Long Shrew Poems
Long Shrew Poems. Below are the most popular long Shrew by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shrew poems by poem length and keyword.
Martial Translations
Coq au vin (Cook or wine)
by Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
1.
Hosts always invite you to dinner, Phoebe,
but are you merely an éclair to the greedy?
2.
Hosts always invite you to dinner, Phoebe,
but are you tart Amaro to the greedy?
Amaro is an after-dinner liqueur thought to aid the digestion after a large meal.
3.
Hosts always invite you to dinner, Phoebe,
but are you an aperitif to the greedy?
4.
Hosts always invite you to dinner, Phoebe,
but they’re pimps to the seedy.
Ad cenam invitant omnes te, Phoebe, cinaedi.
mentula quem pascit, non, puto, purus *****est.
You ask me why I love fresh country air?
You're not befouling it, mon frère.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
1.
You’ll find good poems, but mostly poor and worse,
my peers being “diverse” in their verse.
2.
Some good poems here, but most not worth a curse:
such is the crapshoot of a book of verse.
Sunt bona, sunt quaedam mediocria, sunt mala plura
quae legis hic: aliter non fit, Auite, liber.
He undertook to be a doctor
but turned out to be an undertaker.
Chirurgus fuerat, nunc est uispillo Diaulus:
coepit quo poterat clinicus esse modo.
1.
The book you recite from, Fidentinus, was my own,
till your butchering made it yours alone.
2.
The book you recite from I once called my own,
but you read it so badly, it’s now yours alone.
3.
You read my book as if you wrote it,
but you read it so badly I’ve come to hate it.
Quem recitas meus est, o Fidentine, libellus:
sed male cum recitas, incipit esse tuus.
Recite my epigrams? I decline,
for then they’d be yours, not mine.
Ut recitem tibi nostra rogas epigrammata. Nolo:
non audire, Celer, sed recitare cupis.
I do not love you, but cannot say why.
I do not love you: no reason, no lie.
Non amo te, Sabidi, nec possum dicere quare:
hoc tantum possum dicere, non amo te.
You’re young and lovely, wealthy too,
but that changes nothing: you’re a shrew.
Bella es, nouimus, et puella, uerum est,
et diues, quis enim potest negare?
Sed cum te nimium, Fabulla, laudas,
nec diues neque bella nec puella es.
Keywords/Tags: Martial, Latin, translation, epigram, hosts, dinner, meal, food, drink, wine, addiction, house, host, dessert
July 25th, 1996 tied the Gordian knot,...
(I spent noose cents)
begot deux daughters, the major events
both since flew cuckoo's nest,
the eldest angry at papa for offense
sieve behavior fatherly bond
forever sundered permanent rents
unforgiving progeny vents
bile, explosive vitriol whence...
Aye yen for bachelorhood every
now and again doth mildly abate
after saying "I do...,"
when axed by justice of peace
nearly two dozen years wedded
bull hissing, rest assured
I will abbreviate
encapsulate, fulminate, narrate...
and forthrightly admit,
yours truly oft times
yearned to abdicate
spousal unbridled warfare and injustice
reason enough to abnegate
null and void husbandry role
ex post facto finding thyself
questioning pledging troth even
Frosty the snowman would abominate
to say "screw this -
marriage nut for me"
bolt in a huff boot (dang)
ne'er did absquatulate
altercations that adhere
to rule of physics
and tended to accelerate
as muzzled, neigh saying saddled
former groom did
lament and accentuate
his physical needs,
she did not accommodate,
cuz this solitary soul
(with good n plenti horse sense),
never did fully acculturate
with female species,
one whose blunt cold front
seemed to accumulate growing
gripe list bestowed courtesy this mate
tit for tat wrathful pitiless,
(not so cherry) feedback unmatched
within annotated coupled courtship of fools,
this scrivener with steely
iron maiden breastplate,
nonetheless did rack up and accumulate
battle scars hitting bullseye,
since donned with
corrective vision spectacles
hen pecking, needling termagant
untameable shrew did acerate
(worse fate than death -
validated by grim reaper)
avowed covenant thru torturous years
exponentially punishing innocent soul
(slightly biased) did acervate
popping one after
another over the counter acetylsalicylate,
no ampule adequate
to relieve permanent suffering,
thus lifetime electric shock treatment,
nsync quaffing prescription
kool aid battery acidulate
ineffective to activate
palliative, and restore
liberty (yeah) sense and sensibility
subsequently providing freedom
against further wifely scourges
whereby Doctor Phil Ander
refused to adjudicate,
perhaps understandable why I advocate
selfless mercy killing (euthanasia)
for this urbane country bumpkin.
