Long Rueful Poems
Long Rueful Poems. Below are the most popular long Rueful by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rueful poems by poem length and keyword.
The New Year has come wafting on the wings of winter
The high latitudinal areas of the northern hemisphere
Would be in the grip of frequent snowstorms severe
Throwing life in desolate isolation and out of gear.
The cold wave sub-zero conditions of deprivation would persist
In many sections of population for in poverty they can’t subsist
Who wouldn’t see for long the sun of subservient survival
Through the dense fog of abject abandon and rueful refusal.
The frosty winter nights would fall with wrath
Making many frigid who would seek introvert warmth.
After the winter haze clears the weather would change
The spring would develop many high pressure regions
In the lives’ atmosphere of the aspirant people
Living in the spreading mist of uncertain future climate
With the hope of clear blue sky and sunny temperate days.
They have to brace for the increasing ambient temperature
In the thermal islands in the wake of global warming true or not.
The fanatic heat waves in the summer of discontent
Could blow dust of hatred in the raging desert storm
Might sweep like nimbus cloud across the tormented humanity.
The overcast monsoon sky may fall asunder
After unpredictable cloud burst one after another
On gloomy minds plunged in the trough of depression.
They would sink in the flood brought by heavy rains
In low pressure areas where mental stress would deepen despair.
Hurricanes and tropical storms would spin on trade winds
Wreck havoc bringing misery to many
For they would make landfall on the helpless people of destiny.
The cirrus clouds would slowly clear
The low atmospheric disturbances would subside
As the autumn would arrive sailing on the northern wind
With nip in the air and prospect of bright sunny days.
The occasional gusty winds of the fall
Would blow the broken brown leaves away
The way welted thoughts of the mind
Get swept by the squalls of fast moving times.
The old year would take our agony and dreams
Across the winter to the cold folds of another New Year
And we would wait for yet another spring another time
When our lives would bloom like flowers.
January 7, 2018.
The Clown fish had brimming eyes, a montage flown back to
Jaflong , a memory lane
I wonder I felt overwhelmed, as if yesterday’s incomplete hard
and fast, rituals and alone
Over pouring overboard, ornate orange diva and monsoon rain and
Jaflong time and greeting say
Holistic a rueful an encapsulation, by the by a rare tracing cue
with a poetic erotica, radiant way
My lover boy had a momentum of her ever persevering prodigy,
stable, and eloquent, a remedy
Who called him a done deal? Or vulnerable? Majestic that artist
resides in me, in swargachira, and painful days of cotton clouds
We touched the star of the eternity, inevitable teardrops and a
bye , is it showmanship other than that?
Please pioneer, bless her soul, give a diligent due to her blessing,
mantra, mainland holy wedlock, lock the bits and pieces of state
news, in unwholesome
Ah……………! Where art Thou!
Excuse and executive, too much of a sensational mayhem to hum
along a reverie zeal !
And what about me! Oh! I was in my evangelical pain, the holistic
truth and only one to prevail!
I have ample recess time, with an album of not so friendly goon of
songs, an ode to an Indian nightingale!
Silent shadows whisper wicked rumors from tawny tinted tents
Reflecting rueful random thoughts, such are their laments
Circus kingdom cast offs disappear for no fault of their own
If only you knew, the stunt star’s stunning and raving review
Perilous pyrotechnic cruelly disfigures, and if only you knew
Dark duplicate shapes of onyx outlines, two damaged lives
Repellant is he, a vibrant visible resilient soul is she who thrives
Redeemed restored! Residing in each other’s passionate thunder
Unscrupulous undertones shan’t ever tear their love asunder!
You know what I mean...
Sequestered away from prying eyes of light they remain inside
Alas all alone, as in The Phantom Of The Opera they hide
Yet, shimmering silhouettes seen against the dimming sky
What witnesses the galactic guardian stars cannot deny
They say beauty can never be found in the dark,
I’ve heard this from an empress ere she was ready to embark
upon a ship shouting, sheets rife with words written about her love
No not notes of loneliness it’s not for this lioness a warrior above
it all, she places all her inner impetuous into her piercing poetry
A dusky distant shape and outline listens, lusting, yearning with glee
The light shone brightly behind, they move closer kissing eagerly
You know what I mean…
LET THE FREE WILL RISE
His promises boundless make you naively believe
Things will go well, you won’t have to re-live
Lifting your broken life from the disdain of strife
For you don’t see him sharpen his hidden knife.
To land of promise he doesn’t take you, dreams break
Lest the mistake on trust makes you a wretched wreck
And slice at the seam the self-esteem that you own
It’s time you awaken, take him on for a showdown.
You may find your star-strewn sky falling down
In rueful remorse your soul you won’t drown
If you in disgrace thrust him in his place just
With your free will you will rise from the dust.
March 9, 2018.
Reduced to a couple once again,
Remembering this is how our life once began,
Blessed by God with three children,
Now all grown up and settled in their own families,
Grateful for their lives, at the same time sad,
Looking at our empty house,
Where once reigned their bubbly children noises,
Each room a rueful reminder
Of their exuberant laughter and a million memories;
Now, we look at each other,
Our conversations interspersed with,
"I wonder what he's doing now!"
Or "How is she managing all her chores?"
Worrying and wondering,
Whiling away our time with Chinese Checkers,
Recalling the days when we used to play together,
Silent spaces speak volumes,
While we wait for photos and phone calls,
Or vacation visits that are few and far between.
3rd May 2023
For Cooper Etheridge's "Empty Nest" contest
Trailing clouds of glory ,do we show,
Trailing crowds of phantoms ,do we go.
Bliss is it in that dawn to be born,
Remorse is it in that twilight to be gone.
