Long Quixote Poems
Long Quixote Poems. Below are the most popular long Quixote by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Quixote poems by poem length and keyword.
There's A Pedophile In The House...
(ah...ah...ah...ham eye white...???)
OMG,... and he looks...
SAY WHAT??? just like me???,...
absolutely NO WAY!!!,
would this sensitive,
respectful, "FAKE" veejay
quiet-natured, mindful,
loving, kind, underplay
justice invoking, hew today
mainly, gentle, friendly, "I say"
enlightened, democratic chap redisplay
any besotted abominable,
blamable, culpable, quay
esse chin hubble
despicable, execrable prey
dot door formidable,
inhospitable...overplay
ying faux indulgent,
NOR be mistaken
to assay, betray, convey,
display, expressway more fay
writ his'm to
gainsay hearsay, inveigh
jaw dropping "FAKE"
yuge weak accusations
(by a long shot), sans
basket of conspiring deplorables
attempting to assassinate
bigly believe me tubby "stupid"
winning loser to berate,
who doth unequivocally create
mine substantial vocabulary rumor,
versus 4th grade reading level
trumpeting librettist - thee great
test Don Quixote
(as falsely sung with hate
full sotto voce), and ramped up
as ill suited mate
a minus [sic] zero moron,
which doth hapt
tubby incredibly tremendous
disservice to bona fide classy idiots
with a lot of money
(like the millions and billions
of my golfing confrères)
given bent iron golf clubs
used by crooked Hillary,
when former Secretary of State
ideal for Putin on the Ritz
by far less exciting, with
Bill Clinton's flirtatious flits
trained pudenda purse
sin null property
of intern (NO FALLACY)
topped as southern delicacy dish
consume mated with buttered grits
pricked prurient peccadilloes licks
suddenly recalling seminal kicks
starting, how with Little Rock kits
he received assistance,
sans starts and fits,
eventually then nubile
ingenue Monica Lewinsky
called time out, cuz at her wits
end once assisting helping
express his "naughty bits,"
when done completing
cum mincecd secrete mission
blue dress draped
expensively furred
(i.e. tricked out) in her
"FAKE" minx hiding
sable animal spirits,
when animal rights
activists vehemently protested
out-coming result
slapping former president
with a PETA file.
since there is a saying
“noble man walks on the thoroughfare”
Don Quixote abandoned the shortcut-side-road,
steering Rosinante, dashing into the highway
while he was riding on the highway
something suddenly came into his mind
a proverb “the middle way is the golden mean”
he reined the horse into the middle lane looking at the horizon
where the road meets the sky
as he steers the horse it begins loping
the knights overtake Rosinante with their fleet steeds
they swear and finger at Don Quixote with dirty looks
“you scumbags!” Don Quixote yelled to the rude riders
“since the swallows don’t understand the will of wild geese,
why not quickly go back to your hangouts and chant Vedas”*
brandishing lance and at the same time, unknowingly, spurring
the horse
to mitigate his angers he prodded Rosinante to a full gallop
at that moment, a dragon flickering its red and blue eyes
from above came on the cloud and attacked him
as Don Quixote raised his lance
the dragon belched fire from his mouth
and the fire swallowed him
he collapsed on the spot
became a lump of charcoal
*Note: In Chinese character, sound of Sanskrit word “Vedas” (??) spells as bark on first letter, which is the compound letter/word of “mouth and dog.” The phrase “Chant Vedas” metaphorically implying “bark”
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ my quest of happiness seem vain?
Disdain.
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
Jealousies.
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
Absence.
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ for my grief
Where shall I turn to seek relief,
When hope on every side lies slain
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ the prime cause of all my woe ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
Love.
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
If that be so, I but await
The stroke of a resistless fate,
¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
What must I do to find a remedy?
Die.
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
Change.
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
Madness.
If that be so, it is but folly
To seek a cure for melancholy:
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
(Blackout of Don Quixote by Miguel Cervantes)
The absurdity of the human condition:
The only condition we try to make sense of,
Make reasonable,
Sanitized,
Certain,
Familiar,
When we know we can’t.
