Long Turbans Poems
Long Turbans Poems. Below are the most popular long Turbans by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Turbans poems by poem length and keyword.
My Sometimes Song
I once knew a poet called Rhoda Monihan,
Who was thought always to visit the Sanhedrin,
By her parents who said,
That god was not dead,
But she did happily voice her opinion!
For Laura Loo's Famous Last Line contest:
But She Did Happily Voice Her Opinion!
But she did happily voice her opinion!
Even though she was a woman cross dresser,
Rejected by those who were family familiar,
And made to feel like a used can or onion.
An atheist as well amongst Christians,
Not slack and did not just float into atheism,
Not apathetic to philosophy and to skepticism,
Prepared to remark upon and criticise turbans.
No blond hair to indicate purity and righteousness,
No blondness to propose truth and good,
Just black hair, normal and with no mood,
To pacify the quick spirited, pious countess.
What gave her the right to speak?
Her body: her legs, arms and voice;
Her mouth or voice said she had a choice,
About which she was not often weak.
1st March 2016
South West monsoon strengthens on month July, It increases the speedy surface wind too, The strongest wind speeds around 50 kmph by, Through the Palghat gap in the western ghats to .
It brings the seasonal heavy rain fall ,
The grinding stone flies in the July wind,
An old Tamil saying says about the wind all ,
The meaning of the saying is too blind.
That the wind reduces the atmospheric heat, And wipped out the disease measles or pox, A gusty wind is blown in the noisy streets, It makes a lull after the speedy wind's knock .
Green leaves are swirling around in the gale, Garbage blowing all over the clean town streets,
Hats and turbans refusing to put down and stay , The wind is unique in the people's heart beats.
Galvanised Atmospheric Innovation
Urban atmospheric galvanised creatures
Turbans that are stratospheric turning into teachers
Burdens that are esoteric and one of my personality features
Certainty that is generic as you’re hiding from the preacher
Stacks of written words surrounding me like an army of white confessions
Hacks that have been heard among pleas reaching for heaven
The exact and the absurd combine to form an episode of regression
Detract from the conserved and you’ll find a place in the recession
Renegade observers of the globalised extortion
Serenade reserves of the nobalised contortions
Parade of preservers combine to culminate a fortune
Charade of community creates a new social contortion
Wondering through terrain reserved for someone more emotionally robust
Pondering on ethics, integrity, morals, hope and trust
Sundering onward without knowing that your dependent on the physical laws of thrust
Plundering the earth with greed, deception, fame and lust
Multi dimensional landscapes that defy 6D comprehension
Conventional borders that correlate around the suppressed retention
Intentional reasons to confiscate the technology from the children
Presentational permeation that deny the attempts at prevention
Recollection brings a firm debate of colourised convention
Predilection for one to consummate the end of their detention
Introspection sometimes obfuscates the clarity of invention
While circumspection can just eviscerate the purity of one’s intentions
The End
As humans we are exempt from many indignities,
imagine you were a fish just waiting to be stuffed,
no place to hide, pre-determined, after you huffed and puffed,
shortened life-span, of no consequence, the classic also-ran.
Kipling said: 'To be born an Englishman is to win
one of the great lotteries in life,' an out-dated
and racist comment but ironically with an element of truth;
however, goalposts have moved - what price a black Englishman?
My nephew says: 'No problem,' until you pass through
US Immigration - don't want any grenades hidden under turbans;
the extremists say they will never stop, have already,
fools, wasting Allah-given lives just like the stuffed fish.
Yes, we know, at least the fish is eaten, they're beaten,
contributed nothing, except condemnation, 'in a black room
with white curtains,' at Mombai Station.
Are you as surprised as I to find
That Kim Kardashian is a international spy
But don't worry she's on the side of right
Working this time for the good guys
The pics that this twit tweets
Is spinning turbans around in the Middle East
Corrupting the minds of the men and their youth
As they google eye over what she let's loose
Though Miss K. is not the one to blame
It's mainly the fault of Uncle Sam
She's just doing her civic duty
In the posting of selfies in her birthday suity
I've had suspensions for years believe you me
The Kim isn't as dumb as she appears to be
I heard that Iran has accused Kim Kardashian of being a spy...
