Long Seasoned Poems
Long Seasoned Poems. Below are the most popular long Seasoned by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Seasoned poems by poem length and keyword.
Beware of politicians whose active manifesto
Is always to speak ill of other candidates and opposition parties.
They are the real problems!
Beware of political goons and rumour-mongers, spinning allegations
Twining civil questions, yakking all day but never about
What they have done or can do. They have no vision!
Beware, my brother, of trillionaire politicians who only remember
The poor during campaigns and invite the press to a snap
Of a picture with a kwashiorkor in the slum. They are hypocrites!
Beware of politicians who make fabulous and illusory promises
Whose speeches are seasoned with oenomel to please and hype
History is a witness to their chronic failures and betrayals!
Beware of politicians who evade critical discourse and the press
At home like a mosquito bite but would run to the Chatham House
To seek an audience. They are no solutions!
Beware of desperate politicos defying every civil structure to rule
Bigots whose ploys for victory are religious and ethnic mantras
Kingmakers who want to have their turn on the throne.
Beware of politicians who make Aso Rock their retirement plan
Hall of fame, cashpoint, birthplace and right, their next career
A doctor or lawyer who could save a life or vindicate rights
Has become the Dionysius of our time.
Beware of politicians whose patriotism pulsates on oversea products
Trips to Harley Street, Burj Khalifa, bikini-infested Miami Beach
Back home, they vow to tighten the laws and expand the cells
To make a great nation.
Beware, you goofs and poltroons taking up the squares for heroes
You moneybags, Kings of the jungle, sacred cows, powerbrokers
Plumed and brocaded with national honours, OON, CON…
Amid the chronic poverty and acute frustration.
Beware of kleptocracy, autocracy, gerontocracy, oligarchy, plutarchy
And amidst the hunger, ignorance, confusion, and frustration
Beware of vote merchants!
Monet's Impression, Sunrise
First impressions leave memories
that can linger for a very long time
and give a sense of peace and understanding
that rewards the solitude of the mind
with satisfaction in contemplative reflection.
This may be deceiving and can mislead one to believe
that which is right may, in fact, be wrong.
Graciously accept the artist’s shared perception
that there is no ambiguity, only a warning
of the impending storm threatening prevalent reasoning.
The ascending sun, with its reflection on the water,
highlights a sense of direction as the rowers row
across the harbour at the break of morn.
Past cranes and derricks and ships at anchor
beneath a smoke-blurred fiery sky, accented
by pastel shades of blue to create the sombre mood
that expresses Monet’s "Impression, Sunrise" painting
and shares with the onlookers his representation
of nature from an Impressionist’s point of view
in the Industrial Age, heralding in the revolution.
That begs the question, “Where are they going,
and why blood orange?” (Oh, but I’ve seen that colour before.)
Day-to-day inquiries are asked of one another and strangers.
Monet incorporates an art form using oils on canvas,
forcing the audience to observe with curiosity,
thus presenting a sliver of time of life’s tranquillity at sea.
This provocation of thought chinks the consciousness
of seasoned connoisseurs who see change as frightening
and challenges their manipulation of artistic output
(to act like mechanical agents thwarting creativity).
“Will they reach their destination? Will it be as they hoped for?”
Hurry! Though calm, the waters will soon froth in labour.
***
Note:
“Monet’s Impression, Sunrise” is an ekphrastic poem referencing the painting “Impression, Sunrise” (1872) by Claude Monet (1840–1926).
