Long Rambling Poems
Long Rambling Poems. Below are the most popular long Rambling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rambling poems by poem length and keyword.
I went to bed ; angry at the World last night
When suddenly my bedroom filled with unearthly Light
The most beautiful women, a specter ; called “ Dreams “
Stood at my bedside, amongst the Moonbeams
Flowers in her hair; Flowers Everywhere : Remember?
Her light brown hazel eyes, the color of early November
Sparkle, as she speaks “ YOU know of LOVE : of Death
You Know Always , Forever, “HIS” “ Everlasting Breath “
Amazement She Reflects to the Iris of Eternal “ L I F E “
My most Beautiful “ Dreams “ : "My most Beautiful “ WIFE “"
Inspired by The ”Contest” “ Tell Her Story “ Sponsored By
Constance La France ~ A Rambling POET~~
Written by HGarvey Daniel Esquire Aka : Harry D. Johnson
Dedicated to the Memory of My LOVING WIFE
“ L E N O R E “
Honorable Mention
Heavy waves, curly like the seas
During the storms,
Laughing in sapphire shadows,
Silencing the sigh, breathless
Prayers for sunlight
Glittering through the clouds,
Erasing the gales, hurricanes
Erupting like emotions
When the night pours out
Rain so furious and frantic
It ends the moments
Feeling like those days when
My hair, coiled around the brush,
Seemed like it had a life
All its own, a life of frizzy feelings
Twisting, a corkscrew
As desperate as the tempests
Who charge through the oceans
Assaulting every breaker
With ebony doom, flooding
The faith with endless swells
Torrents, dark downpours, drizzling
Showers in memories
Explosions of tangled wool,
Leaving me with one option, one
Choice that would soon
Prove to be the answer to my scandalous
Spirals.
I cut my hair, a trim
Then short, so I saw a him
Instead of the me that used to be
When my mane, like stormy seas,
Remained free to dance,
Violently rambling
on to my destiny
where my curls continued to be…
alive, like the silky threads
holding my best sweater together
What remains of me – even in these autumn years
Is the curly hair, the coiling mysteries
Beneath the hand who created me to be
ME – with a mane so wild and free
It can only be the reason that I have come to see…
Myself as the storm who trembles quietly
Beneath heavens who know me
As the one who waits patiently – for the downpour
To pulse and quiver, putting me to sleep
Beneath its gentle beat, a rhythm
For the soul to seek – in stormy weather
There is always a calming peace, serenity
Soothing away the doubts that come to those
Who don’t believe – This storm is God’s brilliance
Like the curls He chose for me,
Pouring out on His creation – a blessed stream
Hope for the grace that only He can bring!
A SIMPLE POETRY CONTEST Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John lawless
March 20, 2023
Some are soft and sweet
Others….well….a bit sharper
Colder…edged in frost
There are those that
Turn up the heat
Slowly simmering
The subtlety of satire
Softening the edges
Of the boldly bawdy limerick
There are those that dance
To that different drummer
Scattered alliterative groups
Counting meter’s coup
On a hesitant rhyme.
Ranters, rambling on the
Borders of repetition
Stung by the brevity
Of a well-placed Senryu.
And still the Bard holds favor
As time, in changing costume
Alters allegorical allegiances
Cold youth rebelling
‘gainst the yellowed page
Numerical wizards
Seeking arithmetic advantage
Lover’s dreaming of lust’s long faded scent
Scribbling in strained distress
Whistling amid the gravestones
Of silenced poets
Wordsmith's Veneration...
Aye willy nilly understate (trying 2)
tantalize, hypnotize, galvanize...
with "FAKE" trumpeting
spellbinding, rambling, quivering...
intoxicating, hallucinating, gyrating,
stop to take a breather...
English Language vocabulary, a
fascination, intoxication, provocation...
upon me ocular, neurological, mental...
faculties of this nattering nabob
from outer limits of twilight zone
i.e. literary krazy Jewish jabberwocky
issuing haphazard global toll till
fallout exacting deserved damn
cratering nascent (inchoate) career
digitally/electronically bi:
ne'er re: carpet bombing
away upon modus operandi, sans
sesquipedalian shrapnel strafes wrought
realization literary scaffolding
complex edifice thought
out in mind of yours truly,
not popularly sought
opportunity to experience
rush of excitement,
asper choice winner equals naught
inexorable effort to cobble innovative
linkedin words disappointment fraught
submissions witness polite declinations
attesting, lamenting, regarding poetic
expansive glommed language, unlikely
success tubby brought
adulation, commendation, enunciation...
fades into afterthought.
