Long Solitaire Poems
Long Solitaire Poems. Below are the most popular long Solitaire by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Solitaire poems by poem length and keyword.
"BLACK CAT"
SILENCE
prowls on soft paws
with sharp claws
Cutting up the
Middle Road
Dark shadow moves
SILIENCE
In absentia
Empty Absynthe
Puncture wounds
Cold wind blows
Over tracks
Skids softly
like warm
gants de Suède
on
Poets’ Row
Rat goes
Rat goes
Red scream
scarlet ribbons
LIFE
flows
Le Mort
blushes colour
a trite persuade
different streets
different gutters
Torn canvas sheets
contained between
prison bar margins
Drafts on the floor
crumpled
Blue fountain
Heart bursting
Love and Hate
Grows
Save Our Souls
Save Our Souls
Sins
Sisters of Mercy
and
Salvation Army Sargents'
Tambourines
Communion
Nibs lying next to
Garbage Bin
Finally Ash Felt
Rain on her
Bitumen face
Black Minx
Fur Pelt
Unfurls lazy stretch
Glass eyed
Minx
Back Alley Dreaming
Bad Luck
Bad Luck
Rolling loaded dice
blood boiling steaming
Brush strokes
Like glyph a glitch
Like glyph a glitch
Familiar mirror
Walks through Witch
Yesterday
Screams
Like glyph a glitch
Repeat curse
Repeat curse
Black Cat purring
Never lose
Hold tight
Pearls in Purse
7 Devils Dreaming
Sleepwalking
Graffiti Warning
Black Cat
Witch
Glebe
Last Stop Station
Rehearse a
Hearse
LIFE
Glyph a glitch
Reverse
(Lovejoy-Burton/May 2018)
1. Hanged Man
https://www.biddytarot.com/tarot-card-meanings/major-arcana/hanged-man/
2. Death
https://www.biddytarot.com/tarot-card-meanings/major-arcana/death/
3. Temperence
https://www.biddytarot.com/tarot-card-meanings/major-arcana/temperance/
4a. Glyph
noun
a pictograph or hieroglyph.
a sculptured figure or relief carving.
Architecture. an ornamental channel or groove
4b. Glyph
https://www.thoughtco.com/what-is-a-glyph-2086584
5. "Black Cat"/Ladytron (Translation)
http://songmeanings.com/songs/view/3530822107858716200/
6. Silience
http://www.dictionaryofobscuresorrows.com/post/49792543182/silience
7. Seven Devils
- Is a Solitaire card game.
- Seven Deadly Sins
- The Seven Devils of Mary Magdeline
- Florence and the Machine, Seven Devils
8. La Morte, Le Mort, La Mort
Le mort = dead man = un mort, a dead man
La morte (with the e on the end) = dead woman, une morte = a dead woman
La mort (no 'e' on the end) - death; as in the concept of death
Rosebuds draft in scarlet, crimson, or maroon,
dreams to capture the viewer's point of view,
as its blossom's sheath their basis to its prune,
magnificent achievers rise in rows queue,
as the loss of age cast their field of thorn strewn,
shadows the facades to pipe a distinct tune,
shear away those sharp pokey points of danger,
and frail petals to amend its life-changer.
Amendments trail the housed maxed of tabletops,
of revived rosebuds claim a home as their own,
a treasured wealth trades with the town's floral shops,
then set at one's front wicket by an unknown,
or adorn tombstones as floral wreaths that props,
and crowned on a princess who sits on her throne,
a taxing burden to detain the death masque,
not tiny but thornless as Bonsai craft's task.
The Pyramid steps like the Baguio steppes,
where Filipinos view as their time-out spot,
the other is ancient for tourists who peps,
while an isle serves the rosebuds to sprout and squat,
nature confides stemmed thornless maroon by reps,
students check articles of the course they plot,
as a new breed of rosebuds shelved a terrace,
elegance embrace the solitaire heiress.
Loosely sketched parcels that the rosebud dwells in,
fresh sod fertile and well-sopped sealed neath the sun,
from its current strain, since its birth in Eden,
inspire blossoming with faint buzzes outdone,
coy rumors, green greener, red redder, seeds in,
East rises, and West sets, how the rosebud won,
Bonsai is an ancient craft not deemed as new,
man named rosebuds since their virgin birth, it grew.
Spring sprung sprouts as their healthy roots hug the ground,
a wealth of newborns reach for the warmth of skies,
its outstretched stem hardens merely being gowned,
a promised promenade paramount to rise,
by patrons, the sun, moon, and earth make their round,
a glowing shape as a rosebud is its prize,
the fields are graced with rosebuds color-filled rows,
as they grow in opened splendor till it snows.
