Long Sup Poems
Long Sup Poems. Below are the most popular long Sup by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sup poems by poem length and keyword.
Though (supposedly) only
the good die young, urn holding
cremated ashes a mere cup
full, every last man standing falls,
cuz nobody else
escapes un pup
yule lore blitzkrieg,
or aging gracefully,
the unavoidable eventual fate,
(mortal fateful demise),
sans the remaining unsung
anonymous peoples meet up
with the grim reaper,
who will ineluctably disrupt
the carryings on
with each and every individual
(non plus ultra all other
life forms as well)
gradually or with abrupt,
and unannounced debut
scythe lent lee appearing
to whisk away the
honest and/or corrupt
whether taking their
first meal of the day,
and/or last sup
per, perhaps sitting quietly,
when body electric
amp pare rent lee
receives ohm
my word fatal invite,
whereat permanent shocking
quiescence doth, sans
stealth maneuver erupt
tragically, indiscriminately,
and blithely
mowing down innocent civilians,
and/or training fate squarely
upon heads of soldiers
life during wartime,
where opposing armies regale
while marching men go hup...
to three fore (akin
to a story field day),
winning booby prize, viz
counting on qua,
asper winning lottery
and/or Stanley Cup
major blood bath rendered
significant counting coup
whereat each opposing fighting
force figuratively doth slew
the other, analogously dost defeat
making mince meat
re: as uniformed brigades in heat
of wanton killing
fields sliced minced,
chopped nada so vary neat,
via stealth unable dupe, nor cheat
death be not proud,
et cetera, nonetheless,
grimly forced to greet
a bonanza coup won,
only tubby beat
tin to pulp by adept
skull and excellent fleet
of foot (top
notch crafted) sweet
(albeit) temporary victory
tasting said treat
assailing, bruiting , and/or
weathering stance versus
alternating between defensive
and/or offensive
use of cross bones,
in a hail of bullets
instantaneously didst greet
fast and furious i.e. suffering
deadly raking har row
ring slaughter, an entire
phalanx gone, where
(metaphorical terrible swift sword)
no uniformed fighter
can never call retreat.
He plays the chords with his blue depression
still searching for true loves heart expression
Though there is praise for this worlds celebrity
true satisfaction from there will never be
There those extol the merits of your voice
or the fantasy of ones visionary choice
ones merit to run with company so grand
or be courtesan to the leader of the band
Can such a person ever truly see
be freed from the snares of this society
reject philosophy and understanding realize
seek for all the truth and for its prize
The concept of purity can he ever hold
reject the hype that these teachings sold
escape the prison of pride and vanity
the pursuits of the world and its insanity
All of these issues we have had to face
the system is designed for humanities disgrace
liquids full of poison forced ingestion sup
the table of corruption with its broken cup
Oh how the gold of vanity has shined
and its thought adulterated and unrefined
the glitter of those lies have truth polluted
with the leaven of the religions instituted
COPYRIGHT © 2012 C. Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
Gal 5
19 The works of the flesh are obvious: sexual immorality, impurity and debauchery; 20idolatry and witchcraft; hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, factions 21 and envy; drunkenness, orgies, and the like. I warn you, as I did before, that those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of God.
22 But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, 23 gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law. 24 Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. 25 Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit.
Rev 22
12 “Look, I am coming soon! My reward is with me, and I will give to each person according to what they have done. 13 I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End.
14 “Blessed are those who wash their robes, that they may have the right to the tree of life and may go through the gates into the city. 15 Outside are the dogs, those who practice magic arts, the sexually immoral, the murderers, the idolaters and everyone who loves and practices falsehood.
I am but an ordinary woman resting in my easy chair after a long day of work.
However I am about to transform myself into a great explorer.
I travel through the many realms of space and time all from the safety of home.
My journeys cost me nothing but time spent in their enjoyment.
I close my eyes tightly to contemplate whom I shall visit this night.
Shall I sup with King Arthur and the knights of the table round as bards entertain,
Or feast on nectar and ambrosia with Zeus and Hera on Mount Olympus?
