Long Review Poems
Long Review Poems. Below are the most popular long Review by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Review poems by poem length and keyword.
I’m stealing through a twilit realm, the ancient pale of Whereis,
passing chambers of an Heiress
(though no need to feel embarrassed)
through a magic mystic mirror hanging curtainless.
A glimpse near naked alleyways (denuded by the moon) ex-
poses Ghosts in gauzy tunics
carving symbols, round and runic,
in distended dingy dungeons of uncertainness.
Down misty streets of cobblestone – ancestral avenues –
patchwork paths consume my shoes
(chasing foggy curlicues
twisting, twirling by in twos,
floating anywhere they choose),
leaving footprints that confuse
vagrant wispy retinues
of the threaded wooden sticks that stalk a Puppet wandering.
Condensed in drops of fantasy, distilled in evening dew,
shifting Shadows I pursue
(wearing faces I once knew,
slipping slowly from my view)
turn their backs to bid adieu
leaving stars to tempt me through
Awful Tower residues
mocking treasures time outgrew
in the birth of old from new
framing pageants in review
midst the visions of the painted past I can’t help pondering.
Contorted candelabra claw the skyline’s walled suspension
caught in twilight’s intervention
– still unlit (in stark dissension),
therefore seething with a tension
in the quiet apprehension
of the Watchman’s inattention
to the night-time’s bold pretension
to her power, not to mention,
to her hyperspace extension
(far beyond my comprehension
of the sundown’s bleak dimension) –
on exhausted beaten boulevards of foolish fretfulness.
Oblivion depletes me, voiding haste and hurried hassles,
me, a simple abject vassal,
trailing moonlit floating castles,
– fickle feet, but fingers facile
grasping straws and pendant tassels –
as I stumble through the rubble of forgetfulness.
I think I must be dreaming as I seem to see these things,
neath a sky alive with wings
(hear the Nightingale, she sings),
midst the whispered murmurings
soughed by Phantoms clad as Kings
pacing palaces in rings,
while their hapless footfall clings
to the sagging sinking sands of midnight’s splintered splattered ruins.
Entangled in the swirling leaves that spin in dizzy flurries,
(while the wind beside me scurries
as an ermined hermit hurries)
lurk my sleepy woes and worries
(glowing faint’ but growing blurry)
which, when plundered by the demon dusk, I’d left behind me strewn.
Continued in Part 2
GHOST MIRRORS
Ghostly images captured within the prism of reflected light,
Ethereal waves rippling against reality’s framed surface
Of the translucent, as phantom hands press, slamming at
The fragile glass of dualities deadened zone of existence!
A sudden shimmering, in the beguiling mirror of illusions,
As in the icy eerie chill of this frozen man made pool of
Optical delusions, something within shifted and moved!
Disembodiment's outcasts to incisions resistance, cut at
The bitter edge of the graves stone marker, are these
Silhouette shadow beings, trapped within clarities maze
Of solid crystal!
Black sheets haunted, hidden behind the spiritual mirrors
Of religion, encasement's prison of soulless mists, a vaporous
Cage without iron bars, nor steels reinforcement, these are
The lost or damnation's cursed unto the light of salvation!
What skeletal keys can unlock these dimensional doorway,
And just where is the keyhole to fit, this illusionary anomaly?
At the shutters sudden flash, in ethereal creature slides
Across the screen of realities review mirror, a dark
Hauntings presence that alluding the neck eyes detection!
A dead man’s situation lies exposed, by the elemental
Reflection of lights retraction, hidden beneath the graveyards
Bones of the unsolved murder!
Within the winds of the whistling breeze, hear the unruffled
Cries of fates lost children, crying out for justices guiding
Light to save them, from the disembodied hands of their
Tormentors!
Running children of the ethereal night, whom rage in
Vengeance, against the glass prism of shattered light,
Weeping in devastation's despair, for their loss of life eternal!
