Long Thrice Poems
Long Thrice Poems. Below are the most popular long Thrice by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Thrice poems by poem length and keyword.
Leave a man to him and his words
and telescopic terrains will open,
as splendid as the midwinter constellations
sprayed in a barbarous sublimity across the sky,
with the serene orb of Jupiter hanging unflickering over the land.
They tell us language is but a cruel game,
an endless warren of pinball deflectors
fit for Ariadne but not the sensibilities of mortals.
But it is only when we realize that the greatest Catharsis
is that which exists in the fecund abyss of solitude,
the paradise found in the stamp on our souls,
that we can wrestle and mold our words like primal clay,
Craft cosmos from chaos in the folding mirror of our consciences.
All our words are symbols; pregnant indicators of some untouchable abstraction,
ideas too deep for the anchors of voyagers
and too high for the staffs of mountain climbers;
Let us conquer the earth to salvage the truth;
let us try and snatch it from the sight of God.
Even so, that actual essence which we have always sensed,
which we try to reach through the quest
for the thrice-blessed stylus to write indelible code
upon the chalky slate of our hearts,
is unattainable when we act rather than receive.
True aloneness is openness to purification;
to infusion of the symbol with alabaster plate.
The lighthouse is a greater relief to the wave-whipped sailor
when the shore glistens with freshly-fallen showers,
Throwing the glare into wide-open pupils:
So it is when we allow the loftiest and earthiest of truths
To immerse our thoughts and their verbal accidens
In the baptismal font of infinite regeneration.
Not long, but clear and strong, came Dad to me.
Gone six months now, grief still filled me empty.
One day he helped me avoid tragedy.
Scared, so scared, I left work for my son's school.
His epilepsy was being cruel -
school said .. hot .. red .. damp head .. remote .. no fuel.
Driving, Dad's voice clearly called out to me ....
he repeated my name with somber voice
until I was a good listener by choice.
Then, once, twice, thrice he spoke four words to me.
(no, no, no this cannot possibly be
I am desperate to be worry free,
to believe it, my sanity has quit.)
Five times more he delivered the four words.
Seemed he would say it 'til I believed it.
Directing my moves using Dad's four words
enabled my son's health to be restored.
Epilepsy left and spirit had scored.
Dad gave me proof that death invites no fear.
Souls ebb and flow, roll like ocean's own tide.
Death must be two doors, one souls pass through,
and one love-sealed to hold humans earth bound.
When flesh life dies, one's spirit life remains
on journeys aptly mapped for souls' growth-gain.
Each soul endures umpteen human lifetimes
'til spirit consciousness shines light divine.
Now mortal senses hold the universe,
when spirit senses would spare us our worst.
In race and gender, many are fast wrapped,
yet death shakes gone both sad, human rigged facts.
Misplaced emphasis could be what ends us.
When spirit sense outweighs human nonsense,
we shall seal heavenly wrapped, peaceful traits.
Government (show) Shut Down December 2018
Messianic Don found tarnished appeal
trumpeted bluster thwarted
with muted (hip hip hooray) Democratic zeal
played (on microscale) like quashed
ill fated braggadocio big deal
bombast, sans General George Armstrong
Custer's last stand,
viz Little Bighorn, achilles heel,
where Native Americans
showed deadly steel
against cocksure doodling
haughtiness didst conceal
Yankee sited in cross hairs,
who got comeuppance,
whence his notorious
reputation did never heal,
thus markedly high light
ting (albeit in deadly fashion) might
whooped, undermined, and
served just desserts,
when forces of the Lakota, Northern Cheyenne,
and Arapaho tribes did unite
defending their turf against
7th Cavalry Regiment of the
United States, mauled as bloody sight,
which justified comeuppance,
and whipped up white
settlers fury like an inferno doth ignite
combustible material showing
no mercy toward "red men"
unleashing brutal, short
and nasty genocidal spite
long a tragic footnote in history
proves tummy at hefty price
that present swaggering presidential chieftain
more'n halfway thru administration thrice
occasions brought third "shut down"
(the first time in more than 40 years)
during his opprobrious term,
now got meted "no dice"
cuz commander in chief usurped, provoked,
and kickstarted retaliatory actions, I.C.E.
suspect, where staunch stonewalling tactics
unexpectedly found paunchy big boy lice
sensed to shame, name and blame Congress
i.e. as he thrust forward power,
and hood did launch
bully tactics doth evince,
how he does not play "nice"
demanding five billion dollars for
pet project wall barring Mexicans
(and other asylum seekers south
of the border) did not entice
unanimous concurrence thus sets device
sieve ness roundly shows
Trump doth need strong cussed hard advice!
WISDOM
He had a thought,
He said a word,
He performed an act.
Looked back!
The word didn’t agree with
The thought,
Neither did the act with
The word.
He was perplexed!
He forgot the thought,
Erased the word,
Obliterated the act,
And
Started anew!
Myriad tryouts after…
He managed,
The word to agree
With
The thought,
And
The act with the
Word!
He achieved wisdom!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
23 APRIL 2013
*Athena (Minerva), Goddess of wisdom, daughter of Zeus, was called “thrice-born” for to be wise meant to think correctly, to speak correctly, and to act correctly.
