Long Strictly Poems
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This is now my unofficial Poetry Soup Blog.
I know you're only supposed to post poetry here,
but as far as I can tell,
I can blog here as well
as long as my blog rhymes poetically to the reader's ear.
So check back here now and then occasionally.
I may have announcements to share for all of you to read,
but I'll post these blog announcements poetically.
That should justify my posting a Soup Blog
in a space that is most strictly reserved to log
all kinds of styles of all kinds of poetry.
If I have any new news that needs to be released
I'll leave this web address posted on my last posted poetry piece.
**********************************************************************
*******
12/03/ 2009 -
I have deleted the following pieces from my postings.
Thank You Bird Of Prey & A Pale Male Tale.
I also have revised a couple of postings.
Pale Male's First Love & In Loving Memory Of Pale Male.
With both of those pieces I've eliminated the entire text
and substituted all of the text with a single web address.
Feel free to give them both a quick look see.
Do you think this is a good idea?
Your opinion matters to me.
In Loving Memory Of Pale Male> Site Under Construction
Pale Male's First Love> Site Under Construction
**********************************************************************
12/12/2009 -
This Is Not My Poem (Author Unknown) Parts 1 & 2
will be deleted at the beginning of the New Year
so you might want to give it one last view.
It's a special Holiday poem that you may want to read.
I posted it with the hope that a fellow Souper might know the author's identity.
I know the author's name now, thanks to one Mr A. W. Nutter, aka Anthony.
The author's name is Michael Marks. I'll leave his web page address before I leave
so that fellow Soupers who join in the new year can also give him a read.
Michael Mark's "A Soldier's Christmas"
http://www.michaelmarks.com/asoldierschristm.html
Here's the web address also for Mr Nutter's Poetry, aka Anthony's Poetry.
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poems_by_poet.aspx?ID=14459
This Is Not My Poem (Author Unknown)
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=185645
**********************************************************************
To Continue Go To:
My Poetry Soup Blog, Part 2
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=192344
Many a poet I know a fool
acting like they know-it-all
many a poet I know a tool
acting like "Mr Poet-all"
unknowingly showing me
their knowledge of poetry
has boundaries surrounding
ideas rebounding around
their impounded grounds
only seeing the same repeatedly
nothing new unfortunately
forever under lock and key
belittling anything new they see.
As a poet I'm not especially traditional
more so "special" writing additional
my raw and new to poetry style
unlike those into poetry awhile
so can I now pick the thoughts
of a traditional poet know-it-all
I believe to be caught in restriction walls
appearing to parrot what taught in schools
see if I perceive conviction in their cause
or robotic perspective their memory stores
too Inspect credentials for signs set in stone
content or unambitious toward the unknown
should I see respect or a moody moan
for new styles outside their own zone
Seemingly their priority is to teach all to try to be
writing unoriginally prevent the mind think free
in a strictly stricken view I see crippling you
never trying new or seeking something else to do
you have regulations on how creativity is written
preventing inspiration thus so negatively driven
speculating with unchallenged repetition
as though been tutored to a limit
you're now failing to ascend merited
having starved all but within it.
So please respect my detected inclination at play
but poetry is a creative artform not set in its ways
and those paved paths you pace and wear thin
were once unpaved before their now adored placing
so shouldn't a creative artform progress and not stay there
wouldn't it go on new quests paving unpaved or
invent realise and find in amaze ways new spaces
not be assigned a confined station like railways
instead seek to new roads or train to fly the skies
cus a closed off mind concealed in a cocoon
denies the butterfly wings the room
like a inverted narrow mind blinds clues
let's preserve and branch from the lay of the track
if poetry stays then poetry slacks but if adapts
poetry won't wear weak crumble and crack
recycling the same will only sink in to the black
I don't want to conform to the common or normal
because I see it as a creative short fall.
So why refuse new styles when you could embrace all poetry?
are you a poet or are you a phoney?
What happened to us?
Where did we go?
Is there love still there?
And will it ever show?
There's really good days and really bad days,
Sometimes it's as if our hearts have went their seperate ways,
I often think we just tolerate each other,
Cause we know how exhausting it is to start over with another,
There's weeks at a time we go without sex or passionate kissing,
Everything we had in the beginning I know we're both missing,
What happened to us?