At the flashing neon point of no return, the devils forsaken
Sake at the tempered glass of realism, clamoring to be
Recognized for once existing!
Within the four squared frame of reality, dwells the
Infinite pool of the ethereal realm, and in its rippling
Waves, phantom faces are shone in the tormented poises
Of the after life’s jail cell, without the possibility of
Paroles final tender mercy!
Ghostly images captured within the prism of reflected light,
Ethereal waves rippling against reality’s framed surface
Of the translucent, as phantom hands press, slamming at
The fragile glass of dualities deadened zone of existence!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
BEWARE THE MONTH OF HALLOWEEN IS COMING
By Lora Colon and Brian Johnston
Original Poem: Lord, How Hard Could It Be? by Lora Colon of PoemHunter.com
Lord, if you're the Essence of Love,
Why do you find such difficulty
In answering my simple prayer
To send a love with whom to share
Each new day of life you grant to me?
You leave me baffled by this mystery,
Tell me, Lord, how hard could it be?
Your sunsets, Lord, are breathtaking,
A small measure of your grand design,
Splendor painted across the skies,
Healing chrism for pain-filled eyes,
Proof of a Creator most Divine;
But why has no love been designed for me?
Tell me, Lord, how hard could it be?
The night crowns the mountains with stars,
No royalty could claim such rare gems,
Reaching upward though they may try
To snatch Heaven's jewels from the sky,
Earth's stones must adorn their diadems;
Can you not forge a crown of love for me?
Tell me, Lord, how hard could it be?
Trees proudly raise their brawny arms,
Designed by your mercy and your might,
Where weary birds find peace and rest,
A secure venue for their nest,
A stage for their anthems at twilight;
Am I not worthy of such charity?
Tell me, Lord, how hard could it be?
You tend to Earth's necessities,
Yet, you're blind to the needs of your child,
Returning tides embrace the shore,
Winds uplift the birds as they soar,
Yet, from Eden I remain exiled;
Do my needs transcend your ability?
Tell me, Lord, how hard could it be?
December 29, 2016
Echo Poem: In Praise of Praise by Brian Johnston
All your poetry documents longing and loss
And your words spin us all in a heavenly daze,
For they seem to attract many souls who agree,
It seems misery’s message does have special charm.
Makes me smile on occasion, as my poetry
Struggles mostly alone in desire to sing praise,
Is it strange I’m not nursing a love/hate for sauce,
Or that I am not ready to give up the farm?
My concern here’s that misery causes a freeze,
Causes focus that limits your world view to “you!”
Might not “unanswered prayer” be an answer that’s kind?
Where’s your empathy showing God’s love is remiss?
Is the presence of pain “lack of love” in your mind,
Does He mean it to punish or make us review?
Are you missing the forest by looking at trees?
Can “Love” be more than this: World that “leads” you to bliss?
March 23, 2017
It was approaching sunset
displayed boldly across red sky west
as I entered Dream Café,
Time for candle lit vespers and incense
which I feared would be more personal nightmare
than political dream.
I came to this Café,
for the first time,
because our Democratic Town Committee
was nominating candidates for Mayor
and City Council
and School Board
right after silent and sung vespers
here inside a DreamCafe
on BenFranklin's wisdom street.
I had been warned.
All those inside this Dream
each day at sunset
begin to smile with gratitude
and to pray
for multiculturing grace
to grow together.
This felt like a strangely inappropriate way
to fulfill Democratic trust commencements
so I was prepared to include my dismay
in my review
for next News delivery day.
Lights dimmed
along rose-hued
rough-cut walls
as candlelight began to come our way
through mists of frankincense in sway
and lavender,
orange and lemon oils
worked into handmade chairs
and cherry tables,
maple walls and oak-grained floor;
Incense burners on display
quieting louder sounds of fading AnthroPlay.
I had been warned
about this poly-creolizing array
to begin with a peace poem read
or sung
and, if a favorite of cooperatively gathered patrons,
then others might join in
sometimes swelling cadence
and harmonic rhythms
like I Have A Dream!
repeating what we've come to sacred share.