Oh wow. Oh look. Over there. A fish tank is jumping through a hoop. Now that is a sight. How rather remarkable and just how agile. Wish I was young said the ancient log. But all I do is sit here in the forest. Roots exposed to every breeze. Little creatures rely on you for shelter though. Shouted the shrew. Who was scuttling through the leaves after a busy day marketing moss. The tree sighed. It missed being upright. Nose to the winds. And rooted. Not one to dwell on such sadness he turned his attention to the commotion further down his gnarled trunk. It was a party of two legged. Giggling and shouting. Must they be so noisy. To make matters worse they ate from large packets. Took photographs. Then upon leaving left all their packets behind. Why? It would not have been this way in the days of old. Fed up now he began to devise a plan to rise from the woods. He notices a large flock of birds close by. Oi he shouted help. The birds came over immediately. This tree was most revered. And highly respected. They enquired as to how to assist him. To wish he replied that he wished with all his heart to leave this woodland home and float downstream via the lake. The birds squawked noisily discussing how to move such a weight. Then they noticed some rope and picked and pecked till the tree was secure. Then with heavy powerful swoops in synchronized fashion up they went and so did the tree. Nearby the cool waters of the lake greeted the tree with a gentle caress and the flock untied the knots with occasional fish caught. Good for their tea. The tree thanked them with all his might. Then began his journey to where he hoped there would be two legged ones who cared, new friends, and a chance to be upright again. The waterfall in the distance roared. Down went the tree landing upright in a rock pool. And there he remained. Smiling. Occasionally brightly coloured folk pass but no packets though. Just jackets. And little animals made their nests and homes in his sturdy frame. Divined driving dripping drops drink dramatically delivering delicacy. And a little purple frog laughs in a bucket home on a lawn. Haha beads becoming breaded beaches. Hahah organised orangutans officially ordered overtures. Hahaha wastepaper baskets jumping over a finishing line beating the dustpan and brush and the rakes too. Xxxxxx exemplified z z z z z.
Form:
A Rondo In 23 Verses
COVID is very inconvenient.
Difficult to endure.
It controls my soul and my movements
It has ruined my life for sure.
I hate masks but I wear them.
Fogging my view with each breath
They blind me to dangers in traffic
Forecasting my vehicular death.
COVID is very inconvenient.
Difficult to endure.
It controls my soul and my movements
It has ruined my walking for sure.
A haircut or facial nice to conjure.
I look like a portrait of doom.
My grey roots protrude and grow longer
The mirror reflects all of my gloom
COVID is very inconvenient.
Difficult to endure.
It controls my being and my movements
It has ruined my beauty for sure.
And Zoom every day, I hate it.
Playing Hollywood Squares with the mob.
At least I can work here pantless.
Until I find a new job.
COVID is very inconvenient.
Difficult to endure.
It controls my soul and my movements
It has ruined my career for sure.
At gym I used to sweat bullets.
Admiring the bodies around.
But now its reduced to a laptop.
And some formless voice counting down.
COVID is very inconvenient.
Difficult to endure.
It controls my being and my movements
It has ruined my physique for sure.
Homeschooling my children is stressful.
They hate every thing that I do
They look upon me as a jailor
A bossy mal tempered old shrew.
COVID is very inconvenient.
Difficult to endure.
It controls my being and my movements
It has ruined my family for sure. .
And why can't we use our own dog walkers
Metabolically relieving the hound.
The city has forbidden this action.
Another way needs to be found.
COVID is very inconvenient.
Difficult to endure.
It controls my being and my movements
It has ruined my pet’s life for sure.
And please don’t repeat this around
I have a lover every Wednesday afternoon.
Since they're not strictly in my bubble,
We can’t, you know what, in a room.
