Long Puzzling Poems
Long Puzzling Poems. Below are the most popular long Puzzling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Puzzling poems by poem length and keyword.
It is up to me to choose
Who I wish to be
It is up to me
To choose what I think
Is best for me
It is up to me
To choose whether
I prefer the fragrance of flowers
Or the tranquillity of calm lagoons
It is up to me
To be that which I fit in best!
It is up to me
To shut off the loud din
Of society's harsh glare upon me
As it saunters along to what is imposed upon it
While I can only care to dance upon the beats
Of my poetic whims!
It is up to me
To smile with my heart
At the poison that is hurled upon me
With the hope that it scorches me
To such an extent
That I come to a point where I fear it
And use it
To be that which I am not!
It is up to me
To stand up with my flag brandished high
Upon the mountains and the lowlands of
Our puzzling world
As
Everything about us all
Has not been given due explanations!
Yes,
It is up to me
To acknowledge of the rights
That pave themselves towards the glory
Of existing as I do
As if I don't
I would be a mere paper
Yearning for when a pen
Would write upon my lines
A poem of human emancipation!
4th December 2021
A long, long time ago
A girl lived with an unpredictable dragon.
She walked softly around his brooding silence,
but many times the flames cast forth despite her care.
She would scramble to take refuge, and make amends.
Struggling to please, ducking to avoid being singed.
The dragon was silent for days, or raged for hours.
Peeking around the corner when she walked home,
she looked for his long tail, the black tip quivering
as then she knew he lay anticipating her,
but eventually she would have to enter
and face the hot ozone smell ,or the cold quiet.
The puzzling times were when the dragon was friendly
leaving gifts that were thoughtful, claiming devotion.
The girl grew stronger and his hold on her lessened.
She still felt compelled to check on dragon at times;
eventually he burned himself to cinders.
Freed, she stopped looking for tails around the corner,
but the dread of his malevolence persisted
especially in dreams.
3-1-2017
Peering through plate glass at a puzzling view,
In the midst of my coffee’s morning ritual brew.
Staring with amazement—I’m wonderfully struck,
By Cherry Tree blossoms, overnight run amuck!
By nature’s own standard, cruel joke she now plays,
Million blossoms wide open, this February day.
Our sad juvenile sapling, knows not what it feels,
Sprouting vivid Pink colors, in a show it now steals.
From those all around laying dormant in state,
Waiting to blossom, their own petals awake.
And by then poor young cherry will have muted her splash,
Replaced by green leaves, summer storms will soon thrash.
But alas all this splendor making warm visual sense,
In the time it took java, to heat and dispense.
Tomorrow once more, I’ll observe through plate glass,
Wonders that await, beyond Winter’s Rye Grass.
© Michael Wegman, 2018
I stood,
At the edge of the abyss
And stared deep into its void
Letting its gloomy silence
Fill up the empty shell
That had become my heart!
I stood,
Tilting my will,
Like a mad pendulum,
Hesitating between choosing to jump in its depths
Or to walk away from it
When,
Unable to bear with the weight of my own burden,
I succumbed to the madness
That hovered everywhere around me
So much that it even invaded
My usually fragranced mind,
Adorned with its many roses!
The void of the abyss seemed to be laughing at me
And I could help it no more,
Opening the many branches of my lungs,
I shouted at it to tell it
That it can claim victory over me
Since, it, empty abyss,
Has been able to destroy the fortress that poetry
Has built all around me!
My shout into its void
Brought about a response from it,
A response which left me flabbergasted
And bewildered
But which nevertheless had me
Gathering myself back together
And realising that my life can be stitched back
Into the ornately decorated piece of clothing
That I once was!
Yes, the void whispered to me
Of how inner strength is crucial in a world
Which shall ever remain puzzling
More so,
Since the same power that impregnated me with
Goodness, created the abyss
And that I was brought to its edge
For some purpose which got fulfilled
The moment that I understood
Of my inner potential!
A shout into the void
Echoed in the vacuum of my body
And lighted in me,
A flame, flickering and gentle
But sturdy to withstand any storm!
Poem written on 11 December 2021
I see how I look inside out,
not how I look outside in.
My Amtrak races between mountains
and rivers, my traces, my inner spaces,
my dawnings, my inner longings.
I see how I look inside out,
not how I look outside in.
I leaf through fading pages
of crumbling books bound
with passion strings,
broken by wounded fissures
of regret.
I see how I look inside out,
not how I look outside in.
Others declare me a man or fool,
perhaps the father they never knew,
perhaps the boss who fired them,
or just the impostor they always hated.
I see how I look inside out,
not how I look outside in.
I slowly abandon their puzzling
projectiles, their momentary mocks.
Such a child am I, even the petals
of new love go unseen.
I see how I look inside out,
not how I look outside in.
I take the long way alone,
my feet heavy with clay,
I wander the deep gloam,
my mortal vessel, my only home.
There is luminous grass beyond.
There I will rest my head in
the resplendence and comprehend
that inside and outside
are just a revolving door.
In matters of nutritious foods to eat, I am so befuddled!
Admonitions about what to eat and not to eat are so muddled!
First, they warn that it's bad to eat grub of almost any kind,
But, "New studies have shown....., eat what you want, never mind!"
"A cup of tea is good for the heart!" the docs would quote.
Now, they say a cup of tea might cause cancer of the throat!
Coffee was always touted to be a most unhealthy addiction,
But now is deemed beneficial - another puzzling contradiction!
"Eggs will elevate cholesterol and triglycerides," experts stated.
