Long Tablet Poems
Long Tablet Poems. Below are the most popular long Tablet by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tablet poems by poem length and keyword.
...It was from an old colleague of mine,
in southern Russian working a new dig,
of Proto Indo-European tribes,
he believed it would be something big.
Wanted me to come out and take a look
at the artifacts they had found there,
claimed they had found religious writings,
the pictures he sent of it made me swear.
Writing should not exist that far back in time,
but the etched stones that they found proved it did!
A text speaking of a long-lost religion…
was so excited I bounced like a kid.
A week later I was flying out there,
my assistant Tommy Bains at my side,
we flew to Moscow then rented a car
for a very long and exhausting drive.
The site was out in empty countryside,
there were more cattle and sheep them men,
we expected to see bustling workers,
but we approached and saw no sign of them.
It looked as if they’d just abandoned it,
all of their gear and machines left behind,
there was no note, and we could see no cause,
I felt nervous, unsure what I would find.
After looking around for thirty minutes,
I came across a large plastic case,
it had the word ‘Artifact’ printed on it,
like so many others left in this place.
I did not know why, but I felt I had to
open the box to see what it held,
what I saw in there haunts me to this day,
you’re the first people that I’ve dared to tell.
It was a stone tablet covered in a script
that I’d never seen, all alien and strange,
and then, before my astonished eyes,
the letters all seemed to just rearrange?!
It now was many rows of English text,
what I saw broke all natural laws,
the first line I read, sit imply said:
‘All who read this, these are words from your god…’
My mind did reel, as anyone’s would,
but I felt no disbelief, and no doubt,
as if some power confirmed it was true,
and there was no time for messing about.
My eyes just could not be pulled away,
I could hear a deep voice within, and it said:
‘I left these words so you’d know why you’re here,
and what awaits us all going ahead.
‘You see evolution is the only tool
that can do this in the time left to me,
I’m dying and have but a billion years
to give rise to the next deity.
‘This may seem utterly strange to your mind,
the mere thought that an almighty can die,
but I’m not the first god that there has been,
I was much like you, way back in time...
CONTINUES IN PART III.
A "Highly" Debated Issue
From glaucoma to chemotherapy
Medical marijuana has its place
But you won’t find any prescribed
In the conservative Sunshine State
Chris couldn’t eat while under treatment
Watched him lose one-hundred pounds
He had no access to an appetite stimulant
His weight was 85 when laid in the ground
Hefty Jen had lived a life of kindness
Taught spiritually uplifting courses
She suffered when chemo raced through her system
Until people said, “How beautifully slim her corpse is.”
When Dad’s glaucoma grew severe
He relied only on eye drops that made him tear
His gift of sight was taken slowly
Though THC might have helped his eyes clear
And when I first wrestled with ulcerative colitis
A college friend brought me a joint, said, “Try it”
Less than an hour later I was eating without pain
But laws are clear, Florida doctors can’t prescribe it
Research has proved there are benefits
Only medical marijuana use can provide
But those who worry about drug abuse
Say those who could benefit should be denied
Each day in the headlines we read of drunk drivers
Mostly teens who seek access through friends
And if they want marijuana, they find a way to get it
But for those who abide by laws, agony never ends
If smoking pot or ingesting a tablet of THC
Can help a person who is suffering great pain
Don’t you think the time has come
To ask prohibitionists to explain
Why people who are hurting needlessly
Cannot have access to any remedy
That soothes their aches, improves their last days
Diminishing the symptoms of their tragedy
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010
Why I love C.D’s poem “ A Highly Debated Issue”:
Carolyn Devonshire’s poems showcase the extraordinary thoughtful mind behind those lines. All of Carolyn’s poems are profound, and full of depth, but this poem especially touched me - I had the similar experience of losing a beloved one to the deadly disease, and we were not able to give him relief during the last days of intense pain. Carolyn was a strong, sensitive, generous, caring human being and a talented poetess, who loved life in her own way - she loved sand, and left her footprints on the shores of this mysterious earth.
Celebrating Carolyn’s poetry: an Uncontest Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
Let me tell you a story …
Many pilgrims had passed this way before him
but had rarely stopped before trudging up the muddy path to the top of the hill
and then disappearing out of sight forever.
But he lingered at this shady spot at the bottom of the dip in the track.
The old stone tablet in the wall was overgrown with moss and ivy.
Rain droplets hung at the tip of every ivy leaf.
Catching the daylight, they twinkled like some distant constellation.
He pulled back the ivy, scraped off the moss to reveal the ancient writing.
By chance or maybe by some hidden force,
this place still belonged to the pilgrim’s way.
But the pseudo-pilgrims had no time to waste as celebrity beckoned.
Eyes fixed on the hill’s summit
they were oblivious of both this place and its significance.