Botanical Society best: Sowers.
ranked by their breeds and regions where they were raised,
down to idyllic truths, forthcoming growers,
who take pleasure in their leisure being phased,
where growth is best tended as their height lowers,
promised its dowery by virtuous praised,
reach prosperous glory in you or outpours,
rain or shine achievers within or outdoors.
years of writing and learning
working
guts spilled
heart ripped out
torn to holes
stabbing myself open
and spreading myself thin
learning this about that thing
this thing about that stuff
computer whizz i am not
but one comes along
and i am forever lost in the shuffle of the game
playing with myself
solitaire with levels
puzzles with destinations to surf the web to give
my writing a new purpose
lead you here to find where else for you to go to find the next puzzle to ponder and
meaning of it all
as if I'm some genius
unfinished puzzle
I've been shut down
and how do i explain this to my children
walking in my crutches
who cannot afford to be read one more time
as i whine in the midst of my goose chase
of level three leading you back to level one
and my space is just a place to look for something to do
top point at the famous players and how i got my foot in the door
and how they know me one day
and I'm not shy to get my attention whether I'm good or not
i have something to say
we are a community and I'm here for the life of fun and games
I'm here for the utopia
why does it have to be like a bully ruled school yard of conviction where no one
knows who they think they are
and no one is worrying about who questions anybody
and laugh at estimations
of underestimating thew jobs we never apply for
fingers pointing over here and over there and nothing left to lose
so was it worth it
when now i cant sign in due to scandal
i cant fix any perfected mistakes due to friends who know pass codes that affect
me still
tight lips are sinking my ship and the truth be told
the police wont get involved
just thought you should know I'm in the Center of nothing
spiraling out to place to find if i can be
where none will ever go
a journal of the one who was everything written of emotion from gods joke
to inspiration to writers and communicating generation gaps
and now its all lost because of hate crimes we cant solve and peoples
paranoias of technology and phishing scams
cant sell my work anymore or access my pay pal
years of work not backed up
lumpy lessons served with lemon aid
just go surf and see the game
do the pieces fit
of the head strong ahead of his timer terrified false prophet goose chase
inter net hacked shut down?
something to think about for you!!
Game
I just met you,and everything was going GREAT
You made me feel something I could not fake,this
feeling I couldn't seem to shake! I really don't know
why,because I've never felt this way.
You say you like
me a lot so, tell me why haven't you asked me out?
This game you're playing isn't fun,
If you wanted to
admit okay you've won,
but still I'm not ready to say i'm
done,You're playing this game for fun,
I'm playing to win
you,I'm trying to have you,
to be with you,but I'm losing
and I'm growing scared I might lose you too,
My heart is beating
fast I DIDN'T SIGN UP FOR Russian Roulette,
I signed up for you
i'm playing by the rules you're playing by the game, this isn't
fair I think you're cheating!
Every time I think I'm close to
winning,you roll the dice,
and you'll so far away so far from my reach
I can never tell you how badly this is hurting me,I'm not about
try, and catch you if you DON'T want to be caught,
I'M not interested in playing TAG,
I'm fatigued I thought you really
wanted me,but I guess not, that's how you do,
I wish I had
never met you, that day I will always rue!!!!
I'm done with the GAMES,
Now you're alone playing Solitaire
Virtual trophies (wife for I)...
offered, husbanded, and collected
when winning solitaire
Nothing beats that exaltant rush of adrenaline
watching the computer generated cards
automatically routed
to their respective suite (spot)
(after they get turned face value up)
generates countenance to evince a grin.
This heart felt diamond in the rough
gamboling ace of a man
learned to call a spade a spade
soon after joining the culture club.
Within an alternate universe
another Matthew Scott Harris
destiny manifested beckoned uber lyft,
his militant doppelganger
(created entirely of antimatter
since birth of universe)
decked out in camouflage fatigues,
dead set on collision course
to annihilate each other
if and/or when we inevitably meet.
No place exists for yours truly
to run and hide
especially hermetically sealing
(while waxing poetic) himself
with booking selfsame mortal
within a read (reed) out hideaway,
hence impossible mission
to ward off sealed fate
lest (markedly) both of us
(even if reaching out
to bridge reconciliation)
blown to smithereens
methinks I and mine nemesis
would be wiped out
(cue the Surfaris song titled wipe out)
as if Thanos snapped.
The aforementioned scenario
far more horrifying than
livingsocial within human zoo
where *****sapiens primates,
an aggregate of many
a cruel genealogical yahoo
outliers rowdy unlearned without xue,
an essential constituent
of the body electric kool aid acid test
smartass who spout colorful retorts
analogous to up the wazoo,
but much more explicit,
therefore audiological
viewer discretion advised
unless one feels confident
to cast a magic spell using voodoo
ideally invoking debilitating, horrifying,
lustrating newt trill eye zing
permanent state of danger
or threat accursed
trumpeting lout can never undo
especially when joker is wild
whereat apparatus tricked out
fastening pollexes courtesy thumbscrews
perchance re-evaluating my person
when crafting image
conveying torturous schlock
after ye did pleasantly review
other writings of mine that did skews
toward humanitarian connectedness
painstakingly minding my peas and queues
wracking my brain
regarding creativity to peruse.
