Long Surcease Poems
Long Surcease Poems. Below are the most popular long Surcease by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Surcease poems by poem length and keyword.
The Winds of Wars
The winds of wars have shorn the shores where children once had played,
revealing bones of dead unknowns for whom the faithful’d prayed,
to no avail beneath the veil of death where rockets strayed,
for tit-for-tat is where it's at when war hawks’ eggs are laid.
The winds of wars destroy the moors, strew corpses’ burnt debris
which stains the staves that mark the graves (blest signs of victory)
where somber moms are sighing psalms while staring wistfully
upon the past before the blast that doomed their destiny.
The winds of wars clog corridors with folks in search of peace
because, outside, the genocide is giving no surcease;
‘But what the heck, it pays the check’, so say the world Police –
beneath the sky, they slice the pie, each hacking off a piece.
The winds of wars have wiped the floors with foes who won’t obey
(the bombs that fall are meant for all, the bodies ricochet) –
‘The carcass count may sadly mount’ the vanquishers will say,
while hiding facts of heinous acts neath verbal lingerie.
The winds of wars (soon metaphors for hellish deeds, though deeper)
have flattened schools (allowed by rules as written by the Reaper),
and brought despair beamed through the air (beware the booby beeper)
and, when they slay so faraway, make human life the cheaper.
The winds of wars have spread the spores that taint and mangle minds
with doublespeak and hide-and-seek that closes eyes and grinds
the passive pawns (once mowed like lawns) with servitude that binds,
and while the blight is holding tight, the wider world unwinds.
Postscript
The Wins of Wars
The wins of wars fill warlords’ drawers (some call it charity)
with yellow gold for weapons sold to kill the enemy
and purloined oil from conquered soil and tankers seized at sea –
the poor are billed to fund and build the wartime industry.
The wins of wars are won by whores who sell their souls with glee
and run amok to spend a buck (for killing’s never free)
and more and more they’ll arm for war (a spiraled spending spree)
until at last the warrior caste’s deposed and forced to flee.
We live through the hard times,
We relish peace and the good.
Remember, we can survive all things!
Hardly, are we made of wood.
Friends may suddenly leave us?
We weather those storms.
Our strength stands, we do not fuss.
As our God keeps us, safe and warm.
Since time began, there have been wars.
Be steady, have faith in times of dissension.
Man is selfish and always wants more.
Your God watches over you from another dimension.
Do good each day, that is most effective.
You may make errors, that does not create you as evil!
Words simply are a way of expressing invective.
No one superior to you, they are just people!
Choose peace, not stir the winds ofwar!
Remember to pray, thus comes inner peace.
Speak your truth, though not as the only one, on a throne from afar.
Learn well, to trust God as your final surcease!
3~4~2022
A Dylan Thomas State of Mind
It’s precisely 2:45am...the time when
~ if I’ve fallen asleep ~
I always awake to find
Myself drenched in sweat.
I lie here beside my beloved
~ as I have so steadfastly since
16 November 2016 ~
Thinking about...wondering...pondering
The end of my existence.
I am not talking about
Taking my own life.
NO!
I’ve seen, heard, touched, tasted, smelt
too much...
I’ve survived too much, felt too much...
I value Howard’s sweet...sweet...
Nurturing soul’s devotion
To keeping me alive these past 40 years
To raise my hand against myself...now.
I AM talking about these things:
Where do we go when we die?
Do I have a soul?
Will I be conscious — at the moment it happens —
That I am drawing my very last breath?
Sometimes, when I awake in the early morn,
Howard is motionless beside me
And I stare at his beautiful face.
Dare I reach out and touch it with one finger?
What if it’s stone cold?
His flesh heavy...dead?
Death.
The End of Living.
The End...The End...The End...
Last January I begged for surcease...
For an end to the pain...
An end to the physical torture...
An end to the psychic suffering...
The constant thoughts of:
“Is there a Hell?”
“Will I go there if I take my own life?”
“What does ‘eternity’ mean?”
Now this morning of 19 October 2017
I am thinking...feeling...praying:
Please...Please...Please...
God/Goddess/All That Is/The Universe/The Spirit
Make my neglected hated scorned body
Healthy and whole.
So I may live
today...
tomorrow...
next month...
next year...
Do not let me go gentle into that good night.
I am alive now...
And I rage...
I RAGE NOW!
....against the dying of the light.
Barbara Dickenson
19 October 2017
What do you see when you see trees?
My eyes travel each trunk and branch.
With feathered leaves in blowing breeze
till the chipper comes with a cranch!
Your details shine with luminescence -
I eschew detail for the essence.
In trees, I just see nature's grace -
' Tis beautiful, like your face!
