts as a powerful metaphor
for an internal intention or flustering fear.
People may feel like birds with frozen wings
under the misty sky, swept by the polar winds.
In the congealed hearts lapped by the Arctic sea
petrified emotions congeal, unexpressed.
Warm embrace of empathy they can’t proffer,
for they turn into cold unfeeling people.
People may feel as if their lives have changed
into desolate deserts where the oasis desiccates
in the blaze of their burning minds,
the fallen foliage of ardent passions glows,
doesn’t rustle with the fossil cadence of their hearts,
for they turn into wooden inert people.
Once the ritual concludes,
the cognitive system undergoes a sudden shift
with the intense concentration,
leading to a feeling of poignant emptiness,
excruciating exhaustion, or sudden susceptibility,
epitomizing the impulsive comedown
after a concerted emotional event.
Who am I?
Who do they see?
Who am I supposed to be?
What other road should I ply?
I’m saddled by their decisions,
These trying to make in me deep incisions,
They proffer a way,
Irreconcilable with my day.
I’m not known,
They can't see me,
They can't see the thriving seeds sown,
I’m an emerging sea.
I’m not a standstill train,
I'm a gathering rain,
It’s not a defeated fight,
I'm an arising light.
I won’t be masked by their viewpoints,
I have a course,
My carriage doesn’t have feeble joints,
I am an ensuing force.
March 2, 2023.
Writing Challenge - I Words - Poetry Contest,
Constance La France.
Serious sibling subluxation...
rapprochement somewhat salvaged dislocation
Truth be told about following poem
mostly written quite some years ago,
and revisions made to recreate
and revise a more satisfactory literary product.
This trademark ungainly, unsightly,
and unwieldy title essentially
huzzah mask ***** aid,
(my humble apology NOT
to incite unwanted
and unwonted anger
among lgbtqia community),
and accentuates tendency
(mine) to administer
reverent unpretentious yawping,
sans (asper thy usual)
wordy, quirky, nutty, heady, easy...
and gallimaufry charade,
though pointed lament
decries copious blather,
which awareness (in tandem
with better devilishly cherubic angels)
prevail upon sesquipedalian
nippy nap noopy quirkiness, might be
in my best (in show)
interest to evade
leaving an unsuspecting
reader psychologically frayed,
and without doubt prematurely
finds same cyber surfer
harried and grayed,
styled akin to experience dramatic,
and sudden onset of progeria
hence, a concerted effort
will be orchestrated, i.e.made
so everyone involved woodwind
fur me (a hip cat) tabby
conscientiously choosing
meow me modus operandi
to mute trumpeting,
associated with this one man
faltering hit parade,
hence, an intent to write
swiftly tailored and more clearly,
cogently, and creditably
qua more understandable to invite,
subsequently witnessing, an
increased authorial fan
base, and unite
easy to comprehend
underlying intelligent conversation,
and/or share something trite,
anyway, thee impetus regarding
risking emailing a younger sister,
where repressed spite led
to dissolution, née cessation
of brotherly linkedin communication
engendered me to make right
egregious emotional estrangement,
principally vitiated, nursed,
generated, augmented
(thank you very much) by me,
viz in sum avoidance behavior
(traipsing, purring, loping,
humming, and doodling along) quite
familiarly, easily, (no matter
discontentedly), alas and alack
moment seemed apropos
for this only bro
their to allow, enable,
and proffer selflessness -
pushing aside ego
(mine) and attempt to go
for the gusto hoe
embarking, kickstarting, and
resolving upon reasonable resolutions
to convey persevere re-establishing
cordiality, despite misgivings
toward Shari Todd
thee family member in question.
Oft' we've heard that trite and tiresome old cliche':
"Rain! Rain! Go away and come again another day!"
Excuse me, but I happen to hold a different point of view.
I like the rain along with a tad of lightning and thunder too!
Nearly every afternoon the heavens become dark and overcast.
Praise the Lord! We'll get some blessed rain at last!
Alas, 'tis not to be since not a threatening cloud remains;
The storm skips over us, dousing instead the Kansas plains!