Problem with Adonis was his dogged tendancy
To battle heartfelt causes
Ominous obdurate tore us
Tenure, he died fighting against white supremacy
Before he departed, dear reader, acres of passion
Burnt sharper than stars
Aches when we're apart
Tap water sureity came each time turn on happened
I never knew how he loved me so tight, intensely
I admit I present aesthetic enough
Adonis possessed man's best stuff
A muscle hung magnate, somehow meant for me
It fell in co inciding with cruel hook moon crescent
Night prior to my darling's departure
Anenomes bent by dancing's laughter
Crushed beneath our undulations, entwine pleasant
Million finger foliage, amorous wood anenome reach
Myriad of green furrowed feathers
Held my hips, to his vigour tethered
My insides hummed tremors' tune, tangy blush peach
Trampled anenomes watched our praise of abandon
Petal centres shared precious nectar
Raised my buttocks, Adonis so tender
Readily able to press me closer, carefully one hand on
Electrified legs, sent buzzing from his matching forge
Intermittent rippled shoulder kisses
As he sank to me, summoned blisses
Melted insides drizzle seasoned gyrating bones scorch
Ripped from my conciousness, entirely on his platter
Patch of anenome puff flattened
Melded forever in larva orgasmed
Minted delivery of ecstasy, the world ceased to matter
Firm dedication remaining, reluctant shapely loins lifted
Plucked a hundred secret seed filled tributes
One by one, delicately on my body, distributes
Jealous stars sizzled, shot to oblivion by romance gifted
13th September 2020
' Night of Passion and Desire'
Sponsor: Faraz Ajmal
Like a living statue, the age-old tree
stoically stood there—anchored
and silently growing in majestic being.
At the tree trunk’s ground level, stood
a tiny squirrel—the happiest
of its anchored tenants—manipulating
its prized find with animal dexterity
mimicking that of a seasoned magician.
Suddenly, like an elevator running
straight-up to the top floor,
she swiftly shot up the towering trunk
to the toned leafy hair-like tree top;
There she silently sat herself
within the chameleon-like
camouflage foliage of survival.
After a moment of rested assurance,
the tiny squirrel just as quickly
descended the seeming smooth-barked
trunk where she sat—quietly gazing.
Suddenly aware of the liberating
experience between we three, I became
one with nature and her liberating message
to us all—whose ancestors had given all
that we might mutually survive
in that moment of deep consciousness,
I remembered the trying times when we
would cut down trees for sheltered comfort
and kill small squirrels to fill empty stomachs
while some of us filled empty nooses of trees.
Let us not forget how far we have come
and how far we have yet to plow onward
to get where we must and ought to be.
We too must be squirrely wise as we grow;
scurrying up the triumphant tree of liberty.
I awoke a clock and watched it countdown towards known silence,
I arose and given the floor the reason for its presence,
Day spent amidst the greenery moored to tawny sturdiness,
Morning sun entice the blooms their ascent upping with success,
Gains a brighter hour taking a lapped route through a calm beach,
I swam and watched as a respite sun nigh zenith's grasp for breach,
Afternoon orange glow descends as I bunched up withered leaves,
Mild breeze brushes and excites facial pleasures that it achieves,
Dusk has placed the meal so great, that cast against the candles glow,
Cools the bite of night, snapping up a full day's engaging show,
In the folds of warming, it hadst journeyed me towards my keep,
Weights of my eyelids, flights a bird to unfold, wake whilst asleep,
'Tis events enthralls life's richness that made me so compliant,
'Twas morn to night, mastered was four seasons, truly triumphant,
Song: Angie Baby - Helen Reddy
Date: 05/07/2019
Rattled into action,
I’m no damsel in a tower.
I’m Sleeping Beauty, grown—
not rescued,
just rested.
Wrapped in gratitude,
a quiet kiss waiting.
So I crush every mistake,
every “no,”
every moment I felt less than—
they were the broth
that brined my spine,
seasoned my soul.
I do not recount sorrows
steeped in regret.
I do not carve my psyche
with clever metaphors.
I do not dance
through the dust of broken dreams.
I bask
in the brilliance buried
beneath defeat.
Not lost.
Only redemption.
I sip from the same scorched cup—
the bitterness now dulled,
the burn made warm.
I steep old wounds in truth,
brew them into wisdom.
Every ache a root
pushing me into new life.
