Long Quagmire Poems
Long Quagmire Poems. Below are the most popular long Quagmire by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Quagmire poems by poem length and keyword.
" Ship of Doom "
Ship of doom so sailed to sea ~
Dark her course... 'twas meant to be ~
Into seas this great ship sped ~
Her past... her history... of naught but dread ~
O'er those waves her bows did'st cleave ~
Her memories... but silken webs to weave ~
Thunder on her decks was heard ~
Yet sailors aboard spake no word ~
For ship such as she was doomed thus so~
Gone north into winds then fierce a'blow ~
Down her bows crept steadily then ~
None to know which verse thus then ~
For rime was abound on her decks those days ~
Yet aloft was fire seen from her stays ~
Off afar from crow's nest was hailed ~
As below in her belly that crew did bail ~
For her planks ridden with dark worm & rot ~
Such ship did'st sail from whence known not ~
Far corner o'globe she ran from ever ~
Home her port seen oft yet never ~
Equator her line of happenchance ~
Capricorn her thought yet not her stance ~
Now she sails a spars a'glisten ~
A'deck her men all a'listen ~
Now speaks thus such sorrowful ship ~
With voice akin to crackin' o'whip ~
Hail! Ye Lads.... heartily all ~
Sail we've had & such so a'ball ~
Now deep down Davy Jones' way ~
I'm thus bound this cold north day ~
My sprit I drive now into next wave ~
Darkness & silence I do now crave ~
Gone from me now pleazure o'sound aloft ~
For me hull is naught but now gone soft ~
I'll seek that bottom at sea's very depths ~
Were there I'll find my wager thus kept ~
With devil I’ve played throughout these years ~
Now I’ll so lay to rest all such fears ~
Sail with me now lads & lasses bold all ~
Into realms which di'dst us then enthrall ~
Gone only now our fine spark & fire ~
Quenched so by life's sodden quagmire ~
Off now go we & heads look a'forard ~
To see what 'twas behind & now not toward ~
Rocks... reefs... depth’s sandy shoals ~
These so now our woe begotten goals ~
So to break up these planks hath caused me to live ~
For as ship o'the main I was once known to give ~
Now all such gone with wild sea's winds ~
As now my time... mirrors death's sins ~
Down down down do I speed ~
In need o'sleep... dark do I need ~
Run now quickly from my decks so I say ~
Or with me in devil's depths ye shall play ~
Bouzouki in hand I now last am at rest ~
For with song always I have been best ~
Tsifteteli my dance so join me now so ~
For life is naught that which e'er we'll know ~
SeaWolf
©
Written: September 9, 2025, for contest sponsored by: Rob Carmack
Quote: "Lovers have heartaches that can't be cured by drugs or sleep, or games, but only by seeing their beloved" By Rumi
**********
In the garland of ailments, we sip nepenthe,
anodyne tinctures in elegant flasks—
murmurous promises, beauteous masks,
each fard a façade, each pill a palimpsest
of pain rewritten in mellifluous ink.
Pneumology sings in stertorous sighs,
dyspnea dances under the aegis of relief.
We stroll through the lanes of this lush haven.
The breathtaking tablets gaze into bliss.
What trendy medicine pills and supplies
Supply human beings with many ways to support?
I share on the matter of preventing slurs.
The breakdown of moiety and the rise of risk.
For even the most ductile clay
may crumble in the quagmire of misuse.
In the seraglio of spurious bliss,
the simple and the iconoclast alike
grasp the absurdity of escape.
Acherontic powders, hexed and hissing,
wafture through the penumbra of parties,
where flapdoodle masquerades as rapture.
fear grips the veins—
a jussive urge, impetuous and egregious.
We extemporize joy, inhale incarnadine dusk,
and resile from reason with pertinacity.
turbulent dawns, wan and woebegone,
usher in ischemia’s kiss,
a paucity of comeliness,
a summary of sorrow.
The lush becomes lurid,
the sumptuous turns stygian.
Even the most miraculous odyssey
may cease in necrotic silence.