Rain! Rain! Won't you come and drench my thirsty lawn?
If it doesn't happen soon, my wish for pretty roses is foregone!
The grass is so very sparse, utterly brown and barren,
That it has the appearance of the vast and arid Saharan!
The Chamber of Commerce boasts of skies sunny and clear,
So hordes of tourists come to enjoy the exquisite beauty here.
So what if a little rain spoils their pla what a dirty shame!
If they don't like it, they can return to whence they came!
I've done the Rain Dance and knelt to pray on ben'ded knee,
To proffer to that Meteorologist in the Sky my fervent plea!
Only He determines whether we deserve a drenching rain or sun.
There ain't much we can do about it, when all is said and done!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 2 in Destroyer's "Best Rain Poem" - Contest - July 2011
Buzzfeeding sustenance (eating/drinking) beyond point of satiation
Bloated swollen cheeks
analogous to first Chinese Brother,
who swallowed the sea,
now non sequitur
off beaten track i.e.
less apropos re: guarding
par for race course as if
ace driver won Grand Prix
latter referencing international
horse race for three-year-olds,
founded in eighteen sixty three
931 + 932 = above number
satisfying ghost of Fibonacci.
Original idea predicated whereby
all Americans heartily feast
(stuff themselves to the gills)
salivating cornucopia dime
a dozen lonely people
bemoaning holiday re:
traditional Thanksgiving time,
celebrating joie de vivre chime
wine glasses clink full house,
where ushers pantomime
proffer gobbledygook and
motion rapidly hungry guests
toward smorgasboard prime
tables for gluttonous
to commit punishing crime.
Tentative arrangement made,
whereby oldest sister, and husband,
(who live a jaunt away from Maple Shade
more precisely Woodbury New Jersey)
would swing by Schwenksville
comprising one car motorcade,
thence to shuttle 31.5 miles southeast
our mutual (of Omaha) friend,
I met when counted orbitz
during late 30/early thirtieth decade.
Offer to drive out of their way
presented, since our 2009
Hyundai Sonata did betray
accountability, dependability...
reliability oy vey
woolworth no more than
couple/few Benjamins
yet real challenge constitutes
yours truly, née
theme underlying mein
kampf pennilessness pray
I did (despite being orthodox
atheist) to no avail
relying upon social security
regarding disability (mine) Mayday
forthrightly, feebly, faintly...
calling before men
donned with white coats
came to take me away
to the happy home with trees
and flowers and chirping birds
and basket weavers who sit,
smile, twiddle their thumbs and toes.
Communication break down
compromised eating humble pie
regarding this ole man
upended above mentioned plan
whereby attending
hosted by: Gail la Dorfman
afforded rubber express
thus with Forrest Gump I ran
all the way across
Ocean thru to Japan.
The Condition of My Heart
by Munir Niazi
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
There's no need for anyone else to get excited:
The condition of my heart is not the condition of hers.
But were we to receive any sort of good news, Munir,
How spectacular compared to earth's mundane sunsets!
***
Mystery
by Munir Niazi
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
She was a mystery:
Her lips were parched ...
but her eyes were two unfathomable oceans.
***
I continued delaying ...
by Munir Niazi
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
I continued delaying ...
the words I should speak
the promises I should keep
the one I should dial
despite her cruel denial
I continued delaying ...
the shoulder I must offer
the hand I must proffer
the untraveled lanes
we may not see again
I continued delaying ...
long strolls through the seasons
for my own selfish reasons
the remembrances of lovers
to erase thoughts of others
I continued delaying ...
to save someone dear
from eternities unclear
to make her aware
of our reality here
I continued delaying ...
Keywords/Tags: Munir Niazi, Urdu, Punjabi, translation, Pakistan, Lahore, love, love hurts, heart, heartbreak, condition, mystery, pashto, relationship, delay, delays, delaying
When all the moments have been lived,
and all the days described
When hope is an illusion, you chase in your dreams,
and time a circle of black and white
When faded pictures guard your mind from forgetting,
will a seat be offered from a comforting hand?
