Long Riddling Poems
Long Riddling Poems. Below are the most popular long Riddling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Riddling poems by poem length and keyword.
Barefoot, I stepped on the twigs and the dry leaves,
Loving the cracking sound they make as they break,
Hating the noise at the same time,
As, they might wake those sleeping monsters
From whom I was running!
Barefoot, I plunged deeper and deeper into the forest
Braving its dense shrubs and its lazy snakes,
Its furry koalas and its napping alligators,
Its prowling wolves and its preying carnivorous plants!
I hardly knew where I was going,
I hardly knew anything about my past,
I could only recollect waking up in an open cage,
Next to sleeping monsters, all smelling of narcotics
And alcohol,
Seemingly too taken up with their high waves
To care about me!
Still, seconds before I woke up, I had seen, in my dream
A Goddess, dressed in a blood red saree and being
So magnificent in appearance, with milky flawless skin
And beautiful traits, looking like
She could be the Queen of Existence!
"Wake up," she had said to me in a riddling manner,
"Wake up and dive into the darkness in front of you!"
Her words I did listen, fearing nothing and no one
For, whatever be the cause of everything, whatever be
The consequences of everything,
What matters and what shall matter remains
Her will being fulfilled!
My heart started thumping, the moment I saw, in front of me
Trees sliding away and making the way for me
To reach the clearing, where, a prince sat by the side of his horse
And my dead body!
He was sobbing uncontrollably, shaking and clenching his fists
So much that the veins of his neck stood out!
Then, it all came back to me, I am his beloved and together
We have been fleeing our native soils, as, it would seem,
Our love was deemed as being a sin!
Love, being expressed in this way in my usually stony prince
Was more than melting!
It started playing notes in heart, causing my femininity
To dance and my whole senses to simply explode
As would the most destructive of volcanoes!
So,
Taking a huge gulp, I dived into my own body and woke up
To his disbelieving eyes and to a lifetime of love
As has been willed not only by both of us
But also by the Mother Goddess who visited me in my dream!
Written on 7th January 2019
A single woman, in her early thirties,
Wanting not to settle, wanting not to date
Wanting not to mingle, for the sole reason
That, she finds not between the rest and herself
Many similarities!
Pray, being made of hyper sensibility
She prefers her own company
Delving in her inner world,
A world made of poetry,
She seems always so serene and happy!
Pray, it is not in to be an extreme loner
It is not in to want not to blossom sexually
Yet, she holds on to her own convictions
Stoically, stubbornly
Easily, effortlessly, even!
Why, it is not common these days
To hear a woman say she wants to be a maiden forever
Yes, for her heart belongs to the powers higher
Of thus, she had made a pledge, once
Once, when her tantrums for the mundane had broken her!
So much that now, she has faith flowing in her veins
Beating in her heart
Filling in the essence of her soul
Making up her very breath
And of course, centering her vision of life!
Now, she cares not for the mundane
Earth's pleasures please her not
Earth's miseries bother her not
Earth interests her not
Even if she has sworn to serve it, as long as she shall be!
Pray, she knows she is totally out of the box
She knows and she acknowledges it
She knows and she assumes it
For life revolves around diversity, around mystery
Around riddling enigmatic folly!
She prefers to close her eyes to the harsh gaze of the society
She prefers to hear not of their rants
She prefers to sit alone, to breathe in the freedom of purity
And to write, lines and lines of poetry
Till shall come the time for the gates of Truth to open up to her!
Being in has never been her thing
Always has she yearned to be unique
Pray, the skies have made her as such
Of this grace, she remains grateful
Hopes she, though, to be somehow useful!
And protected, always
Claims she, to have no faith
For she loves all the paths leading to the worlds other
Yes, a being she is, totally out of the box
Yet, a box it is, which is itself a nomad of Time!
Hearken a little bird tweets a turtle dove Whispers
Swimming past my clouded mind ear
God is saying
God is saying
I
Whom am your Father
Father of All creation
I restore the crushed spirit of the humble
And I revive the courage of those with repented hearts
On my personal base-mountain I heard
The burning bush speak of laws
Riddling some based ten commandments
Pure and simple to understand it
God is saying
God is saying I
I whom are your creator all creator
Whom are thine creator
I whom art thy Father
Father of all creation
I restore the crushed spirit of the humble
And I, oh I shall revive the courage of those with repented hearts
This I do in agape love this I do because I am of love
Filled with mercy and Grace to feel the abundant place
I am mercy God I am above hatred
I am mercy God and I challenge sin
I am mercy God and I've already defeated Satan
O' my Lord my God I do be praying
I hear you Father in my heart I see you
As the turtle dove Whispers in my ear still
God is saying God is saying
I I whom are thy Father
Father of all creation
I restored the crush spirit, your crush spirit
You who are humble and I oh
I shall revive the courage of those with repented hearts
You are my love... the repented heart
2/16/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
Isaiah 57:15
Education has never deluded me,
it is a rich mine from which my gemstones are extracted;
and all of them can adorn with its brilliance
a king's crown, but the glitter on my silver pendant...
with my natal sign, not with my image, outshines it
and displays it very elegantly.
