Long Selected Poems
Long Selected Poems. Below are the most popular long Selected by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Selected poems by poem length and keyword.
Mrs. Holloway polishes her poetry dimly,
Regaling herself with the accoutrements of
Selected poetry, cluttered and less jinxed
By way of satanic slamming by famished,
Idle critics who read The New York Times
Just once in a sugared year.
She chooses her stanzas locally.
By that I mean her stanzas nurse patience,
Drifting from gossips to loose, impotent
Talks held when midnights ail.
She digresses from north’s steady arrow
To the rump of the south, where watersheds
Of a nation’s difficult history are published.
Chances are that her poetry would win a
Contest in a fortnight, but the era of romance
Is jaundiced, which is her constituency and
Her background for coloured matters.
Her abbreviations for the names of her old
Suitors are carved from pillars to posts – reposting
Caryatids as common sentinels on a poisoned bank—
Losing the Greekness required of such adornments.
O Holloway, read, read, read,
Her acolytes pressure her.
Time loses sense of time in its own timeness,
They warn.
That, to me, is the commonest blandishment.
I should never have sipped from her potsherd
Such stale beer as she offered on the day her
Poetry was reviewed by a proscribed newspaper.
But her urge for anything dead and horrid,
Egged me on, especially when she narrated
The murder of seven sisters by seven creatures that
Very Sunday morning when the taverns closed
Before they opened.
Holloway shocked me with the gory details.
Oh, I forgot to tell you she hankers after things
Truly, truly hebdomadal.
I call her Mrs. Holloway the Hebdomadalist.
Seven churches, seven trumpets,
Seven seals, seven heads, seven horns... and now
Seven sisters murdered by seven creatures.
That’s why her poetry is cluttered.
Full of nerves and airs of salutes,
Mrs. Holloway’s poetry thunders.
She presumes that time will, like the morning
Dew, settle on the sinews of her poetry.
(And I agree with her) .
And smoothen it —yes, time, the masseur of
All time.
Smoothen it.
Oil it.
Massage it.
And level it.
At least to street level.
(And I agree with her) .
Emerald paradise keeps purple violets and yellow daffodils true
Possibly an enchanted nirvana, selected for my eyes alone.
Air so clean here, the monarch butterfly is singing a ditty
Joy, and hope as available as the apples dropped in the orchard.
I breathe in faith that my fellow man will do the right thing.
Winged faerie posing as a damselfly alights on a light pink tulip.
Shall we seek the bountiful garden next? She whispers.
I am entranced, a damsel fly has never before said my name.
Scarlet cone flowers wave goodbye as we head to the vegetable garden.
I look past the produce for a minute toward the zenith of the horizon.
Oak tree soldiers stand guard, making sure everything is kosher.
I feel an upbeat optimism I did not have before we reached these carrots.
With all the impeachment talk,
worried about ecopolitical Trumpian aristocracy,
five more years of narcissistic nonsense,
of white privileged entitlement
of second and third deadened generations
of rich by kleptocratic theft,
Republican APart-heid Oligarchy
I keep wondering
and stressfully worrying
about lack of attention
to everyday Business As Usual
Republic for Religious WhiteRight
Oligarchy,
An overpowering sacred and secular government
in which all divine Power
is invested in a few WhiteFragile patriarchs,
a missionary dominant LeftBrain class,
evangelically predative,
corporately patriotic,
a self-anointed segregated sanctuary for PeronsalDivineTruth
and xenophobic distrust of OtherTruths,
I smell a cancerously monocultural government
by the supremely self-selected few
made in God the WhiteFather's true capitalist greedy corporate image,
jealous
self-righteous
competitive against Earth-worshiping beauty,
NeoFascists
of My One Way,
My Republic
for which Capitalist Business Stands In For Truth,
My smugly Elitist Life,
Heedless of Earth's incumbent
all-inclusive
radically democratic recombinant
multicultural Death, decisive
Without any future hope
of further Oligarchical Republics
for RightWing Rapture.
Sleeping Beauty move over, you got fierce competition
Ain't no vicious rumor,
but dead serious joke
cuz no princess
can kiss bajillion times
to get yours truly woke
ah... just one garden variety generic
Geico Frog Prince
(in actuality I
wanna be caveman bloke)
nothing will disrupt me,
not even minor noose,
so hence go ahead
to get dude duke to choke,
or light a fire under my keister,
nsync with strong arms
issuing lances jabbing poke
but natural gas within me
will endanger nearby folk.
Now listen up,
cuz Zarathustra hath spoke
randomly selected Matthew Scott Harris
sitting prettily athwart
(think Boy George of Culture Club)
on his toadstool,
his (courtesy Zarathustra)
divine inspiration he doth not cloak
couched admonition forewarning
demise kisser will croak
unless he/she qualifies as
bonifide LGBTQ - okey doke
don't say, I did not give fair warning,
while going for broke
courtesy one gay (ping) small/medium
at large frog, usually found soak
king up sunbeams
nonchalantly taking toke
exotic blend comprising
flies, mosquitoes, moths
and damn dragonflies
after they did marinate and soak
within solution mainly egg yolk
to offer greatest smoke.
