Long Puppets Poems
Long Puppets Poems. Below are the most popular long Puppets by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Puppets poems by poem length and keyword.
Respected great people, Please listen to my sad story, I was a poor puppeteer, Once puppet show dominated the village festivals, The puppets were made of wood and clothes, And they were manipulated by the strings by me, Which were attached to their heads,arms and legs, I told tales and stories through my puppets, That folk art deeply rooted in rural traditions, I felt sad to see the decorated puppets, Which were stored in the wooden box , The modern entertainments killed the art, Please give space for us and our art to live.
Moving my hands.
My hands twisting and almost tackling each other.
Colliding knuckles.
Frantic and desperate.
Eyes grazing and chewing.
Jaw moving side to side.
Everything seems so much like-
A lack of communication.
So I twirl my body around.
As if I’m holding a ribbon.
Almost falling over.
Realizing that I haven’t said a word.
When I try to speak-
It’s just my toes tapping.
Feels like I’m yapping.
My mouth is heated.
Eyelashes grasping.
When you get into this state of mind…
Opening your mouth could reveal that I have no teeth or tongue.
I’m convinced.
No one understands me, ever.
So she guided me back to bed.
So I could make shadow puppets on the ceiling.
I'm trapped in this cave
Enslaved by a legion of chains
Your puppets jeer and taunt
Painting the wall as droplets fall
The cobra dance in the flame
Scarlet and velvet choke the air
Till a heartbeat broke in the lair
Creeping echoes from the deep
Stir my memories from their sleep
Your eyes hollowed
Your heart borrowed
You .... whore, let it ..... rain!
Volcanic skies feed your ...... greed!
Burn your tapestries, soaked in sin
Treasure the rot that festers within
As Cleopatra choked on the serpent’s kiss
So Drown in venom. Drown in bliss
My epiphany, late
For I was far too blind to see
Your love a mask of lies
A vampiress, thirsts for her meal
Crossing the sea with blood to spill
You clouded my crystal cerulean skies!
A succubus in disguise
'seeing red the siren screams'
Plundering hopes and dreams
In the path of Vesuvius
Drums of madness of the chorus
'Crimson emaciated curtains descend upon the floor
Moribund, eviscerated, veiled; the music is no more'
Your eyes hollowed
Your heart borrowed
You .... whore! let it ...... rain!
Volcanic skies feed your ...... greed!
Burn your tapestries, soaked in sin
Treasure the rot that festers within
As Cleopatra choked on the serpent’s kiss
So drown in venom. Die in your bliss
I hate you!
I hate you!
Your eyes hollowed
Your heart borrowed
You .....whore! let it.....rain!
Volcanic skies feed your ...... greed!
Burn your tapestries, soaked in sin
Treasure the rot that festers within
Cleopatra choked on the serpent’s kiss
So drown in venom.
You .....whore, let it .....rain!
Volcanic skies feed your .....greed!
Go drown in your venom.
you (unholy) (bloody) gorgon
You! Ouroboros-cursed (witch)!
i... hate y-oooouu...
i... hate y-oooouu...
i... (bloody) hate you...
I... (bloody) hate you...
In a world of democracies, in a world where the great projects that have set humanity on fire are the projects of the emancipation of individuals from entrenched social division and hierarchy; in such a world individuals must never be puppets or prisoners of the societies or cultures into which they have been born.
Child slavery is a crime against humanity. Humanity itself is at stake here. A lot of work still remains, but I will see the end of child labor in my lifetime.
I think music in itself is healing. It's an explosive expression of humanity. It is something we are all touched by. No matter what culture we're from, everyone loves music.
There is no present.
We are living in the future.
Risk, risk, risk
We are all risk
Risking to go,
Risking to die,
Risking to learn.
Risking to fly.
We have made it.
We are ancient as we speak.
We are living in the future.
So some give their lives to history.
We are history.
So some give their lives to us.
Humanity has been challenged.
They have challenged humanity.
We have risen out of the ashes
That are not ashes.
We have picked ourselves up
Out of the oceans
Over and over again
We learn that we’re not safe
So we redesign.
We learn that we are wrong,
So we scrap and start a new.
We try again.
They call back to us,
"Please, try again!
Over my departed dreams,
Try, try again!"
We the undernourished,
We the underfunded,
We the constrained,
We the brave,
The daring,
The curious,
The planet,
The humans.
Life.
We are nothing if not inspired.
We will find a way
To our stars.
From whence the atoms in our souls
Were fashioned.
We are Challenger.
I am a Challenger.
A Challenger Challenges only?
To deny people their human rights is to challenge their very humanity.
By Aliza Kashmala Kiran
Hollywood could be their favorite kind of lumber
Puppets come from the pine forest cut and dry
In a mahogany box polished and refined
Labeled and shipped out to other countries
With big warnings not to smoke on the side
Puppets don't smoke
They are not alive
But smoking is bad
We understand
Under certain circumstances
The next best thing to being alive
Is a painted smile and beady eyes
Never ask questions of dead wood
It is obvious they can't answer
They are not just another log from the forest
Some stump stuffed in a box for something
Avoid whittling in front of puppets
Talking fire or smoke is impolite
Mentioning matches in mixed company
Is considered treason in some circles of trees
Puppets will never take bribes
They are not that kind
They are not people
Not prone to compromise
Inanimate objects can't talk
Maybe they don't want to
It could be your cheap perfume
Or that carving tool in your pocket
I refuse to say anything
About a puppet on a string
That would be mean
Unspoken ideas are art galleries in ruin, frescoes on the walls of our weary minds,
From them were born the wars that tore humanity apart through infinite epochs,
Unspoken words melt into the air like musical notes you will never hear,
Yet they are there, scattered in your soul like dancing ghosts.