Meliorism in time to come
Yet still, amid the desiccation,
a scintilla of optimism coruscates.
The riparian soul, lithe and lit with Love,
may manipulate a raw moiety of meaning.
Through the shield of empathy,
the one who heals
may reclaim the palimpsest of self.
Not all who inhale are lost—
Some merely seek the empyrean
through alternate doors.
Let us not belittle
the addict, the patient, the seeker.
Each belongs to a consanguineous ilk
of yearning, of zoetic ache.
So let us offer not just palliation,
but propinquity,
not just summary judgment,
but the sacred burnished balm
of understanding.
Let Love be the panacea,
let compassion be the coruscation
that flickers in the penumbra
of every pharmacological night.
Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
Earthdate/starttime: 11/04/19 01:10:26 AM
Earthdate/endtime: 11/04/19 02:55:46 AM
Poetic snapshot regarding immediate
actual, physical, spatial... environment
pertinent, relevant, salient... yours truly
commenced within fleeting electronic
date/time stamp indicated above bereft
attempts to describe character sketch,
whereat I sit within Apartment B44:
taking immediate lock, stock & barrel
ordinary repeated situation witnessing
garden variety *****sapien imbibing
familiar scenario, while spouse sleeps
near proximity, CPAP machine regulates
continuous positive airway pressure
offsetting sleep apnea breathe more so
she can breathe free and clear preventing
airway from collapsing when she inhales.
Nothing particularly spectacular wee hour
this ordinary moment beckoned, challenged
decided... attempt to focus (laser like) sense
and sensibility without pride, nor prejudice
essentially simply worded still life repeated
predictably, & regularity glossed over other
instances finding impetus preying upon pro-
fun ditties, and expansive vocabulary unsure
communicated printed idea understandable
aware some readers disinclined wading thru
thicket (quagmire) of verbiage, hence eureka
experience to corral immediate circumstance
(think Will Rogers' 140th birthday his home
spun extemporaneous anecdotal nuggets.)
Many occasions embarking upon complexity
aspire to elaborate intricate worded webbed
(wide aye bother) complex edifice ambitious
invariably confounding unsuspecting readers
suddenly sinking within quicksand helpless
against salvation, hence painstaking effort
to asseverate downplaying sesquipedalian
rather toning down syllabification sharing
trumpeting, undulating humdrum existence
verily reporting sleeping on floor - courtesy
restless leg syndrome, which affects the mrs.
Marriage basically no match heavenly made,
nonetheless dynamic linkedin travails values
wifely attentiveness to prepare unrecognized
frying object (best described as pop slop), +
she tends other domestic chore, viz washing
soiled clothes nsync of kitchen, whiling away
(think dervish) stoking chaos within invisible
re: nearly infinitesimal speck within Milkyway.
October 21st 2007
Thoughts – Moneca .
The past has come around to dominate again.
It has brought me into a lesser place then before.
Upon wings of time’s passing, drift memories, ecstasies, experiences of joy to delight – light up my soul, fill my empty, fragile heart with lost hopes and dreams.
Gloomy days have befallen us, darker days upon me.
Those beautiful sunny days, seemed to have faded away.
Dreams of closeness have faded into a reality you create.
The dream has become lost, in what has been left behind,
now the essence for a reality that has become the present.
Fear my Dear
Fear has become a long, lonely, dark tunnel
I walk you, with thoughts that leave me alone,
on my own as you take us back to where
I feel, as if I am no more then a substitute
for those empty hours that come to your days,
when the thoughts of a Mr. Right, a Prince Charming,
Mr Pseudo Intellectual, Mr. Elegant are insufficient
and your current pursuer, man of interest, is not available.
The man you’d respect, appreciate, give yourself to, the man you’d love, – none existent in this reality, the man you desire.
B. J. "A" 2
October 21st 2007
My Dear Moneca :
I have done many times and will again, lay my ego down upon the sacrificial alter in order for it to be the girders of a bridge upon which you may cross over the abyss, the black hole, the seas of uncertainty, the quagmire of fears created from so many negative experiences that continually creep into the mind of your days, from a past, now long passed – experiences that have created beliefs, dogmas, paradigms, archetypes, control .