COVID is very inconvenient.
Difficult to endure.
It controls my being and my movements
It has ruined sex life for sure.
Look, I know that millions are dying
I’m not insensitive to that.
But my lifestyle has taken a beating
You can’t call me a brat for that.
COVID is very inconvenient.
Difficult to endure.
It controls my being and movements
It has ruined life for sure.
I am a creature like others, taking for granted each breath,
making mistakes, some no amount of contrition can erase
which makes my faults no less dismal than death.
Unless by the mercy of my Creator, I am to be forgiven.
Perhaps I can best define myself as God's spark as a poet.
I am a wanderer when I write of where I've been
and in tales of woe when long ago I buried myself in sin.
I am on display revealing why I lost my wings in dreams
and why I've wept for love that faded like moon beams.
There's a timeless spiritual energy in penning such things.
I am the voice of my heart, embracing its inner goodness,
allowing it to heal through bleeding when it suffers,
and to beat like timpani drums with happiness.
Within me, poetry denies bearing a name.
It's akin to having unquestionable faith in God,
knowing His words have the power to soothe my soul.
His blessing is ever a righteous honor that I would laud.
I am the wielder of a pen. Poems die at my hands,
eyes cry for Sonnets, and every abandoned verse.
Guilt, the emotion flowing inside of me, and...
the way I feel when I fall asleep before ending a prayer.
There are parts of my flawed humanity that need repair
and the reason I fear He will not forgive my trespasses.
Do the words I toss away feel as imperfect
as I think I am in my Father's eyes?
I am the Shrew, untamed, the one who bore witness
to the sun's heartache for loving the moon.
I compose words in a magical language that tell
that life can be lived eternally in lines of script
instead of being thrown into the infernal pit of hell
or decaying in a sepulcher crypt.
I am a sword, fighting battles that should've never been.
What worth are spoils to victors if none are left standing?
With my pen I am a crack in the mirror of vanity,
or perhaps the vein of insanity that I try to keep hidden.
I am hope, trying to break the thread of reality.
I am me, trying to transcend space and time in poetry.
Feed me ink and I will write. Give me parchment and
I will fill sheafs with what emanates from inside of me
for I am a poet of love and light and poetry is my clothing.
But know that without poetry I will be found loathing.
If it's taken away from me, then bare naked I will be.
who knew?
firstoff, i wish to say, but not overdo,
that i never knew, what the new gnu knew
he never really said very much, and i knew
he wouldn't as such, since, being a new gnu
he hadn't much clue 'bout what to do
the previous gnu had a more worldly view
from Kalamazoo journeyed east to Timbuktu
beyond Katmandu south, down to old Peru
been many places, wore out many a shoe
but always believed that he'd come through
he got entangled with a bit of a shrew
a South American sheep, a hot-blooded ewe
that took every opportunity to scold and spew
venomous accusations that were mostly untrue
she really raised a big hullabaloo
he, being the good gnu we all knew
tried to smooth her feathers, to gently subdue
her wild angers towards that wildebeest
but, to little avail to say the least
yet it was the best the old gnu knew to do
he bleated that his love for her was true
she neighed loudly that no, they were through
she saw him now, from a whole different view
said she was leaving, that he should not pursue
for all she cared, he could turn into glue
she knew now she wanted the new gnu to woo
the new gnu knew amorously what would quickly ensue
but couldn't overcome with analytical review
certainty of grief from passions point of view
love's cliff came careening into abysmal view
"Ewe are what I want" the new gnu cried anew
in turn the ewe replied "i will always love you"
we'll build a life we always wanted, long overdue
have many children, a whole herd, a gnu ewe crew
we'll be happy ever after, in our own petting zoo
the new gnu thought he'd just follow through
but things went awry, let's say, far askew
the new gnu knew he'd met his own Waterloo
it wasn't long, you know, 'fore the ewe went skidoo
without even so much as a fond adieu
then the new gnu and the old gnu began to renew
a friendship, from which they both, had withdrew
i don't wish to insinuate, and not misconstrue
the bond of companionship the gnus lovingly grew
when old bonds are severed another comes on cue
now the gnus know what all beings should too
happiness and contentment depends on your view
you never know what the turn of your screw
in pursuit of a felicity, unknown hitherto
gets new gnu possibilities coming out of the blue
...thank you...
