Long Revelling Poems
Long Revelling Poems. Below are the most popular long Revelling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Revelling poems by poem length and keyword.
Un-revelling Rivalry
Who am I to speak of historical rivalry I cannot contest
all the clever myriad truths conjectures and refutations
about the two masters the two foes with huge presence
when history acclaim appreciation is subjective personal
up front and back stage up all artistic ins downs and outs
My parachute helicopter mind wants to give first prize to
to Leonardo for free flying inventive rebellious mind and
he helped me with anatomy dissecting corpses and all I can
still smell fragrant formalin preserving miraculous tissues
when I had to learn those medical terms and cut into flesh
But then Michelangelo shares my middle name though I am
no angel but who can proclaim that I may never be biased in
associate vein in quite shallow post-post-modernist anticipation
when the great man also painted in narrative personification
Deluge Drunken Noah Creation of Adam Madonna and Child
Okay family man that I am I resort to holidays with my children
and am so sad to admit that we never so far made it to Rome
sacrilegious or not but how could I pass The Last Judgement
when seeing Sistine Chapel’s altar would alter the verdict
of Ignoramus with leisure time spent on Normandy’s beaches
Well now I recall that trip to Euro Disney when we walked
from Tour Eiffel to the Louvre where I temporarily lost my
little boy Moritz and almost my temper when the devious villain
hid from the artwork was sulking because the Mona Lisa was
so small and he was so tiny could not see amongst masses of
tourists the smile and metaphorical writing on canvas and wall
So in all earnest while giving a toss I could-would have to resort
to tossing a coin in regards to whom why how and whenever the
rivals could measure up to history my history my story and life
Even and because of my whacky literal critical stance and my
stanzas bordering on mockery heresy subtle subjectification
you must remember that I have one tongue and two cheeks
And while seemingly ridiculing an important theme of historical
prominence I still bow in awe admiration yet lodge my own angle
perspective whereas the two grand master’s problem was not
what I would behold in my eyes and my soul in full radiance but
that they chose not to consider each others contrasting beauty
as compliment complement Leonardo Angelo Michel Da Vinci
01st September 2016
Just in case you wondered...
Yours truly, (i.e. I) quickly
became hypnagogic afore
subsequently segueing soundly
into autohypnosis booklore,
while binge reading courtesy
regarding aptitude chore
treasure trove books galore
five dollars as many
paginated fictitious stories ('bout deplore
hubble basket cases) fit into authorized bag
infernal challenge sifting evermore
alum skid more or less
bending and reaching skyhigh
toe tilly (ejaculating
what the heel) footsore
compromising writing, rather heretofore
indulging insatiable knowledge
(surpassing narcotic fix),
the world wide web hide ignore
engrossed various and sundry
enchanting, kickstarting, and revelling - bonjour
dear reader buzzfeeding...
Till chief hankering
(regarding appeasing passionate
word loving aficionado,
albeit temporarily ceased
(think intellectual fancy feast)
getting imagination (mine) linkedin
outspeeding lightning greased
experiencing cerebral capacity increased
virtual make believe
terra incognita leased.
insatiable jabberwocky yen
countless hours elapsed when
inconvenient wont head sleep
wracked courtesy (bowling) ten
pins nabbed mettlesome ambulation
often found me - hen (pecked) hex pen
sieve dishabille scattered brained brute
somnambulant analogous awake burning ken
kindled smoldering cognitive tinder even...
Chilly cooling off, where
temporal lobed hiatus taken
beefing portfolio in effort to scare
back poetic proclivity despite near
severe withdrawal symptoms
reacquainting novelty here
with effort to jog capacity
to craft poem quite aware...
Unsuspecting readers breathed
sigh of relief interim joker I went absent
posting trademark gobbledygook,
now unnamed fool rushes in,
where angels fear to tread - nay cent
return of native son unequivocally, pinterestingly
digitally... afore written dive versification
brandishing said as unsung literary event
psalm time sacrilegious Jew bull gent
bringing entertainment intent
to thee anonymous
analogously, humorously, and parenthetically
lamely affecting (i.e. poorly emulating)
Shakespearean belles lettres,
perhaps coronavirus pathogen
t'will cut me down, whereby
microbial size Clark Kent,
whoops twas Lois Lane I meant
to empower one meek and obedient
primate even during
but, and, or conjunctive
rutting season quiescent.
Chasing The American Dream Part1
The wonders of social media and its different applications ...
They allow everyone to make reconnections and link up broken communications...
Recently through the ever pervasive hphone What's app application...
Chanced upon a long lost childhood acquaintance while in primary education..
Going back 50 years or thereabouts, we were school kids so care free...
School was something we had to do going by our respective parents' decree...
Classmates were aplenty when we were that little and so carefree...