This I have done – laid my ego aside, to rest – and will continue to do so, for you, because I care, because doing so is my nature, my desire to see you rise up and fly above all that has brought you down, brings you down, hold you back. This I, freely, do for you, with all my heart, soul and love, in order to support, even if I should never know, feel or reap the benefits because you have chosen to give to another .
My ego – I want to be the wings upon which you fly to freedoms light, even though you do not believe nor believe in me .
Love
Bill .
On a shattered pebble beach my kernel,
becomes this dervish dancing to the maniacal symbol rash tune,
of inchoate monsoon grass beat timpani,
that’s dimly frowned on by sonic virtuoso,
but terms like briny carrageen sea sweep gain purple splotch kudos,
I gaze with indigo ocean eyesight,
at sheer rock face sunken mould gradient,
where faculties solicit august maxim,
from eternal parchment, grain whirl sand dune smorgasbord,
mud-strewn psalms primed and pumped by ebbing sotto voce stream,
gust smitten lighthouse whose solitary pulsing wink always welcome,
syntax that gray matter genesis scorned geoform tag,
I scribble quintains in a quagmire that ooze magma inkling,
prose stolen from jagged facet incline or whatever,
has this elemental moment turned ghost writer by sixth sense?
saline vista swung pivot on tsunami doorway,
brackish carcass rife with clamped seashells as mirror,
weather-worn thoughts skim eccentric apex,
behemoth undertaker facing self-scripted gauntlet,
but this pilgrim shall yearn evermore imbibing loose mist,
with marble slab as jotter and squid ink another fountain pen,
who really knows what tidemark gems may yet surface,
do metaphors sequester diurnal cycles like day/night swop?
rhetorical or not this lambent aspect must be met on grit-etch blue boulder,
vice-grip of visual plunge belies gravity,
yet this blustery conundrum is just this water drop,
something inconsequential for one clutching at faint will-o-the-wisp,
pepper-strewn haze does obstruct linguistic odour,
despite a caustic rebuff from deep down warden as inner slant,
zany whirlpool blob grasping at ambiguous twill plume,
faraway tangerine canvass might stir tongue-tied raw sketch,
ingenious quest might throb for charmed portrayal,
nought shall thwart this dreamer off-course,
spectral pantoum, geometric quatrain, jewel-crust tanka,
prolific silken sentient suzette an overarch odyssey,
regardless of vernal totem, sumptuous literary harvest,
with its dogged catalytic compass point,
to maunder without curb despite prevailing opus storm,
sculptured outcrop on an apt idyllic text,
once off ephemeral from boundless paragon,
a colour burst vocabulary pending but when?
In a past life I must have killed a priest,
or could it be that on flesh i did feast?
Maybe I brutally raped a God ordained nun.
Because in this life I am being shunned.
My kittens have died, one every other day.
Three total and one other will not get that pardon or stay.
Feline leukemia, so all my cats will surely die.
The only humane thing is to euthanize, and so I cry.
Lois, then Jasper, next Quagmire, now Emmett too,
The mama cat, and their older brother will die, how can we get through?
Hopefully the three orphans weren't exposed enough,
Four weeks until we'll know, why does life have to be so tough?
The mama, Maxine, was named after my grandma who died,
the kids and Illyanna got her for me, because all I did was cry.
A year and a half of joy and love she brought to me.
Why does she and all the kittens have to die, is what I plea.
What have I done to have a life where I struggle every day?
I'm not a bad person, I'm kind and loving, how much more must we pay?
A mother, who didn't want me for a while, many men who used and abused me.
At times like this, it makes me want to give up on life, to turn and flee.
They say God doesn't give you more than you can handle at one time,
I feel like its a lie, I feel unjustly convicted of a horrible crime.
Today I have to choose, let my animals suffer or give them the mercy of death.
To bury six members of my family in seven days, will leave me bereft.
How much torture and pain must one person or family have to go through?
This isn't some fiction story, every word I write is nothing but true.