"I have dipped my pen in the sublime, it is my gift to you . . ."
A Rambling Poet
There’s always been a significant person
Who has guided me through life
And taught me everything
A growing girl should learn,
From counting all my numbers,
To knowing how life can be cold.
My gratitude rewards this person
For, I was not easy to train,
Oft’ times I turned my shoulder cold
I believed I knew everything.
I just wanted to be young and live,
And tried to stray too many times to count.
I’ve grown beholden of the things I’ve learned.
My knowledge floods in large quantities,
Through my veins, from the veins of a special being.
Accepted, and hoarding his words, entirety
My mind suppressing reality of his un-beating hearts coldness
Building castles in air, deceiving myself that he might live.
~”I walk solitaire, but not alone”~
Through the graveyard, choked by after-life.
His name on the monument, bold & stone cold.
I run my hand across the surface, and embrace it whole
Suffer the etching through my fingertips, I’ve new things to learn
“He” isn’t really here, only his flesh and bones.
I close my eyes to preserve it all, and count to 10.
Within that 10 seconds, his spirit enlightens my company,
Sits with me, we discuss everything
“I taught you a lot, especially these things of cold,
I know what I promised, I know what a special person
I was to you. But Randa you must now learn
To do things on your own. In the way of your own life.”
~”I shan’t forget the words he left me with…”~
“Pass my knowledge to my grandsons, for them to learn.
I see already you’ve taught Logan to count.
Princess, you know I’m still here, even though my flesh is cold
And, even though now I cant do every little thing
That I could when my blood flowed, I can live on through your life
And spiritually lead you to be who you want, as a person”
Then my daddy faded away, and everything
Went back to the way it was. Like numbers
On a clock, must be wound to keep it’s life.
©2011-06-23
Miranda Lambert
Contest: Writing In The Sublime ~
No one knew his background, he did not speak of family
Not even the one left, whom he felt was a burden
His younger sister with whom he’d been out of touch
Financially, he was doing alright, handsome and perfectly fit
Friends wondered why he wasn’t dating
When asked, he’d merely laugh it off
If they only knew the burden he bore, haunted by his crippling addiction
A demon that had seized his body now hungered for his soul
Making its lustful demands at will by day or night
At first he seemed to keep his secret well, appearing as, just one of the guys
While apart, he rode the subway daily
With eyes of a hunter he surveyed
A different girl he took each time, In his home or some dark street corner
When he had no access to girls, alone, he’d easily play “solitaire”
Or browse the magazines and internet
Secrets like acorns take a while to grow, his were no different; just biding
time
Til the day of discovery arrived unannounced
Hidden files on the office hard drive
Confronted, he walked away in shame, and some ray of light seared his mind
At home he bagged and trashed his toys
Especially his favorite, the laptop
Temptation came fiercer and with maddening force, took him on a binge
That night he sank to the lowest belly of the beast
Ignoring his sister’s desperate call for help
When he'd had his fill of a sordid, assortment of lust, a flicker of conscience
emerged from within
Off he ran in the cold, pouring rain to find his sister alone
Alone, in the bath with her wrists cut; her precious life slowly ebbing away
It was mercy which kept her alive, barely, and by her hospital bed he sat for
three days!
Later, outside her room in the parking lot as he left, beyond broken he fell
upon his knees
And through his tears and the rain, he cried out loud , “God have mercy!”
That’s how a man, bankrupt; without love or self worth gained a second
chance...
At a most pivotal time in his life; in need of redemption
The shackles of addiction laid broken in torrent rain...free once more to be
himself.