Where did we go?
Is the love still there?
And will it ever show?
You used to make me feel pretty, confident, and loved,
Now I feel forgotten, Hated, Pushed and shoved,
Believe me, I know I'm hard to deal with and be around,
And your heartbeat when I'm With you now makes a different sound,
I miss the feeling I used to get being with you, like I was enough,
Now somedays I feel useless to you and getting used to it is really tough,
What happened to us?
Where did we go?
Is the love still there?
And will it ever show?
We once hated being apart even for a little while,
And it was so easy to make each other giggle and smile,
Why is it so hard for us to get that back? Why?
Some days I wanna lay in bed all day and cry,
I know we could be something so great,
I just pray that for us it's not too late,
What happened to us?
Where did we go?
Is the love still there?
And will it ever show?
Do you even love me the way you did at first?
Or is it just dream bubbles I have that are about to burst?
Sometimes it's as if we are strictly best friends who live together,
Not two people in love who want to be with each other forever,
We don't talk like we used to, we just sit and play on our phones,
As if we aren't even in the same room like we're in different zones,
What happened to us?
Where did we go?
Is the love still there?
And will it ever show?
You have no idea how much you really mean to me,
I wish you could have my thoughts for a day and then you'd see,
That since the day I met you my heart has been yours, and I've loved you,
I love you just as much now as i always have and I hope you feel the same way too,
Maybe our hearts will come back together like they should be,
Cause I know there's noone else out there as perfect as you for me,
What happened to us?
Where did we go?
Is the love still there?
And will it ever show?
x Once, one Incisive
Life went forth in
steadfast quest to
challenge both
prevailing laws
and social norms
that required all
strictly conform.
Corrupt religious sophistry and callous Rome's supremacy combined to weave
the tapestries of unrelenting tyranny. Defeating both should therefore deed
to Mankind this uplifting creed: exalt freedom and righteousness - exclude all
venal worldliness. Such quest by faith devotedly extolled in ancient prophecy.
The path chosen
though proved
to be a martyr's
tread implicitly.
While we revere
such sacrifice,
that principles
define one's life,
this story seeds
a fertile ground
where fact and
fiction both are
found. Though,
change whereby
might surely be
contained within
this verity: his
gifts of heartfelt
empathy, and also
gracious charity,
as well as moral
decency; Compas-
sion for our frailties.
Yet, praising too the Golden Rule, its promise ever worth renewal.
CALIBER:
Burn out the news,
If you think of it being new.
The talk of what I've been through,
Doesn't appear as truth.
It's a risky deal for you.
I'm seeing it with few,
To be an unimaginable conceptualised deal.
Back in our younger days,
Where we just trap to efface.
Something I never accept to taste.
People call me lame of shame,
For I choose to be myself in the game.
Smoking, killing, robbing never my aim.
Wasn't part of reasons why I came.
I get a different plan all the same,
With my red eyes picturing my lane.
Impressing nobody, fear not to be sane.
Go ahead and shoot me Mr. Sake of fame.
What gets me stronger is an undying flame,
Unlimitedly causing magnificence,
Born out of intellectuality walled by faith.
This citation proves my legitimacy on slate.
As I stand by personal competence to be awake,
To clearly elaborate minds laid on await.
At the end we all will be clinged by conjugate.
And our spines will elevate,
Causing a tremendous change to propagate.
No suicide, fratracide would be in minds.
And every heart will show some kind,
Only for that goal to be held as one.
When the table serve some wine,
We then say a good deal is done.
But hold on some minute,
Maybe you're actually not getting it.
Well, Some also might be lost to think,
Especially those folks diregarding this.
This is a reality defining who I am.
I don't go contrary to the norm.
That's going wayward or doing wrong,
Because I don't forget where I'm from.
And I throw no stones to those who conform,
To the system that corrupts.
It's their choice,and I'm informed.
In my circle do I not stay common,
Assertively taking refuge in a dungeon,
Protected by Judah's Greatest Lion.
On him do I forever rely on.
My strength and happiness,
Sourced from his greatness.