I turn back time to destroy peace, for peace is a beautifully wrapped lie,
A toxic illusion that keeps us in chains, a story long outdated,
I let fear drain from me and raise my fist to the sky with blind confidence,
As the flames I ignited begin to consume the universe.
The desire for destruction is the mute child of voices ignored for too long,
But is any of this real, or is it all just a season
In which we bathe, blinded by lies served daily on a platter?
Poisons masked as food, brainwashing in schools, a perpetual venom.
Open your eyes and look around at the isolated bubbles of social media that swallow us,
We are just puppets in an absurd theater, an infinite spectacle,
Reality has dissolved into collective hallucinations and programmed illusions,
But I... I am different, I am the puppeteer pulling the calculated strings.
Control flows through my veins like a spring of primordial power,
While the rest of the world dances to the rhythm of an artificial symphony,
For I am the director of this spectacle, the shadowy master who laughs,
Watching society unravel under the weight of lies that kill it.
Daddy read another fairy tale and nightly prayers were said.
He tenderly kissed his little princess and gently tucked her in bed.
Pausing to gaze upon her sweet face lying in innocent repose,
He mused, "She's more beautiful than God's most magnificent rose!"
Moonbeams stroke her golden curls as through the panes they stream,
Also, lighting the way for pleasant things of which she'll later dream.
Mister Bear lies by her side - she clutched him in tight embrace,
He who will guard her from ferocious ogres that she might face!
Her toys leapt to life - in her visions they danced about with glee!
Miss Molly her dolly invited her to scrumptious scones and tea.
Mister Brown the silly clown staged a very exciting show.
Madame Katrina the ballerina danced daintily on heel and toe!
Brian the stuffed lion loosed a mighty roar joining in the fray,
Challenging Gus the hippopotamus as they jousted in friendly play.
Mack the Jack-In-The-Box performed his whimsical routine,
Trying to upstage the frisky puppets, Clarence and Christine!
Vince her prince carried her away on Rocky his rocking horse,
To a castle made of Lincoln Logs, living ever happily of course!
At dawn her dreams were over - she awoke to hug Mom and Dad,
Sleepily saying, "I'm kinda tired but what a fun night I had!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 14 Jun 2015 All Rights Reserved
Entry for Thomas Martin's "Show But Don't Tell" Contest
On a halcyon stroll on a crepuscular street
My jealousy got flowing for my hound in retreat
His visceral powers and sonorous bark
Alerted by penumbras half in the dark
On an opulent lawn, a close neighbor of mine
The desultory moon making shadow puppets with vines
I laughed at my hound in a cynical laugh
While quieting his exuberant loud aftermath
Rewarded his vigilance in spite of retrieval
Fortunately for us, he did see no evil.
Jan 27 2016 10 word challenge : halcyon, crepuscular, jealousy
visceral, sonorous, penumbra, opulent, desultory, cynical, exuberant
by Daniel Turner
Looking out the window at the world, I wonder,
Is there a consciousness that permeates every living cell,
Something that stitches together all life into a vast symphony,
Singing a score written by a solitary omnipotent hand?
Or is it all just a random scattering, discrete forms released
Into a mindless algorithm, biased towards the instinct to survive?
A world where even charity and love are mere selected attributes
To bring social advantage, just clever tricks to win the game of evolution.
What then is art—a sublime melody sung by the human soul,
Or just a construct of the mind, fabricated in the brain's workshop,
An instrument to keep our species occupied, nothing more than an evolutionary remedy
To prevent madness, while we are bound to our biological imperatives?
Yet so much seems superficial in the simple act of survival.
We build libraries, galleries, and concert halls, spaces to house
Evidence that we might be something more.
Is there something inside us that refuses linguistic reduction,
Something of an unearthly essence, pointing toward something deeper?
The heart yearns for a meaning beyond charts and graphs,
In moments when the stars mirror our deepest questions,
And moonlight floods our rooms with ethereal whispers.
Are we merely puppets orchestrated by unseen hands on a cosmic stage,
Or creators of our own stories, weaving magic through our art?
In silence, as the tapestry of night envelops the world,
This quest for understanding leaves traces in the sands of my consciousness,
Where thoughts glimmer like fireflies, each a tiny beacon illuminating the unknown.
The soul swims in the deep, seeking answers among the inner galaxies,
While outside my window, life continues its silent and mysterious dance.
I didn’t like the characters
Of many films that Disney made,
Designed for awwws, so sickly sweet,
I didn’t care if they decayed.
For as a boy, I watched unmoved
As kittens sang and orphans cried,
I didn’t care that crickets spoke,
And shrugged it off that puppets lied.
But there was one that I enjoyed:
Madame Medusa made me smile.
She was a nasty piece of work -
And even whipped a crocodile.
With bright red hair and sagging breasts,
And eyes an eerie shade of green,
Madame Medusa looked the part -
And her expressions were so mean.
No other villain won my heart,
I wanted her to win the day -
And at the end, I wondered if
Madame Medusa got away.
Jack Horne
*Madame Medusa from the film The Rescuers
for Linda-Marie's Disney contest.