The inscription read
If you look too hard you will not see
If you talk too much you will not hear
If you think too much you will not learn
If you walk too fast you will not arrive
If you are true to yourself you will be content
You will unlock the secret door
He reflected on what he had read but not too deeply and then smiled.
He had another 150 miles to walk which he could do in six long, arduous days
but now it would take him ten days of contemplation.
The climb up the hill was different from what had gone before.
It was exhilarating for the wonders of nature were all around to experience and enjoy.
Every step was stimulating.
The inscription filled his mind.
Slowly but surely the door opened.
The days passed and he realised the pilgrimage was of the mind not of the body.
Walking gave him space and time.
Ten days later he was uplifted and at peace
having stepped through the door of enlightenment
once secret and now so obvious.
He smiled at the pseudo-pilgrims there with him at the end.
He felt sadness for theirs was a superficial achievement
judged against each other with a materialistic prize.
They had been on a walk but not a pilgrimage.
He gave them one last glance,
turned and strolled into life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
25 April 2022
First Place Contest Name: Form N - Narrative - New Poems
Sponsor: Constance La France
Chosen Theme: #1 Journey
COME ON MAN, GET TO THE JOINT
Listen man……..
here is an indisputably effective plan
And this is the fundamental God given point
So at once dash out that flaming joint
Without hesitation
Sans equivocation
Minus mitigation
Simply inhale and initiate the following information
Our Lord advises us all to seek vengeance not
And to follow his piousness and the perfection of His plot
Let no man bring you to your knees
In favor of adhering to what the Holy Bible decrees
Over and over and over once more
When a man does you wrong those are actions one must ignore
Seven multiplied by seventy times
Let no man command you unto the cruelty of countless crimes
Because I’m telling you man precisely what you need to know
Simply justly and swiftly let it go
“Turn the other cheek”
Well to me that is difficult to comprehend God speak
Words and their meanings of which I understand little to nil
Because forgiving a man who does me wrong is too bitter a pill
A tablet my anger will never be sworn unto swallow
Because I will always own and was born with a heart too hollow
And shall swear scorn unto the man who does me wrong
Since my desire to never forgive will forever be far too strong
So I allow vengeance to reside within my soul
Which thus turns my heart into sedimentary coal
And darkens me more with each passing hour
For I possess not the piousness nor the power
Neither the means in any manner to forgive
For so long as I, a sinner, shall live
Will I ne’re allow a man to err in what I feel he should do
While with certainty it will be curses my mouth shall surely spew
And promises of damnation will never give way to my forgiving, pardoning nor absolving a man of doing me harm
Until I cut him off at the knees or separate his body from a leg or an arm
His life will be mine to impair……no matter how unfair
Or the destructiveness my anger might breed
I’ll live to see that man beg, plead and then bleed
Because reprisal will finally be mine
And punitive punishment is propagated by my damnable design
Because I was born to disapprove, disregard and definitively disappoint
Okay dude, now, if you still care to, go ahead and re-ignite that joint
© 2012…..PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
We big, tough, well-thinking male bearberries blew and we snarled and we spouted and we blew.
But those danged dandelions obstinately kept their tops on, no matter how much we did fuss.
Come on fellas, I said to my fellow bearberries. Here is just what we’ll do…
“I’m not taking them!” I screamed at B.B.2, our leader, a passive little cuss.
I was talking about those damned tiger lilies, our groupies.
I am so sorry Tiger Lilies, he told them. It’s just us bear berries today. He shot an apologetic look to T.L. 1 and T.L. 402.
I am sick and tired of my whole life being video- recorded by those selfie-taking nut-buckets, I told him, indignant, and with an angry face.
They will clean your house, wash your floors, pay your bills, wax your car, and do your laundry, said B.B. 2.
I don’t care if my house implodes on its dirtiness, I retorted. Just keep them in their place.
I was talking about those damned tiger lilies, our groupies.
Tiger Lily 58 sneaked back into the Bearberry Lodge, where Tiger Lilies are never supposed to be.
We did not see her at first as she used her invisibility tablet to reach us; I felt her heat on the back of my neck, before I saw her.
She began to give me a really nice, warm, massage and sweet backrub which was the best I had had times three.
Wow! What is that? I asked myself, as I began getting tingly and happy all over, and down under.
I guess I was talking about these wonderful tiger lilies, our allies.
My dad had told me a long time ago that the best pairings in the meadow was always a BB and a T.L.
Who are you? I whispered to Tiger Q. Lily 58. I am your soul mate, she responded, can you please meet me at 2?
Where? I wondered, and she immediately conveyed that she would be at northern rise of Bunny P. Hill.
I will be there with my matching rings, I told her. Are you ready? Yes, she agreed. No one else will do.