~*~
02/25/13
Inspired by the HBO movie, "Shame"
Nuit magique (Awesome Night)
Catherine Lara
(A lilting catchy French tune with a " barbed " message addressed to oneself or to any damsel in distress. Free translation by T. Wignesan)
Okay
Il n'y avait rien à faire (One felt free with nothing to do)
Okay
Dans cette ville étrangère (In that foreign outpost)
Okay
Tu étais solitaire (You were all alone)
Okay
J'avais l'cœur à l'envers (I was feeling quite out-of-sorts)
Okay
Tout ça n'était qu'un jeu (I felt there was nothing to lose)
Okay
On jouait avec le feu (Though one sensed danger approach)
Okay
On s'est pris au sérieux (Yet one couldn't help being in earnest)
Okay
Le rire au fond des yeux (Deep down though one kept feeling light-hearted)
Nuit magique (Imagine)
Une histoire d'humour qui tourne à l'amour (An humourous episode that gave way to romance)
Quand vient le jour (When light thrust open the night)
Nuit magique (Imagine)
On perd la mémoire au fond d'un regard (One's thoughts grow blank in the depths of an absorbing glance)
Histoire d'un soir (As the evening drifts by and takes its toll)
Nuit magique (Imagine)
Si loin de tout sans garde-fou (Way away from home with your defences down)
Autour de nous (To keep us from harm)
Nuit magique (Imagine)
Nuit de hasard on se sépare (On an hazardous night one takes off)
Sans trop y croire (Not quite convinced)
Okay
C'est une histoire de peau (It's a question of skin colour)
Okay
On repart à zéro (One tries to start all over again)
Okay
On oublie aussitôt (Yet one forgets it happened just as quickly)
Okay
Qu'on s'est tourné le dos (Turning one's back on it all)
Nuit… (the Night…)
(The song continues with these lines repeated thrice :
Une histoire d'humour qui tourne à l'amour (An humourous episode that gave way to to romance)
Quand vient le jour (When light thrust open the night)
Nuit magique (Imagine)
On perd la mémoire au fond d'un regard (One's thoughts grow blank in the depths of an absorbing glance)
Histoire d'un soir (As the evening drifts by taking its toll)
© T. Wignesan - Paris, December 28, 2018
Let us refer to nihilism,
she sniffed,
while pompously looking down her nose
as coterminous with totalitarian
and fascist nostrils,
breathing terrors
both inside paranoid
and outside victimizing
all but mutually maligning bullies,
who never bother to listen to each other anyway.
With that as our historical background
we might notice,
Although everyone is victimized by nihilism:
1. Some victims vote for empowering denialist nihilists anyway,
believing we have not nominated any healthier choices.
When everybody sucks,
the LoseLose question becomes who sucks up least
from my intended egocentric direction?
2. Poor and marginalized people,
non-bully species and natural systems,
like rivers and forests,
matriarchs and their vulnerable hurt children,
people with color and without Elite Patriarchal credentials
inheritance
historical empowerment
cultural over-investment
are those first
longest
deepest hurt by antiEarth de-nihilism,
while more plutocratic middle class conservatives
are also victims of self and other denial,
yet more likely to vote for it
along with those wealthy enough
to stay on the bully side
of universal WinLose self-nihilism
of this potentially humanely global
democratic WinWin species.
It does not seem too difficult
to me,
she sniffed again,
to recognize that love and integrity
have become more regenerative empowerment
through mutual solidarity of purpose,
nor to feel this in my phylogenic bones,
nor to play WinWin integrity
rather than eco-denial WinLose Solitaire.
My righteous opposite of LoseLose nihilism--
more wealth of health enculturing
instead.
And then she threw back her head
wrapped her shawl more tightly around her phylogenic bones
and stalked out of the classroom,
without so much as asking for a question.
I didn't know whether to believe what she said
or what she did
or both,
somehow.
I Do Not Know The Secret...,
Asper Art Of Writing Acclaimed Poem...
Not purposeful intent,
when tasking self (Das Scribe)
a nondescript member of
*****sapiens village people tribe
metaphorical spear in hand ready
to unbridal strong arm as vibe
resoundingly resonates, sans
(crackles, snaps, and pops)
optimal instant to expunge bribe
bing fountainhead of creativity
oft times screed or futile diatribe
no matter smug satisfaction appeased
as mental delectation on par with eclair
for taste buds, a reward dare,
I acknowledge mine appealing talent
(undoubtedly a slightly biased opinion)
with fast break for game of Solitaire,
or sink concentration matte tear
real awaiting with bated breath
comments, feedback, input...usually fair
to middling acceptable,
though frequent occasions blare
ring liberal dollop of adulation,
warms hearty cockles of this hermit
comfortably numb in his lair
which decency, humility, modesty...
of mine to avoid trumpeting pomposity
as if yours truly snooty billionaire
keeps in check (ma mate)
cognitive firmae tubby beware
boot up pawn occasion, the errant knight
within me finds ego expanding square
lee out beyond outer limits
of the twilight zone, where
entire cerebral cranium
shatters temple mount scare
ring eureka temporarily
finding me unaware,
viz blinding, deafening, and
obliterating brainstorm spate bare
lee delivering tummy any appreciable,
pronounceable, noticeable... impact
relishing this devil may care
state of being if only...threadbare
tenuous consciousness endured
sustaining oblivious blissfulness
absentmindedness forever delivering cheer
full countenance of mine finding me
unafraid of Virginia Woolf, a bugbear,
and/or he who dons most powerful paw
he can render complex edifice
of democracy to disappear
thus...after shaking wordy playwear
an early plug to vote November 2020
due to here
about nine months and one year.