Long Robed Poems
Long Robed Poems. Below are the most popular long Robed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Robed poems by poem length and keyword.
Ronald Rump reasonably roasted
Remarkable – recourse retaining rickety
rambling reverence regarding “r.”
Ronald Rump
repugnant racist republican reviled -
rickettsia re:itch ruler.
Rapaciously ravaged
revered reverential rubric.
Radical ruthless renegade
rapidly riotously ripped rigged ramparts.
Refrained retaining remnant
redolent regal, resplendent rafters.
Riches rudely ruptured rooted rectified rights.
Ruckus ricocheted revenant reign.
Ratified rattlebrained rules roil reductionism.
Rambunctious rapscallions rollicked;
rendered ruinous ramifications.
Rusty razor razing revenge rented reprisal.
Rabid rectal rictus rotten
rebranded re-calibrated redoubt.
Rambunctious revolutionaries rejoiced.
Ruffians rode roughshod
routing reigning royalty.
Reiterated revetting robust recidivist rationality.
Rode Rolls Royce relentlessly
rendering rock ribbing.
Riffraff raconteur raised reactionary response.
Revisited rancorous restrictive
redlined realigned rightward rivets.
Robocop ridiculously
rubber-stamped reorganization.
Recalcitrant reactors released rapture.
Rash Russian roulette
reconnaissance raconteurs racked rubles.
Red room reflected Republican RNA.
Rap risible rheumy ratiocinated rug-rats
revoked righteous refulgent repertory.
Rapier robed robbers ransacked
reliquary resounding retaliation.
Retaliatory redcoat regnum
reformation remembered.
Rudy robotically recoiled rapprochement
raison d'être rosily revered
rifled relics raffled.
Rookie raves ripe rackful
rubenesque reliably ranked.
Refulgent rotundity requisite
requirement re: reappointment.
Road-tested, roadworthy
redeem reapportion routed role.
Reprehensible reassignment
rapidly recognizes response.
Rife rampage removed respectability – respect.
Responsible roused restitution refuted.
Risky resultant reconnoitering
runaway railroad reverberated rivalry.
Reflexive ramrod reaction reconfirmed
redoubling ridding revitalization.
Reconfiguration realpolitik reinstated repudiation
rebooting Roosevelt regime reconsidered.
Requisition required resilient reseeding republic.
Regrettable riley roars remorseless ribbing.
Rare recount restoring recondite
renown reprobate Rapunzel.
Republican representatives
rejoice reclaiming reins.
Now, Railroad Bob has lost his job, he’s got no place for working,
His wife, she cries with desperate eyes, their baby’s head’s a’ jerking.
The union man don’t give a damn, Big Brother lies a’ lurking,
the boss’ in cabs are picking scabs, they count their money, smirking.
A pregnant lass with eyes of glass has never learned to cope.
Once set adrift her fall was swift, she slid a slipp’ry slope -
she casts the Curse, the Holy Verse, and shoots a shot of dope,
and stalks discreet Asylum Street her daily horoscope -
the stray was struck by random truck which was her only hope.
Well, Banjo Boy, with little joy, he strums her life entire:
“The wayward waif was never safe; her stars were dark and dire.
Born midst the rues and avenues where lack and want aspire
where no one heeds the childish needs that little ones require;
where faith survives in tempest lives, a swirl within the briar,
Infinity grinds as time unwinds, until the winds expire.
Her last caprice? The final peace that no one could deny her -
whipped by the flood, stray beads of blood are spattered on the spire;
though beads of sweat are cool and wet, cold clotted blood is dryer.”
Though broken there, she’s fled the snare with dying thoughts serene.
And now she’s dead, the rumours spread: her age? a sweet 16,
with child, unwed, her soul dyed red, her body so unclean.
A place is sought where she can rot, avoiding churchyard scenes,
in limey pits, as well befits, behind forbidding screens;
and all the while a dirge is styled on tattered tambourines
which echo through the human zoo in valleys of the Queens.