I am now hitched to a wonderful tiger lily, and all my mean thoughts
toward T.L.'s seem pretty damned silly.
(And I don’t care whether or not the dandelions ever lose their
tops. They are of no use to me now.)
Dated: May 12,2018
COME ON MAN, GET TO THE JOINT
Listen man……..
here is an indisputably effective plan
And this is the fundamental God given point
So at once dash out that flaming joint
Without hesitation
Sans equivocation
Minus mitigation
Simply inhale and initiate the following information
Our Lord advises us all to seek vengeance not
And to follow his piousness and the perfection of His plot
Let no man bring you to your knees
In favor of adhering to what the Holy Bible decrees
Over and over and over once more
When a man does you wrong those are actions one must ignore
Seven multiplied by seventy times
Let no man command you unto the cruelty of countless crimes
Because I’m telling you man precisely what you need to know
Simply justly and swiftly let it go
“Turn the other cheek”
Well to me that is difficult to comprehend God speak
Words and their meanings of which I understand little to nil
Because forgiving a man who does me wrong is too bitter a pill
A tablet my anger will never be sworn unto swallow
Because I will always own and was born with a heart too hollow
And shall swear scorn unto the man who does me wrong
Since my desire to never forgive will forever be far too strong
So I allow vengeance to reside within my soul
Which thus turns my heart into sedimentary coal
And darkens me more with each passing hour
For I possess not the piousness nor the power
Neither the means in any manner to forgive
For so long as I, a sinner, shall live
Will I ne’re allow a man to err in what I feel he should do
While with certainty it will be curses my mouth shall surely spew
And promises of damnation will never give way to my forgiving, pardoning nor absolving a man of doing me harm
Until I cut him off at the knees or separate his body from a leg or an arm
His life will be mine to impair……no matter how unfair
Or the destructiveness my anger might breed
I’ll live to see that man beg, plead and then bleed
Because reprisal will finally be mine
And punitive punishment is propagated by my damnable design
Because I was born to disapprove, disregard and definitively disappoint
Okay dude, now, if you still care to, go ahead and re-ignite that joint
© 2012…..PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
1.
the crystallised handkerchief
of one’s span of life
your handloom-bird brings with its lips
some musical notation of the nimbus
holding that waves within the heart
how much growth does occur
to the sandal-line of a man
or
it does
fall
the blades of grasses are known well
to be vegetarian
the eyes of the reindeer
have cent per cent smelling of fish
then what translation would you suggest
for the fingers of wild titlark
the shirt
they have put on the body of this night-stone
what best word-meaning does match it
but land-lotus
2.
i’ve re-constructed
all the trees and plants
with
the dry straws grass twigs collectively
fetched by beak
and the monsoon
as well
the full-brim of vodka
is deep in the palms
in that moonlight
a sleeping-tablet
does take a dip-swimming
within her enfolding
there may be the whole works of rabindranath
from the breathing of cd-player
spreads around
the sound of horse’s hoof
there is the bed-sheet of dusts
on the anger
kept bound within the cover of rexin
it’s true
our vineyards are still
prone to stones
then it does not seem
that the boiled moon sets
into the tea-cup
3
in your songs
still lies
immense green
the bed-room is too
very bright
the walnuts
walking along the path
that touches the rain-shore
make me think likely
on a sunday
kept in an envelop
when the bedcover of the early morning
speaks frankly
what’s in its mind
to the soap-water
the ears of the horse
in the wall-calendar
look very crazy
i can remember
one day
the sun-boats would tear their wrappers
their whisper would want to discover
the inclinations and thoughts of the creepers and herbs
possessed by the lady-volunteers
their yawing would notice
so many unused handlooms
taking a run-away on the clouds
now
would the cat under the beautiful jersey
finally think of waking up
then i’ll go
to deposit the clever apples
along with
all the triangles accompanying it
to the nearest cold-storage
Twas the night before Christmas - came like a flash,
Mob of gingerbread reindeer prodding elves for cache.
The Clausman reigning, doling out orders this stint.
Lady of his, keeps his tongue supplied with peppermints.
The vainglorious list of children, like snow through the Pole,
Now hides in the cloud - smart tablet tabulates toys or coal.
Head of the snowmen, cold and wise, supply the twinkle
To Santa’s eyes. Green-elves polish his boots, unwrinkle
The fat man’s caboose, untangle the reins, ready the ride.
The lineup from A to Z better well shine or it’ll be their hide.
All is still as the stars light up the path until Santa hops
Down, creates sinkholes in the snow with flatulence, flops
Into the overstuffed sleigh, jolly and jingling, creating pain
For the svelte and prideful eight who sail gift cargo like a plane.
Twas Christmas Eve and children around the world wait,
For the jingle and jangle of the sleigh-bed to find out their fate.
