Long Repute Poems
Long Repute Poems. Below are the most popular long Repute by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Repute poems by poem length and keyword.
gift from father beyond cemetery,
bound red book named Euclid's geometry,
father was head teacher of known repute,
but the son's reading skills were less astute.
wrapped in fine velvet it was in dad's room,
they thought "a clear sign from him from the tomb".
church minister has spoken of the red book,
how it shone a light to life's path he took.
They opened with reverence tried to read,
with words and figures they couldn't succeed,
with great effort they read a page a day,
interpreted the 'holy book' their own way.
Sunday they read about the right angle,
about squares, rhomboids and the rectangles,
it was clear god had a pattern to life,
book be secret between him and his wife.
Each evening they gathered by the fireplace,
read the book with devotion, faith and grace,
they walked in a straight line on their walks,
and they were fair and square in all their talks.
They learned to live among good circles,
prospered reading their little miracle,
they slept in peace with their new found wisdom,
that book was sure a gift from God's kingdom.
Written 31/05/2021
1st placement
He gave her a book contest.... (on the lighter side of life)
Mystic Rose sponsored
10 syllables each line
Inspired by Stephen Leacock- American humorist
A mystery surrounds the stranded boat
Deserted in the shallow marshy fen,
And surreptitious rumours are afloat *
Which bubble to the surface now and then.
A lad of good repute had claimed to see
Three people cast off late one afternoon,
But strolling home across the grassy lea
Two shapes alone rowed back by light of moon.
The boat rocks gently by the water's edge
Under the sanguine sunset’s sultry skies.
‘Foul play for sure’, some village folk allege;
No evidence, but questions still arise.
Fear lurks without a shadow of a doubt
And surely one day soon the truth will out.
22.05.19
‘Choices poetry contest’ : sponsored by Sara Kendrick (picture 3 was chosen)
* British spellings
As cleaning gals go, we've got the sweetest
She's cute little Erin by name
She possesses the most amazing derriere
Not that I've noticed, for shame!
Another of her clients that we know quite well
Alerted me to her fine attributes
On my own I'd never have paid any attention
My innocence is beyond repute
Okay I'm guilty, I HAVE sneaked a peek
To make sure she's doing a good job
I ogled her attributes for quite a long while
So embarrassed I'm such a slob
So next time she comes to our humble abode
I'll try not to stare at her bum
Coz if Cathie catches me all hell will break loose
It's the doghouse for me... duh, dum!
© Jack Ellison 2013
To honor someone’s talent
While excusing certain views
Which the world may deem offensive
Is the stuff that makes the news.
For a well-endowed museum,
With a Costume Institute,
Planned to showcase a designer
Who’s the face of ill repute.
Known for comments that disparage
People different from his type,
Nonetheless, his output thrives
With many drawn into the hype.
Yet the show for Galliano,
With Ms. Wintour’s staunch support,
Raised the hackles of some donors
And those critics got to thwart
What, to me, was recognition
That should surely be reserved
For designers with both talent
And integrity observed.
Sometimes those with too much power
Make decisions which, I’d bet,
Turn the tide to flow against them,
Though they harbor no regret.
To office when I rushed to ask old Khan,
To tell me meaning if at all of all,
And what I learnt from the old man was this:
A story of countless unrequited,
Unfulfilled longings, lurid flames of red,
Wild carnal pleasures raging within walls
Of the palace of ill repute, the curse
Of collective heartaches of teenage girls,
Of blasted hopes that made every stone nurse
A red grudge against evil perpetrators,
The thirst of hungry stones, palace a whole,
In long years turning into prime haters,
Eager to swallow any living soul,
Like a famished ogre on eating spree,
Not one that lived there three nights of a pause,
Could have escaped safe from its cruel jaws,
Save, Maher Ali— from all reasons free.
So, there is a way out for my release,
I posed, ‘of course for a man of your means,
Why stay beyond tall hills, if you so please,
And you do well know how it all begins—
Tale of a bud caught in a stormy sea,
And fated to live at that haunted shore,
Scarce anything could more pathetic be,
Anything more heart-rending to the core'!
_____________________________________________
Narrative |01.04.2024|
Note: A poetic translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s story in Bengali: Kshudhaarto Paashaana, divided in I to XIV parts, largely in blank verse that lapses into rhymes along with its twists and turns. The story is known to have happened during Tagore’s stay at Shaahibaug palace in Ahmadabad, the nearby river Sabarmati becoming river Suista in the story.
I have always admire hair waves back then,
My hairstyles speak of culture far the sea...
A place I dream but I have always pen;
Maybe if not wrong, my country would be
Just like her, one day.
Visa henceforth, won't delay...
What government portray.
My swags recount past familiar legends
Of insightful pride taking love's guardian,
Haunting down ego to help all survive...
The beast of time, change and grace-- being alive.
Just as fierce as fire,
Dreams keep whole, intense desire
Burning to acquire...
My stepping while on every walk seems cool,
As though I am a peacemaker cum chaos...
