Long Tableaux Poems
Long Tableaux Poems. Below are the most popular long Tableaux by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tableaux poems by poem length and keyword.
Going through its ambiance, (on) with open thoughts,
Past scenes so serene, and picturesque (in situ passed).
A house, its windows just ajar to the tactile winsome breeze
That taste of zest & adventure infused; with distilled memory’s,
And (sensed) delights unmet “as yet”.the wend of life so rich,
surrounds my mind & senses like the abundant shining light.
That upon the varied tableaux glow, before falls the lilac scented night.
Through all the turvy ways, and livelong day,
I’ll count the picket fences, as I travel or Stop to gaze.
I look out onto the pastureland that runs between the towns,
Observing rolling verdant turf, and cattle with thoughtful frowns.
The Holstein herds and Jersey cows, with Friesians ’mooing low’,
Character houses stand on hillocks; a horse & buggy moving slow.
There are tended lawns with a velvet like pile,
that have entered my awareness, these pleasant miles,
And on the horizon moving; (waits) that shimmering rippling run.
Of a blue & ribboning shoreline where pleasure necessitates fun.
There wind can like a lion roar, or call like turtle doves
With New Jersey soul superimposing the whole in the USA that I love!...
©Joe Maverick 1-6-2011Copyright)
full of emotion
pulsating
brooding
heaving
parsed
by desire
with
feelings
of the heart
a
voyage
of discovery
poignant
aglow
audacious
&
breathless
an intuitive
tableaux
with
gestures
explicit
&
visible
flooding
the moment
overflowing
frantic
!onging to
give
floating
in uncharted
seas
to a love
afire
...
to
savour
sensuous
burning
with fiery
passion
a consuming
flame
driven to despair
all
peace of mind
no more
wounded
deeply tortured
without
the semblance
of reality
mediocrity
a silent shadow
on
circumstance
suddenly
hope
in a sense of beauty
unforced earnestness
conceived
a state
of fermentation
vivacious
&
exciting
what bliss
what delight
free
unconcealed
to know love
&
stand amazed
SURREALITY
the fantastic
absurd
emphasised
into
the everyday
unexpected
dreamscapes
tableaux
juxtaposed
snapshots
nuggets
unseen
throughout
yet
evident
attitudes
notions
faded
stereotype
in focus
influence
displayed
to
focus
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
Short grasses and weeny worms,
got some substantial time,
to breath in.
Hungry birds,
concealed inside the shelter,
have flapped the feathery wings.
Sweet little squirrels,
cuddling one another,
have started foraging food.
Rats and rabbits,
raised their heads,
from inside the tunnel.
Succulent winged newborn butterflies,
finally basked in the sun,
had their first flight.
Ain't these the common things?
Anything new here ?
These were the tableaux,
after perpetual rain.
Verily, there were the same scenes,
before that perpetual rain.
But then,
did we really cherish the Sun?
George W. Towne
1847 – 1899
From Iowa I came by restless wagon train.
From the mid-west I arrived
With satchel and silken scalp still intact.
I read Proverbs and Ecclesiastes to pass the time.
I read the Gospels of John and Luke.
I read Harriet Beecher Stowe and
I read John Greenleaf Whittier.
I saw the icy Rocky Mountains beckon me to the west
Waving their invisible fluid fingers
Like blond ballerinas in silent ever-moving tableaux.
I saw the railroad snake through the endless golden valleys.
And I saw the muddy roads converge
Under a hundred bee-infested pepper trees.
And it was here in this new colony I found a home
For my wife Fannie and our three dubious children.
You could always spot me in the distance,
Walking down Pickering Street.
For I was the dapper one in black derby hat
Taking the cash in the Greenleaf Avenue millinery.
I was the suited one in dusty black,
Winking and bowing to the lovely ladies
Showing my respect but imagining something else
Deep within my empty searching soul.
I was the tall, cleanly shaven erudite
Who had memorized the entire Gospel of John
And walked the northern foothills at sunset
Wearing my ever-present derby hat
And meeting, yes,
Secretly meeting Lucy Swain
Under the tall cedar tree on Rideout Ranch.
Confession is indeed good for the soul.
Confession has always allowed a good but dishonest man to sleep soundly.
To sleep long languorous hours on a cold winter’s night.
To sleep for an eternity without guilt or regrets
Under the hardened forgotten dirt of Clark Cemetery.
For I was the handsome one in derby hat
And only Lucy and I knew,
Only she and I knew intimately
About the patch of soft carpet-like grass,
There under the tall silent cedar tree
On Rideout Ranch.
Perched on figurative shoulder...
taking devil's advocate stance...,
with sharp eyed cognizance
of course Joe King abidance!
Wild eyed traitor Joe Schmoe,
albeit Democrat subjects himself to grow
wing skepticism at impeachment show
whip lashed, viz strapping jock who stow
weapons of mashed destruction
expects at least one rotten tomato,
or "mother's petrified pop slop,
electronic brickbats, et cetera
hard as(s) bupkis targeting yours truly
smack dab rendering aspiring po'
wit smashing me face
courtesy final deathblow,
while pilloried vainly
waiting for... Godot,
cuz I must say impeachment travesty
appears triumphantly trumped,
where Nancy Pelosi will eat crow
proving Hillary Clinton's catchphrase
basket of deplorables apropos
aforementioned speaker of the house
tin pot dictatorial desperado
scuttling hither and yon to and fro
oddly enough even staking out
manhunt for Wizard of Oz
enlisting (right on the Dot) doggone toto
tense seat of pants increasing
stiff competition on all faux pas,
whereby freezeframe tableaux
icy (I see) as temperatures
dip down into five below
analogous to stop motion
projector manned by bonobo
sports petsmart stuff and struts
(think shock absorbed) ditto
Ringling Bros and Barnum
& Bailey Circus, where ma's yoyo
tricks, tracks, and trumps...
three ringed circus, nonetheless
(toe) nail biting suspense
amazingly graceful slick cameo
starring emperor donning
invisible new clothes
couture well worn portfolio
prosecutorial cadres itching
to dredge schmutz (quad) drilling,
and extracting ore region null
evidence upending forefathers status quo
appearing impressive bandying
sine qua non quid pro quo bingo
emphatic pedantic Latin Oh
though above named
language dead - Anglo
Saxon heavily and
will (yum) doth barr row,
especially to appear self important
those of the Senate
does saul full bellow.