Every passing minute, more of my heart breaks piece by piece.
I don't smoke, or drink, or do drugs, or have sex, so I have no release.
Let me wake, and it be nothing more than a horrible dream,
I can't take much more of this crappy bad luck, its too extreme.
God, if you're there, why are you doing this to all of us?
I've always been told You are someone we can trust!
Please God, please don't take anything else away.
My heart and soul whither as the ends start to fray.
Tell me what you want me to do and I will gladly obey.
Just please, Dear God, I can't handle the agonizing dismay.
My mate Jim and I were tired of working for a boss.
We decided to buy a truck and give the 9 to 5 a toss.
We set up a little business, taking produce to the stalls.
It was just an idea we had about the time fortune calls.
We had a load of melons headed up to Jurien Bay,
They had to be at the markets bright an early next day.
Making good time, we would get there before dawn.
It had rained a tidy sky full, the road was rough and worn.
Suddenly the truck went slip slidin, we thought a flat tyre.
As we spied the scene she was sinking in a huge quagmire.
Now the burden of our troubles seemed too much to carry.
Near us was a house, we found out, belonged to Big Harry.
He was a retired farrier and a horseman dont you know it .
His reputation we heard was that of just an old poet.
Jim and I we pushed like Samson and Hercules,
All the good that did was just bury us to our knees.
Suddenly, we see a sight better than cavalry forces,
It was Big Harry leading two huge fine draught horses.
Over his arm he had slung harness and yoke and chains
Harnessing them, and there’s only the chain that remains.
“ Will ya axel take the stain? “ he asked in a shaky old voice.
“Yeah it should” I replied, so excited I was ready to rejoice.
We helped the poor feeble old man fix the chains to the truck.
Now stand back you two, there will be all sorts of flying muck.
Then he started giving orders to his two big handsome steeds.
His voice grew strong and powerful , orders were not pleads.
Words resplendent flowed, the beasts pushed to the core.
He cursed and swore an bullied them into giving a little more.
Those two beautiful horses pulled with all their might,
He shouted as the horses strained, ”it’s in a glue pot all right”
The golden horse called Ranger made a slip and nearly fell.
Big Harry let loose with language that’d make em blush in hell.
With one almighty heave the truck surged forward , higher.
It rolled up and out , free from the hold of that quagmire.
In a feeble old voice, “there ya go lads, thank Ranger n Thunder”
Folks will say he’s just an old poet, but to us he’s a bloomin wonder.
A lap dancing molecule is dressed in a monocle. Such dainty prowess but naked no dress. No suit could taste an acrylic sheet as sheer fabric is often moving unseen across oceans,beams, and many window ledges. Who would then argue that a tempered sword could beckon in this era as most people have taken off wool and now the flock stands bare. A show of a shower. An increased discolouration of tyranny and a mounting view of hue. Mist not a moat. And take no orphaned lonely goat to a show. An AK47 is looking at a tent. And although rusted is trusted and thrown around in the air with great gusts of emblematic soul thrusts. Dupe not a diamond headed cobra. For ancestral wisdoms flourish if harm is perceived. Placing of the cloth should be attempted only when the stream is full. And the stench from a rhododendron printed garden is abominable yet can it be abolished? "yes" cried the 893 serpents, 500 belligerent buffalo, an earwig, and a giant sea turtle. Carve that then. Ha ha. It is to be the dutiful honour of the maiden of the eleventh ocean to place chorographical lines on necklaces. It is neither a weave nor a wand. And placing ones hands behind ones back is a sign not of cohesion it is detrimental to a bloodline. Once sold. A soldier fed is a soldier dead. And a field of archaically driven radio beams is a quagmire of hidden ancestry. Gone. But not gone. It is not the place for a nine foot leopard print jacket to state wisdoms at a ball or a garden party. It is the place of the feet. The dust. The trust. The formation of the ground. The true leaders denied but not denied. And all chaotically clam style ship faces and all Jacobean worshipping masonry brick heads placed the many many peas in a boiling pan then laughed. Sold manuscripts for money. Then drank blood in oceanic temples. Worldy wholly wantons. And a sack of germinating potatoes pollinated. Discuss not a wonder. Pulling pleasing playing partying patties pastries pasteurised. Slip slap slop then. Great. Fantastic isn't it? Feel not akin to a tired dilapidated drinks fountain? Xxxxx passing Paddington people xxxxx adjudicator adhere. Xxxxx vaporisations p y q Zr