But still we love our categories,
As if life was a Christmas present
That we could neatly wrap
And put into boxes
Labeled “certainty”
But these labels soon break down,
Deconstruct,
Peeling off
Like bad adhesive,
Showing the naked truth:
That we are Odysseus,
Tossed about by the gods,
Armed with the illusion of control;
That we are Don Quixote
Forever fighting windmills
Indifferent to our moral quest;
That we are Hamlet,
Trapped within a cosmic play
Of uncertainty and death;
That we are Gatsby,
Reaching for the magic green light
That forever eludes our grasp;
That we are Sisyphus,
Vainly toiling with our rock,
Telling ourselves that we are happy;
And so we must forever fight
Our constant war against the world,
Embracing the faceless, empty void
With a warm and welcoming smile.
Last night's Wim Wenders film Wings of Desire, not starring Adam
Sandler,
great in the great tradition of Metropolis, Fellini, Children of Paradise,
Ikiru, Open City.
This is not comedy though it can be funny overhearing people thinking,
the randomness of thought, data dots, circles with dots, sadness and
silliness,
silly sadness, confusion, rarely a clear thought, not one logical
lucid progression. Deep art.
I'd like to do better than my best so far, write something with
hydroxyapatite
that won't gather dust then become dust a neuron of sweetness,
an early morning bicyclist, a lost ghost or fallen angel
any form from which death might abstain or forego appetite.
Appearing to meander from subject to subject is my practice. Looking
for solutions to the equations. Learning the changes then forgetting
them.
The expressions emanating from mortal minds are broken stamens, sticky
stigmas.
Striving for immortality,
some Spanish philosopher (who looks like Don Quixote)
says he understands and it's alright.
I will read what he wrote and probably agree
but is he immortal? Not his body, but his thoughts.
True, I say, but this also: Not his mind, but his thoughts. Unchanging and
finite. Put them in a hatbox and pass them on as heirlooms.
To overhear the secret thoughts of others. Sharing and unsharing
electrons, disrobing
and bathing. That is the purpose of poetry. Gargoyle twice. Did Wim
give each thought its own voice or use the same voice for all thoughts,
every whim.
Start
I’m sure you’ve heard his name before
From stories of knights in days of yore
Born in village La Mancha in Spain
Was enthralled of knights, he chose to feign
After resurrection, to America he came
In search of adventures and fame
As legend goes, every knight must have a lady- love
To bestow his “victories” to her as it behoove
He chose Princess Melania as the apple of his eye
And began his quest with her name as the battle-cry
He persuaded a ‘Sancho’ to be his faithful squire
With promise of an island to govern as his gift to aspire
Obsessed by the chivalrous deeds of knights he read
He decided to ride a horse which was almost dead
In search of the helpless to defend and the wicked to punish
He began his knighthood with a resolve to fight to the finish
He soon discovered that times have changed
There weren’t any country sides where Kings reigned
Nor castles to conquer or giants to attack
His weird armor and battle cries only drew flak
Nevertheless, he charged at a parked garbage truck
Struck it with his lance using all his pluck
Construing it to be an enemy out to destroy him
But, he fell to the ground with a broken limb
Bruised and battered, Sancho helped him up
Took him to a hospital for a thorough checkup
The doctors patched him up and examined his head
Found its content deficient, but permitted him to go ahead
Resuming his journey he saw a kitten hidden in a bush
“Let’s grope for the pussy,” he yelled at his horse with a push
The horse galloped fast but stumbled as it fell
The kitten got panicky and fled like hell
It’s enough for the day, felt the Don and returned to his lady love
He took a ‘selfie’ with her sitting on the statue of a dove
He knelt before her and said, “Here are my trophies for you”
Presented the broken lance and smashed helmet, before bidding her adieu.
End
TILTED LOVE
Twas not the first, shan't be the last,
Only "Would that it were."
Tis the fool that spake against his heart.
The wise man's lost, he's sure.
The breach doth call his name, hence forth,
a soldier must obey.
The date is nigh when white flags fly
and hearts enter the fray.