The Translucent Loft
The girls choir at St. Mary’s still sings there.
Shh, be quiet as we step inside
through these green rectangular doors,
Shh! Listen...
We can hear them up there,
in the translucent loft.
They are still cloistered upstairs in the saintly glow,
of stained glass fortissimos, and bare knees,
dressed in blue sweaters with plaid beanies doffed
upon the three dozen crowns of the virgin sainted;
And now before us, the majesty of the holy sanctuary,
the deep eternity of ever-swallowing horizontal constictions,
upon which the devout might meditate the spirit mysteries,
with blessed rosaries, scapulars, and communion wafers,
bristling miraculously upon flaming tongues of fire.
“Shh! Be quiet here in the church, it is a sin to talk!”
We must fold our hands in silent contrition to an invisible God.
We must say our prayers, memorized from old missals.
We must genuflect on bended leg, making the sign of the cross.
But still, a likeness of our creator, dead and naked,
Nailed and bloody, with sickening thorns and gushing crimson,
hangs before us most ignominiously, a dead creator.
How can this be, Father Flanagan?
Why are we being reminded of this, Monsignor Molthen?
Why dear saints?, all ye there, encrusted immaculately,
in stone cold tableaux, absorbed forever and today,
in emerald stained glass transfigurations, way up there,
high on the upper reaches of this long heavenly nave,
that stretches out like long arms wearing bracelets of infinity.
Why are we to be reminded of this?
The girls choir at St. Mary’s still sings there.
Shh, be quiet as we step outside
through these green rectangular doors.
Shh! Listen...
We can still hear them up there,
in the translucent loft.
Wild are the spring flowers which win my heart
wood violets blue, and those Johnnie jump-Up starts
waves of ajunta burgundy glow
pierced with lost daffodils standing apart
a gourmands delight admired a la carte
'mong seas of forsythia fences are draped.
Bushes of fuzzywillows looking smart,
cozy up to dirt roads soften the heart.
even the dandelions make a fine tableaux
as off I go my head spinning with art
to paint images, the sweet and the tart
expressionist posies, as if for VanGogh.
Indian strawberries dot gardens in beds
as buttercups yellow, slip through rye grass
tickled by warm winds and skies overcast.
Oh, I'm ready to paint the beauty ahead
with crimson, vermilion and titanium lead.
Sitting on a hummock I draw the repast
mixing my colors on a piece of glass
stunned by the wild flowers, most over tread.
*Dante's variation on the Italian sonnet.
Again afresh, with renewed charm
Here comes the periodic festival of glory
To fill all hearts ---anxious and warm ,
With divine pleasure and recast story
Paraded in colours and band motion,
Charged with psychic gusto of emotion
Myth and splendid feelings in blend
Go into the cocoon of human feat ;
The Evil vanquished , squeezed to mend
By the victor Good marking the defeat-
All clangour ,play ,and dreamy show
Do, dance and perform in a frenzied row
The stately royal bounds of rich culture
Now come up agile with vigour anew;
Buried moments come out of sepulchre ;
Things small blow up into a varied stew,
Melodrama shapes itself out of a notion ,
Feelings form a varied spectacle of animation
Drum beats compete with voices motley
Pipes ,timbrels, are encompassed overall
Stilt-walkers ,mask-bearers and tuners medley
And the tableaux in a row , striding huge doll,
Mock duels ,buffoonery and fancy modes
Oh! the collage of oddly strung episodes...!
The elephants in majesty play their role ,
Fall in line and in trained dignity bear the load
The fit chosen one ,carries the howdah ,sole
As disciplined and trained with food and goad
Thus from the natal to the mortal span
In rituals is manifest the splendour of man.
Note:Is the brief description of periodic
(10 day )Dasara celebration in Mysore , Karnataka India
Fear and other things
I have recurring nightmares and tell myself
to remember the dream in the morning
but I'm unable to recall the gruesome dream
I think it is about nuclear war
When a seaman, I was often afraid of the ocean
especially in the Pacific, where waves look like
the mountain that even unbalanced hangar ships
the ship on top of a watery mountain, then sliding
down, and in front of another gigantic wave,
will she be able to rise up again
I was in Nagasaki once, and by closing my eyes, I could
see when that Bomb was dropped as tableaux
of suffering people and death
Panic, where I lived before I came to Cascais, there was
a forest, I often walked there with my dog
but not far into the forest, one day, when thinking
about the mountain, what for lunch at the cafe
I ended up in the deep forest and lost by bearing
I think the dog sensed my distress and began
walking, I followed, every so often turned to see
if I was there until I recognized my surroundings
and bravely took charge
This is not romantic of me, but I do not dream about
women in my life, except Teresa in
Trinidad, I remember her beautiful smile and stars,
light up the world was a good place, to think she was pro
Other women are fading slowly, and faces are in deep
shadow as they disappear from memory