Every silence
a seed I didn’t know I’d planted.
The knowing always strikes first—
a hush pierced by sirens,
pulse breaking in the bones,
a hunger without a name,
a reaching
for something that does not yet exist.
Even the thorns I cursed—
named after lovers
I mistook for home—
became compass needles,
pointing me back to myself.
I do not recount sorrows steeped in regret.
I do not carve my psyche with metaphors.
I do not waltz through wreckage.
I bask—
in the hush after heartbreak,
in the shimmer beneath scars,
in the beauty that bloomed
when everything broke.
Not lost.
Not ruined.
Only—
becoming.
And still,
I bask.
Let my every thought be seasoned with thanksgiving,
Let my every breath be scented with praise to you;
Let my eyes be fixed on you, that my praying may never cease;
You alone are worthy of all praise
Let my every moment be an act of worship,
Let my every deed be done to your glory, Lord
Let my every word resound with the glorious things you’ve done;
You alone are worthy of all praise
Let my every day begin with adoration,
Let my every night find rest in your presence, Lord;
For without your rod and staff, we are sheep that have gone astray;
You alone are worthy of all praise
Every good and perfect gift is from you, Father,
Every breath we take, a sign of your providence
You created everything, by your will it was made to be;
You alone are worthy of all praise
Summer’s seasoned lacings, all fetching,
uplift timid heartbeats with etchings.
Sunshine warmly touches me sky brushed.
Languid summer holds playtime sketching.
Touching water’s velvet soft richness,
sensuously tender in thickness,
captivates my deepest of senses.
Water must thrill summer as mistress.
Delight I hold when my garden shines
with produce sun thriving on green vines.
Sorrow stirs when garden grows dirt-dim
from Autumns push upon summer lines.
No coat, no sweater – summer bare feet –
dressing is a bit of style pieced sweet.
Summer freedom within her Eden
lifts my joy on high inside complete.
Horseshoes, croquet, hiking on park trails,
fishing, crabbing, grilling lobster tails -
all eases for adult stressed creases,
all pieces of summer’s bright details.
In summertime, I am a thrilled child
innocently day tripping beguiled
thru exciting treasures season swayed
until autumn shades persuade sun’s exile.
1. "I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart) I am never without it..." E.E. Cummings
Freedom and love were God-breathed into the heart of every one of us.
Loving our neighbor binds his heart to ours before we bite the dust.
Every living species longs for love and freedom;
But freedom must be accompanied by wisdom.
If we are the least considerate,
We must also learn to tolerate.
We must long for responsible liberties
Properly seasoned with sensibilities.
Give me the freedom to belong
As well as the freedom to be alone.
Give me the freedom to grow
And the freedom to stay or go.
Give me the freedom to pursue knowledge
Whether self-taught or learned at college
May I with diligence guard my heart
Without tearing your heart apart.
When my heart is heavy and sad,
Carrying your heart makes Me glad
There is what is called tough love.
But it too comes from above.
Freedom to roam
Or to relax close to home.
Freedom to sit, walk, stand, or fly.
Freedom to say hello as well as goodbye.
Freedom to be one's self without confrontation.
And to exercise my rights without frustration.
Freedom, like those described in the US Bill of Rights.
Such are well suited to take us to the greatest heights.
Seasoned homeless men in olive-green and black
camouflage jackets,
whisker-stubbled faces,
fatigued eyes once of youth's brightness.
They not too long ago raised their hand to
swear the oath,
in the shelter kitchen are many bustling
volunteers.
Brewed creamy coffee warms the grateful
men's throats.
The Catholic church across the city street tolls,
it's resounding bells in chilled autumnal air,
a knell of hope.
Honeycomb paper turkey decorations on the
center of long cafeteria tables.
A hurting truth about America, our country,
is our homeless veterans.
They served, they suffer.
A Thanksgiving for the exhausted-
and, often, unthanked. ~