Long Turin Poems
Long Turin Poems. Below are the most popular long Turin by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Turin poems by poem length and keyword.
Here, but for the grace of God
Tormented within my vessel,
To walk on burning coal,
To hear the cries of my hungry spirit,
To eat from an empty bowl.
To journey on without hope,
I stagger around and not through,
Given mouth, teeth and tongue,
Yet no bone to chew.
Given wisdom to make change,
Strength to see it done,
Slow is the pace I run this race-
Given bullets, but no gun.
I have knees that stay bent,
I have hands that stay in a clasp,
Words I’ve been given to say,
Their meaning I have yet to grasp.
Where is this valley,
This shadow of death,
This life I must get through
Before I can be given breath?
What deed to fortune must I take?
What many words must I spew?
What more torture to withstand,
To be given a seat in the pew?
Given the Shroud of Turin,
my symbolic flag of relenting
To lift my head towards the heavens-
And to begin, my repenting
Richard Whitehead is really a marathon runner,
But when he wanted to compete in the stunner,
In the London Marathon in 2012, he found battle,
So had to turn to para sprinting with his bottle.
So in the Paralympics of London city in 2012,
He ran in the T42 category, the 200m stealth,
When he seemed behind until the very end,
Until he won in 24.38secs round the bend.
In his earlier career he competed at the 2006,
Winter Paralympics in Turin when he did mix,
With the ice sledge hockey players dexterous,
Without his prosthetics, and he was ambitious.
Whitehead is the first ever appointed patron,
Of Sarcoma UK, for bone and tissue action;
He looks after PE in the borough of Gedling,
And hopes to run Britain’s length, for his bing.
Upon (die) re rhea ding previous poem
All In The Name Of "Progress" zen
a glaring, leering,
and twittering left par wren
dared to a right (i.e. bribe)
corrective punctuation measure
slyly slipping Special Ops symbol ")"
for so many yen,
thus see slipped thru my excellent
proof reading, when
lo and behold consternation,
inconsideration, and perturbation
I thought to take a page
from playbook of Sylvia Plath,
and stick my head in the oven
but lo, a sardine recipe
(though a bit fishy),
could be found necessitating cauldron
only available for purchase in Turin
thus donned with a shrouded cape,
aye didst make whoosh,
hence, went there and came back
and frankly tubby earnest,
thence began stir'n
a bubbling concoction brew
though duration for perfect consistency
aye lacked any clue
thus, needed to contact
Hannibal the cannibal
asper what to do
in order (I explained)
to sever livingsocial,
and forever hang my head in shame
cuz, accidentally omitting
one right parenthesis too few
hence, esteemed flawless glory,
(sans error free grammarian
reputation pitched downward
where careless evinced
Kamikaze nosedive, where
matter of fact gross humiliation
instantaneously grew
and the only viable option
forced me to hew
admitting to egregious, fatuous, abhorent
and readily confesses
compunction viz, grievously
blatant Anglo Saxon
Horrifying transgression
involving backward curved "C" sin bent
a most execrable,
incorrigible, and unforgivable
literary faux pas incurring
major cosmic event
stripped of title special
Das Scribe double bubble "A" gent!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Upon complying never to err again
Matthew Scott Harris since
accepted plea bargain
accepting sentence resting his chin
til indelible necklaced "U" lettered grin
forever visible to kith and kin.
When I was a kid, Watson and Crick’s discovery of DNA
Was still a bit like science fiction and not completely understood
Dreams of curing cancer, never growing old, viral vaccinations
Mapping out the human genome would make them proud of us
Splicing genes with CRISPR Cas9 Vectors
Is still only just the beginning,
We’ve barely touched the tip of the iceberg
Still, one day, like in the Star Trek universe
With a simple shot from hypo spray
No more COVID and Dr. Flox would send us on our way
But life is not TV land
I suppose God must have other plans
Perhaps He’s not so pleased that
Science is the new religion of this Day N Age
He’s really going to be surprised when we scrape the shroud of Turin
For some Jesus DNA
And clone the Son of God so we can look him in the eyes
And pray tell we may say,
“What the hell have we done, oh Spliceosome?”
The young must know that they are loved
For there is goodness in every young person
Give me souls--the souls of young people
These boys are not bad, these boys, they need me
In their midst I feel completely at home
I learned the hardships of an orphans life
In this new town where I had to support myself
Laboring in everything from being a blacksmith
And as a tailor, waiting as a waiter and shoemaker
All that to ease my mother's burden
Every Sunday I'd meet the boys in a different place
It didn't matter that it was a city church,
a cemetery chapel, or an empty lot
And during the week i'd tour the city shops,
Making sure my boys hadn't forgotten my instructions
I bought an empty lot and a dilapidated shed
Next door was a saloon, across ,a hotel of shady reputation
but what did it matter to me the oratory ground was sacred,
for it later came to me in a dream
That it was the burial ground of the Martyrs of Turin.
