Long Sparred Poems
Long Sparred Poems. Below are the most popular long Sparred by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sparred poems by poem length and keyword.
He the heir of ding a-ling
Not to proclaim again
The universe; below the belt of lonesome theme
Nothing like Euripedes scale?
Warriors! Abide no more!
Let him hear! By anothers winter's tale!
Let him speak!
Verbalize his own ideals of the will
Free of justice, back his wealth in need of triduum
He's the man of knowledge, the half was taken
Forbids not to take the road again!
Don't kill! He may endure cynism beyond pain!
Let him freed!
He's not Echo who just love himself
He, the scientist of the noble minds
Of an old aphorism in 1513
Please! Do not my King, in Napoleon's name!
His words are gait sparred
Oh! Like him is just a continuation of pendulous fame
He's not Gods, nor Greek, nor French
His human by all faith and means
Do not kill! His worth more than any of cunneus wedge
More than you'll know my kin
Do not let him die in his sentence...
A turning point with
advantage of 20/20 hindsight
identifies severe dislocation
birthing emotional plight
intervening years since psyche wrenched
by rather innocuous event at first sight
exaggerated haunting shadows
sparred illuminated by dim backlight,
now conviction hammered home startdate
coffin unwittingly nailed airtight
death of spontaneous bright
eyed bushy tailed
spunkiness extinguished
gored me lifeless,
asper bloodless bullfight
all entrails left intact,
and no obvious insight
fledgling, negligible, tentative...
flickering soon snuffed out light
describing nascent ability to delight
no longer extant within my
then young featherlight
undersized physical height
complemented with familiarity of shyness,
no recall red flagged
a lad in capable to smite
an unmanageable all consuming debacle
in retrospect unable
to coax forthright
severe retrogression, retribution, retraction...
unleashed nefarious sprite
occasioned when father and mother
aloft in their prime topflight
ages buying dreamhouse did excite
unaware psychological convulsions
would forever roil sole son
darkened to midnight
impetus to live defeated
with abandoned might
nonverbal communication,
would soon reveal, how expert playwright
stymied to comprehend
tote toll impact, and mortality craved,
nee stole perky me overnight
linkedin to poorly acclimating
moving away from familiar digs right
into the waiting maws of shipwreck
forever stranded, where no searchlight
rescued malicious conjurer's wicked sleight
of hand prestidigitation rocketing me
into infinitely far orbital spaceflight
an untethered ball of skintight
grateful dead lovely bones.
The last trailing tendril filaments
of moon beams nocturnally trace
fashion an illusory gilded chariot Ark,
whence upon celestial runners,
the approach of dawn's early light
illuminated terrestrial space
which nebulous solar city flanges
revisited since time millennial
hubbub of human race
nsync with Zodiacal constellations,
which appear to shift
as planet Earth axis place
alternated in accordance with
inexplicable universal teenage
mutant Ninja turtles joint pact
with power rangers assumption
sans quotidian playstation remotely
controlled by aliens upon
oblate spheroid figurative stage
set whence commencement nudged
village people foment quiet riot rage
and rant against
uncontrollable catastrophic frenzy,
when cosmic creator
rehearses another page
from playbook, which
color coded cobbled Bible
emanates with radiant hues
of yellow and osage
nonetheless, no mortal adept to predict
(only within plus and/or minus
some marginal variance of error).
oft times punishing atmospheric phenomena
incarcerated, pistol whipped
(if anther incorrect),
whiplash unleashed, oppressed, imposed
challenging condition testing ground
flora and fauna could thrive,
whereat most hardy
plants and animals didst abound
linkedin upon terra firmae
murmur of orchestrated
organisms devising fitting
evolutionary survival traits
plentiful glory vis a vis L'Chaim;
gnome hatter outlook required
sprinting thru uber vanguard,
where zero sum game pitted
disadvantaged Feng shui
living things poorly sparred mismatched
against itching attired egghead,
kickstarting netzero beastie boys
indeed emulating hotmail prodigies
holding greensward ground.
scrimmage fostered, elicited,
dictated, commandeered nature
going full throttle with pings
across biological labyrinth
positioning glommed, peeved,
mis tweeted seeds of life, and white lily,
within soil lent green grubby business
whereby herb and woody stemmed
recalcitrant proto flings
wrote toe rooter bakers
gave Gaia a run for her money
to buy Buffalo wings
chasing miscreants nimbly
outwitting, out-rigging
outsmarting nettlesome stings,
and sage protuberant fungi,
released messengers where rise home
spore ports left nada mushroom,
though symbiosis wood
bark a roll a cord.