Placing me at the top to be fearless.
What then could make my life baseless?
I'm brave and earnest.
Withstanding against pellets,
Discharged to cause breakdowns,
Against my life anyhow.
In fact, this is really detrimental.
Yet, I modify it willfully to be topical.
Funny how the narration goes,
I don't care about it though .
I stay keenly to achieve my goals..
Strictly do I hate to oppose.
And thank God my ambitions is not disclosed,
For my worth to be blemished the most.
Yes,I'm Anderson Walkingshoes!
I'm strong, determined and bold.
A Chinese girl I took to a nunnery
I
I led her
Her silent leg-irons cutting into my shins
That day when the air stood still
Dry as the day perhaps on the hill
when he spoke standing still
Drier still my words today
of a redundant ransom of flesh:
I’ll take you to the stopping place
Where the quiet cowled nuns make lace
They run a school for well-bred girls
In a cloistered fenced-in arbour
There where you’d have no need for curls
She turned just then seven and ten
Me barely two more when
She said in a breathless moan:
Take me to the French Convent
Here my road has come to an end
I want to learn
I want to gain
As much knowledge as my brain
Will strive to contain
I had no choice
I had no voice
In a Chinese school which stopped midways
She was the best of forty times five
Where I was hoarse from English and Science
She sat so close in the front row
She must have felt my breath at home
Her cowlick hand stretched crooked
Brushed my thoughts down my mane
Something about her dragging gait
Spoke of late hours as a kitchen mate
Or as the matron of squabbling squawking siblings
When the mother scrubbed and ironed
the landlord’s lingerie and loins
A saddened face she kept awake
All through the hours at stake
II
It took me days and days of doubting pains
To ring at last the nunnery bell
And to stare aghast at a pallid face
Not quite white and not quite couched in cowl
To register my request
The novice drew and barred the door
As though I would break down the wall
And as the minutes raced in anguish by
And I heard the rusted pig-iron latch click open
Two forbidding eyes contemplated my plight
Under strictly starched and stretched folds a-sail:
“Is she Catho…” she made to ask
Then as urgently withdrew her demand.
“Bring her tomorrow at eight,” she let her words
escape.
“Ring the bell at the gate.”
I never saw the demure girl again.
Her schoolmates thought she worked for the nuns.
Others: “ She took some vows!”
A sibling: “ She took no clothes for a change!”
Just before her silhouette effaced itself
Under the porch of creepers dense
She turned to give me a look:
Was it a look of despair
Or a well-thought-out
farewell fair?
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
The (former) Double Life Of Matthew Scott Harris
Dove finch he following iniquitous
licentious, lecherous longing
extinguished quite
some years ago,
when eldest daughter
stopped being polite
actually she ceased - might
tee angry talking heads
to this papa for months, whose
only asks prays foe praise,
and who doth newt
wish to ignite
animosity from any beloved fan,
whose critical judgement
toward my errant friskiness,
aye snuffed out light
and accepts dues
against prickly don'ts,
and opted to risk broad
casting general height
full actions, which attestation
spiritedly burst asunder
blitzing Lenovo external
screen within minutes bite
mutt hung lest
censorious replies pillory
this sensitive chap
I merely uncorked
irrepressible facet
(asian iron maiden
strangle choke hold)
forced these words
to help give hollow explain
nations of this nada
so shiny white knight
philanderer (juiced now cum
ming clean) by night just
an oon din
aery in Das scribe
bubble during -
the day until...zee...
wife found me absent - yee
(ping, and sowing, thee
rather desiccated oats)
celibacy playing tree
men dose impetus tryst,
viz midlife crisis spree
from sleeping quarters re:
at 724 West Rail
road Avenue, pre
planned within
the basement nee
tricked out as cellar quasi
pent house suite for me
comfortable sleep
ping accommodations,
pleasing this wander
lusting NON GMO lee
burr teen, sans mat,
(and also Scottish Matt)
tress atop boxspring key
ping stockpiles of prurient frilly
laced female lingerie, je
nais se quois, no matter
escapade usual lee
took place in pitch black dark
accouterments singularly, solely,
and strictly necessitated,
arousing, coaxing, and
exciting libido asper
one barenaked lady for
yours truly, whereat
aye do blatantly
confess flute'n glute'n guilt free
to concocting, hat
ching, and orchestrating
profligate secrete
rendezvous aspirations
toward sordid man of la
cherry munch ching Lothario
(a combination Casanova,
Don Juan) wannabe.