Oh don't be confused, flummoxed,
nor ill humored regarding mine
married status with tadpoles
totalling ahem... sixty nine
heterosexual biological reproduction
consummated as faux sign
unable to retrofit, reddit, ribbit...
no I honest got a short backbone (spine)
with large hip bone to support
powerful leg muscles taut as pine
yet smooth and glassy as River Seine
out true self before I feign to croak
purportedly rumor heard thru grapevine,
but twitch started by yours truly.
Postscript: my apology,
noah arked intent cited as offender
toward any living creature sexual gender
who might take objection regarding
unfairly labeled, hashtagged,
as duped pretender
cuz thy persona, karma,
charisma... genuinely legally tender.
The path is now clear to see. The path set out for you and me.
Our elderly no longer seems to matter!
So many jobs and livelihoods in tatters.
Wealth, greed and power for the selected few.
It does not seem to matter what we are or what we can do.
Our lives don’t seem to be there, in this elitist future where money is the only care.
They’ve proven to us how much we mean in a society where they want hate and division to breed.
How long before they close the door and a civil society in the UK exists no more?
Now they have broken your children's dreams do you still think that they care about you and me?
Every image and text we post on Facebook
is selected and air-brushed,
to present our lives as we would like it to be,
sharing images for self congratulation and gloating.
We are both the viewer and the viewed,
the audience and the actor
mutually disclosing tarnished,
filtered and selected images and impressions
to create a make-believe social world.
Now we learn that our private data
and that of our friends
has been leaked to those that
can analyse and create a profile
or our weaknesses and vulnerabilities.
Advertisements and fake news stories
are fed to our in-boxes
to change the way we think.
A chest-full of tarnished reflections
left on our 'Welcome' mats.
Facebook faces front and rear,
are all tarnished reflections.
Writing poetry is my passion
It always has been
Right from my school days
Back then, it was just a hobby
Pursued after school time and study time
Back then, I never dreamt of anything bigger
I was content with writing in my diary
During my college days, my interest grew
I learnt about various forms
And was always keen to explore them
I used to write during my journey
To and from the college
Seeing my interest in English poesy
My grandpa suggested publishing them
And thus a dream was sowed in my mind ~
To have my own book of penned words
Since my grandpa is in literature ministry
It seemed within easy reach at that time
I selected few of my poems
And sent them to my grandpa
Then came editing and formatting
It took three full years
To bring it to a suitable format
Then came the issue of budget
So again, my dream got halted
For another two years
During this time, I continued writing more and more
By God’s grace, I found Poetry Soup
Which helped me grow in my writing process
Meanwhile, I kept my dream book in prayers
A little disappointed with the delay
But, remember, God does everything in His own time
And His time is the best
And my dream book got published this year – 2021
It is titled, “Penned for His Praise”
And I am extremely grateful to the Lord.
11.11.2021
For Regina McIntosh's "Thanksgiving Blessings" contest
Oh they're all so oblivious to it all unaware of the depths of evil
Diligent in making mankind fall as they never did have the will
Each day walking around unprotected not even a single prayer
The more easily to be selected when His Mercy just isn't there
Those who know His Voice "He has dashed in pieces the enemy"
And so in Him we rejoice in only reaching out for you to be free
"For snares are round about thee, and sudden fear trouble thee"
Yet all this you can not see but the Lord Himself did in so decree
Wickedness you can't imagine and evil you can not even dream
Swimming about this pool of sin things aren't what things seem
In with death's own bitter sting the woeful feelings of utter lose
Legions of His Angel will sing of His Glory over sin at the Cross
You couldn't known of any of this for you have never inquired
Life has been such bliss and that never seemed to be required
But as a 1,000 years is a day and one day is a thousand years
In missing out upon His Way you will be shedding such tears
People buying something new
Can’t wait to use or try it,
Starting with the minute their
Decision was to buy it.
If it’s clothes or jewelry,
They’ll wear it right away,
Just to reaffirm it’s worth
The price they had to pay.
I’m a little different, though,
My wackiness unmatched;
My purchases remain unworn,
Their price tags still attached.
They languish in their shopping bags,
Most likely quite confused –
Selected from the store, brought home,
But waiting to be used.
I can’t explain the reason why
I have the need to wait;
At times, I almost reach the point
When things are out of date.
But soon enough I’m ready –
It’s a feeling in my gut;
I’ll slip the item from its bag
And price tags will be cut.
You like my pocketbook? Me, too.
It’s nice you let me know.
It’s brand-new, even though I bought it
Fourteen months ago!
BUD & GLOW
Think not my silence forgetfulness
my meaning now to you declare,
my resolution to be, all in this
poetry.This diversity of your
favours now,I dare no longer
silent stay.Some observations
I have framed to myself and
relate to you today.My tears,
many for you,to bud &glow
and bear fruit in your soul and
not take their toll,such fruit of
my observations will I’m sure
bless you more and more.I fear
only that I haver omitted some
fitting circumstance,yet you will
pardon my haste and forgive if
my verse is not entirely to your taste.
From George Herbert letters 1,2,3,4,8
9,10,12,13,15
*A Phrasis is a structured verse where the poet uses selected prose phrases of another writer’s(not a poet) to compile unique poetry therefrom as a tribute thereto,the word phrasis is Greek for phrase
Listen to me read this phrasis of mine on youtube under the name ichthyschiro