Don Quixote Casanova,
charisma's, a-la-carte.
Store bought charm to diguise the lies
whose truth tears love apart.
Romance, ye old contentious dance,
the ballroom coup de grâse.
Truth beware, dare not to declare
quicker on loves draw.
Falling fast, loves spell's been cast.
It ends one of two ways,
advance and die, retreat to live,
and love another day.
With deep patience,
being more patient than
Job, I'm looking for my muse
Venus...
I hope, but
I'm not Methuselah...
I know that little time
I must find
my flower goddess...
I am a
nice Hermes
I always wait
best news... but where
will be my love...!?
I know I deserve her because
my love is priceless,
it's pure and real...
I'm not fickle
equal to Don Juan who lived the
change alcove... no
I'm not Casanova that always
tried to change lovers...
I believe in love,
in true love...
I'm poor adventurer
as Don Quixote
I chase the dream...
Whatever it takes,
but some day i will
find Venus
my love...!
(Christmas mantle, 2023)
The End of Innocence
I’m about to begin reading Don Quixote
which will be a first for me,
but I know its gist,
and how it’s both the first modern
and greatest novel to ever come out of Spain,
and how it’s celebrated still almost 500 years later.
And that makes me wonder
in an age of reason
that has moved far beyond myth and fantasy,
at least myths that don’t support the modern fantasy,
what is its enduring appeal?
Perhaps it’s as simple as the end of innocence
which we all know from our youth,
an innocence which embraces magical thinking
as an expected norm,
and lays down memories that haunt us for life;
memories of cracks in the sidewalk
and monsters in the dark.
But the really interesting thing
is how short our childhoods actually are,
at least for those of us who live to an average age,
and yet how lasting those formative years can be.
This is what defines us after all,
what we aim to grow out of,
and what determines how we do it.
But sometimes I get a glimpse of my earliest memories
and they aren’t magical or fantastic at all
they are instead of the simple things,
the sense of hot and humid air,
the melody of voices, and feel of a soft cheek on mine.
The magical and fantastical comes later
as our imagination grows
and we begin to think
trying to make sense of it all
with our own novel tale.
Winter is almost here,
with Christmas close behind,
and in this time of dark, as magic and mystery rules,
the child in us all stirs, expectant in our innocence,
blissful in the ignorance of its passing.
Wondering even now, at the wonder of it all.
(12/18/23)
(alternately titled: excuse me while aye...
touch the sky, hen derrick lee
and pull lightly gag.)
September third tooth house sand
and eighteen didst find me
to awaken with a start
during the wee
(Willy Paine Weber) re
duck tee yo absurdum painful hour
of predawn this morning
with an experience
nada so grew vee -
feeling (the unstoppable) tree
men diss urge (lance
sing arm) strong
sensation to regurgitate,
which tum me,
(and ma tummy)
prima facie (pre
mud Donna Brownian
bow will Movement)
processing) ranks as
the moost unpleasant –
basic bodily condition,
(hence disqualifying this former
anorexic tib bee ya
bulimic), which nauseous repulsion
to stomach tomb muss elf
(yea - pertaining to
yours truly: Ma
Thee You Scott) a tinny
brass, heartless, and
dis straw hit cow
word lee lion
dew wing ever re:
thing in my "FAKE" NON GMO
gluten, lactose (i.e.
dairy substitute), and
monosodiumglutimate free,
wand door full
wizard ding once fore mid
able superman, (and now fee
bull powerless reign jars
ipso fact-so) dee
did immediately whee
kin n ding excess see
ville lee more, dee
pull lore rib hill
den das bloviation
spattering, Obi
Wan Kenobi, Casanova,
(Don Quixote) key
ping figurative lid, prithee
a boot mine gag reflex
within very limited nee
zero printed edition on reek
quest not to
publish very disagree
hubble reader's un
digest tib bill
(authored by this atheistic
secular humanist gib
brush gabbling, (sans
reincarnated doubting Thomas pre
lapse Aryan) Unitarian scree
ming cowabunga herbivorous
droning baby bee
nix nox zippity doo dada
lix lox nicks nox hip pea.