Long Semblance Poems
Long Semblance Poems. Below are the most popular long Semblance by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Semblance poems by poem length and keyword.
You a fake yell from hot tin roof top
Nobody listens but you don’t stop
You pronounce you will make a great name
In high pitch voice you pine to proclaim.
You say there are colors in your eye
We all know it's nothing but a white lie
So you think you are a born artist
Such a strange creature doesn't exist.
You surmise your brush has Monet touch
But your trees are cluster of plumb crutch
Water of the grimy pond is ink opaque
You can’t even make semblance of fake.
When you gloat you’ve got Picasso flair
Abstract art drips on palllid paint layer
I see formless faces in warped cubes
As a pile of squeezed out color tubes.
April 16, 2020
Contest : Write A Rhyming Poem For Fun
Sponsor : Caren Krutsinger
I look up to you
With the child in me,
A child that knows no wrong.
I look up to see some comfort somewhere,
that solely in wisdom belong.
They say that teachers are all, so very good.
So long as they can see the child;
That hides behind the glaring sun,
And senses no worth in chide.
That figures not what’s right or wrong
And basks in unreal pride.
Why do you take things that can be
Solved in a matter of time?
Why do you complain, times so often
With sometimes no reason nor rhyme?
Why don’t you see that the child in me
Is yet to grow as old,
As can be said to struggle for long
Well read and matured and bold?
I belong to you, do try understand.
Do please no laugh at my faults!
For the womb that gave me birth in time
Has the semblance with the one that's yours!
No raised pinnacle marked the place
No pure white limestone shining
Where Ramesses slept looked commonplace
to foil the robbers scrying.
Yet he had moved the earth and sky
this pharaoh disdained all rivals.
His bounty buried beneath the sand
portrayed a life beneath blue skies
his star encrusted tomb ethereal
his Ka rising from Death’s hand.
The hills of Thebes his place of rest
and beneath him his father lay
amongst the great he’d be the highest
his battle standards on display.
He ruled with iron hand on staff
as a Godhead he was portrayed.
Most mighty and acclaimed, no man
was he, who felled the Hittite chaff;
beneath his chariots wheels flayed
the denizens of Egypt’s land.
Worshiped was he in temples true
his semblance graces Abu Simbel
with eyes wide o’er lake so blue
his gaze belays the infidels.
Beside him she, Nefertari
laid claim to a sacred place
held above all others his wife
most renowned for her beauty
a love to last through time and space
may all true hearts pay such tariff.
Florence McLane
1889 – 1902
Psst… over here!
My toppled tombstone is the one
With the somber seraph carrying a cross.
My grave is the one that no one can see or find.
My hidden final resting place is in the digesting shade
By the willowy walnut tree.
Can you find me?
Olly olly oxen free!
Do you see me?
Will you now hear me?
I breathed my days on Pasadena Street
Inside the little white house with the horseshoe over the door.
I slept my nights under the stars
With dreams and visions and intense remembrances.
My cross to bear bore no semblance
To the old bloody rugged one
Borne by my Lord and Savior to Golgotha.
To my friends and foes,
Dead now for a multitude of minutes.
I sought no pain or revenge.
But your closed eyes never noticed
My own bloody cumbersome cross.
Never truly noticed the tiny ray of pure light
Deep, deep inside my singed soul.
Enveloped and masticated alive
By the deadening darkness of the faithless.
My final words to you all:
Olly olly oxen Free!
an impression of the world
stands before me
Left is right, and right is wrong,
and the mirror reflects a melancholy song.
i the mirror
not
the babbling brook,
or
the rippled river
whose images tell harmless lies.
i
the mirror,
who was once held in the
weak, shivering, hands of a life nearing its end
now lay
on broken, crushed bones, crumbs
and i
one thousand shards
the cracks
the jaded moments of my life.
i
an unintended semblance in the raging waters
crashing against the killing rocks of the rushing falls.
never utter the curse
"it can't get any worse"
the serpent swallows the swollen cow,
swallowed - the farmer's wife,
swallowed - her son,
swallowed - the thorny toad,
the black widow spider devours them all!
i the empty frame
the bits and bites of carpenter ants.
my world
a perverse facade
of
what should of been
of
what
is
of
what
was
or of
what? WHAT?
less?
i guess.
NEVER utter the curse
"it can't get any worse"
whose voice
will bring me peace,
whose rapier
will deliver me,
who will
burn my body whole
or
dig me a deep hole
or
throw me void of soul
into
the waters of the screaming ocean
who herself dies a slow painful death.