And then a breath of sweet surcease
as he offered a glance her way –
love and roses budding
Roses die and love will end, so who'll cut the string whereon I suspend?
When a poet puppet dies, it's a smorgasbord for the flies.
I heard that death was coming to you
from the silence right out of the blue.
From whence this sound had come I wondered?
A strange comment from out of the blue.
I turned and saw the apparition.
Why does death come right out of the blue?
Then I saw upon its face a smile
so frightening right out of the blue!
Its jarring humor not surprising.
Its dark soul came from out of the blue.
Ah, I think that I finally see -
Your attention to features and finesse
Sets apart your exquisite poetry,
Such is your eloquent loveliness.
I hope to aspire to the lofty summit,
Choosing words to embellish and describe.
No more, to bland language will I plummet -
From a fountain of words I will imbibe.
Intoxicated in language, enchanting,
Expressing every charming nuance,
Exactly rhyming, evading slanting,
Shall we wax in an enthralling séance?
Now I have been enlightened, let us spin
A verbal tapestry - can we begin?
We could just call the whole thing off,
as we each grab beers for a quaff.
You say potato.
I say tomato.
Is it really worth our scoff?
Ah, beers, is an idea I can accept -
At drinking, not poetry, I'm more adept.
After all this rhyming, I've had enough,
But I think now I'll need some stouter stuff!
What do you see when you see trees?
My eyes travel each trunk and branch.
With feathered leaves in blowing breeze
till the chipper comes with a cranch!
Your details shine with luminescence -
I eschew detail for the essence.
In trees, I just see nature's grace -
' Tis beautiful, like your face!
And then a breath of sweet surcease
as he offered a glance her way –
love and roses budding
Roses die and love will end, so who'll cut the string whereon I suspend?
When a poet puppet dies, it's a smorgasbord for the flies.
I heard that death was coming to you
from the silence right out of the blue.
From whence this sound had come I wondered?
A strange comment from out of the blue.
I turned and saw the apparition.
Why does death come right out of the blue?
Then I saw upon its face a smile
so frightening right out of the blue!
Its jarring humor not surprising.
Its dark soul came from out of the blue.
Ah, I think that I finally see -
Your attention to features and finesse
Sets apart your exquisite poetry,
Such is your eloquent loveliness.
I hope to aspire to the lofty summit,
Choosing words to embellish and describe.
No more, to bland language will I plummet -
From a fountain of words, I will imbibe.
Intoxicated in language, enchanting,
Expressing every charming nuance,
Exactly rhyming, evading slanting,
Shall we wax in an enthralling séance?
Now I have been enlightened, let us spin
A verbal tapestry - can we begin?
We could just call the whole thing off,
as we each grab beers for a quaff.
You say potato.
I say tomato.
Is it really worth our scoff?
Ah, beers, is an idea I can accept -
At drinking, not poetry, I'm more adept.
After all this rhyming, I've had enough,
But I think now I'll need some stouter stuff!
Love’s a mystical force, that’s laden with nectar and emotion,
That many people sacrifice so much so often for in this life.
Love has the properties of an all-powerful alchemic potion,
Which is said can better help those in such a forlorn strife!
This famous four-letter word has such a unique persuasion,
And has made those lost in it so hopeless to understand it.
Love’s been known to make people quite crazy on occasion,
Which makes it most alluring and for some—a proverbial hit!
Love does make one very crazy at times because of its sheer power,
And its ever-emotive force affects surely the body, mind, and soul.
Love’s all-pervasiveness puts it in demand daily and by the hour,
And its deep influence is felt so special within one’s mind and soul!
Love’s that special emotion that many never really get enough of,
And as the language of Cupid, it sends signals not always clear to see.
This fuels a person’s fury when he or she only desires to be loved,
And will sacrifice all so greatly while crying even on a bended knee!
Love’s the soul’s fire and it makes one’s life whole and worth living,
And it’s the balm which calms frayed emotions—a surcease of sorrow.
Love’s an enchanted state of being, that when shared keeps on giving,
And with its angelic qualities helps all of us find that better tomorrow!
Love’s the soul’s fire, influenced by Cupid’s most wonderful intent;
And Love, worth its weight in gold is most worth having in our life,
As one seeks its solace and divine rapture on that final angelic ascent,
When God calls one’s soul to Heaven love abounding, free from strife!