Without rejoice, in hissing voice, near soil that’s seldom trod
“In pious role, God bless my soul”, was mouthed with mitred nod,
neath scarlet trim with black, and grim, behind a robed facade -
“She’ll burn in hell and sulphur smell”, spat Priest and man of god.
Well, angels sweet with cloven feet, they sing in girl’s attire,
but Banjo Boy, he’s playing coy while chanting in the choir:
“The clueless search within the church to find what they desire,
but near the nave or gravelled grave, there is no Rectifier.”
And when he’s through, without ado, he stacks some stones nearby her.
Continued
This is to the guy that I went out of my way to get noticed by
The one who I trusted, the one who told me lies
The one who made me feel like I was the only one
The one that was through with me when the sex was done.
The one that made me feel like I was impossible to love
The one who called me over when he just wanted to bust
The one that made it clear I'm not the girl he wanted me to be
I tried and I failed so this is my apology
This is to the one who gave me life the one that gave me birth
The one who complains and looks at me like I'm the worst thing on the earth.
The one who emotionally beats me down
The one whose suppose to lift me up from the ground
The one whose suppose to bring to my face nothing but smiles and laughs
The one who brings everything that is the opposite of that
The one who constantly compares me to others
The one who makes it so difficult to love her
The one who says I'm not the daughter she expected me to be.
I understand that and this is my apology
This is to the sick bastard that crept into my room
The one who gave me those thoughts of ending it soon.
The one who lied and said I was crazy in the head.
The one who had denied creeping into my bed
The one who left me scarred for life
The one who is responsible for my silent cries at night.
The one who says I've changed his life
Cause I've caused problems between him and his wife
The one who said I should have kept quiet, I should have just let things be.
He's right, nothing positive came from it, so this is my apology.
This is to my friends that say I do nothing but ***** and complain
The ones who left because they say I've changed
The ones who didn't stick around in my time of need
The ones who gave me more of a reason to grieve
I understand I'm not that girl I use to be
And for that this is my apology.
This is to the girl with the low self esteem
The girl who cries so terribly
The one with the forced and fake smile
The one who hasn't been happy for a while
The one whose afraid to trust any man
The one whose afraid to let any one in
The one whose past up many chances at love
Because she finds people hard to trust
That one that was robed of her purity and self-esteem
This is to the girl I'm embarrassed to be
This is my apology, to me
We celebrate Guy Fawkes although he did not quite make the grade
I know and understand rebellion threatens thus he met his fate
Could have been worse he could have blown of his incendiary hand
Less body parts to torture in the name of country and King of the land
Guido as they called him fighting for the Spanish before his foiled plot
Was fully aware that he could be exterminated for an unsavoury complot
Can violence in the name of debatable justice be ever condoned
The masters of power today might agree when Syria is droned
Crusades in the name of some cause or other belie religion and creed
When money meets oil geopolitical persuasion derived from greed
Black powder in Guy’s case blew up in his fierce revolutionary face
Unlike Nelson an eye for a blind spot got him nothing but disgrace
Dark power gloved fists velvet resolutions and orange insurrections
Should of course release white peace doves from resolute minds’ disaffection
Nena’s 99 red balloons and Banksy’s street art reveal a powerful message
No doubt they beat anthrax in envelops and letter bombs sent by expressage
Yet Mandela in his armed struggle days was deemed a vile terrorist
Fought for the cause in despair but was labelled a mean criminal errorist
Suppose that leaves us with religion and Jesus crossed bleeding nailed
Whereas Guy stored explosives in Westminster’s undercroft with little avail
A white robed Ghandi marched for salt freedom justice peaceful opposition
Before him the Buddha sat quietly under a Bodhi tree for untroubled transition
Fawkes received victor’s punishment but is said to have fallen from the scaffold
Before being hanged broke his neck probably mocked the crowd that was baffled
Avoided the agony of the punitive rope before drawn and divided into four parts