To warm your face, so it may smile
And as you gather fallen leaves from your dreams,
to build a fire to protect from winter's cold,
will you sit by frosted windows, starring into luminous stars?
Reliving a solemn rendering of your life
When all my days are shorn in Autumn
And all the years have shrived
When lasting memories are fused, what deems
Is an hourglass of time's remind
Like faded photographs, safe vouch the mind
Will I sit and proffer from a smile
And such as you will I gather token dreams
And build a fire, to keep from winter's bold
Will I sit by mosic windows and turn them into stars
Reliving a solemn promise, to make this slope, my wife
A poem written by Mystic Rose;
and Frederic Parker
I thank her for her input and kindness
When golden starlight abandons darkened skies
and halcyon silence greets the paling of dawn...
that's when I am able to solemnly contemplate
my awakened sentiments in tranquil solitude.
Before the world awakens as if in a rendezvous,
I linger amidst an interlude, a quiescent tryst.
When darkness fades to aurorean glints,
I witness the painting of a nuanced murk.
There, upon the birth of the sun's horizon
is brushed a blended mural in pastel tints
slowly rising from the gently rippled sea.
On a raft of serenity, I find myself afloat,
eyelids closed but able to see more clearly
than when they unfold to bustling scenes.
I am serene in the placid hush of daybreak,
listening to the truth of life's one true purpose.
Too often we scurry as ants in hurried moments.
In blurred visions my eyes behold the world's
noises pelting my ears like tympany drums
obscuring significant thoughts from my mind
until I could make no pertinent sense of it.
But silence explains everything in vivid detail.
It enlightens me, leading me into a quiet realm
where I am in harmony with peaceful silence
and filled with an overwhelming sense of stillness
that delves deeper than any sound could proffer.
Indiginous English, Scots and Welsh..Who are homless, or between accomodation
Should not be, left on the proverbial shelf
As long as they have credentials..Or true
Fellow citizens who will stand, to vouchsafe they are genuine, with best intentions for their own land, it will be to the
Credit of a Nation steeped in, the common good, the better ideals; that burned as it
Were the beacon, that the world would
observe. Thats well understood, the
better optic to observe through, to build their strengths, deep within..
I proffer this in reason
That a balance may, be struck..So the weal of
A Nation be again treasured, now do away with insanity's truck.'
The Imp sat atop the dresser, unmoving,
in the corner of the room, I waited, pen in hand.
No sound did he make, nor his locus improving,
as his bloodshot eyes, my attention, they demand.
In days slipped past, he spoke in lulled timbre,
for years he abated the fears that I had,
his mind so subtle, his thoughts so limber,
but through each day my questions he forbad.
I wrote each word, every syllable, every notion,
spoken dark or tender, whether thou or thine.
He laid before me his songs of emotion
and I stole each one and made them all mine.
In his voice, I claimed, all of his treasures,
without a thought he'd discover, in time.
Yet, now he speaks with words always measured,
and burning glares that scream of my crime.
Does he know I've used him to privilege my psyche?
Does he know how his rhymes have impassioned my soul?
Would he care if I offered to proffer my ego,
or pay, with my heart, this immeasurable toll.
“Living In The Dark ,“ so easy he spoke this,
while together we lived each verse, he and I.
Darkness foreboding, for he, was in bliss,
but for me pure terror as his words I decry.
He laughed at my fear and smiled with derision
as my name I placed at the end with the date.
His eye slowly narrowed as if changing his decision
but I watched as the dark made these feelings abate.
I gather before me his sonnet's solemn lines,
He allows me to name it,"Fire," seems right,
as his bitterness taunts me with each phrase he entwines
leaving visions of me in the sallow dim light.
I live in his blindness through eyes of midnight.
The coals of his vision, burning embers of fright,
but the words he has spoken I endeavor to requite
for they linger and fill me with horrendous delight.
Each syllable I have written, each turn of a phrase,
I owe to this Imp as he glares from the dresser
but silence, now, while he sits in the shadows,
how I wish again to become his confessor.
10/07/2020