As skilled hands relied on mental deftness,
I depended on mom's provincial practicality,
not on chances, but on her canonical guidance;
her words told no canards, only truthfulness:
an illunination of beatitude to encourage and fortify...
and that voice taught me acts of benevolence.
Guessing what was the mysterious name it bore,
would have been quite easy to identify with sharp eyes:
examining the deeds I did and the actions I still compromise,
to conclude with certainty
that it fitted me so perfectly...
I learned that art by listening to clever people with more ardor.
This is not a gift which is instilled
in the infant's brain at birth,
it is acquired by growing somewhat old...
who could have such a prodigious knowledge?
The Old Testament prophets for instance, or possibly
every learned man who studied philosophy.
Spend time with me, and observe how I peruse:
listen to the clear and incisive words spoken aloud,
riddling no mystery, or being derogatory...
proverbs might be included to give some clues;
and they were written in an inimitable way
to stimulate the minds of the unlearned.
Is intelligence inborn or learned by chance,
or even isometric to astuteness?
Many admit it stems from accruing knowledge,
to increase the capacity of the thinker or genius...
accumulating their ideas and earning praises,
while the uneducated struggle with rage.
Logical astutness is efficacious when it invigorates ability,
and exhorts a great deal of mental energy;
and will the proper words be used to that effect?
Happy New Year to all the wonderful Poetry Soup members!
Copyright 210 by Andrew Crisci
A cupola shin, prickly dick creed, hoary
testes tossed, master baiting ova all eel trades
crossed the fecund Rubicon and ejaculated
olly olly oxen yawping, in utero seminal raids
with phallic coup d’etat that buck came vasocongested spades
lit torch, where hello kitty Ernst lee screeched
amidst Grafenberg tit parades
bumping uglies during four nuke key eight ting game
where pinkish puckered two lips viz biological
Russian roulette played – birth control relegated as desuetude
hotly contested fee conned, caved heat seminal blitzkrieg overlaid
bilging swamped,
whence olds eye goat ruff fused exiting nightshade
shy ham mull in, and gave way to blast ta cyst
vis a visa viz biological fertilization qua two plump milkmaids
from inchoate seeds juiced beginning
to compress bladder re: lemonades
per diem mother via umbilical cord fueling gestation,
where sonogram shows faint genetic threnody skein
perchance manifold jades
nope – no fallacy when peppy thrust with sucks esse full feint
after thwarting objection against skin flute charmed thence invades
which begot conception from chromosomal traits stitched
via jean S, and her faction of trumpeting handmaids
whose fecund ditty began to feel swell as biological reproduction
showed no uterine back grades
as Tabula rasa In utero endured fusillades per what mother tubby ingested
sustenance promulgated noticeable womb dar full expansion fusillades
of nutriments ordaining future health of progeny
riddling endless questions within the gallimaufry
discombobulated mental, physical fatigue enfilades
and spiritual state of momma me ya in tha family way, whereby baby blueprint an outcome as nano sized atomic bombshells scoured decades
to determine the ontological makeup from when the fluid dynamics
spelling impregnation since time immemorial and into the future cascades
artfully concatenating eminent grise immaculate kindred laminated with waxy substance i.e. vernix, though smooth
doth serve analogous to microscopic switch-blades.
Form:
This summer's winding leaves a pierce behind
Charred traces of her smouldering days,
A riddling puzzle blurs clouds in her mind
When fragile heart cracks glassy tears, assailed
Somehow, this thud of fall pretends to hold
A promise, tinged with sharp crushing of bones
Where forward bites and snaps the bitter cold,
That reels in hidden betrayals unknown
For with this most damn season's turn , alas
Trickery of love disowned in a rush,
When dusted time counters all autumns past
She flickers higher like emblazoned brush
And every triumph over cycles’ spin
Trades wheels of goodbye for fresh beginnings.
Goodbye Contest of Nayda Ivette Negron
Pre- Written 9/28/2016
Beneath dotted stars with soft campfire
as ally, lone cowboy’s pondering meanders
through the sand dunes and night-saloons
thumb marked by his blazed rides for
pistol quests and fist thugs, as rowdy duels
and women’s sighs so adored climb
unto a red of greeting sunset.
Recalling those dusty trails--pungent and bold--
he descends like a magic bat from nowhere
riddling his foes way down the desert floor.
Many at times, the sawdust boots
reeked from the heat of bandits’ glare
as if to pierce his chest one hell of a shot
with tassels flowing high unto smoky air.
Edifying as he seems, beneath dotted stars,
a lone cowboy is simply this: a tender wind
mild as his strumming guitar
calling for prairies’ honeyed life while a tough
leather vest hides his simple, warm nobleness.