Outsmarted the executioner retribution erratically broken in fits and starts
Few of us know the real story only shoot fireworks remember November the 5th
Blow money miss the pith dispense judgement in blessed ignorance forthwith
A lesson to be learnt from the historical legend some possible moral from treason
Is that words are superior to gun powder and it’s better to die for a right reason
A black robed maiden, born in a sacred world
With dreams and aspirations that swell’s her femininity
She intrudes in my innocence, my future is in her hands
It is possessed by violence and lust
My idiocy has lead me to this, it’s all upon me
In this darkened night, I fluster at the words of this minx
Her impudent flirtation is terror against my ears, the haunting whispers of a succubus
The pain and desire you give to me
You demand my flesh, so I’m your whore, you want my blood, I’m now your whore
Emasculate me, this is heresy, my humanity is now her slave
I can see heinous behavior in her eyes
All the victims she violated, fractured, that’s so precise
I can feel her icy heart beat through her breast
Ball-gagged, chained, chained, and whipped my soul is damned
Scratched and burned paralyzed with torment
She licks my wounds with bloody kisses
Her sadistic reign eternally through my nightmares, will I ever sleep again
A chilling defilement makes her scream more and more
She-beast what emotions are and not felt
You demand my flesh, so I’m your whore, you want my flesh, I’m now your whore
Her nature is something I can’t comprehend, an act that I will succumb too, pressure in her being soon to be released
This is incarceration
I’m trapped by her savagery, I’m now helpless
This ancient mythology shatters everything
She knows no shame, I can’t escape
She wants to feel me so she can take me
She only wants what she can control, forever branded because I’m hers
Her source of energy, her source of deserving
Crush me, chaotic lividity
She wants to have me, violate me, in this stranglehold she is queen
I’ve barely eaten for days, dehydrated my strength is drained
All I hear is her cries of joy
I’m in disbelief, this is shocking, I cannot plead
Pulled an lashed by my hair and body
I will never be spared, a malevolent witch unleashing physical torment
It’s too much to bear, this is her brutal show with no grief till the end of time
You demand my flesh, I’m now your whore, you want my blood, I’m now your whore
Through your lust you’ve created a man who is now in love
You will never leave
My primal urges have intrigued you now
You are cunning seething in beauty
You have conquered me, I live to serve
"For over a thousand years Roman conquerors returning from the wars enjoyed the honour of triumph, a tumultuous parade. In the procession came trumpeters and musicians and strange animals from the conquered territories together with carts laden with treasure and captured armaments. The conqueror rode in a triumphal chariot, the dazed prisoners walking in chains before him. Sometimes his children, robed in white, stood with him in the chariot or rode the trace horses. A slave stood behind the conqueror holding a golden crown and whispering in his ear a warning: that all glory is fleeting".
General George S Patton
*****
A great general returned home a triumphant hero ~ victorious.
His golden chariot drawn soaring through the sky
Entering the city 'neath the arch of a technicolor rainbow.
He, dressed in pure and untainted white robes,
Savoured the grand and tumultuous procession.
And he was honoured ~ he smiled.
Amid the fanfare announced by the bright trumpeters
And the cheering of the redeemed and grateful crowds
He condescended to a small wave of the hand.
Before him traipsed his captives, they dressed in chains,
Followed by titanic elephants ridden by mischievous monkeys
And he was happy ~ he laughed.
Yet no children came to greet him, to ride with him,
For they owned no white robes to wear on the day.
He rode alone, save for his slave bearing his golden crown.
No one rode the trace horses to welcome him home,
He the glorious, undefeated, returning conqueror.
And he was sad ~ he wept.
And when he awoke and the world became real once more
He found himself assigned to a different place,
Where the highway becomes the battlefield.
The trumpeters salute had been replaced by a motor horn
And, as an olive drab 'Jimmy' crossed his path, he knew it was true;
This time he had been defeated and he was beat ~ he submitted.
For this would be his finest hour,
The hour when all would be revealed.
And at that moment,
That final moment,
He could clearly see it was true
That all glory is fleeting.