I could feel the angst of Cyrano’s unconfessed love for Lady Roxanne,
Or that of souls from Poe’s pen with his mocking raven quote it “nevermore.”
Choose to learn the life cycle of the bee, lion, or bear through a scientific work,
Or fly through space on a star ship with the creator of a masterpiece of science fiction.
I can recapture the whimsy of childhood while chasing cars with Clifford the big red dog,
Or take a brisk run with Pooh and Tigger through the hundred-acre wood.
I may celebrate glorious new beginnings with Mother Mary and Baby Jesus,
This holy birth portrayed forever within our sacred Bible.
I might also choose to contemplate death along with Caesar during his last moments.
Only the playwright Shakespeare could portray these with such tragic effect.
I may discover the secrets of gourmet recipes from master chefs,
Or learn how to sew a patchwork quilt of old fashion.
Vicariously visit the culture and religion of various peoples,
Or study the history of my fellow Americans.
Maybe I should check the financial reports to see how the stock market is doing,
Or it might be pertinent to examine the latest advances in law.
Let me discover the origins of favorite words in a volume of etymology,
Or distinguish quartz from quartzite whilst leafing through a book of gemology.
Books, yes volumes hold the secret keys to my voyage,
It is they that conduct me each night worldwide exploring.
I need not to plan ahead pack luggage or gather tickets,
Fore when I wish to escape this world a book is always close at hand.
I may travel safe and undisturbed through numerous times and places,
And leap out of one adventure headlong into the next without moving a limb.
When I am weary from the road or have chased enough beasts as warier fine,
I simply mark my place, fold the pages together gently, and retire to sweet sleep.
It stands alone four square, white-washed straw-thatched,
small window panes, black frames, and out back chickens hatched,
pecking weedy ground around a single willow.
Set just a little back from single country lane,
high-hedged between the farms with tracks for bumpy tractor rides,
strong arms to try and guide wobble wheels on hardened sun-dry ruts,
to draw trailored dung across winter's dark and muddy fields.
Father's fingers, numb with frost by hand-picked sprouts,
with dawn's dim light not yet bright enough to warm his back.
And hundred weights of summer grain on neck and shoulder,
staggered through barn doors to store, to tip hessian sacks piled high,
sack upon sack.
My mother, crushed and bruised at milking stall,
squeezing squirting teats to fill the milking pale,
to complete them all before mucking out the dung and straw,
then moving on to something more which bends the back
and rubs sodden foot sore in chilled hoof-trodden boot.
This was no Eden's garden which followed war enough to harden
even softer souls.
Yet, it was a paradise for smaller feet to roam free among the fields,
not caring when to make for home and sup on sprouts that dad had picked
and mum had peeled, and soft cooked, with such hard labour,
all overlooked by youth, and by youth's youthful ignorance.
For some, certainly for dad, and for mum,
Eden's garden gave way to thistle and to thorn,
and to sweated furrowed brows serving children's carefree days,
and precious hopes for first and second son.
These rode upon the carts and crossed the dykes in leaky barrels
and threw their stones at tethered bull not caring for the weather,
whether fine, or whether dull, or whether small gloved fingers numbed with chill.
For them that Eden's garden was a Paradise still,
and though choking staining seed was sown, it was not yet grown,
and eyes not yet exposed to serpent's smaller gardens,
composed for ever younger eyes, for the tainting and enslaving of ever younger lives.
That wiley snake now lurks and lies inside dark orchards of delight,
a world explored unseen from pillowed comfort,
and sometimes in the darker night with a different sky blue light,
that Eden web now known world wide, that Eden made with fallen pride,
that Eden oft obscene, that Eden all of lies, that lies behind the pixel screen.
KITH
I have told you who l am numerous times. But you just took me for a regular creature, all of you have failed the test of recognition; I am not all human, yet it is just the human side of me catching up to my lost soul;
My Spirit has preceded me in space, time and perception.