Who knew!
Enea, at the Scottish Court
The critics claim that this is far the worst
of all the frescoes. Enea the star? No
inkling here. Can that be James the First?
And that’s the Clyde? It looks more like the Arno.
A spartan Stuart court? Or is it Bourbon?
Less Edinburgh in feel, and more Locarno.
Whoever saw Scots courtiers in turbans?
The ceiling is salubriously embossed,
more like the Vatican of sainted Urban!
Perhaps Enea’s Latin can’t be glossed,
for no-one’s listening, that much is certain.
One wonders what the marble columns cost.
And wrapped in that red robe (looks like a curtain!),
he seems to lack all gusto, all scintilla.
For this he braved the Beauly and the Burton?
There’s nothing interesting in the villa.
Less Donatello, more like Damien Hirst.
It wasn’t worth Charybdis, much less Scylla.
Enea Receives the Laurel Crown
Not only is he with the Emperor:
he’s kneeling to receive the laurel crown.
His deeds will be preserved in tempora,
his poems printed, bound and handed down.
What more can man achieve in life than this?
While many live and love, and toil in vain,
Enea’s standing on the precipice:
rewarded for that fine, well-nurtured brain.
So why am I uneasy? Read the signs.
And eagle savages a hapless duck.
The building seems all wrong. Wrong size, wrong lines.
And what’s it meant to be? Are you not struck
to see the woman on the loggia, being raped?
Pandora’s Box is open. Hope’s escaped.
Form and Matter
It all comes down to this, don’t you agree?
The Court of Charlemagne, the Holy See –
there’s Thought and Thing: idea, reality.
We’re in the presence room, but some are free
to stroll the colonnade at liberty.
Unyielding marble throne, lapped by a sea
of flowing silk: that’s how it has to be.
Enea kneels between eternity
and actuality: the Papacy
against the Empire. Physicality
abuts against the realm of sophistry.
When the snake charmers walk along the lanes,
The excited kids follow them in chains.
Holding their snakes in round baskets and pots,
The charmers search for the suitable spots.
Wear specific attire for they have flair,
Grow handlebar moustache, long curly hair;
Keep hoop earrings, zari turbans on heads;
Put blobs on foreheads; hung bead chains with threads.
Sitting cross-legged in front of those pots,
Grabbing our attention, untie the knots.
Carry their flutes made of dried bottle gourds,
Play their music notes, expecting rewards.
The serpent rises from with its hood up;
They move knees to the snake; a right set up.
It sways hood and makes hissing as if charmed,
Charmers too believe the same and affirmed. .
How do the charmers run the show freely?
Are they not afraid of them really?
The backdrop secret is ignored and skipped
The poor serpent’s fangs are almost ripped.
A STRAND (1066) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Date: 04-02-2022
Placed : 1st
The Sardauna, the prince
Champion of the masses
The leader of the North
The defender of the realm
Princely yet accessible
The Prince Royal
The north your realm
Though tribe and tongues duffer
You still make the difference
Portrayed as a northern zealot
Of the scion of Usman Dan Fodiyo
Royal turbans in purple array
A great thinker and visionary
Achievements so colossal and huge
Colloquial rantings so high yet can't
be denied
Institutions still blazing the trail
Posterity have seen your travails
The Sardauna, the Northern Prince
Decades have come and gone
None in the northern realm holds your sway
Selflessness your true identity
Legacies intact, history made
Posterity the true judge
None have your charisma
Nor your impeccable persona
Those that took after you have all
gone astray
Going after the god of mammon
They are all pretenders
To the crown of your realm
With trending events these past decades
There is none in the realm that holds your
sway.
The Sardauna the Northern Prince