Swaddled in great expectations do we appear,
Shrouded in our shrunken deeds,we say our au revoir,
Soaring on high ideals to the skies,
Crashing to earth through tawdry compromise,
Caught up in earthly desire
Brought low by lack of moral fire.
We arrive to cries of joy on the mountain top,
We quit this vale of tears with funereal pomp,
Beginning with the ambition to be the best,
Ending with hopes dashed,turned to dust and laid to rest.
Shimmering over a glassy sea, a moonlight carpet beams.
My walkway high to a starlit sky of memories from my dreams.
There mighty Taurus, rip-snortin’ bull, lowers his horns for battle.
Naked on his shoulders Seven Sisters ride side-saddle.
Dazzling diamonds, blue-white ice,
blazing through nebulosity.
Merope mocked and mooned me twice,
twerking with faux ferocity.
“Begone now, mortal, from my sight,
who dares defile the very night.
Look down upon the moonlit glade,
bear witness to the mayhem made.”
Agape, the Pleiad sisters wailed while yonder Cetus spouted.
“The culprit must be caught and jailed,” the rueful Virgo shouted.
The heavens heaved, so much offended,
torn fabric of time could not be mended.
Then darkness fell like a clap of thunder,
were it not for Einstein’s Biggest Blunder,
the Universe was blown asunder.
Who once wrote “God plays not with dice,”
had not known anything of such vice,
said: “Reading erotic poetry can’t compete with cosmic knowitry.”
Submitted: 6/2/2019
Don’t change me
I’m not broken like you, not like you
Please set me free
Often times, I’m here without any clue
I find it quite strange
That I am fixed completely and I have hardly anymore horrid scars or bothersome blemishes of rue
It’s beyond my range
It’s odd, yet good that You love me, regardless of what I do and He's a delightful dream come true
Turn the music up now
I wanna drown my pain somehow
I’m gonna make it, oh I will
I will stand tall and stand still
Won’t give up like you did
Goodbyes is what I don’t bid
I’m such a wild child these crazy days
I have been free-falling in many ways
So, worry less, live more,
The one I once adored
Soar with me cuz I am sore –
The rainfall has poured
Still, don’t change me
I’m not that broken like you, nothing like you
There's an opportunity
For you and I to drain away the rancid rain of rue
I reckon you'd finally understand
Where I have stood and will stand
Regret showers upon me still
Maybe, just maybe, It’s God's Will
That will change me in an instant
He will make me feel significant
I reckon you'd walk away into the rain of yesterday, the rain of today
I guess you had to leave and suppose I do the same in utter dismay
It could simply be a midnight musing,
where these ears are not!
A life floating in NAY-Nay sound
is also a simpering one, throughout!
I call it: Just a “mood swing”,
and it feels overwhelming, quite often these days!
Everyone is nailing my thinking mind,
hinting I might need a screw to keep myself sane and strong, upright.
And I kept pondering about the London bridge, the glory of being prestigious and proud,
And what a picturesque sunset should be in prevailing route! Farthest need from a crowd,
Nevertheless
It is simply a drilling sound; Not a single stanza more than that to be traced.
Pairing hands, inflicting in moaning, and groaning in continuing hours of extenuation.
The window blinds according to the work-order of today. Replaced and rejuvenated.
And it is all about these sounds. One of a gentle kind but …. Noisy too,
corrupting need of a warmonger. A competitor.
Truthful sounds of functionality of life.
Where disposable are dishes, dancing in hunger.
A handyman deal is just a mere deal. In black and white, one kind of that.
And I knew one sunset sky , after all these days of mending and blushing.
Also unfolding in rueful efforts of expiation, quite a zealous one. Promising.
The Lord knows the laws of land, everywhere. Along every way of possibility.
And the Lord knows the exceptions are also true. For sure. a forbidden tree.
Assuring me about the night. And shoes of a handyman are also an earned chore,
where life still code-switches on a pristine door.
On a night, someone could turn into a sculptor.
In subjugation and humility.
We are nothing more than pleading hands in prayers, whim and much more,
A long, lonely walk along a longer shore of life. A duality residing on a memory lane.
where different dimensions are still there in methods of boiling broth, in Can-opener and can,
On a housewarming eve of some other Santa's. And festive seasons are in, chiming otherwise.
Azure blue skies weep in rent glacial torrents,
iridescent earth sun trap poised to garner sympathy,
dark red cloud’s indignant float might yet rumble,
toxic deluge drenches mudbank plot as toilers whine,
thunderstruck I gaze at wild indigo sea mist on brine-fleck shore
Edge of seat terra firma species orange alert mere bluster,
grim altitude apocalypse for amber moon orb,
rampant shower pockmark with visual scar as trenchant plague,
vapour trail from lachrymose horizon now a shrunken haze,
alarm bell’s doleful peal across an impact cratered expanse once sumptuous mint green
Stream of gurgling silken brook upon reciprocal bright cadence,
otherworldly pine from volatile nebulae’s damp swathe,
vapid biome acreage a gaunt reflection though surreal,
despite magenta stardust twinkle whose infant phase corralled
by wayward drizzle
Hemisphere by half redolent of sombre devastation,
yet exotic visual haunt is that vaunted shadow zone,
sweet maple leaf ether bound refuge from monsoon rife,
pot of gold opal strewn paradise escape hatch,
from lesion blight topsoil or open sore empyrean
Purple leaf and bell pepper cascade swirling o'er panic stricken globe,
perfume clad hillock under hawk-eye squint,
denizens idyllic foster atmospheric canny urban vault,
they hobble gingerly on salmon pink stone bridge en route to harried terrain rescue