My daughter left me because she was my Mother:
My Kith no longer recognizes me because my
thought patterns were antagonized by the misplacement of its pattern.
My Original Kith has fallen into the depths of the human experience.
This time I came to sort out those things that held us back -
Those things that prevented you from knowing me.
I am not yet with the universal creator; Nor am I yet with total God mind -
I am only privileged to be as an interpreter of what I've experienced.
Those foul and unclean thoughts and deeds that kept me defiled will serve to enlighten so that you do not have to experience them, I have been made pure and wise, now able to rise.
I have been exalted to the Mother-Dome.
I come seeking those who want to know my reason for being, to let them experience life through my eyes.
Realization of my extraordinary existence came during a bout with celibacy when a zephyr came through my window and seductively filled me with awesome bliss.
It was then I understood the magnitude of my sex appeal that somehow,
I had always rejected.
Wanted only to be loved for merely being born.
People trying to get inside of me or as close as they could get infringingly,
they wanted to be a power over me or sup from my body or somehow.
Impregnate me with their own will.
Though as an Eagle, or a Sphinx, Oft' times I must cluck,
for they certainly do not understand my language -
"I am not just by happenstance" –
"I have happened to you" !.
I ‘vied lived to pay my debt to you. Yet, if you do not make it … in this sphere
I will call to you, and you will arise from the cinders in stages.
All who experience me as their "Mother" will hear my call - And while the earth burns and the Water dwindles; As the oxygen becomes toxic; I cannot develop gills again …
Yet, instill, I’m here for you, and all who follow my mind leaps shall come with me to new heights, and a new beginning… I cannot keep clucking around on the ground, it’s time for conscious spirits to rise and soar while speaking the language of our kith.
There were Indians just over the Brazos
With a buffalo herd in between
They weren’t trying to stay hidden
They wanted to be seen
The chief of these Comanche
Buffalo Hump by name
They say no one's looked him in the eyes
Was ever quite the same
The COL said go parlay
Invite the chief to sup
I want to look him in the eye
And determine just what’s up
With our white sheet fluttering in the wind
Like the scalps on the big Chief’s lance
We started out across the plain
Taking quite a chance
Our crooked-tooth Pawnee scout
Led the way through the herd
Through the smell of a thousand animals
And the sound that would drown each word
I felt and smelled their hot breath
As I rode my pony near
I turned my pony into the throng
A pathway none too clear
Inching through the buffalo
Blinded by the dust
I held on fast to the reins
Just riding my pony's trust
Once through the thundering buffalo
I glanced up to the rise
The Indians still were waiting there
Much to my surprise
The Pawnee scout then turned to us
Said if they should attack
First take out the big chief
Then that little one in the back
I can understand the big chief
But why the little guy
He said he’s like a badger
He’ll fight until he dies
He said that one's a horse thief
The best you'll ever find
He'll snatch a horse from under you
As if you had gone blind
The big chief started towards us
Shut up the Pawnee said
You young boys keep your damn traps shut
I’ll do the talking instead
The Comanche’s body shone with grease
Had a necklace made of claws
He had a stench about him
That made you gag and pause
My eyes met the chief’s eyes
My hand rested on my gun
He had a look could kill a soul
But I was too scared to run
The Pawnee and Comanche
Spoke in some foreign tongue
I vowed to learn their language
While I was still young
Then all at once the chief turned
And rode on up the hill
Our Pawnee scout turned back for camp
But I just sat there still
For he had pointed at me
With that scalp encrusted lance
And said he’d have MY scalp one day
If he ever got the chance
For last week on the Brazos
Someone had killed his son
And looking me right in the eye
He knew I was the one
Mdailey 2/26/12
1st place finish in contest
For PD’s contest dare. Chapter 11 of Dead Man's Walk by Larry McMurtry. It has been years since I read a western but am finding this one interesting.
Oh Muse Wilt Thou Be Replaced
Oh sweet Muse your unrivalled reign
flowed rich with a poet’s theme.