And so it was a well sung love song
for Earth,
of Earth,
and all Her EarthSoul Tribes
with and in harmonic sway.
Thanksgiving for sacred dawns
and dusks,
and all FirstForest creatures
and creations in-between,
And even nightmare absence of DreamCafes
for those still longing to belong
here,
where we are together planted,
here as now co-dreamers
of silent echoes
for just one solidarity moment
before reflecting voices
begin to stand
and sing fertile flowing anthems.
Voices speaking of love they heard
and felt this warm moist day
in Spring,
and who has come to mind
among WiseElders and Adolescents assembled
and nearby
here this dusky day
to rise above our sometimes polarizing fray.
And this
to my surprise
was how vespers invited nominations
for how best to continue ending our vespered day
for all who enter
this grace-filled DreamCafe,
and those nearby
eager to read all about it
come next NewDawn's greeting way.
In the beginning ...," roosts;
Christians and Jewish boosts.
Hubs stretched out their ellipsed
rung, un-Earth cures eclipsed
space; science clues darkling,
emerging as sparkling.
Up and down, primordial
chains--retards cordial.
Time slot checking briefly
when brain cells claim chiefly.
Focused an analyst
review a panelist,
truth and not devious;
now, post-, and previous.
Be of good health, nourish,
mindful, and to flourish
together ... we harness
our outreached true farness.
Constants are the scatheful,
equaled by the faithful ...
life marks trails that puncture
time cross-over juncture.
Naysayers, "That's crackpot!"
Truth smiles at the jackpot
as hopes, a bit mournful
of those fiercely scornful
Truth be told--mortified,
unseat those fortified,
advent-relegating
actions delegating,
doting are distinguished
evil hailed extinguished,
sage passage dutiful,
heart imparts beautiful.
Gauging your fealty
accents self-realty ...
descension diminished;
exalted goals finished.
Daily scriptures strengthen,
understanding lengthen
all regenerated
by the venerated.
A righteous behavior,
prophets teach, a savior ...
of a lost lamb was--not,
for The Shepherd does--not,
hence, Heaven will cherish,
hell reroutes won't perish,
reborn renews brilliance,
transforming resilience.
Big trucks rolling down the market street
blowing their horn in the crowded street
Big trucks going around, I have no clue where they are bound, they swirl and turn rocking the people`s nerve, big horn, big man with little wisdom compiled in their head.The truck is bigger than the street and it swallow up everything that
it meets, competition is so sweet and it can drag you out in the middle of the street. It can back
you up into the corner,and it can make you listen
to a careless whisper, big trucks will make you linger.The street is narrow, the street is short but the big truck has swallow it all, a show of talent, a show of strength will make is rocking the street until it is bent.The fellow is hanging on the side of the truck, the driver is pressing the gas more and the people are mocking and jeer asking and asking for more. I sat at the garbage can observing the recklesness of man.The truck, the man, and the courage of the pennyless man walking around kitchen street begging a dollar to buy something to eat while big tucks without goods roaming aimlessly through the little town galivanting up and down.What is the purpose of this daily fleet going around in the street, to say who is working and who is giving the order,
what a waste of talent, what a waste of strength
the game is one again and they are going to play
it until they are dead.They know that their contracts are up and they are and they are all out
of luck.See them comming from all corners and the time is getting shorter,and their base gets smaller.They are giving up their loyality to take a chance with the royality, they will take a chance at something new and they have considered it through and through.The sun has dissapeared underneath the clouds on a new mission for the earth.It is comming closer to you and you must review in through and through and through.Big truck crawling like ant, big trucks waiting at the ports, big trucks loaded with dirt, big trucks in the showcase, make your choice before it is too late. Big trucks is waiting for you big trucks will cause misery for me and you overturn the red and white dump truck in the middle of the wasteland and get the occult people out of the land.Big trucks are on the detour road, big trucks are running out of gas, big trucks have lost their contracts, big trucks are struggling on the makeshift road.