Being that many, some were invariably great company and others were on the periphery...
Now that this generation of us are all pushing 60, greying and decidedly growing old...
Facebook and What's app are some social media aids we indulge among friends so old...
Little wonder we are like scattered oats, prospering all over the globe...
Many of us are already dotting GrandParents and savoring our golden years...
A few adventurous souls have conquered distances, seas and the oceans...
They are no longer residing here in Bolehland, the motherland where they were born....
These adventurous ones are now Australians, Singaporeans and one is even in Kiwiland...
And of course, a few are living the American Dream, lapping it up in the Land of the Free...
Now, at the present moment in history, Bolehland here is far from rosy...
Our currency, thankfully it is stabilised temporarily, has fallen considerably...
The political situation is a tumultuous one with frequent spats of public bickering...
The ruling party appears less than satisfactory and perceived to be corrupted and less than worthy...
The common people, the rakyat, are understandably far from happy....
From the onslaught of removed subsidies, new taxes and heightened cost of living ...
So things are far from rosy here in Bolehland, very much unlike the fabled American Dream...
Where freedom reigns to provide golden opportunities of revelling in the American Dream...
So here's the glaring difference, Bolehland here is sliding down a slippery slope of economics...
While far beyond the horizon, the Trump administration is working towards making America Great Again...
What a difference...
He was only a sheepdog
But his death has bitten
Into my soul ever since.
As a pup we brought
Him from his home
In Ireland
Where supernumeraries
Are drowned
No small farm needing
More than one mutt.
His reddish brown brother
Had been our first choice
We were left , my father-in-law's choice,
With the black and white collie.
Now his residence would be
A Scottish housing estate
We all grew to love him
I became his alpha male
How his ears would prick up
And he would sit attentively
At the window,
Awaiting my usual time of arrival
With a welcome where,
With tail wagging furiously
His paws would reach up to my chest
As he sought to lick my face
From strength to strength he grew
A tireless walker,chewer of carpets
Chaser of sticks and thief of Sunday roasts
How we all used to smile
When he darted to the opposite end of the room
Whenever my son burst into tears.
This had to be his way
Of saying,"Don't blame me."
He was right at home
Running round the street
With a gaggle of kids
He found his true metier
On returning to the farm
Where he was born
For two days he sat
And watched his brother
Bringing in the cows
And then relieved him
Of his duties
This task he performed
With great gusto
While his brother skulked off
Glad to be relieved
Of his daily chore
He was so much at home
On the farm
Revelling in the freedom,
Enjoying the work
And he was so much bigger
And more energetic than his brother
Tragedy struck
On our return home
Tied to the garage door
To keep him from getting
Under my wife's feet
Meant he could not run away
When a little girl kept blowing
In his face
Self-defence saw him
Nipping her in the neck.
That is what sealed
His death warrant
Gloom settled over our home
That nip might have been fatal
Fatal it was for him
The death sentence was passed
That last long walk
Was our rush to judgment.
We walked slowly
His head hung low
Never had I known
Him so quiet
He entered the killing room
Unflinching and calm
The vet's needle did the deed
Seeing his young body
Stretched lifeless
On that cold dark slab
Has burned my soul
With remorse
Ever since
As the darkness reaching out for the darkness,
her black scalpel eyes met mine across
the crushing divide of a revelling throng.
The amateur axe band strangled a bargain basement
hard rock song, born of a talent cremated at birth,
deservedly consigned to ashen oblivion.
Her prurient, feral crimson gown bore precipitous
neckline plunging down, stopping some small distance
short of her succulent, perfect navel
I imagine.
As if the marble finger of an ancient god of dreams had
stabbed the "mute" on some cosmic remote control,
the squeals and howls of wolverine party animals, the blackboard
screech of lousy rock and roll, cut abruptly out of frame.
Silence kissed my eardrums with lips like sudden death,
I hardly drew a solitary breath, only stared, locked upon the
twin abyss' of her black hole pupils, ebony irises,
feeling myself magnetically reeled and reeling in.
Electrical conductivity skittered epileptically about my palpitating heart;
a faulty blue laser skipping and sliding upon a scratched cigarette-burned CD.
Damned screaming skulls and "Auld Lang Syne" despotism
jump-started this momentary glitch in time's fabric.
Harsh trespass of cacophony, acute and violent,
aural assault and battery exploded on this reverie.
And in a sea of human chains, a soup of sweating limbs and torsos,
of shattered silence,
she was gone.
As arcane ditties were ritually slaughtered on a Stratocaster,
my flesh turned the dying colour and texture of sickly alabaster.
I was drunk, weeping, mourning, insane,
aware I would never see her again.