Alan S Jeeves
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I am the soul of all the Grecian Gods you have revered and penned
I know no matter what happens to you, you will come back to us in all ardency
The gods always test their worshippers, you know that, don't you?
You have made your home the temple of Jupiter. Very appreciative!
Now, move out of your blessed walls for a sterling holiday to Mount Olympus
You can't import an ancient religion into a completely different environment!
The whole point of it is that you keep your gods sweet and generous
- you scratch our backs, we will scratch yours to your hearts content!
High time you realised we establish a quid pro quo relationship
You have dared to make us only simple offerings of flowers, candles, incense sticks
Do you think titanic strengths can survive on such fancy stuff?
We the Greek Gods have a solemn protocol to suit our palates
You who have only slaughtered vegetables on your chopping board
Will watch and learn ritual sacrifice at the altar outside the temple
And then with your magic fingers in a jiffy overload our feasting tables
With an assorted array of the worlds best meaty cuisine and wine!
How could you just foolishly forget our hard taught lesson-
The way into hearts of the gods is through their stomachs?
The gods betray their anger that you have never ever attended their Summer Solstice
We the Greek Gods love romance, music, dance, sweet whispers on moonlit nights
Have you ever taken our breath away with a mesmerising song and sensual dance?
Come and beguile us in your skimpily robed flowers at Mount Olympus festival
Age is no barrier if you oblige to dance on a moonlit night,
Sybil won her youth from Apollo, you see? Why lose yours?
Compare our top term plans in 60 seconds-our final barter system with conditions-
We fulfil your desire for the topmost slot in your simmering soup contest!
You scratch our back, we scratch and scratch and scratch your fragrant flowery back!!
THE BEST DEAL! GOOD! THE DEAL IS FINAL!!
October28, 2015
Contest:Any poem#34 Contest
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
(Earlier contest
Oct. 9, 2015
Competition: You Want It Bad -Then Bribe Me
Sponsor: Casarah Nance)
repugnant racist republican reviled - rickettsia re:itch ruler.
rapaciously ravaged revered reverential rubric.
radical ruthless renegade rapidly riotously rips rigged ramparts.
refrains retaining remnant redolent regal, resplendent rafters.
riches rudely rupture rooted rectified rights.
ruckus ricochets revenant reign.
ratified rattlebrained rules roil reductionism.
rumbustious rapscallions rollick; render ruinous ramifications.
rusty razor razing revenge rents reprisal.
rabid rectal rictus rotten rebrands re-calibrate.
rambunctious revolutionaries rejoice.
ruffians ride roughshod routing reigning royalty.
reiterate revetting robust recidivist rationality.
ride Rolls Royce relentlessly rendering rock ribbing.
riffraff raconteur raise reactionary response.
revisit rancorous restrictive redlined realigned rightward rivets.
robocop ridiculously rubber-stamped reorganization.
recalcitrant reactors release rapture.
rash Russian roulette reconnaissance raconteurs rack rubles.
red room reflects republican RNA.
rap risible rheumy ratiocinated rug-rats revoke righteous refulgent repertory.
rapier robed robbers ransack reliquary resounding retaliation.
retaliatory redcoat regnum reformation remembered.
Rudy robotically recoiling rapprochement
raison d'être rosily revered rifled relics raffled.
rookie raves ripe rackful rubenesque reliably ranked.
refulgent rotundity requisite requirement re: reappointment.
road-tested, roadworthy redeem reapportion routed role.
reprehensible reassignment rapidly recognizes response.
rife rampage removes respectability - respect.
responsible roused restitution refuted.
risky resultant reconnoitering runaway railroad reverberates rivalry.
reflexive ramrod reaction reconfirms redoubling ridding revitalization.
reconfiguration realpolitik reinstates repudiation
rebooting Roosevelt regime reconsidered.
requisition requires resilient reseeding republic.
regrettable riley roars remorseless ribbing.
rare recount restoring recondite renown reprobate Rapunzel.
Republican representatives rejoice reclaiming reins
registering retarded romantic remains
re: Rastafarian revered reliquary rests!