Form:
Space a vast and empty void
a vacuum the proverbial nothing
stands silent at the start of time
an infinite endless nothing
Waiting in saturated darkness
then perhaps one atom is born
formed from the compression of space
one becomes many a cloud
building one atom at a time
from the cloud hydrogen comes a sun
and one becomes many
suns explode creating dust
The planet's are formed
space time energy
what is thought
does the atom think
the celestial dance of life
is God the flow of energy
from atom to atom
does the universe think
Know I not
for I am not God
dust create's the planet's
Hydrogen and Oxygen link
the quagmire the soup of life begins
God controls the atoms
creating life in the oceans and sea's
designing bone's and muscles
creating the beauty of the world
creating minds that see colour
linking everything together
in the dance of our birth
life is to complex
to be just an accident of chance
to exist before there were planets
you would not have legs
to exist before there were animals
you would not have a stomach
to exist before there was an atmosphere
you would not have lungs
you would have to be
a being of energy to exist before life
God came down to earth
and walked on earth as a man
energy could fly through space
energy that controlled the atoms
could make a body and put it's thoughts
inside that body
and make a man that walked on the earth
the burning bush was energy
Moses could not look at God
without it causing death
The design of the trees
the design of the animals
each show a complexity of thought
God created Jesus
twenty three chromosomes
create life in the womb
with a body energy is thought
God thoughts inside the man
all things are possible
our thoughts could be
the flow of energy in our mind
perhaps the universe thinks
If you have seen me said Jesus
you have seen the father
but he also said my father is greater
than me
A body made from God energy
with Gods thoughts
would be God
but God the energy of the universe
would also be greater than this
perhaps I just think to much
Prayers
Make prayers a way of life
My mom would often say
Being a headstrong young girl
Disinclined to obey
Would swiftly turn my back
And hurriedly get away..
A brilliant student with excellent grades
Scored without much struggle
Had a reputation all over
Of being too bright and clever
Sitting for my high school exam
I read the question paper
Seemed too simple to answer
Poised my pen with elan...
Out of the blue
This couldn't be true!
My mind numb my heart sank
The pen froze in my lifeless hand
The earth seemed to give away
My head began to reel and sway
Horror of horrors!!
What a disaster!
I imagined the news
Spreading like wildfire
'Topper draws a blank'
Pushed me deeper in quagmire
It was getting hard to bear
I remained paralyzed with fear
When suddenly moms words
Popped out of nowhere
Prayers yes,prayers
What a solution!
So very clear
I closed my eyes
And went within
With all the courage
I could pour in
Begged the Almighty
For salvation...
Peace descended on my being
Slowly it all came back
The answers I had been seeking
Now lucid on my brain map
Promptly I set forth to write
With a silent prayer on my lips
Thanking the omniscient Supreme
For saving me at a precipitous brink
As the years rolled on
I had my share of grief
Prayers came to my rescue
Offering immeasurable relief.
The sublime connect steadily
empowered my will
My pillar of support it was
In moments of peril
Things and people changed with time
Thoughts fluctuated several times
Be it darkness or sunshine
Ever changeless, The Divine.
Mom's pearls rang in my ears
Pray to live without fear
Pray to get the best of life
Pray for fulfilment of desires
Pray not only for yourself
Pray for mankind's welfare
Now of course I know better
The worthiness of her words
In foul or fair weather
Prayers enrich our world...
Now submitted for Brenda Chiri's contest
Best rhyming poem
Sept1 2017
Earlier submission
New Poem Aug9, 2016
Name of contest
SOMETHING SEEMINGLY INSIGNIFICANT AND UNEXPECTED CHANGED MY LIFE