That film beasts tempting forsaking wrath's tool,
Ego had long abandoned to hamas.
Just as Gaza cries,
Daily for relieving sighs...
To bring war's demise.
Only my wallet has never, not once
Envelope dollars with handy texture,
That holds transformation to trusty bunce...
Cum life cycle's change- an adventurer.
Just like chance stakes luck,
Fate's creation plays faith dumbstruck
Cum enough havoc.
My supposed tribal marks leads on dispute,
Betwixt my parents; each for a nice take
Arguing her stand of him to bail repute.
How early I am ancestral heartbreak!
Just wondering why so,
Yoruba looks Igbo pro...
My look shines aglow.
Platinum Icons
Their tale to tell is much the same
with looks that helped their claim to fame
Blonde and curvy, they got the jobs
In films and shows they flaunted their gobs
Deep, husky voices from too many fags
Scantily clothed in all the top mags
Make-up and peroxide over abundant
They could never ever be redundant
Marriage was multiple, two a penny
Own homes in Cannes, not Abergavenny
No doubt they had their special talents
In ads and the like for painted talons
B B, M M, and Zsa Zsa Gabor
Iconic beauties that most men adore
And models for women to emulate
enhancing their chance of getting a date
B B now old, the others since gone
Etched lines in face and gray, not blonde
Her love of animals has earned her repute
Her racist views we might well dispute
These women famed for enviable looks
Are immortalized in stacks of books
Although their films are somewhat dated
They’re still viewed and still well rated.
Pied piper plied with his magic flute
Not hirsute more still teenage cute
Branch & root teach each new newt
Bravo Joe riper own grown old fruit
Deft no heft not bereft never a brute
As Aussies possies put in the boot
Elan Peter Pan talisman can't mute
Classic but never ever brassic route
Acutely astute in every single dispute
Charmer in a white knight armour suit
Simple record setting run getting pursuit
Bazball didn't dilute or pollute its top recruit
Each rendition games’ tradition will salute
Root down track front to back foot scoot
First rate great with such a thirst to sate
Play it late that weight transfer commute
Moot point didn't rock the joint and loot
Ashes dreams shoot down the sh*t chute
No ego Joe did bestow a show of repute
Must flatter our greatest batter a hero salute
Making history if not victory let's have a toot
Still can't compute why so bad but won't refute
Okay come what may please no Bazball reboot
That schoolboy joy with his wooden toy tribute
Rooty our galaxy guardian on duty like Groot
So let's make a spectacular bogan slogan ute
Horn's vernacular hoot…Wizard of Oz not bandicoot
Surf on Aussie turf…Root you absolute Beaut!
There was a sheriff, mayor, and Marshall.
Lots of saloons, pleasure rooms, and corrals.
Ladies of ill repute, and coward men
who feared the dreadful 'Cowboys' back then.
Lots of gambling, plenty of alcohol.
This western town had live stage-shows for all.
Tombstone had it all except a pastor.
I became the pastor who brought order.
I, Pastor Paul, prevented a gunfight.
Violence never made anything right. Tombstone was not a place to raise a child
in that ragging territory gone wild.
Dreams of fortune salivated the air.
With selfless ideas, I came to share.
01162019PoSoupContest, Movie Magic, Gregory Barden
The movie, Tombstone;14lines10syllables, exact rhyme6P
‘Tis a tingle at the tips of thy lips where I shall plant a kiss,_
then slightly lick the curves and slopes of their mounds to partake _
of the taste of treachery that lingers with thee still.
Allow me to brush mine ears across the thoughts of thine mind to perceive the envy ‘twas present all this time.
Embrace me as I embrace thee endearingly in mine arms. Hold me tightly mine longtime friend. Let me inhale the girth of thee and to behold the winds afoul! Harsh, sulfuric humiliating hints of hatred and disdain. Those that envelopes thy very being, encompasses thy frame_ blow the breeze of ill repute. An odor I once would argue upon and tirelessly dispute.
How be it, that thee cometh unto me as mine friend? Whereby thee_
drinketh mine wine, lavish mine liquors, and upon mine food ye dine.
Yet ye stir the depths of mine soul undivine to devour the very heart_
of me for thy personal selfishness and greed. O woe to Ye, that taketh unto_
thyself all that I possess: the lowly and the best, thus remains my mortal_
coil in spiritual unrest. Hark! This unwarranted union has run amok, bearing no merit and no meed!
Doth not I matter in the course of life among the living? Hath mine breath_
blown in vain such as the likes of one never to be known again? What say ye of mine works, and toil I have bore unto thee in willful pain; and, toward the true liberty of hope and faith of a lifelong friend to gain.
In truth, the thought of us today in this profane present time bears the horror of its’ heinous humor. For I laugh not into the path of peril nor do I stand before thee as one proud. In my somber state of dismay, I am bewildered and grieved to no relief. Mine eyes shine gray as grief to know that mine friends are close but mine enemies are closer.
Now to be an unwilful acknowledgment, or better still an undeniable belief.
***01192021 Niyna***