Howdy Pard Contest of Shadow Hamilton
5/5/2014
III.
It was three days later fate arrived,
when the two were eating breakfast.
An old van pulled up towards the house,
“Come on out!’Selim cried in a rasp.
They were prepared for this event,
and went up to their bedroom.
Sepidah took up the pump-shotgun
since her aim wasn’t as good.
Carter grabbed his trusty AR-10,
and risked a glance out the window,
Selim, a brother, and two cousins,
with pistols in hand stood below.
He opened the window and called to them:
“This does not have to be blood and tears.
If you value your lives, leave us alone,
get yourselves far away from here!”
Selim and the young men opened fire,
riddling glass and wood walls with lead.
Carter took a breath, drawing a bead,
and shot a cousin right through the head.
The man collapsed, the others charged,
smashing headlong through the door.
The last thing that Sepidah’s brother heard,
was a deafening shotgun’s roar.
She fired again, hitting the last cousin,
taking of half of his left foot.
Her father fired his gun blindly back,
the lamps and tables all shook.
A bullet caught dear Sepidah,
winging her hard in the thigh.
She cried out as her father advanced,
red murder raging in his eyes.
A sudden shadow then fell over her,
and three shots echoed ‘cross the room.
He father tumbled over backwards,
crashing downwards to his doom.
In the distance a siren blared,
Growing louder as it drew near,
Deputy Steve walking into the house,
gasping,”Good lord, what happened here?”
“They thought they were dishonored,”
Said Carter,”They came looking for honor.”
CONCLUDES IN PART IV.
While I stood, on the edge of a cliff,
Ready to take the plunge
Down to where Earth meets its end
Down to where lies the land of Hades
I suddenly heard a howling sound
Behind my back!
Diverted from my main intention
I felt, growing from my heart
Creepers,
Creepers, thirsty to learn more of that mysterious jolt!
Why, I chose to follow the wind
For in its womb was the origin of that howl
I chose to follow it
For who knows,
Hopefully, it would give me a new start
A new life
A new awakening
A new story to write
A new poem to speak out loud!
Why, I walked from the cliff to the deep forest
And met with none
Yet, the howling continued
Scattered everywhere
Blown into each nook and crook of the forest
By the forces of the wind!
I walked into every path of the forest
And followed the riddling sounds
Till I came to where hung in the air
A full length mirror
The mysterious howling, I noted
Emanated from it!
Transfixed, I walked over to it
And saw, reflected back
Me!
Looking at myself in there
Laden with my sins, my curse, my imperfections
My flaws, my fragility, my failures
My dishonors, my mistakes, my fears
My ugliness, my negativity, my broodiness
Why, I suddenly realized that
I was made to be such
I was made to suffer as such
If I had jumped off from the edge of a cliff
It would have caused immense pain to the one
Who made me!
Pray, if I was made to be such
I should make it part of my normal routine
To be in love with myself
And to bear the burden of my own being
With strong shoulders
And a light heart!
Why, as I came to my awakening
There, in the dark forest
In front of a mysterious hanging mirror
The night gave way to a new dawn
And I just knew
That I was now meant to live
As long as my soul's light would be allowed to!
Pray, such had been blown to me through the winds
Such remains my heart's compliance,
And I got back to my toils
With a smile on my face
A smile, which I hope
To infect the lot of humanity with
And a song on my lips
A song, which I shall diffuse to the world
By whispering its essence
To the mighty winds!
For Contest Blowing in the Wind
Written on 19 August 2017
Analogous to black box
holding untold secrets,
I share the following self
introspection with ye,
which purported hidden truths
might set me free,
albeit laborious effort
to loose constituent amalgamated
compound elements unmined
tantamount to agony
riddling psyche effort to extract
thorny matters incumbent upon me
versus tapping Androcles and the lion
think Roman mythology.
Oftimes methinks... whoami
spending scores of years
with frustrated sigh
hermetically sealing body electric
housing generic garden variety guy
severely emotionally tormented
contemplating, integrating,
blithely urging wish to die
even at this moment,
yet reluctantly shy
away to embrace death wholeheartedly,
nor would I try
putting anonymous life (mine)
on the line, though...
nonetheless envisioning rejoicing
(as told to significant other -
the missus naturally averse
to my demise well nigh)
without ability to explain why
per se if mortal ailment
truncated mein kampf
Noel cowardly lie,
cuz becoming gratefully dead try
not to laugh while
yours truly cannot deny
permanent absence twill recognize
hard skool of knocks alumni
posthumously make his name linked with
hallowed as if that martyred,
though the feted occasion
beholds mine scattered
cremated ashes carried,
loosed, whisked... to sky
will not require men to don black tie,
nor mourn angst peppered soul,
no longer will any banshee cry
all quiet on western front forever reunify
me with cosmic consciousness eternal ally.