Ablest adept adroit aficionado
applauded aspiring authors accorded
absolute badge because
brevity brews brilliant burnished
bravado bubbling budding bulwark
captivatingly collates, communicates,
constitutes conveys avast literary
Grand Canyon chiseled, sans scribe's
Colorado devoid, asper driven desperado
contrariwise, through prevalent
persistent pinterest proclivity,
plus plethora pronounced propensity
resoundingly regaling readers
re: raffish ridiculous rumination
renders endeavor incommunicado
diligent doggedness ironically -
dampens dueling dynamic dud
dutifully dramatically diminishing
divine dream deemed darling
distinguished doodling I sip
prose poe hit tick drafter
equally or exceeding
prospects envisioning El Dorado,
thus this Neanderthal sites his lumbering
lugubrious trademark, an
immediate attribute sensing
missive heading directly
to Davy Jones locker
dead reckoning deep virtual
waters of cyber sea!
*** MUSINGS ***
I have grown old,
thankfully,
dragging along all my ailments,
unavoidably, it seems, but endured ~ and
graced by the frequent
florets of wisdom
adorning the rounds of circumspect musings
— those streams of sub-conscious pondering —
which then course (perhaps too much)
into my rambling soeech —
and occasionally my babbling on about dreams —
throughout whose passages, I have found
I believe
in dimensions upon dimensions of reality
wherein our thick, surrounding present
come
the symbols; geatures; motions; keys; spirits
and intuited messages —
meant to expand
any narrow notice of this life.
————————————————————————————————————————————
(c) sally young eslinger 6/18/2023
Thanks be to God
No way to dodge fiat decreeing death sentence
for this rambling man
cheesy alias con commit tented mouse élan
Who felt unready to kick the can
On account of violating ban
Against abominable illegal mandate
With no way to commute death sentence
For the simple act of voicing opinion
against exist of heavenly gate
Of hellish underworld
despite religious opiate decreeing penance
Spurious pedagogical poetic rant
dialed up x telephonic times
Not the ravings of some half mad lunatic
Carefully plotted recitation
that springs from combined teachings of Kant
And jolly old Saint Nick
Charges trumped up per this average trump petting don
Purportedly blaspheming judeo-christian paradigm
Upending blind faith equated with hill of beans upon
Which dogma erected epitomized
by complex edifices via grime
Sweat and tears from slave labor
where usurpation of freedom won
Until outspoken spokes persons risked life and limb
To invalidate the existence
of supreme deity who created life
Whether for extra credit or perhaps on a whim
Adam from whose rib cage
without anesthesia but razor sharp knife
Sported eve with a physique quite pleasing and trim
But rather than get lost in the Garden of Eden myth
Final seconds of existence tick away
Without intent to recant statements
?
solely acceptable to b’ni brith
Prompting last words of mine as oye vay
With no regrets - deeming heart of religion flimsy as pith
Thing in the wind or house of cards
vulnerable to blow away!
Eleven years ago,
while rambling in my car
along the bank of Iril river
at Kongpal Moirangpurel,
a serene countryside
I spied Ureirom plants growing there,
their flowers blooming.
Long ago in our agrarian society
their fruits dyed women’s clothes pink -
done indigenously in every household
by the womenfolk.
Now the old art has faded
year by year with time
and the plants, once grown
in abundance are no longer seen.
Next day, in scattering showers,
with a camera I went there
and captured photographs
of the plants long unseen,
wondering how they grew there
while absent elsewhere.
Today, after eleven years,
when I strolled there again
the ureirom plants were gone
among the riverbank’s weeds -
Once women’s favorite,
now out of fashion,
neglected, nowhere to be seen.
Oh Sweet Island! Thou tropical paradise:
Miles have I traced upon thy ceaseless reach
Of ocean-choked shorelines owed Heav’nly device
Sheltering I, this marooned guest on thine endless beach.