Eldest daughter – I Praise
Twenty two years ago
December twenty second,
two thousand eighteen
"star student" born
this papa (and most
likely thee birth mother)
initially felt ecstatic,
dramatic (yes frenetic),
and careworn
as freshly minted parents,
but gifted with a daughter,
whose existence far
more precious
than any Earthborn
rare widgets, gewgaws,
gems, et cetera, despite
evoking unsolicited,
unpleasant, and
unmanageable forlorn
communication "dirt poor"
living (at least ten years
of wretchedness at 1148
Greentree Lane) unable
to toot your horn,
cuz unbearable, undesirable,
unforgettable, et cetera,
and manifold challenged ,
when beloved Shana
Punim evinced inborn
developmental delay,
(which severe electric
koolaid acid test
patience of this father),
much more difficult
than playing krummhorn,
now after tendering the trials
and tribulations, an
amalgamation of
poignant affects,
whereat your
permanent presence...
(must never NOT precede mine),
cuz..., I would definitely mourn,
your absence, thus felt the timely
opportunity to dash off
a birthday poem to you
in tandem with sharing,
(while comfortably numb
and figuratively licking war
torn psychological wombs) - torn
and ripped, queued,
peppered natty psyche
pockmarked with scorn
from self, (and those lives,
this dada immediately
impacted) particularly
your person roar'n
with cumulative anger toward
this insightful fellow,
(who claims to know
what thee feel toward me),
especially when ****
hours of valuable
time, now caught
(say, eh...approximately, fraught
upon the half life of rare Earth
element Eden), not
just strictly naught
heard thru the grapevine,
but forcing Math (hew)
analysis, via meditation, poetry
writing therapy, et cetera.
Hence...I apologize,
asper unasked for pain wrought
thee, sans being unemployed,
demeaning "mother Abby,"
bumbling, horrid house
keeper (Hagrid himself,
would turn down invitation),
plus Facebook fiasco,
imbroglio, and locomotive -
complicit in behavior
comparable to pedophile,
yet please let me conclude
by admitting total lack
of wherewithal.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR DAUGHTER!
Stop! The violent protests and leave peaceful protesters out to make a difference strictly along. Whether you are in law enforcement or the national guard. You need to pray for peaceful solutions! But if all you want to do is assault police officers. Or if protesters burn down business and destroy personal and real property. If you want to incite rioting and violence! You need to be apprehended! I am sick and tired of racist police officers using African American males, Hispanic, and Native American males as "target practice" or unlawful harassment! Black Lives Matter! Today the city of Houston is holding memorial ceremonies for George Floyd. They firmly believe the time has come for closure and for our nation to move forward.
I am sorry about what happened to George Boyd and other minority groups! But letting your explosive anger erupted like a volcano! That Minnesota police officer committed nineteen years of similar acts of racism and violence. He just happened to get caught in the act! He never should have been admitted to the police academy in the first place! The other officers just stood there and watched! It was a national tragedy! In London England, Black Lives Matter are conducting peaceful protests in solidarity with the United States!
Some groups will use any excuse to riot! Some police officers will use any excuse to commit acts of violence! I firmly believe in peaceful protests! Unfortunately, they often end up in tragedy! One bad reaction by one or more groups leads to retaliation by the opposition! Resulting only escalating violence! The president wants to call out the United States military. And it will happen unless senseless acts of violence come to an abrupt ending! The Beatles once sang, "come together right now over me." "Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me."
Stop! The senseless acts of violence! Private citizens even in communities such as Snohomish Washington! Are arming themselves, and standing outside of the business to protect them. They are citizens vigilantes. They want to stop looters and vandals in their tracks! In the days of the old west, there used to lynch mobs! We do not want the bad old days back again!
Love as always,
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
June 02-03,2020
June 09, 2020 edited
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.