© Goode Guy 2013-05-31
Was it some kind of a subliminal perception?
Confusing my interpretations of a misconception.
Was it you that pulled an affectionate deception?
Forcing me into a fake deflection.
A maneuver of the circumstance selections.
A ruse, a scheme, a hoodwinked hoax.
Walking around in your personality cloaks.
Hidden persuasions,
caused my mental imagery to blurry.
"Why you dodging me now?
Sit down, there's no hurry".
I just need a second of your time,
Help me figure this out.
I'm a little confused,
how this situations turned out.
Let's analyze the beginning,
the initiation.
Yet again,
I do get tired of being patient.
But it won't be much longer,
at this rate your health's going.
I just can't save you anymore,
your killing yourself,
slowly.
How does a person become so unstable?
Cycles like this?
Believing well structured fables.
My thoughts catch on fire,
like my circuits need rewired.
Ashes still fill the void,
where you burned me out,
with your crack lighter.
I just wanted to tell you,
thanks for this paradox.
Keep my memories in the attic,
in a duct taped shoe box.
Some days I'll admit,
I miss the past you.
The one before you turned into,
this cold bitter shrew.
Now your growing weary,
hairs turning gray.
Wasting sand in the hourglass.
As grandfather clocks tick away.
With every hit that you take.
Chemicals taking it's toll.
Lost your Mind. Body. And soul.
I do apologize,
from you I had to retreat.
I had to be the bad guy,
and do what's best for me.
I never meant to leave you behind.
But really the truth is.
I keep trying to hide.
Now that the truth's made an appearance.
I caught a glimpse, saw your face,
til then, never
was my vision the clearest.
I'd never noticed,
all the lines and cracks,
patched up in between,
weak attempts,
to keep your reflection unseen.
Let's ask your keeper,
and see what they tell?
The masquerades over,
pull off that, veil.
"Mirror, Mirror, on the wall,
who was the best masked?
At the ball?"
Never your mind,
with my twisted fairy tales.
My mind got ran over,
skipping tracks on Disney's,
story Beast and the Bell?
Anyways that's the story,
of a para-box border.
Just another bipolar,
with a mom complex disorder.
The implosion of a thought is neither a shred or a shard. In fact it is surely a pulsation of a wisdom whirlpool? Really? How rather radical. And amusing to the laughs of the rhombuses who gather with rhinos to celebrate the correct correspondence from a diagram which has been deleted by a diaphragm. No condolences required in a tepee but echoes of deaths can mean the picking of fruit would become timely,important,and long overdue. Oh dear. How unfortunate that a printed skirt can collapse on a beam like a fly on a wall. It is imperative to note that doctrines are not fables nor are they of importance for they merely feel that they are. And now it is the gatherings of the mutton mutations who are ingesting but losing wool due to the wisdom of wind capsules. Wow . The flotation of heifers timed is an undignified duty to an orbit of an orb and an orb can cast aspersions so never argue with an ambidextrous shrew in a multi coloured cape. And a four gee sim can always placate and be more interesting than placing order in a misty mansion. But misty mansions were supposed to be respected. Yet folk trample and tread and feats by fairies are often unnoticed by small footed monkeys. Balance not a tome whilst on a step ladder. And always bathe in a light fragrance for air is importance to balance,stabilise and renew. Such a groundsheet sewn. And even a sultry hairdryer gets weary when catering for a cantering follicle. So go dust that tree. And iron the gardens. Rest assured that a four footer will grow. Good. Godly given gratefully greeted greatness. And a tree sap to sip. Not to spill. Line up the priests are out. Linking lineage. Then? And a cosmopolitan cosmic cosmetic clap. Bang. Oh. Oblivious to none is agreed by some so throw the leper in the bin. Radical ridicule rather ravenous raping ruling rods reeking. And a little fly to the sands of time. Great isn't it? No. For that is an Orpheus snail that is barking and a cacti jumps up and down. Downloads are a programmable prison then. Fornicate not with an thistle. And carry a weapon to a gig. Guiding giving grabbing going gone. Gits. And a 190,000,987,567 tall pansy. Great. Greater the greater the greater greets. Garnished. Under siege. Vehemently z