Safe House against left alone misery;
Whereby, alongside thine evergreen canopies full
Darwinian mysteries perched high atop their home,
Do I maintain nourished in flesh ‘n faculty
And keep this wit sharpened when blunted dull
Should become elements awash reduced but to roam;
Added all, all for sake of thine increased covenance,
That keener my eyes and keener my tongue
When my throat succumbs thine euphoric abundance;
Pink spilled over warmth -
Else-wise myself, by self, selfishly by now would’ve hung;
For if not for that which is thy sun (may thy sun also hear praise)
My sight might yet be withheld those rare flockish friends
Who keep in time the shared sweetness of functioning words;
Therefore to thee, and to they of thee, whom of wing’ed realm I appraise
As reason unsought are frenzied neurotic ends;
True thanks directed thee and thy mystic splendors; thy talking birds.
Alas, sadly, not even thou distills lunar ascensions
By which subside hopeful rays in thy sobering night;
Nor be those which aviate above as homing pigeons
With beaks to carry silent pleas where may come ends to my plight.
Thus, this I ask thee; What good is time spent when time’s spent alone?
Yes, thou provides: plentiful shelter, plentiful warmth, plentiful food
As well as fiery fuel to fend off critters of strife –
But, this be thy kingdom, not mine. Here, I sit on a remembered throne
Where days threaten months threatened by years in which strangers brood –
Oh, Sweet Warden; Relinquish me! I beg thee on behalf of slipping sanity;
Let this rambling sentence end
So I, once again, may stand by my daughter and wife.
1/28/2017
Submitted for: Tropical Island
In a old old rambling structure
Down on the street called Broadway
Upper floors that had been deserted
For many and many a day
Lighting a fire
Starting to pondering
Things from long ago
Remembering songs and legends
Stories that I had been told
The fire light began to flicker
Then undressing for the night
By only a little candle light
Once in bed down under the covers
Slowly going to sleep
Off to dreamland I remembered
Then something pulled at the sheet
Starting to hear chains rattling
Whining through the loosened glass
Then deciding it was nothing
Pull the covers up past my calf
No more than I had pulled them
When something or someone
Snatched them away
That's when I grabbed them
With my heart beating away
Up over my head and snuggled
Hoping that they would stay
But that was not possible
So up I sat in bed
Looking around was when I saw It
Footprints as big as an elephant head
I decided to start talking
Facing my fear straight on
Is when I discovered
Cardiff Giant ghost in my room
I told him to sit down
But then on second thought
Was going to say don't
When he sat, the chair
Fell ascunder and broken
Parts were over the floor
Pieces of tail bone and broken chair
Even a rib and wrist bone was there
Then sat on the bed and in a heap
We're on the floor
Finally I told him
No more, no more
Just sit on the floor
I gave him my red blanket
He used my chamber as a hat
Then we talk about his
Situation what do you think of that
I finally told him
That he really wasn't a wondering ghost
He was just plaster of paris
An imitation to trick folks
That he was really buried
In Albany and was haunting
A cheap plaster form of himself
So off he went in the darkness
Saying don't let this story get out
That I don't even know my own remains
As he laid the pipe on the mantel
Down the street he lumber along
(Idea taken from "A Ghost Story" by Mark Twain. Please forgive me Mark Twain because I
did not do this story justice and definitely not the poem.) (As they say there is a big
difference in having something to say and having to say something.) It did stretch my
thinking and creativeness.
Form:
and thus free verse runs amok as prose with line breaks that must be just supposed to make a turn – or not – get caught in rhythmic flow or rambling thought. But then again it’s all the same –but not….I guess – unless – you’re somehow caught in webs of veiny, spider guilt for weaving things no spider’s built. Legions have waged prosaic inquisitions haunted by wordless suspicions lurking in the hallowed halls of those who ingest whatever falls upon their ears of sightless peers denied the sound of visions birth slow bowing in a manner curt unsure of when the end is nigh whether to laugh or trembling cry beneath the wandering endless drone – discordant voices lacking tone or tolerance for skeptic wow…I saw an apple with a cow and seven sheep in bearded drag twelve humble men about to brag of feats of chicanery and stealth that stole from the words their only wealth as all the rainbows turned to blue as colors were to hard to do – no pots of gold no poignant brew to blend the colors in new hue just one big muddle of verse free words stirred into a cheese-less curd raised to heights some think absurd but then again it could be prose and then again nobody knows……
John G. lawless
©1/19/2019