God’s message is simple—a special need of love in one’s life and soul,
And that’s why love’s the soul’s fire, which makes us human and whole!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, (January 4, 2015)
(Rhyme)
Caution taken (lathering
exposed epidermis with sun screen)
against harmful innocuous
rich (Times New Roman)
12 font ask tick sun yet sen sate)
refulgent radiant balm
unequivocal panacea medicinal luxuriant calm
on par with a old
sister wives tale remedy me late mom,
would magically construe
to alleviate home sickness qualm
post pledge initiation invocation befriending
Jason the Argonauts and Major Tom
dizzyingly zipping thru space
in search of the golden fleece,
(which acquisition
ranked as a no brainer)
which recollection, sans above exploit flashed
(at greased lightening speed) this peace
full May afternoon, a pitch perfect spring day,
one adequately oxygenated
air supply crowded house
legendary fete of the rising son momentarily
sol limb lee flared concluding with reverberating
(though decades elapsed
since fortuitous galactic heralded
world wide web panegyric
broadcast cosmos wide),
then with just as quick
memorialized recollection
prominently recalled,
said remembrance as things past
vis a vis denouement across Universe
with Poof! lifelong (black hole sun hopping)
capping achievement did surcease.
Ah...such blinding realistic provocation sparked
via pure imagination
upon one earthly terrestrial beast
Sunkist soaking raiment sequestered
within corner nook decreased
with onset of dusk, a mind bending
dreamy experience least
expected while nonchalantly fantasies take flight
basking (with robins)
in an angulated nook sky height
upon premises of Highland
Manor Apartment out of sight
from the buzzer (I may as well be
a million miles away),
thus poetic justice end trite.
Spells in our lives
When things done for money
Bring less delight
We had enough motives
But struggle to keep living up
Necessity makes us so keen
Like it is all to us
Tours in our ways
When little done for love
Born memory ever green
We had much fright
Yet we never gave up
Stress for what seems nothing
Leaving assurance most time
In chase of precious gem
To tie ourselves to the prime
Wonders if good not mixed bad
That wrong not brewed right to blend
The wight of loss and gross pulse
We shall hardly believe logically, reason mortals surcease
And question the paper for the pen's drive
A sea of tents, stood side by side,
raised at the Dragon’s Gate.
And bonfires roared, red firefly light,
as round them Giants ate.
Maids and Matrons decked in gilt,
chemise ‘bout bosoms and knees;
came to and fro with cup and bowl,
to serve the giants’ feast.
The warriors held the stanchions straight,
while beauties tasted treats.
The bards sang sad, songs, with a sigh,
and faint hearts felt defeat.
Goblets gave surcease from pain,
as darkness did retreat;
for fair maids with undone hair,
charged valiantly to the breach.
And as the sun rose in the East,
each dragon banked their fire,
then one and all proud and tall
Havens Clan retired.
So once again, with grim countenance, the ship sailed on with all bemoaning their woes
Till calm seas prevailed, with balmy sun, sweet zephyr song, they came to Helios' shores.
Helios, calm god of the day, smiled upon the lads, gave of his land free rein, but with a caveat-
Helios pride was his golden herd, indolent and fat,"Do what you will, but don't touch that"
Well, as was their wont, like a terrible refrain, full-weathered from woes and want, but yet unwise,
The crew, overcome by gluttonous greed, slaughtered a heifer, for raucous feast, not sacrifice.
Wild was Helios at this blatant deceit, with terrible curse, banished them all, to wander once again.
So with Helios' curse (and Neptune's help), the ship was tossed and soon lost, all crew were slain.
It was Odysseus alone who was alive, afloat on flotsam, floating about, with fervent wish of death
But sweet surcease was not his lot, more plight was his fate - his tryst was due with Charybdis yet.
Perhaps Scylla was a better bet, in it's slavering jaws a definite death, I think he'd rather have it
But caught he was in Charybdis' thrall, a vortex which ate him whole, and threw him out as spit.
Past the maelstrom's outer whirl was our hero tossed clinging to life's last hope, verily a straw
Floated, the wasted carricature of a man, denied of food and water, no sustenance he could draw.
But perchance the Gods smiled on him, wearied of their devious, puerile games going too long
Odysseus fell on land once more, where restored were life and limb, bewitched by Calypso's song.
Now Odysseus, all said and done, was a man vulnerable to worldly women's wanton wiles
And Calypso was full besot with our hero's lusty frame, his wit, his deeds and charming smiles.
For seven years did he taste bliss, ensconced in Calypso's arms with thought of home amiss
But one day, after seven years, did Caypso, with heavy heart, let him go on pleas of our Hermes.
From Calypso's isle did Odysseus sail on raft, through storm, as was now his habit, and came to Sceria
Where Nausicca, on Athena's urge, gave succor, till he sailed with Phaecians who had trade with Sumeria
The Phaecian ships soon landed Odysseus on fair Ithacan shores where Penelope had travail,
But my dear laddies, I must hie hence, for the Dawn is nigh, of Penelope and Suitors, is another tale.
Concluded