The night solidified, a fortress of granite, folding batwing walls,
shutting me out of it's embrace; alone in a darker place;
spelling it out in starkest script: I would never taste her flesh, kiss
her lips or touch her face.
I wondered if she felt the same loss, the grief, hollow desolation,
writhing, burning, cruelly denied, in Hell; bludgeoned by the
ironic, knowing
the highways we walk upon this earth were cursed to eternally be
parallel...
They Caught Me Young
The first cut is a cut so deep-
Internalising this impression
Has made me stir and creep
With invariable precision!
Great Writers caught me young
Whilst an exploring youth.
Leaning on the sublimely tongue
Exorcised my being uncouth!
Teachers, too, were adept or apt
For immersing head in writ
Could I’ve been Boy so warped
Revelling in the pristine wit?!
Dog-eared, thick or slimy books
Thrilling with dramatic fiction
Themes of satire or comic gooks
Scheming tricks or zany diction...
Grand Scribes from my Loam
In a Renaissance of our own
Goaded by creativity did roam
Till their quest was fully blown...
Making a child want to read
Is forcing an ass a spat to drink
To force-read and fill his head
Is making a fool like to think!
Dambudzo, Achebe and Ngugi
(Cherished Internal Hairdresser)
Adorning domes wisdom’s wig
‘Gainst ignorance th’ oppressor.
*
I’m not like floating dung
Wise men fixed me young!
Yet, dome is a half full tin
Striving, more wit to win!
Sharing our minds in Soup
Rewards the entire group!!
*
A legacy from the great Writers
Left me a Poet punishing self
Perfection that I seek to get
Is a constrictor that squeezes
Choking, popping my eyes out.
I dig gnarled knuckles in hair
Teasing brain a gist to catch.
I goad tired legs to move
Stirrups digging sallow flanks,
To climb hills to dizzy heights,
Cross oceans with itchy brine.
Searching elusive enlightenment
I sing till my voice is so hoarse
To postulate concept in limbo.
The way how I abuse myself
Although I churn solid verse
The Muse will not be amused!
*
Write from your heart
Follow no map or chart
Art is mercury in shape
Take after the landscape
Liquid Metals that flow
Towards where it is low!
*
My Mentor simply took me across
Teaching me to be my own boss,
Adult, although in his wit I relish
My own effort I must now cherish!
JM
26th Oct’ 2013
A Carpet of Sprinkled Stars.
1.
There is solace to be found,
amongst the midnight shadows,
with,
stars embroidered on the carpet of night,
offering comfort,
to my tattered heart,
that seeks only stillness,
as cryptic day retreats.
2.
My wandering mind,
shuffles silently,
massaging the cacophony of today to rest,
while bound wings are unshackled,
and memories, hopes, aspirations,
spread their wings and take flight.
3.
A cascade of nostalgia,
bathes my jangled nerves,
hewn into the creases,
of a lifetime of crumbling hope,
perennially awash with renewed promise,
as I brace for the onslaught,
of another tomorrow.
4.
I feel my thoughts, my hopes, my dreams of love,
kicking the dust,
taking flight,
gliding high,
surfing the clouds,
in a boundless moonlit sky.
5.
Hope defying all constraints,
free,
coasting along the carpet of night,
sprinkled with stars,
breaking all restraints,
free,
of all shackles,
floating through my caged bars.
6.
Memories wash up against my being,
teasing infinite regrets out of their lair,
afloat on a waking dream,
moonbeams streaming through the midnight air.
7.
However lost my yesterdays may seem,
tomorrow offers slivers of hope,
my task is simple,
my wishes the least extravagant,
my desires plain,
wishing to banish all gaudy thoughts,
hoping to cast-off,
this lingering pain.
8.
Cleansed by the soft moonlight,
my back resting gently,
on the carpet of sprinkled stars,
knowing this to be but a dream,
I hold onto each moment of freedom,
while revelling in the soft light,
of a solitary moonbeam.
9.
My reverie is broken,
yet my dream remains true,
of holding you in my arms,
resting on a carpet,
sprinkled with stars,
for my heart no longer resides within me,
my heart has been given,
to my truest love,
my heart now rests with you.
10.
The night slowly begins to fade,
morning mere moments away,
I cling on, cradling you in my thoughts,
you give me the strength,
to endure,
another lonesome day.
Form:
The bowel of the earth deepens with
Saturated blessings of the soil, and
Down, down, the forces burrow in its
Caverns —creviced
Between day and night, I cannot decipher,
Yet it is the mind of the night, the strength of the
Arcane values, where the eyes, though
Blind, see through the darkest chasm
Syncopations thrive —the mind and the
Soul of the hides, the metallic occupation,
The throbs from animal faculty in desuetude,
And hallowed cadences of chants.