It is enough that you are young
And for you I give my life
bound by one rule, dedicated
to the double task of self-sanctification & care of youth
But first tell the devil to rest, and then I'll rest too
Do all the good you can
Thats why while I have time, I must work
My dear sir I tell you you are a good friend of mine,
but God comes first, first of all Don Bosco is a priest
So give me the souls, take away the rest
My mother would say when I become a priest
If ever became rich, she shall never enter my house!"
Thats why I am poor, penniless Don Bosco, a shepherd boy of the hills.
I have lived poor and shall die poor
I have only one wish, to see you happy and in the next
"I have been an instrument in the hands of Mary. She has done everything. Had I been a worthier instrument, I would have accomplished a great deal more."
The PO£T
Mosque cowed covenant I keep Putin off...
and withheld broadcasting
the following communication
tucked away these many years,
when president number forty five
donned, jump/kick started, and tweeted
thru his musky, albeit flabby mantle,
a rallying cry forewarning onset of Mag(m)a
bubbling, gurgling, lobbing, and spewing lava
against backdrop of his trumpeting vitriolic
political preservation, salvation,
and veneration, though with hold
ding temptation tomb mike -
(make) pence sieve lee clear,
the immoral majority mold
toot hoods, (those bajillion
Americans unanimously polled)
did want me to broadcast, communicate,
and declare, sans incendiary fold
drawl (folderol) feigning migrant accent,
(no matter I'm getting older than Methuselah),
nonetheless Ivana trumpet from Taj Mahal
straight to Mar-A-Lago) all told,
plus thank Republicans
(past or present), who extolled,
an invisible grandiose fire walled
barricade (donning, enclosing,
and fortifying) against Carl mauled
din lookalike hackers,
despite one sporting "FAKE"
hook nosed, hunchbacked
adorned, donned with (Turin) shawled,
shrouded, and disguised vagrant, indigent,
double chinned agent - bald
(except for being bewigged),
viz flowing locks of "FAKE" gold
in toe with Amazon heavily funded
unbridled trailing retinue
chanting appellation Matthew
Scott Harris alias Oswald),
no matter said faux
renegade twittering lobbyists
to flock (like lemmings) within his fold,
and will laughably petrify
any vigilantes dead cold,
what with his bugs
bunny eyed (What's up Doc)
intent reader rabbit stare,
that doth playfully scold
any Bare Ladies scantily
linkedin, NOT nsync
with netiquette politesse mold
gobbledygook communication, (asper
my pork chopped message
higglety pigglety divulged)
obeying tacit gold
din rule to hoodwink public, nonetheless
lemme exemplify, how I plan to hold
world web electronically hostage
by secret Ransomware sold,
thru dark wide whirled web
cryptocurrency bitcoin blockchain trolled
under auspices, sans
omnipotent NON GMO
gluten free CRISPR rolled
oat sized INTEL nanobots,
no bigger than mold
spores heavily monitoring
meant to fortify electronic threads
woven into a virtual tapestry
likened to Dickensian chain e-mail
intent to foment pandemonium
at expense to captcha totalitarianism,
whereby democracy imperiled.
Moss Cowed Covenant I Keep Putin Off...
For preservation, salvation,
and veneration, though with hold
ding temptation two mike
pence sieve lee clear,
to immoral majority mold
toot hoods, (those bajillion
Americans unanimously polled)
did want me to broadcast, communicate,
and declare, sans mock cut up fold
drawl migrant accent,
(no matter I'm getting old),
nonetheless Ivana trumpet from Taj Mahal
straight to Mar-A-Lago) all told,
plus thank commensurate Republicans
(past or present), who extolled,
an invisible grandiose fire walled
barricade (donning, enclosing,
and fortifying) against Carl mauled
din lookalike hackers,
despite one sporting "FAKE"
hook nosed, hunchbacked
donned with torn (Turin) shawled,
shrouded, and disguised vagrant, indigent,
double chinned agent – bald
(except for being bewigged),
viz flowing locks of "FAKE" gold
in toe with Amazon heavily funded
unbridled trailing retinue
chanting appellation Matthew
Scott Harris alias Oswald),
no matter said faux
renegade twittering lobbyists
flock (like lemmings) within his fold,
and will happily, laughably parody
any vigilantes spot on cold,
what with his bugs
bunny eyed (What's up Doc)
intent reader rabbit stare,
that doth playfully scold
any Bare Ladies scantily
linkedin, NOT nsync
with netiquette politesse mold
dinned communication, (asper
my pork chopped message
higglety pigglety divulged)
obeying tacit gold
din rule to hoodwink public, nonetheless
lemme exemplify, how
Democrats plan to hold
world web hostage
by secret Ransomware sold,
thru dark web bitcoin blockchain trolled
to collude with "crooked Hillary"
under Ponzi scheme auspices doled
courtesy, sans spongebobsquarepants
omnipotent NON GMO
gluten CRISPR rolled
oat sized INTEL nanobots,
no bigger than mold
spores heavily scrutinizing,
policing, monitoring and
fortifying electronic Internet scaffold.
A monochrome of boho days
segue one another surreptitiously.
Endless pantomimes of idle chatter flutter by.