In plain sight I hide, behind a flesh wall:
concealing my true identity,
From my own flesh and blood
Willfully Forced from fatherhood
Through Adulterous Consummation:
A Daughter the result
Fearing grave consequence
If her real "Dad" found out
Suffering as the victim:
while bearing half its guilt
Thus Sparred of suffering.
Her Heritage Unquestioned
Eight years into Lie
Dying to break Silence
Constant in regret
Still Silent I remain
Fear holding me back
Regardless the lie's longevity
Truth Destined to be Exposed
With that Reality, I now fear
then her suffering, as I do now
From this one revelation:
Now Questioning Her Reality,
And Forever doubting truth
Seems the greatest consequence
begs the obvious question
will she ever forgive our actions?
And,
Both her parents once again,
face the guilt of their deceit .
My wife and I were born only a few months apart,
I was older than her...so you know from whence I start.
When I was turning 50 she gave me some grief,
I didn't feel old, yet she teased me with this belief.
"I'll be living with an old man now", she would say,
In her little "cutie pie", "cut-up" way.
I knew I would have to do something to get back at her,
When she turned 50...was the time I waited for.
Those few months of her teasing me I never forgot,
Biding my time for revenge...or so I thought.
The big day came and I had the chance,
To avenge the barbs on which she'd made me dance.
We celebrated her 50th with some friends,
And got to talking about our ages, as those times tend.
I thought I'd be clever and cast out this net...
"I've never had sex with anyone over 50, as yet".
Our stunned little group fell silent and looked at me scantilly,
Thinking of how rude a comment to say...that was for me.
My wife, of course, knew the target to which I'd let my arrow fly,
Broke the silence of the moment, and made this reply...
"Well, I don't know how anyone else here might feel,
But I have had sex with one here older than 50, and it's NO BIG DEAL".
I had no rebuttal then and have had none until this time,
When I could put my perspective of all this into a rhyme.
It's been a brutal 17 years since that night,
When we sparred those few words in our "Age 50" fight.
But from that one chance banter I have learned one thing not to pick,
DON'T CROSS WORDS WITH HER...BECAUSE SHE'S JUST TOO QUICK!!
Written: September 1st, 2023
Star-Crossed Lovers Poetry Contest -- Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
______________________________________________________________
Let's claim a trip across the Milky Way.
We'll be the era's most star-crossed couple.
The Sun's drips as they detect a flawless sky;
Away we journeyed yet close to seraphic supple.
Star-forded lovers claimed to be holy ghosts.
We flew across the moon and played near Saturn.
Until I met you that day, life was a little lost.
Was love or pain the result of a rainy pattern?
For ages, we were kids who never spat or cried.
It is unclear how quickly this love will have died.
I doubt it, given our status as star-crossed lovers.
A lover's fate is never heard beyond gilded covers.
We were the ones who lit the embers of love.
When we lock lips, it's such a sparkler shove.
Proud holders of love's endless happiness.
Clouds represent the ebb and flow of bliss.
Akin to Adam and Eve first breach, it is timeless.
Yet we loved first. I didn't ever feel that tideness.
Can this genuinely happen without you?
In that case, this whole existence means a hue.
You gave me wings to soar to the heavens.
I reckon we're cute—you gave me rapture.
You widened my heart to the point of rupture.
Rhymes are worthless if graced by your presence.
We adore regardless of our star-crossed sway.
Our love will be a myth as we sail by the Milky Way.
Death-stained lovers lying beneath thick covers
Love whispers vibrate miles apart, drawing us smothers.
We waltz around Saturn hand in hand.
Leaping above the moon, a stellar band
Life was monotonous until that awful day.
When our souls sparred in a cosmic display.
Their one lone cow has broken down the fence;
we see her trundling down the dusty lane.
Milo's mind remembers 'bout the milking.
Dad's face, a fiery-red, storms from the shed
where feisty kittens spat and sparred o'er cream.
Milo's feet meander back to the scene
as words of fire enflame dad's bulging neck.