Darkness and light, I do not know
But behold, in the strength of the day’s looming eyes,
Cormorants, in elixir, hover at the mouth of vigilant cliffs
Beneath the earth’s balcony, chattering loosely.
Chants, chants of midnight-hour Africa,
Feeble metaphor for the softness of leopard skin,
Innocent voices parched like no globule of water
Has streamed past their distressed throats in ages
From the riots of drums underneath the exhausted earth,
Skeletal frames of distinct horn-like sounds
Surround the warm rage of ceremonies in volcanic appeal,
Enough for us to grab and interpret
The rubbles of the crust, smelt in the heat of
Confused processions, charm my eyes
The earth rumbles, mirages occur so pronto, focusing their
Lens on the revelling clouds above.
Chants on time and chants on the spine of the hour . . . .
Seen through the heat-haze of the swelling day,
Beheld in the webs of the night as in the stately
Prowls of lurking, visiting silhouettes;
Chants of gestures, of initiations, of primitive
Religions, of the invocations of rain after a stifling drought,
Chants of accelerated tempos from drums and flutes in salutations
To the returning reincarnated souls.
Let the restlessness of the spirits begin now —but with supreme bliss
I could have borrowed steadfastness from the moon and the sun,
For perpetual energy and unending flow of unseen waves of clarity.
From the dark nights, I humbly request their star-studded witness.
Dear all the ones who have hurt me
Did you enjoy it?
Did you feel joy, while I felt pain?
Did you smile, while I frowned?
Did you laugh, while I cried?
Dear all the ones who have hurt me
You were awake, while I slept
You were aware, while I was not
You were stable, while I was vulnerable
Dear all the ones who have hurt me
You clouded my judgement the way lemon clouds water
I was blind in the mist of your lies
You took things you thought you deserved
You convinced me those things were not mine
Dear all the ones who have hurt me
Did you know your blades could scar?
Can you see the slashes you made across my heart, like carvings on my gravestone?
Dear all the ones who have hurt me
You fled, while I bled
I gifted unto you my life, my heart, my soul
Wrapped it up with the infinite ribbon of my love
And delivered to your deceitful masked joker
Dear all the ones who have hurt me
You gave me nothing in return
Nothing real, nothing true
Yet you took my gifts willingly
Revelling and bathing in the pool of tears I cried
Dear all the ones who have hurt me
How did you not burn?
How did you not burn when it was you who was lounging in the light of my beating heart?
You soaked in the rays of my devotion, watching
While my own helplessness devoured me, until I became empty once again
Dear all the ones who have hurt me
One cut can heal
Dear all the ones who have hurt me
Did you enjoy cutting me more?
Did you enjoy cutting me deep?
Dear all the ones who have hurt me
Did you enjoy stealing my light?
Leaving me in the cold, steely darkness
Waiting to see just when it would swallow me whole
Dear all the ones who have hurt me
I wish I could hurt you too
I wish I could steal back my light
I wish I could return my strength
Dear all the ones who have hurt me
Did you enjoy it?
Dear all the ones who have hurt me
I know I would
Form:
I sat in the rain with the world at my feet
and I sighed.
Staring into it's eyes; it's limitless gaze.
I swooned amidst the tragedy of a starving visage.
I cried at the birth of morning light;
Of the sun dappled vastness; the twittering congregation
that scorned my affections with ignorant, cheerful song.
The rain continued to fall in shivering waves.
Each droplet a wish I never made,
a promise I never kept,
a conclusion I never dared dream.
While the trees sang in unison, each leaf rejoicing
as my screams refused to interrupt their hedonistic sunrise.
The morning opened its jaws; wide, loose and jagged,
like the sharpened words of an ex lover.
It spoke to me in tongues and sang to me in Dutch.
I sat abashed, vainly interpreting such linguistically tainted insight
with a gaping mouth and clenched fists.
Revelling in the sadness of misunderstanding.
I merely nodded then, smiling warmer than the rising sun,
pretending that I had the slightest idea
as to what the morning was all about.
It laughed in my face.
Offering me a hand and a look of condemnation,
with a saddened smile that was too brief to register.
Our palms met and I shuddered at the plainness of its touch.
Onward we walked, as I marvelled at my fellow inmates.
Rotten fruit of damaged trees, walls left unpainted,
Stories that had reduced their writers to tears and disbelief.
Tangled, weeping, sceptics.
Erudite destruction.
I would have screamed, had the night not already covered by mouth
with the dark skin of a slender, furtive hand.
I watched with disdain, knowing I was among my kin;
I was one of the townsfolk in a city long since created
and left to crumble in ruins.
I felt the bile rise in my throat and the air leave my lungs
as I began to run back into darkness.
I turned my head so blithely that the morning shed a tear.