Cantilever bridge, a one stop halting site for gossip and suspense.
Small talk, bespoke winged creature, Combe of pleuron.
Turin shroud spotter in the mise en scene melting pot.
The spirited stride of pavement strollers prompted by
agenda.
Metatarsals on the march.
Street vendor’s spooky cry with banjo beating busker at his side.
Dirt pan bellow and brittle strum about the
orange alert ahead.
Crowded car park, careening bus, frustrated taxi driver rank and file.
Backstreet Barney or kerfuffle on the lawn.
Swing sign overhead, a pawn in every trending breeze.
Office block malarkey cutting capers for the press.
New age ante-fix, the cover tile for corruption.
Whistle blowing wag inside the
city centre fault line.
Brass neck
reservoir of hoodwink high and low.
Harassed mother, barefoot beggar
nervously extends her rusted tin.
Guilt edge coin as bandage to our shoddy scruple.
Bag lady on the fringe of some haute couture complex.
Stasi-like security whose bluff veneer belies an inner
bludgeon.
Crouton salad diner has his finger on the pulse but not his pulse rate!
Tycoon in transition with an open brief!
Teflon tyrant
back to the future.
Ambulance chaser …. legal eagle…..with fortune in misfortune their calling card .
To the limit and beyond like an offshore Ansbacher.
Noonday bell
interloper at the scuttlebutt tavern.
Seconds out,
moments out,
hours in a hari kari haze.
Sensei’s of the left filling void with vacuum.
Laboured diatribe against dynasty, trite slogans, empty rhetoric, mannah from heaven?
All this from the cadres of social despotism!
Passage, the
pollinating insect of aroha.
Behind the rhythm of the grind a broad leaf grain of hope may sprout.
Green shoots of bounty.
Latent sidewalk bloomer.
Blossom by default or tender impulse
The Dilettante Diaries: "In Stasis, Black Iris"
Oriental Lily's
Stamen bleeds
blush ochre dust
like icing sugar
duelling tongues
sweet captive
musk
over stagnant
white pure perfume
Stains soft feather fingerprints
sweet bruises across warm velvet skin
imprints a new story
a kiss lingers
there just there
you know where
secret whispers begin
Again
Again
Ripe Tiger Lily
purrs
petals opening
languid longing
Luscious
Laugh
Vibrant
Sin
Again
Again
Velvet revolver
deep
like
Turin
Worships
the
Holy Ground
She grows in
new secrets sown
something grows
something begins
Again
Again
Aquarius eyes
languid pools
for windows
drinks her in
like a
hummingbird
drinks her
charms within
Leo addictive deep
crimson
she is vibrating
Life
draws you in
Luna cool
kisses her
heat
she is the
Sun
revolving
you her muse
a lesson for now,
lean in
A revolver cocked
for killing past hurts
opens petals
ruinous
deep ripe purple
plum
unfurls
begins
begins
again
again
Evergreen
Verdant
Elixir they
sleep to dream
Just words
in the
luminiferous aether
waiting
waiting
waiting
intoxicating
New Chapter
In Stasis is
Black Iris
Surrenders
control
relenquished
Souls are
transforming
trading
Black Iris
lies in waiting
(Lovejoy-Burton/September, 2018)
1. Georgia O'Keeffe, "Black Iris", 1926
2. https://www.georgiaokeeffe.net/
3. https://www.npr.org/2011/07/21/138467808/stieglitz-and-okeeffe-their-love-and-life-in-letters
4. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QEdKPHGHoMc
Bring down the curtain on this stage
to avoid shouts of dissent and rage:
favoritism is a terrible thought so appalling;
the worthiness of honor is to be deserving!
How perfidious and how cruel a city can be,
never amending itself and redeem its conscience,
never admitting it was the cause of all pain,
of all grief: soldiers burning towns down and raping women;
did their royalty to a vicious king bring them peace?
Many ships anchored in the harbor of a turbulent sea...
to invade a free land made up of people of goodwill,
who could stop soldiers that were ordered to pillage and kill?
Bring down the curtain on this stage
to avoid the shouts of dissent and rage;
favoritism is a terrible thought so appalling:
the worthiness of honor is to be deserving!
Turin lays beneath the Alps where Southerners rebels
were held in a huge prison of misery, cold and endless agony;
they knew they would die never seeing their adored land again!
Turin has a museum of horrors where skulls and faces
of the dead are displayed and the hurried passerby stares
and doesn't realize that human beings aren't objects of derision!
Turin, brutal Turin, can you wash
the guilt away and retain the bloody hands
of the crimes you committed stealing a treasure belonging
to people who earned it with the sweat
of their foreheads until the blaring sun went down?
Turin, cruel Turin shut down the museum of the horrors,
look deep down and earnestly ask
for forgiveness without stirring any doubt;
it's the only way to redeem yourself and not frown,
and finally, make peace with the South!
Bring down the curtain on this stage
to avoid the shouts of dissent and rage;
favoritism is a horrible thought so appalling:
the worthiness of honor is to be deserving!