"You'll wear the shoes that spooked the cow!" he roars.
So Milo moseys off to dad's bidding.
The cream a'squish-squish-squishes from the seams
of shoes like steam escaping old train wrecks.
Milo mumbles, "Guess I'd best be moving
along that dusty road to bring back Cow,"
with no concern for who will mend the fence.
written March 13, 2018
Written: March 3rd, 2025 for contest Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
Quote" There is a moon inside every human being. Learn to be companions with it". By Rumi
************************
If I could I would fetch you
the moon on a spoon,
A silver ladle cradling
that celestial charm,
reflecting dreams woven in its light,
a beacon of hope,
glowing in the night sky.
With every dip,
I would capture stardust wonder,
sprinkling inspirations
across your path,
gently lowering the
heavens to your reach
to illuminate the beauty
within your grasp.
This spoon, an extension
of my heart's desire,
would gift you galaxies
beyond mere sight.
Each scoop a promise
of infinite possibilities,
for you are worthy
of such ethereal gifts.
If I could, I would fetch you
the moon on a spoon,
wished upon a distant star,
an angel longing as my plaything.
A paper lantern floating
akin to a balloon,
a magic wand in hand,
I would blow bubbles into fine glass jars,
sending them around the world
to shed a path of divine light.
Thinking of sweet ideas,
inspired by our celestial planet.
She took a spoon in a flurry
to dip in Milky Way cornets in a hurry,
Fetching her angel the moon,
solid and proud.
emotions weak but potions strong,
a dauber with dungarees smeared
from paraffin slopes, they trampled.
With poise unseen by iron-hooved men,
dreams floated high above
troughs and sparred skies.
Akin a tumbleweeds
aimlessly blowing in the wind
umlaut punctuation
courtesy of let herd Mother Nature
nsync with markie mark,
(or other faux nuke heads
on silent auction
ajudicating bidding chopping block)
or getting sparred
sum xtra mo' mints
before morphing into gamut
tuff height (against opposing
super cross currents)
bow willing head over heals
deftly thwarting encroaching
enfilade enhancing
invading army of deplorable
dust devilish debris
with full Stanley steamer ahead onslaught
opposing approaching phalanx
ta become a foo lush fighter
putting kibosh
across the infinitely open
and wide prairie land
(which wasteland fictitiously
epitomized and described by T.S. Elliot
with absolute zero relevancy here)
a barren vista ravages
metaphorical landscape
of one measly mortal malcontent male
bumping and scraping
along an accursed habiliment
just barely avoiding
and dodging diabolical demons
mercilessly unrelentingly ready
to seduce this somewhat sanguine Simian
who finds himself amidst pitfalls
of a tortured and twisted existence
racked with up pinions
(halving smartly put irons in the fire)
deployed incognito
tub hest describe demonic dungeons
damp, dark, demented domains -
a veritable no man's land
and one impossible to escape
from no matter how fast I flee
from the fearful, fiercesome
and phantasmagoric forms
figments of imagination
yet real and tangible as bone and flesh
haunt sacred house of slumber
and transmogrify me
into a loathsome madman
ranting and raving senseless
gibberish and gobbledygook
yet perceived as metaphysical
and philosophical
sane state farm mister soundcloud
syllabification stutterer
from one whoa man
World Wide Web wayfarer
(perchance yourself)
which virtual vagabond
venerates vowels...
The scuffling duo sparred in the park
Their screams and shouts so very marked
A bag was clutched in the woman's hand
A man had grabbed it while he harangued
"Let go!" He shrilled and tugged it more
"Tis mine, not yours!" The woman swore
The strap tore his hand, he released his grip
The woman fell back in one mighty trip
Another spoke out with voice strong and stern
"It belongs to her, so it must be returned."
The other placated the poor fallen lass
He showed her the bag with gold coloured hasp
The woman leapt up, grabbed the bag and was gone
"It belonged to my wife." Said the man all forlorn
"Oh I'm sorry." Said the other, watching her go
Laughing and jeering, bag firmly in tow
She headed toward a blue, murky pond
The path, alongside, was slippy beyond
Now her footing was lost to the slime and the mud
As she sallied forth into furthermore sludge
The man strode swiftly to view her demise
With a duck on her head holding its prize
The little red bag was firm in its beak
So the man took it back and the duck said quack quack.