Form:
Four, six, or seventeen tulip buds grinning. Of course not on a salt marsh. Leave that alone. Misted aromas of ancestral graves should be cared for not dug but if a slug us in power then a lemon woman could do much damage to lochs, lands, fields and mountain so do not discuss paperwork with a tiny dog whose obligations are merely to dress in a fur coat. Is the sheer fornication of the environment that is of great concern at this time. Gaping holes can never be earth wombs so digging will produce an end to life. When chatting in a queue always question the mind set of the jaded eyes. Grasping concepts is often a difficulty when all intelligence is received from square entertainment sets. A lone lizard sits on an empty beach waiting for the strobes. The lights to take up and away. Patterns of time. Printed not. Yet in sound waves enjoyed freedom and thus gave birth to new inspiration through interdimensional beams. Often it is said that dancing a waltz with a frog is the best idea as sudden movements of tango could cause unintentional hopping movements. Such a slur. Sour are the sauces whose injection to meats cause secretions. And many a leopard printed ham fails to deliver wine to the exact specifications and timing. Yet a portly shrew arriving in a southern breeze can stop by multitudes of shopping centres in an urgent attempt to purchase grand golden negligées' for their mice partners who are asleep in fairytale yachts complete with pinnacles. Akin to a childhood book. Likened to a cartoon castle of great magic. But when a corvette changes it's clothes it is time fir the sputter sputter sounding cards of the fat dark purple bus. Who would want to eat toast in an elevated slime kitchen with Mr and Mrs cockroach and a laughing 900 foot long light beam of a snake. Portray not a plant as a plate. An apple as a card. And remain aloof to chard writing as this will amuse cats who thrive on milky truths. It is not a justified weapon if planted in a school. Scenes are unjustified and should be abolished. For fried is the skin like an egg in a pan. Turning tuning taking teachings. Yelping yachtsman. Gardeners. Xx booming balance braked xx snail diving henchmen xx saturation xx
Form:
Cathedrals in tea cups. Jingle jangle playtime then. Golden slippers on a carpet of custard. Slip slide. Drip. No droop. Flavoured water is never fake. Obviously. And count the jellied eels in a bath of crumbs. How very entertaining and mystical. Nine senses of the booming giant. When standing upright in a forest count the plates. Tree cups are benign. So never play hop scotch in a thistle plant. Or a fern. The silent rush of a two ton bullfrog is similar to the call of a spotted hippo drinking lemonade. Gurgle gurgle gargle then spit. Spiritually. Wow. The feisty palate of a shrew. Should never be measured in diameters or decibals or put on a graph. Thankyou. Turn a door into a pillow. How glamorous. Pretty little mermaid does not like to be put in a pot. Pig pock peck picking. X. Cluck. Hahahaha. Wonderful. Homely. Heavenly. Heaps. Count heaps. 1 2 3 4 dance with a very large ornately carved melon. Means are neither mice men or moons. Sensual is the tail arch from a shrouded single sentence on legs. Jumping. I would like to go to the zoo. No wandering bean curd is prevalent in a caged wilderness. Exact to type. Specifications. *** placing a plant at vertical angles. And planting willows in a very astronomical alignment. It is always wise when using a fork to hold it up to one's eyes. Hold one's breath. Then at precisely noon curve to the cards. Bow. Then boom. Boom brings basses. Basses bring beauty. So never argue with a dramatic pickle weighing over 900 tons. Hahahaha xx hahahaha and a dew bud. A snowman skipping. Sandstorms in a glow. With or without sticks. Xx PS I will know take a cow and whirl it. To the beat from the walnuts. Good. Mm mystify not senses at left angles. And form an orderly queue in a moonlit heat. Under stars. In deserts. Camels chuckling chucking charismatic charming centered cosmic costumes. *** trapezoidal trapezoid trapezius trapezoidal xx hahahaha how the fish sing la la La Salle xxxx bring not a brochure to a brook. *** eradication *** statutory provisions xxxxx ha xxxx 83% *** privatisation privy xxxx steeple sap. *** ha xx positioned postures paint *** xeonagraphic . Z.
Form: