Long Repository Poems
Long Repository Poems. Below are the most popular long Repository by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Repository poems by poem length and keyword.
We gathered eggs each morning
from atop these ancient walls,
lined with copies of the Oban Times
to keep out winter squalls.
The thatch had long since fallen in,
a repository now for owls,
cushioning and keeping safe their brood
from anything that prowls
in the silence and the darkness
of a highland clachan night.
Past generations long forgot
had lived and toiled without respite,
their humble dreams complete,
within this smoky blackhouse,
their communal retreat.
A visit to the kirk for man and wife
each sabbath, neatly dressed,
would bring an easier after-life,
in that they would be blessed.
And so, two centuries later,
we came to Monamore Glen
and strangely found ourselves related
to those who way back then
had stoically awaited
whatever fate might come their way,
for all around, in every nook and cranny,
something new and, every day,
we felt them with us, ever present,
as though they'd never gone away.
Purple neon lured the leery into the shop’s maw.
Aged asphalt tiles buffed by an old brush-spinner reflected the loot.
The bits and pieces of people’s lives, hung on pegs, or hid behind glass.
Ashamed, ashamed of the negligence of their owners, lost, lost,
most never would return home, unlike the Velveteen Rabbit.
They were not real.
Only items of some value arrived here.
Into the belly of the beast, for their owners had been truly gutted.
Each shelf and case, each peg and hook, a repository for the
flotsam and jetsam of someone’s life, lost,
pay-back for misspent youth and the poverty of age.
They were not real.
Sometimes, on brighter days their delinquent owners would return,
greenbacks in hand, tears in their eyes, and a stray bit would be retrieved.
These bits were ALMOST real, with a bit more love maybe,
they’d both be real.
The rational mind
this contained receptacle of thought
allowed, restrictive, forbidden or prohibitive release,
still functions in both light and dark;
silent but unrestrained progressive thinking,
curbed by the mouth, lips and any vulgar release;
random, foolish, condemning images
prevail despite law, threat, incarcerated restrictions,
contrived interpretations or intimidated references;
this repository lives, perceiving life and its surroudings
fully functional, interpreting existence and reality,
its casualties, consequential actions, disparities;
action or inaction moves or hesitates as it exists
pure environment, acknowledgement of right and wrong
to be contained by filtered thoughts immoral and moral;
decisional knowledgeable preferences
in loathing of prior occurrences, retrospective recognition
of needed change, learned responses, resolute acceptance
of undesignated need, requisite essentials
for democracy, freedom, existence
with unequivocal, unquestioned, undoubted
equality for all
expunged and released, set free
by unfiltered consciousness of filtered thought.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_books_banned_by_governments
A bent knee ...
Cloaked in black nylon, a briny drop from
The smooth cheek, contingent baptism
For a closed hand, it's precious cargo,
Now consecrated by circumstance and
Fate, moments before this it was but
The root-stuff of weeds and worms,
Now the sacred repository for all words
Unsaid, all emotions unspeakable, all
Essences of parting. The earthy symbol
Of a concluded responsibility, elements
Of a soul displaced to the realm obliviate,
Gently fetched from the dark mound beside,
The loamy results of a somber chasm
Gouged from the grass like a war wound,
(Six feet deep). Hand trembling, the
Digits part and loose their dark cargo,
Meager clumps of rich soil tumble their
Way to the grave, bouncing into the
Somber cleft and clinking with little
Thumps on the polished wood vessel
Below, it's fine gold appointments glinting
Like sprites in the chill of mid-day brilliance.
A soft irregular drumming flows up from
The foramen as the soil reaches it's
Adamantine destination, like the sound
His fingers once made on the arm of
His favorite chair ... when impatience
Surged, or his twinkling eye anticipated
The regard of his beloved, her return
Gaze the reply to the soft cadence made,
Their furtive code to the corporeal
Reward to come. Countless such
Remembrances, now only JUST that.
This gentle thrumming made but sad
Sonance, a wordless requiem, final, the
Music of life and love shorn of it's sweet
Melody, divested and sacrificed to a
War half a world away, and a cause
And effort made as meaningless now
As the words just spoken, and the
Tear-stained hand, and the hallowed
Dirt set loose ...
To it's resting place.
Ecology, Humanity, Me, & Tea
A fox at the altar.
Bee nests to seek before light.
A rabbit where the fox’d trot.
(Foxes have only ever trot. Perhaps fast, or nimbly, or slow - they do not walk.
They do not run.)
Morning flies...
And the sun is slow to rise.
The clouds are only a smidge more awake than I.
Sleep-rolling by.
A duck flies, no tumbles, no whazzles past.
No more gainly than when waddling on sod.
Morning hawks take to the barest of first updrafts;
rising like mists on the lake where dragonflys slowly
flex their diaphanous gemstone wings. The ones who
keep as captor the rainbows from the last day’s thunderstorm.
A frog {Maybe toad. [Probably frog.]} somewhere in the pottery.
Awaiting the repottery of potted plants, themselves awaiting the
heat of day and breeze’s gift of sway. Hiding in the repository of pottery;
perhaps in rainwater held in temporary reservoir - a feast for frog, a womb
for gnats...this believing squeak-croaking, near-whistling frog calls out in love -
or something very much like it. From the dark. Not near at all to kindred souls.
At even the odd hours I hear it call. Her call? His call? The call we all...make.
Know.
Offer.
Await.
The barn cat, asleep, misses it all.
And misses none of it.
Soon he sidles up.
In need of scritches and time with.
The tea cools, the leaves unfurl.
The tannins dye.
The world wakes.
The lupine at the altar try their hand at purple.
No goose today.
The sibling blue pines put one in minds...
of poetry. And work awaiting.
Jali, jeli
African historian
You’re a storyteller;
Praise singer;griot
Griot, jali, jeli
You’re a storyteller;
Singing, telling your tales;
Words songs in harmony wails;
Poet or musician;
Oral repository tradition;
Seen often as leader;
Advisor to royal personages;
Kings and Queens
Jali, jeli
African historian
You’re a storyteller;
Praise singer;
Sometimes called a bard;
Lyrics and words taking charge;
Peoples of West Africa;
Captured into bondage;
People of the kingdom;
Chained placed in boats to be shipped to a new far land;
I am a Jali, jeli
African historian
You’re a storyteller;
Praise singer;
Griot, jali, jeli
Composer, Diplomat;
Historian, Interpreter, musician;
Peace maker, praise singer;
I am
Poet, spokesperson, Teacher, translator;
Witness, warrior
Griot, jali, jeli
I am, I am
Jali, jeli
African historian
You’re a storyteller;
Praise singer;
10/17/18
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2018
COMMONPLACE PHRASIS XII
Reality dawns in my mind,a trhread that
runs through reason,a repository and
reference point in imagination’s flight.
Seeing what’s there to see,that single tree
in the forest of my mind’s eye.This
defining moment where inner
feelings fly free.Seeing things as they
really are,sharing the intimate
every ready to explore the pathos
of thongs with a blaze of words and
wordless lines.Who will deliver me
from this lonely path,talking to
the poetic deaf.I write to please
myself,to corner a niche or an
accolade,fly free of this daily toil
a loud voice within the clamour of
the crowd.T’was ever thus
From Retrospective a commonplace book 2009
Listen to me recite this part twelve phrasis on youtube under my pen name ichthys chiro
Pleasant pondering never be realized,
the pie in the sky for now satisfied.
The biggest slice in need of pursuit,
the cherry on top as attitude.
Succulent projections by layers detailed,
downtown look at the sky retailed.
Others already with their fingers in the pie,
to hurry is the profundity in that limited sky.
Religious or political pies so mighty,
spoons for everybody’s social beauty.
Sunset breaking eggs ascendant warmed firmament,
vanilla, butter perfumed baking’s installment.
Crown of all doughnuts after the release,
muffin tops vice versa to please.
Procrastinations and prophecies,
prediction in scientific strategies.
Every now and then to eat some humble pie,
to still the slice of anger on a hungry day.
The ideal pie a comic book story,
insanity as perfect repository.
Custard on the pie as ultimate joke,
magic laughter from the dispensing yoke.
Creating bigger pies for funding,
easy bargain for expanding landing.
The karmic pie in the face as frailties,
sour tears in lemon meringue deities.
The unified future as a mince pie dream,
slow baking and loss of morality scream.
The shrinking pie and the blame,
con leaders in control of crust and its fame.
A bridge from colloquial to courtly
fare
A span where idealism and fantasy
pair
A railway to the existential realm;
celestial lair
A conduit through which rational
discourse can flare
Deep medium to: forage, inculcate,
and inform
Broad brush to paint rare beauty;
sculpt surrealistic form
Incisive scalpel to surgically alter
the societal norm
Delicate utensil to educate on
civility and decorum
A literary organ; a prosaic construct
A mechanism our syntax to
deconstruct
An analytical tool; an observational
viaduct
Introspective milieu to reduct;
extrovertive sphere to reconstruct
A semantical edifice that aspiring
wit, lofty orations implore
An experimental structure
gramatical anomalies to explore
A thematic repository in which
concrete ideas, abstract notions to
pour
A vernacular cathedral butressed by
an idiomatic core
A Palace of Aloneness.
This palace of aloneness is not my home.
It's bricks know only the time of run-off bygones.
Transition past it's thousand entrances
Impaired with creeping ivy
Into it's stately communion hall
For the dead and the living you'll end up.
Look out it's eyes towards blurred views
Draped in so longs never to be clearly revealed.
Gawk at it's floor to ceiling shelves infinitely crowded
With ô so decidedly swollen hearts
Captive inside tightly sealed jars.
To dust them is not my task.
Here, cabinets are filled with illogical medicines
For conditions without extensional cures.
A repository for good and bad intentions.
You'll know as soon as you feel it
That you are there.
I'll take no residence in this palace
On the dark side of it's interference.
Secure no long or short term stay in it.
This settlement has no neighbors
To cheerily comfort with a smile.
No happiness locker, no blowing kisses.
No escape if you accept lodging here.
Move on, let weighty doors close before you
That have no real escape.
About-face before it's dark shadow becomes you.
Recapture only evidence that matters.
There is no recouping backwards.
Offer up your redress to tomorrow today.
Flee past this palace of forlornness.
Avoid it's thorns upon your ankles.
Clutch your heart from head to toe.
Keep your future safe to ascent again.
Stay out and away look up to heavens above
Even now they are clouded with silver linings.