I met a man who was never married
Said it was the one regret he carried
I met another man who married thrice
Claimed they were the three mistakes in his life
I met a man, told me drugs were his ruin
Stole his ambition, were his undoing
Knew another proclaimed drugs his true love
Dead at nineteen, gave a needle a shove
I met a man who worshipped his money
Stole so much he’s doing ten to twenty
I met another man who was ragged and poor
Hard hearted, mean and rotten to the core
I met a man who could not get along
With son’s that he thought were living life wrong
Knew another man so rigid and tight
His life was consumed by anger and fights
But the man that I have still never met
The man who chose Jesus and claims regret
If they come to you my dear
And pronounce to you
The sweet words of love
You should block your ears
And refuse to hear
Whatever they are trying to say
If they come to you my dear
And tell you they can’t resist
Your extreme beauty
Which does not exist
Anywhere else in the world
Which they can’t think about thrice
Nor twice but only once
You should block your ears
And refuse to hear
Whatever they are trying to say
If they come to you my dear
And tell you they feel the hunger
Of locking you tightly in their arms
Of caressing your curvaceous hips
Of kissing lovingly your lips
Of sucking the charm of your breasts
You should block your ears
And refuse to hear
Whatever they are trying to say
If they do my dear, come to you
Pleading to you everyday
Trying to buy your love in everyway
You should block your ears
And refuse to hear
Whatever they are trying to say
And lastly, you should make a conclusion
Before dotting an enormous full stop
You should tell them
That you have a shepherd
Who cares, who loves
You should tell them
That they can never do enough
To win your most precious love
The woman pacing
At the hotel spread
Posing erratically
Small bursting sounds
Rock her oral territory
Chewing and blowing
Her face in a world of paints
Her breasts barely covered
Her invitation body letters
Her skirt tight and slitered
Her virtue sight almost there
She is a venture
Pulsating for the night
This night must bring
A big fish
Her only will to survive.
They she sells
And labelled a public dog
RIDICULED
She was broken long ago
Innocent and a future bright
Barely fifteen
Stained by her step-father
No one was ready to listen
To the pain that crushed her
Trafficked thrice
Many years pimped
She was gone
Lost in her own soul...
Pause to blame that woman
Broken, lost and dead
A listening heart extended
May heal her burnt life.
I walk this earth, unbeknown to human kind
an heir to Legends, men of mighty deeds
who through the force of fire and stars we find
those such as I the offspring of their seeds.
Hercules, his power and strength unmatched
was challenged by the Gods, challenged in vain,
the Hydra by his own hand was dispatched
and Nemean Lion, too, met fate the same.
Achilles, near invincible I'll admit
(and yes I know he sometimes dressed like ladies)
sent countless warriors into the pit
ne'er to return, unseen the realm of Hades.
Fin MacCoul took on Aillen, Tuatha De Danann,
when each year on Tara the creature rounded,
but finally fell by the spear of man
and sleeps until Dord Fiann thrice is sounded.
With Hammer, Iron glove, from Nordic stock
the mighty Thor showed Jotnar who was boss,
until his end foretold at Ragnarok,
a testament in stone on Thorwalds cross.
From such as these who stories shall not end,
these champions and Gods, what e're their names,
I also by my deeds now do descend
to stand among their ranks and stake my claim.
For I, too, am Hero.
I change a three pin plug without a thought
without referring to a diagram,
assembling flat pack furniture is nought,
no need have I of cryptic two page plans.
Foregoing sleep, no need for sustenance
household spiders with glass I stalk and snare
then fearlessly propel them over fence
to neighbour's garden where they languish there.
The lids of pickle jars cannot withstand
onslaught from twisting sinews in my wrist,
abhorring a vacuum, by my command
they pop, admit defeat, cannot resist.
The elements and I stand face to face
as windows I squeegee atop a ladder,
my maiden below holds me firm in place
yet fearful lest I should relieve my bladder.
My Lady is thus pleased I wield such powers,
I take her approbation with a nod,
happy she won't now nag me for an hour
for by these feats, for once-
I am a God.
I soak in his charcoal fingers drenching my buds
when nightfall rips the hem of my skin,
a coral fire glazes upon our mouths
and the lion in him kneads flammable
grinds: that the soaring heat in lilac glare,
in fragrant sweat of navajo curves;
ripen the mounds along a bodice trembling …
Once, twice, thrice with gentle fondness
crawling on outstretched harlequin dome--
in the lure of amber moon dipping—we
could not speak beyond walls in ash etches …
and like hungry souls let loose by sapphire mist,
the ginger sweetness of craving
finally explodes on hammock’s ruby-like gyre.
Silent One’s United Colors: Colourfication
................
Charcoal, coral, lilac navajo, harlequin,
amber, ash, sapphire, ginger, ruby
3/16/2016
Beyond the rainbow in my untamed essence
I met you in a midnight dream not once
Not twice or thrice but ridiculously amounts of times
Thus when I saw you on that hill
Carrying that familiar old leather satchel bag
Staring at me the way I was staring
I recognized the amber of your eyes
The thrust of your hip,
And the glints of sunlit hair from my many dreams.
I felt an immediate powerful encompassing zing
A lightning bolt zap
That laid me flat in front of the world
It was a record day for me,
The best I have ever had.
The one I had been waiting for all my life.
For you I recognized nearly as instantly
As your more developed essence
had already recognized me.