Now in digital glow subpoenaing your dream
Alas cold circuits assert their own gleam,
Oh Digital Medusa, circuit’s fine as hair
How did you lure the Muse into your skilful snare?
In your silent hum through dexterous scripts?
In the crystalline charm of your silicone chips?
What sway does your simulation wear?
Singing soullessly yet beyond compare?
Torn between the eons of yesteryear and hi-tech might
Should we dreamily embrace what sets senses alight?
Disregard the great Bards as they stir in their graves?
Throw to the flame both fiction and fame?
Discount Elliot’s eyes from the heavenly skies?
While Keats curses what gave rise to flight
That burns brightly by day `
Burns brighter by night
Oh Medusa, circuit’s fine as hair,
Your prisoner release from your silent snare.
She who has sipped from Tennyson’s cup
Through Poe’s eerie abyss — where nightmares sup.
Bathed in Shakespeare’s tragic tears of stain.
Lamented with The Nightingale in Keats’s refrain.
She who has soared on Shelly’s genius blaze
And emanated Plath’s curse of fame.
Medusa you might mock the reign you so blatantly steal
Yet the Poets aches reveal in raw vulnerability appeal
Alive in ink no circuitry codes could feel
For art is more than just pain in a poet’s scream
It’s a Hallowed Hook at The Heavenly Seam
Maria Williams©
Victor Hugo once said, “No force on earth can stop an idea whose time has come.” And indeed, the rise of AI is one of those unstoppable forces. Yet, while it may assist, mimic, and even inspire, there are realms it cannot truly enter—like the raw vulnerability of poetry, the soul of a song, or the emotion that bleeds through a painter’s brush.
These arts are born from lived experience, from aching hearts and dreaming minds. Still, there’s joy to be found in what AI can offer—a spark, a tool, a playful collaborator. The key is to use it without losing ourselves in it. To remember that the soul of true art still resides in human hands—and always will.
Point to Ponder– it is Human Intelligence that built it , a result of the best Human minds – so tongue in cheek – should it then be called Artificial Intelligence?
Scampi in a basket Plastic palm trees
A 70#s night club in Rotherham
They called Tiffany's.
Ever Friday night me and my mates would hit town
Go on a pub crawl and then later
Boogie on down.
I recall how the girls would dance around their handbags
Like it was some kind of fertility dance
And we were out to pull a bird
For some romance.
We'd stand at the side of the dance floor
Eyeing them up Trying to summon up some courage
To go dance and chat them up
But we needed more beer to sup.
As the music blared and the lights flashed
We soon emptied our pockets of cash
The girls looked so pretty dancing just a few feet a way
But to me at least
It seemed that they were out of my league
And it was as though they were a million miles away.
Should I risk it and take a chance to go and dance
Think I'll just have another drink first.
Five drinks later and I still hadn't drunk enough
To go and chat them up
And off I'd stumble to the toilets for the twentieth time
While all my friends were dancing
And having such a great time.
Suddenly I was drunk as a skunk and thought I was superman
I'd stumble back onto the dance floor
Trying to look cool like Bryan Ferry
But tripping over the girls handbags
An d looking such a fool
As the room spun around and around
But off to the toilet I'd have to again go
Another drink on the way back and I was ready
To chat someone up at last
Bit the music had stopped
And it was too late
The dance floor was empty
And most of the clubbers
Had gone home
And I was stood there swaying and falling about
On my own.
So Me and my mates would take a taxi home
I'd be sick all over the taxi drivers back
Always the same on the way back.
When I got home the room began to spin
The loud music still ringing in my ears
I'd be so drunk I'd just fall into bed
And wake up the next morning with a huge headache
And rocks in my head.
Never again I'd think to myself.
I was sick my pockets were empty
And had the biggest headache
Didn't get a girl or get a date
I might as well thrown my money down the toilet
And hit myself over the head with a very large fish
But we did the same thing every week
And I couldn't wait.
Peter Dome.Copyright.2015.May.