The Time of the Summer Solstice
Drums pulsing solemnly presage the break of dawn,
bonfires ablaze dot this auspicious June morn.
On the shores of Albion, Druid priests converge,
as Earth, Sea, and Sky do mystically merge.
A circle of white-robed diviners and bards all a-chant,
amidst sacred oak and holly, as their hazel wands enchant.
The Dawn Ceremony begins the Summer Solstice,
awaiting the Sun’s majestic rise from the eastern abyss.
Rapidly waning is the dark of Spirit Night,
as the Sun God waits to unleash his most brilliant light.
Proudly the Summer King wears his crown at Alban Hefin;
but at Alban Arthan, he relinquishes it to his Dark Twin.
The Wheel of the Year relentlessly turns,
as each season ever changes and thus returns.
An eternal cycle of life, death, and rebirth,
it manifests the wonder of nature and Mother Earth.
Drums pulsing solemnly presage the break of dawn,
bonfires ablaze dot this auspicious June morn.
On the shores of Albion, Druid priests converge,
as Earth, Sea, and Sky do mystically merge.
05-26-2016
Contest: Summer Solstice
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Placement: 3rd
Notes:
Alban Hefin – the time of the Summer Solstice, The Light of the shore, by June 21st or 22nd. Light is at its maximum, and this is the time of the longest day. Starting at midnight on the eve of the Solstice, a vigil is held through the short night around the Solstice fire.
The Dawn Ceremony - marks the time of the sun's rising on this his most powerful day.
Dark Twin - the Sun-king is called the Holly King or Dark Successor (Tanist) in the Druid Calendar who reigns during the waning light of the year, until winter solstice.
Alban Arthan – the time of the Winter Solstice, called in the Druid tradition Alban Arthan or the Light of Arthur. This is the time of death and rebirth.
The Wheel of the Year – an annual cycle of seasonal festivals observed by the Druids and many pagans. It consists of four or eight solstices and equinoxes.
Spirit Night - The Summer Solstice was one of the three Spirit Nights of the year, the other two being Beltane and Samhain.
when the sky breathes poetry
through sepia-streaked silence,
and the earth reclines, listening
to the music of weeping wisterias~
blowing in the pulse of bleeding paradise,
I swallow sizzling stars
within cloaked scars,
comfortably blanketed
in self-woven wounds.
while you, the prisoner of my past,
keep revisiting empty journals,
lacking crystalline colors of comfort.
as crimson are the lines
across pages of pain,
and rhymes left unwritten~
stretching through margins of misery,
like flowers blooming amidst rain,
like fireflies flickering neon dreams,
oblivious to the darkness
that tastes like delicate storms,
gusting with glistening grief,
undressing dusks shivering
in blazing frost…
O tulip trinkets,
echoing ballads of brokenness~
I ache to surf through crooning chaos
in serene seclusion,
away from the fickle wind and
unseen waves, tortured by
twisted tunes of twilight.
I’ve long been the voice of love,
unsaid, intoxicated on life’s
whimsical woes~
a ghost of a wilted rose,
robed in restless redolence,
befriending demons within,
as shadows too
abandoned the healing
chambers of angst,
reluctant to sway
to chamomile chimes
of euphoric gardens
where roots of ruins
are watered with tanzanite tears…
perhaps the moon
was never mine to keep.
and in this distant affair,
I sing sparks of sorrow
to the soul of salt-kissed sapphires,
wishing the world could comprehend~
how peace is neither a lily nor a bird,
but a weathered tree
stuck in the forsaken
sands of felicity,
an eloquent ambience
where I thrive
in bittersweet solitude…
remember me ~
when clouds veil saffron
of the sanguine sun
and the zephyr forgets my name,
I remain the mistress, dressed in
distressed diamonds,
not a seeker of superficial lies
glazed in greed and gold,
I trace trembling chakras of torrents
with ink and sighs,
exhaling lunar-dust,
like a maestro of yearning,
perfectly flawed and unrefined,
still healing ~
tied to the faded lips
of an
enlightened constellation…