Long Quilled Poems
Long Quilled Poems. Below are the most popular long Quilled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Quilled poems by poem length and keyword.
Kingfisher! Sculpturally shaped! Beam with a bold bright beak!
How splendidly your soft-strong somatic symmetry shines!
Awesome is the charm of your topaz eyes and rainbow quill.
Wondrous are your feet, tail, and poised plumage pattern designs.
Symbol of swiftness, prosperity, and agility
Fortune, patience, and abundance abide in your esse
Compassion, courtesy, and creative felicity
With each weather, season, and circumstance, you acquiesce
With paramountcy and persistence, you pitchpole from perch.
Which vaulter in this universe could fulfill such a feat?
Blue and orange! Moving motionless, like a sage, in search
Do you swingeingly oversee the lands-oceans-waves meet?
Infirm in form, you conform to any storm and transform
Is such nature, as though inborn, quilled as a human norm?
gauntlet of mirrors transparency personified
transparency personified when the curtain falls
in an arena of quick sand and impromptu judgement
the stage was well set though actually
it presented itself as rather empty
epic theatre art form at its vacant best
I placed himself at the very manifest epicentre
of concealed and subconscious intentions
would I shed the gauntlet despite sharp sordid shards
sharing poetry soul-stripping and nakedly honest
Freud would think of an electrifying Egopuss complex
Jung’s shadow play might reveal phallic saints on display
until of course Nietzsche found God in Mary Magdalene
a marriage apocalyptically consummated in Dante’s inferno
with four horsemen in G-strings frottageing lust and desire
no contest is real unless the audience may be allowed
to pervert justice or shed more than hypocritical applause
constructive critique does not forbid foul language nor rage
at times I felt deprived when my poetry in the soup’s cauldron
merely attracted kind comments or however heartfelt approval
when I put myself into the lioness’ den I expect to be ravaged
ravaged displaced exposed devoured and put to the stake
a wizard needs fire because talent and flair have to be moulded
publishing poetry is an interaction between consenting partners
otherwise it risks to become pantomime or unilateral megalomania
mirror mirror on the wall am I not the best screwball of them all
where is the podium what is my prize accolade and quilled line squall
a masked persona falls short of the truth and I am the court jester
expect my bells and whistles to jingle as tools for the eloquent fool
tomtoolery when Machiavelli meets de Beauvoir in the boudoir
oh crystal ball kaleidoscope gemstone alchemy of soul and mind
nights in white satin and shining armour pain pleasure and words
words that cannot express my conflict when the prism is smudged
footnotes:
Egopuss complex refers to Oedipus’ gender neutrality, although it could be
viewed as a misspelling for the purulent excretions of Self on autopilot
tomtoolery are male tools of trade and craft, but could I not be the feminine
version
“Slips the Blue Satine”
Desire bites
a sonnet ripped
where the voice projects
through glossy cherry bit lips
down a telephone line
wrapped around long legs
speaking soft words
welcoming you in like a quilled whip
Freedom bites
a too serious sonnet smiles
then progresses to apply
velveteen kisses where the lips
tie a loose noose of words like pearls
around the sound conduit
curbing the mind
whispering to soft curves,
a roadmap
written across body
eyelids, flushed naked cheeks
neck down to hips
where the key turns
poetry speaks
blood drawn
the heart has teeth
Gaga’s gone
all evolutionary
too much of too much
she denudes the blue Satine easily
divesting all hopelessness of
the hounds barking
their haranguing hangdog habits
superlatives exaggerated
hyperbolical expressions of praise
blessed again in the wasted chronicles of time
her hand’s firmly fixed
around the gear stick
stilettos accelerate sharp
instructions from the driver’s seat
switching gears up
behind the fortune wheel
treasure sits
“pull your head back in”, she says
“the Lotus Eaters
at Loon Junction
are on the prowl,
they’ll tear you to bits”.
"humour me," he says,
"let me off my leash".
(LadyLabyrinth/2021)
“Small Town Witch”/ Sneaker Pimps
https://youtu.be/M6zh5rAlZ18
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Velveteen_Rabbit
Sonnet 106.
The Dilettante Diaries: "Goin' Gangsta on the Road to The Lotus Eaters at Loon Junction" -
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/the_dilettante_diaries_goin_gangsta_on_the_road_to_the_lotus_eaters_at_loon_junction_1059240
LYRICS/"Small Town Witch", Sneaker Pimps
https://genius.com/Sneaker-pimps-small-town-witch-lyrics
Trailing naked toes, hat low peaked
fingers laced abaft head and sun,
white-water gently threading through
the webbed keel of one foot.
The sky is blasting blue,
splotching louder blobs of cobalt
around a midday solar blaze.
Even the river billows,
heaps uplifted ripples into crests.
An old man rests
his skiff rolling rhythmically
to a tune
the wind whispers
through reed quilled banks.
He smiles beneath a broad brim,
wonders how long further this journey
can flow onward
without a braced rudder,
nor clinched knuckles
upon an implacable steerage.
He wallows in his ease,
allows the world to float on,
to find its own effortless,
unhindered way.