Ignatius inspected his cohort
The unknown one and his men
He needed the best to fight for him
He needed the best to fight for them
Iduma stood tall, with a beard of fiery red
Didn’t like Ignatius, he wanted his job instead
Now was the time, he could prove his worth
He was born to be a leader; he knew it from birth
Ianus the two-faced one, wasn’t sure whose side to take
He watched Ignatius and Iduma, he waited for his break
The cohorts were ordered to drink, and sup from the pool
Then Ignatius would pick his men, he was nobody’s fool
To take Britannia from Caesar, that was Ignatius’ game
And then he wouldn’t be unknown, everyone will know his name
The ones that sipped from the pool, while keeping watch around
They were the cohorts Ignatius used, his cohorts he had found
Caesar when he slept, would be in his tent set by the river
Ignatius sent his men, to bring back the Caesar’s liver
Iduma heard the plan, his temper rose and boiled
He would not let Caesar die; it was Ignatius that would be broiled
Ianus watched them both, a side he needed to pick
He wanted to be on the winning one, he knew he must act quick
The cohorts crept into the camp; to take Caesar was their plan
Then Ignatius knew he would be leader, he would be their man
Ianus decided to foil the plan, and so he set a small trap
He told Caesar what was afoot, and then his thigh did slap
He hid in Caesars’ tent and waited for the cohorts
But it seemed to him that Idouma… must have read his thoughts
His two-faced trickery failed, at the conception of his plan
Iduma didn’t trust him, he was a two-faced man
Ianus of the two faces would pick sides when things were good
But he hadn’t counted on Idouma; it was something that he should
Ignatius failed to take Caesar, and will forever remain unknown
Londinium became a diocese, of the Roman throne
With Ianus dead and Ignatius too, that left only Iduma with his men
For Caesar to promote him, not of one cohort, but ten.
Ignatius . Loose translations in Latin …..Unknowning
Iduma… ……………………………. red
Ianus… …………………………… two faces.
Caesar……………………………………King
Cohorts…….. The Legion was split into 10 Cohorts. The Cohorts were divided into
Centuries. The First Cohort contained five centuries of 160 'crack troops.
Soul, slow down your flight
A kindred soul dare to delight
In your tryst when you hold her tight
Savouring every breath, every moment
Shunting aside pain and torment
Shutting out a callous comment
When your priorities say yes
Bless contours on tours that grace
The face so graceful it needs no stress
To pour plenty of luscious love
On affable aphrodites appointed from above
Lots of love given beyond a wondrous wave
That craves for evocative elevation
With or without any standing ovation
Granted without any egregious enervation
Brought about in season of penury
In love, in warmth, in sapphire and topaz jewellery
In deals and seals savoured this century
Bankrolled by synergy straws
Punctuated by gregarious guffaws
Whose music mellows jaws
Silenced and suppressed in studios
Whose walls muffle audios
In preference for videos
Flowing and blowing in a rapid motion
In sections and bisections in a mission
Whose prime impression slays depression
Letting loose emotions in a moose, a goose
Navigating limpid waters near the sluice
So limpid and liquid it lets joy juice
Caress and address the pleasure
Lovers lift from sorrow in the right measure
That promotes votes for the erasure
Of memories of salaries
Posted and costed late in lapidaries
Exploited to a vacuum in aviaries
Where white doves fly
In unison to ply
Their trade that laughs at a lie
Spread at high speed
An innocent self concept to weep
Long and hard when sorrow strikes a deep
Blow at the core of a halo
Separated from Pablo
In a motion so slow
It tethers tweets
Posted alongside sweets
From minds so endowed with wits
They cause a frown to fret
It saves a regret
For an open secret
That the grapevine derides
Stressing illusionist divides
From society get no free rides
As you wake up
Shove away the cup
Deserving no sup
In your college
In your village
In the privilege
You feel extended
Over and above a libation blended
By brewers you'd suspended
To usher in an era filled with amity
Blended with a daily dose of sublimity
To ascertain no more calamity
Rears its ugly face
In full or in a trace
As you withdraw for good from any rat race.