Dec 20 2015
armand
with a major contribution by
Joseph May
Just like dominoes, Afghanistan falls;
It was only a matter of time.
American soldiers cash in their chips
And head home on a jet plane
After two decades in the trenches.
An unwinnable war is done,
So is any semblance of order.
Absolute chaos reigns,
Afghanistan incinerates
And President Ghani couldn't take
The heat; flees kitchen, and country.
Afghanis now fend for themselves
In Disneyland for the Taliban.
A war-torn country in complete
Disarray; a devil's playground.
Desperate citizens pack the airport
Like sardines attempting to flee.
Blood flood bullet-riddled bodies
Dropping every which way
As Talibans target practice and strap
Suicide bombers. More bodies drop
From airplanes taking off;
an unspeakable horror. It was televised.
Amid mass exodus from Kabul airport,
Washington politicians play
The blame game, pointing fingers
At Biden and Trump.
Afghani women stage protests
Demanding equal rights.
Many questions remain unanswered.
When will American citizens
Who never got the chance
To leave Afghanistan be rescued?
What becomes of our Afghan allies?
How long will the carnage
And disorder last? Is a return
To normalcy a pie in the sky?
Afghanistan Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Kai Michael Neumann
Date written: 09/05/2021
The concrete and plastic, chrome domed
bricked up auditorIum rang
like a hollow bell,
a meager few red skins circle the stadium seats
like smoke from a mythical “peace” pipe
ragged, distilled, diluted, distraught, “dised”
A 21st century ablution of angst.
Round shoulders meet, sidelong glances;
old and young form for dances.
All semblance of nature betrayed
by polyester tassels and cheap Crayola yarn fringe,
a sneakers and moccasins mix,
only the whistle-drum, and sage smoke sanctifies.
Circles form, crouching over polyurethane floors
silver hair, braids and hands harden; they bear,
bore the “dis” missive, disdain,
the balm of music eased all the pain.
Round shoulders meet, sidelong glances;
old and young form for dances.
The roof “dis” appears becomes the night sky
air vibrates with the heart thumping of stick on skin,
and so WE, the PEOPLE begin.
Chants warm the taunt throats of man;
a whistle trills the coyotes howl.
Heartbeat sings a drum song,
bowed and bent the circle dancers form.
Stomp, twirl, braids a whirl, winged dancers rattle and bell.
Mans peacock form no longer forlorn rises above the well.
Chant the tell tale heart,
the sorrow the joy, drum thumpers hatchets fall
on the neck of a starry night.
Drum and dance invite…..
scream,….soul song, smoke dream,
eyes daze in a reverent scheme.
Haunting melodies rise cold,
swooping in,
entwining around the soul,
squeezing tight,
the heart's inner whole;
breathless breathing soft,
into whispered fears and fright,
just a melody traveling
in the darker shadowed light,
swirling, beneath the clouded moon of night;
stirred achings,
echoes that escape their confines,
repetitious venerations,
memories of time,
streams and rivers of the blanketed mind;
spectred semblance,
of an unseen presence
lonely familiar fears omnipresent
cast upon the waters,
in obsolescence;
let it flow, in and out,
life's evanescence
ghosts with hollow music,
melodic notes, giving in,
silent acquiescence.
Perpetual sadness,
should such a thing exist;
would be devastating
to fragile hearts and souls.
Love's an oxymoron
of clashing emotions;
sad tears and joyful tears
fight for recognition.
Craving intimacy;
you welcome caresses,
as massaging fingers
linger upon your skin.
But depression deepens
when passion's flame dies;
and once devoid of love,
sex becomes meaningless.
Lust is an emotion
used to lure naive hearts;
any semblance of love,
is coincidental.
Far beyond physical,
love's a merging of souls;
an emotional bridge
that spans two lonely hearts.
full of emotion
pulsating
brooding
heaving
parsed
by desire
with
feelings
of the heart
a
voyage
of discovery
poignant
aglow
audacious
&
breathless
an intuitive
tableaux
with
gestures
explicit
&
visible
flooding
the moment
overflowing
frantic
!onging to
give
floating
in uncharted
seas
to a love
afire
...
to
savour
sensuous
burning
with fiery
passion
a consuming
flame
driven to despair
all
peace of mind
no more
wounded
deeply tortured
without
the semblance
of reality
mediocrity
a silent shadow
on
circumstance
suddenly
hope
in a sense of beauty
unforced earnestness
conceived
a state
of fermentation
vivacious
&
exciting
what bliss
what delight
free
unconcealed
to know love
&
stand amazed