He's a gentleman who knows the meaning of grace
he has earned my respect and my great admiration
Bless his beating heart for all the good he has done
through each poem and life story, this poet glows
He delivers life on quilled words of rich tapestry
and he is also cultured in passion and wisdom
Today I honor him for all the love he imparts
this is a tribute to Victor, for he deserves the best
May God keep him strong healthy and sane of mind
and as he lives each day to his utmost capacity
I thank God, for good friends are often hard to find
thank you Victor for your love, friendship, & poems.
Pixie Dust aka Mystic Rose aka Vienna
April 20, 2019
Like an avian roosting when his cawing has spilled,
I mourn in grief as this shadowed night grows cold
Crushed and grieving from promises unfulfilled
Sorrow burgeons my heart, in bitterness enfold
like unspun wool on a distaff or a poem not quilled
I am overwhelmed with fear; somberly weeping
beneath my rowan tree. In dour thoughts, I dwell
Wisps of silver moonlight cross the sky, sweeping,
signaling hope in darkness, as if it were a death knell
In my den, I feel protected; sanctuary of safe-keeping
My troubled eyes are in search of benevolence anew
For faith and courage instead of such dismal dread
How I long to take flight, trading grey skies for blue
to locate a paradise where happiness can be spread
sharing a drink of wassail; fruited ale of sweet brew
I shall swiftly soar among shining stars at great height
Fluttering my wings on journeyed path of poetic volition
Never again to be lost and alone on any mawkish night
No shadows holding me in their melancholy perdition
for I've learned how to ignite flames of lambent light
Dreams of feathers,
hang from peacocks naught.
Ones lips are sealed.
the other always open.
Twins,
and both have pointed ears.
One can not but help to hear.
Standing upright a marble blue veined face.
The breasts of the one,
serpents around come out in the open, forever hidden.
All their faces suckle cold nipples pointed like spears.
None borne forth have warm milk suckled.
Slender candle tipped the likes of which
pulled in pulled out.
The sucbus is
running out our tounge against whomever will.
Thinking that you spoke but never have.
Masks between fires cold desire.
Quilled ink pink feather tipped black pierced.
Breasts would again be full but emptied are.
Dark moody blues are turning white
now black against between each falling star.
That which never was but now it is be still.
Contrast never lost the blind have always have seen.
This dream to one by all whom hide inside,
revealed to none but call to him in sleep i hide inside.
Poetry Soup Is…
A place to post words and be heard
a platform for prose, a poet’s eatery
A sonneteer’s palace, for the sagacious or the absurd
A silver chalice that pours golden poetry
Rhymed and skillfully quilled
Artful rhythmic compositions, sublimely finished
Inspirational ink spilled,
authentic and unblemished
Poetry Soup Is…
Ramen in a cup
Slurp up noodles of literary lines grand
or footles so clever that never end
by Brian Strand
Sensual scribbles we sup,
Miraculous moving messages
Tasty spiritual nibbles
Share Zen in a bowl
Pho ga is chicken and
miso broth for the soul,
Inspirational Ink that takes
the breath away
Tsunami of wisdom
Confusion, and disarray
Poetry Soup Is…
Sovereign power poets, feud they may
Both mixes are needed, Sweet and Sour
Poe “The Raven” guy and Longfellow to my dismay
We become seeded, behind the pen there’s power,
We allude to epic ballad chowder
Gently add an attitude to an articulate mind
Pink sea salt, red chili powder
With crushed white pepper be kind
Without comparison where would we be?
It was George Harrison, his plagiarism
My Sweet Lord, to another’s tune he’d copy
Poetry Soup Is…
We came aboard this friendship—fleet liner
All that’s needed is a gift of language
And we have a thick savory brothy soup diner
Harmonic words woven together
It takes me a bit longer than most to write
of unrequited love and forevers
Botch it up I might, it’s swim or sink!
For a brain to pick such as mine
I should have used the days wiser
Tells of withered wasted time, I think
I thank my lucky stars
I am a verse improviser
The bare branches were shaking,
twigs rattled like ill-fitting teeth.
I thought:
'any moment now
the coal black lumpiness of them
will break a bough,
and all tumble down or up,
creating sky-slides of avian tumult'.
They jousted at each other,
clattering their sharp quilled feathers
like angry Black Knights.
The very air shook as they bounced,
up and down
imitating hooligans on a drunken spree -
rowdy 'caws' assaulting all ears.
Then,
in a sudden spray of alarmed confusion
they scattered, wheeling away,
in every direction.
From behind a thick-glass window,
someone must have muttered:
Shoo!
"Mockingbird"
What sayst thou?
Now, here you sit and I speak to you
through strange keys revolutionary,
poetry what is thy purpose for? A mirror wall?
Where visions unseen speak and reply contritely
black and white pedestrians robed in all their colours
walking now through their other realms?
“sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
and often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
and every fair from fair sometimes declines,
by chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;”
nightingales and mockingbirds all feathery poets in night-flight quilled
Nightingale, Nightingale thy eternal summer shall not fade, nor fail,
shining loudly, blessed revelry held in the loving hearts of pages whispering,
“Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May” …
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)