Big trucks rolling down the market street
blowing their horn in the crowded street
Big trucks going around, I have no clue where they are bound, they swirl and turn rocking the people`s nerve, big horn, big man with little wisdom compiled in their head.The truck is bigger than the street and it swallow up everything that
it meets, competition is so sweet and it can drag you out in the middle of the street. It can back
you up into the corner,and it can make you listen
to a careless whisper, big trucks will make you linger.The street is narrow, the street is short but the big truck has swallow it all, a show of talent, a show of strength will make is rocking the street until it is bent.The fellow is hanging on the side of the truck, the driver is pressing the gas more and the people are mocking and jeer asking and asking for more. I sat at the garbage can observing the recklesness of man.The truck, the man, and the courage of the pennyless man walking around kitchen street begging a dollar to buy something to eat while big tucks without goods roaming aimlessly through the little town galivanting up and down.What is the purpose of this daily fleet going around in the street, to say who is working and who is giving the order,
what a waste of talent, what a waste of strength
the game is one again and they are going to play
it until they are dead.They know that their contracts are up and they are and they are all out
of luck.See them comming from all corners and the time is getting shorter,and their base gets smaller.They are giving up their loyality to take a chance with the royality, they will take a chance at something new and they have considered it through and through.The sun has dissapeared underneath the clouds on a new mission for the earth.It is comming closer to you and you must review in through and through and through.Big truck crawling like ant, big trucks waiting at the ports, big trucks loaded with dirt, big trucks in the showcase, make your choice before it is too late. Big trucks is waiting for you big trucks will cause misery for me and you overturn the red and white dump truck in the middle of the wasteland and get the occult people out of the land.Big trucks are on the detour road, big trucks are running out of gas, big trucks have lost their contracts, big trucks are struggling on the makeshift road.
Big trucks rolling down the market street
blowing their horn in the crowded street
Big trucks going around, I have no clue where they are bound, they swirl and turn rocking the people`s nerve, big horn, big man with little wisdom compiled in their head.The truck is bigger than the street and it swallow up everything that
it meets, competition is so sweet and it can drag you out in the middle of the street. It can back
you up into the corner,and it can make you listen
to a careless whisper, big trucks will make you linger.The street is narrow, the street is short but the big truck has swallow it all, a show of talent, a show of strength will make is rocking the street until it is bent.The fellow is hanging on the side of the truck, the driver is pressing the gas more and the people are mocking and jeer asking and asking for more. I sat at the garbage can observing the recklesness of man.The truck, the man, and the courage of the pennyless man walking around kitchen street begging a dollar to buy something to eat while big tucks without goods roaming aimlessly through the little town galivanting up and down.What is the purpose of this daily fleet going around in the street, to say who is working and who is giving the order,
what a waste of talent, what a waste of strength
the game is one again and they are going to play
it until they are dead.They know that their contracts are up and they are and they are all out
of luck.See them comming from all corners and the time is getting shorter,and their base gets smaller.They are giving up their loyality to take a chance with the royality, they will take a chance at something new and they have considered it through and through.The sun has dissapeared underneath the clouds on a new mission for the earth.It is comming closer to you and you must review in through and through and through.Big truck crawling like ant, big trucks waiting at the ports, big trucks loaded with dirt, big trucks in the showcase, make your choice before it is too late. Big trucks is waiting for you big trucks will cause misery for me and you overturn the red and white dump truck in the middle of the wasteland and get the occult people out of the land.Big trucks are on the detour road, big trucks are running out of gas, big trucks have lost their contracts, big trucks are struggling on the makeshift road.
---------------------------------------------------------
------ this is meant with a degree of humor -----
------ but I know, joy is in the ears that hear -----
---------------------------------------------------------
To quote as truth a source for which
You otherwise show great disdain
Is humorous at best, a stitch
That some might say was not quite sane.