Without guilt we can now eat eggs since that data was overrated!
For years, consuming chocolate was frowned on by clinicians.
Now, we can gorge on that delicacy, thanks to theoreticians!
Years ago a tot of scarlet wine was thought be be a social drink.
'Tis now said to benefit the heart and keeps one in the pink!
For decades, docs thought it a bad choice to partake of pork.
'Tis now said to be the best of meats to grace knife and fork!
Seems the wizards controvert their hypotheses and have no clue.
With all these nutritional contradictions, what's a feller to do?
My Pa lived to be ninety-four, he wasn't particular about what he ate!
Fiddle faddle! I will eat as I please and pray his age I'll emulate!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
I'm primarily known for my poetry
inked in cerebral colors of abstract thoughts.
Yet, there is a complexity concealed within me.
My totality runs surprisingly deep.
You must meticulously disassemble and examine
all my puzzling parts to understand me.
I'm a dreamer, awake in a dream called life;
an optimist and a self-doubter, I know I'm not always right.
But I love to fledge my poetic thoughts,
feathering their wings with witty words.
My heart reveals hidden hurts buried deep
to appease my conscience and oblige reality!
Yet compassion underlies my every breath,
weighing life's wrongs on the scales of injustice.
Draining dreams tear by tear, year after year,
frustration has not yet emptied me of hope.
But, if I am to be defined by anything,
let it be by the gift fate endowed my muse;
and the Karma my poems have generated,
illuminating my pathway to now
and guiding me toward tomorrow.
Hub bomb bin hubble emotional wreckage
tell tale signs of internal war
ah, there moost be lifelong conspiracy
afoot for a Galician voar
try as I might to Lyft myself
out of penury...this Uber
scribe reckons way back when,
my life took a irrecoverable dee tour,
tis neither pity nor philanthropic succor
this poor man asks,
but just the chance to roar
(albeit within structures of silence)
shaky psychological scaffolding
built from shabby and poor
Scottish matted Harris tweed
material re: mailhouse order
(same as me bartered bride)
assembly required blueprints defied
comprehension, and thus...only my
into whoosh shin as singular guide,
which puzzling quandary sorely
tested frustration, I could not hide
overstressed mental cogs, and
wheels issued steam from inside
the bowels (ah... oh...
moving) within this, nor
thorn prickly human being, more
or less condemned to live
in this mancave, where folklore...
I don't believe that bupkis,
about some hoar
rubble, but...nonetheless,
yours truly unable to account
for this...friggin landmine miss fore
chin, where nuttin boot
this misanthrope jammed
in a hole like EEyore
moost all bajillion years living in the dark...
as if... yeah thrust in the core
of a black hole, thus
the best available
explanation given destiny did ride
me roughshod into the maw of despair,
now no matter these gnarled
arthritic hands unable to...
ugh...heave ho...grunt
purportedly nada so easy slide
anatomical pieces together
according to schematic
drawing, aye tried,
hence best this crabby hermit vied
to be condemned remaining separated
(since birth), sans
webbed world infinitely wide.
back a small number of years thee diva of this domicile
exhibited an aura, charisma, enigma…devoid of any guile
boot of late turned a cold shoulder to me and I’ll
avoid denigrating, haranguing, and lambasting said dell lisle
la, whose avoidance behavior toward me – who goes a mile
out of her way to ensure our paths do not cross – noah din nile
per the above – well, perhaps a slight bit of hyperbole
viz this, mine swift tailored, harried style
per potpourri of puzzling perturbation evinced
by said olde world germane German dame we lease this duplex
treating us, as if we committed some egregious crime
subsequently forced to stand trial
viz aversion toward this convivial, frivolous and introspective chap
methinks said realtor/renter joined a coven den
where doe eyed zen of thieves
occupy teaching rubric of mean-ness while
taking appropriate and selective pages from play book of sarah palin,
which tension unlikely to cease for the next nine months till the deed
doth expire, where by this witch a taw hook cans ass (ours) will be freed
of renting a long and fostered, roach and fox infested, century21
from once salient sympathetic ear this now manifested Scrooge like greed
reminding us (essentially via cessation of any interaction),
how she once did heed
to our various and sundry travails – though neither myself nor spouse,
the latter whose vociferousness regularly exudes loathsomeness
toward key per, once a vouch saving storied angel without fail and indeed
wife tis not shy to vent where a plethora of expletives lead
rant and rave toward an impending crisis that will me send out an SOS
ever felt compelled to join Hemlock society or drown sorrows in mead
yet disappointment arises, when formerly positive dynamic now im peed
did by reasons unbeknownst to me,
who feels grateful ye chanced to read
my babbling of poetically irrational from a regular Joe,
who doth not sport Harris Tweed
nor (despite any immediate intimations)
doth newt smoke booze nor drink week.
The Magic of Love’s First Moment
It’s a very special time when suddenly you can’t eat,
And your thoughts and emotions are not all rational.
Your emotions ‘n heart are set afire and so is your blood,
As nothing makes sense—then everything makes sense!
You have all the words you want to say to your new love,
Yet you find no words pass from your lips to affirm all!
One of life’s mysterious surprises—yet one so very real;
One of life’s grand and puzzling Gordian Knots so true!
Emotions, feelings, hopes, fears—each with its singularity;
All clashing together all at once and providing no clarity!
Yes, this is that initial feeling and moment of truest passion,
When one’s blood warms to red-hot and emotions run amok!
This magic of love’s first moment is a marvel for all to behold;
It reflects love’s complexity and its precious nature to be retold!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
February 02, 2018 (Couplet)