Tired, the sharp-suited Santa, now enters by window or door,
A small finder’s fee for each elf who steals a key - keeps score.
This year dear Santa abhors the cookies, milk, and snores.
The liquor cabinet habit keeps him warm, loving kids to the core.
Even when both parents and all the kids deserve some coal,
He’ll ignore the rules, with a good whisky or rum (takes its toll)
The reindeer left the last house hastily, and onward they speed,
As lightning sears the sky but jolly old saint Nick is teed-
Off, for he was found sleeping on the floor, by a kid. Now he shops
For a good Santa Claus lawyer. Who doesn’t toy around? The cops.
On Christmas day he is one of many dressed in black and white.
All say they’re the real Santa. He snatches beards, ready to fight.
Mrs. Claus makes him retire after his cheerless reflection.
The head elf ready to update the store in a whole new direction.
She puts the sleigh to bed, the deer no longer on loan,
Fires up the internet, next year she will send out drones.
11/27/2019
The Night Before 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
10:01
To expand the mind is to find the Time,
To explore, to see and play some.
Be the mysteries of life and see sum,
of the intriguing clues left behind.
For instance, "On the One" you can find,
A Roman number left in a line, at the base.
At the start of the step that defines the Ace.
One. And it reads....be...
1000 to the M,
500 Ds then,
CC on the Note?
They left some quotes to find when,
L is for Love, half and half from Above,
XX their kisses you see. V is for peace and
yes, I can see. How to be, this.
How to be.ace for the Pe.ace. Yes...
On the One, Day of May in the Q of '76,
a spark appeared, it flared in the mix,
in the air it flew, around the Earth too
and then it landed, inside of You.
Marked the day indeed, on a pole
put a ribbon, in a bowl put a reed.
Then get a bird and plant a seed.
It's Time to Be.
Freedom rang a familiar song,
recorded the day and called it Long.
We worked for it. Put a heart there too.
We built this garden to nourish you.
It's Time you knew.
MDCC so you could be aware, 1700
is the count in the air. Adding
LXXVI to the mix.
That gives us the rest of the 76.
A year we call our independence.
56 signed, in gentle One.ness.
Giving us the Chance to be. All This.
They left a CC, on the note, with a kiss. XX
===============================
Illuminati (plural of Latin illuminatus, "enlightened") is a name that refers to several
groups, both historical and modern, and both real and fictitious.
This movement was founded on May 1, 1776
The year 1776 is celebrated by the United States of America as the official beginning of
its nationhood. 1776, or MDCCLXXVI, is the number shown at the bottom of the pyramid on
the American dollar bill, and on the tablet held by the Statue of Liberty.
July 4 is the 185th day of the year (186th in leap years) in the Gregorian calendar. There
are 180 days remaining until the end of the year. Aphelion, the point in the year when the
Earth is farthest from the Sun, occurs around this date.
Wiki.
===================
Form:
The sun was setting, as it usually does
The town a ghost town, the main street all but silenced
The wind blowing leaves and dreams to and fro
The tension in the air was palpable
The few souls about all peering out shuttered windows
When in from the west, came a storm
Her name was Serena Storm,
They shivered in her wake, the poetess of dead lovers
Then over to the east side, riding in slow and steady
The grim reaper or so it seemed, hollowed eyes
Dead soul and dark mind, his side arm at the ready
The greatest duel in history, right here
In the town of Nowhere
The setting sun reflected of her dark long coat
The last tear drop, falling to its death in the dust
She stared ahead, face blank
Daring, with a glare, shoot me, shoot me, try
He dismounted his horse, called Heartless Soul
His eyes slits, staring down the curvaceous storm pacing untoward
His hand inside his coat, slowly pulling out a mickey
He belted down a shot or three,
In the town of nowhere
They both paced, hands at their side
Closer and closer, the saloon keeper
Not quite sure his bottle would be paid in full
Then as quickly at the sun set……
Vaso drew first.
The finest long black quill one ever saw
His other hand dropped his bottle
Magically a writing pad appeared
Serena drew second, pen at her side
The color of blood, and for good reason
She too tablet in hand, putting ink to paper
As they both furiously wrote
In the town of Nowhere
Hearts were murdered
The meaning of life was hanged not long after
Love was beheaded
The main street a river of blood
A storm of tears washing away crimson desires
An empty vassal, Vaso’s insides already dead
Dropping his pen, he pulled out his sword of mourning
The duel to end, as he lopped off his own head
She dropped paper and pen to the ground
She faced down the grim reaper, and it’s he who is dead
The only one to know, his name was Arthur
King of the dark, ruler of lost dreams
In the town of Nowhere
The poetic duel of the century
Both won and lost
Long ago