And if you cherish this sweet book,
But have not read it much of late,
It’s time you took another look,
And gave some other verses weight.
If Genesis is normative
For when it is all life begins
Then we should take a closer look
At other verses close therein.
For “breath of life” can only be
Applied to one by “Adam” called;
That you’d apply this verse to Eve?
Oh, exegete! Do be appalled!
In fifteen verses, very clear,
We see God do a nice ad lib,
Puts Adam in a heavy sleep
And liberates Eve from his rib!
Now something here just can’t be right;
No, something here just doesn’t jive.
God’s “breath of life” did not her grace;
The woman cannot be alive!
To call these verses normative
Is simply ludicrous, of course.
The “breath of life” God gave the dust?
Not air, but animating force.
And in this telling of our firsts
neither of them come from a womb,
So literal or figurative,
we need to give these verses room.
A babe will breath when it is born
On schedule or ahead of time.
You know that’s not the entry point:
As silly as a talking mime.
Way back in John, when Christ appears
upon arising, after death,
Gives the disciples Spirit then,
Conferring it with sacred breath.
Were they then dead before he breathed?
In some sense, yes, perhaps contrived
Christ’s Spirit thus has come to stay;
Spiritually, they are alive.
You don’t belive that labor does
Somehow propel those clumps of cells
By magic through the birth canal
And then form babes when they’re expelled?
Of course not, or there’d be a glitch
In logic with regard to sections.
But nobody believes all that;
it's just a case of misdirection.
We read a babe lept in the womb;
In Psalms, He forms our inward parts.
Christ, too, alive, ere left the tomb,
And now, he’s giving life to hearts.
Let’s study then, the scriptures well;
Bereans be: look for yourself.
Review in depth when life begins,
Not leave His counsel on the shelf?
Cycles
by Michael R. Burch
I see his eyes caress my daughter's breasts
through her thin cotton dress,
and how an indiscreet strap of her white bra
holds his bald fingers
in fumbling mammalian awe...
And I remember long cycles into the bruised dusk
of a distant park,
hot blushes,
wild, disembodied rushes of blood,
portentous intrusions of lips, tongues and fingers...
and now in him the memory of me lingers
like something thought rancid,
proved rotten.
I see Another again?hard, staring, and silent?
though long-ago forgotten...
And I remember conjectures of panty lines,
brief flashes of white down bleacher stairs,
coarse patches of hair glimpsed in bathroom mirrors,
all the odd, questioning stares...
Yes, I remember it all now,
and I shoo them away,
willing them not to play too long or too hard
in the back yard?
with a long, ineffectual stare
that years from now, he may suddenly remember.
Photographs
by Michael R. Burch
Here are the effects of a life
and they might tell us a tale
(if only we had time to listen)
of how each imperiled tear would glisten,
remembered as brightness in her eyes,
and how each dawn’s dramatic skies
could never match such pale azure.
Like dreams of her, these ghosts endure
and they tell us a tale of impatient glory . . .
till a line appears—a trace of worry?—
or the wayward track of a wandering smile
which even now can charm, beguile?
We might find good cause to wonder
as we see her pause (to frown?, to ponder?):
what vexed her in her loveliness . . .
what weight, what crushing heaviness
turned her auburn hair a frazzled gray,
and stole her youth before her day?
We might ask ourselves: did Time devour
the passion with the ravaged flower?
But here and there a smile will bloom
to light the leaden, shadowed gloom
that always seems to linger near . . .
And here we find a single tear:
it shimmers like translucent dew
and tells us Anguish touched her too,
and did not spare her for her hair's
burnt copper, or her eyes' soft hue.
Published in Tucumcari Literary Review (the first poem in its issue)
Keywords/Tags: youth, puberty, teen, teenage, teenagers, teen love, sex, sexy, lust, desire, date, father, daughter, chastity, virginity, abstinence, hormones, photograph, photographs, effects, ghosts, phantoms, time