Long Two thirds Poems
Long Two thirds Poems. Below are the most popular long Two thirds by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Two thirds poems by poem length and keyword.
The weather was just how I liked it
Looking like it would stay dry
The breeze had the sharp tinge of winter
Beneath a low overcast sky
The thick blackthorn hedgerow behind me
Bordered the tangled beech wood
In front was a sowing of Rape seed
The shooting from here should be good
The ditch in which I was standing
Was shallow and recently dried
I put up my camouflage netting
As kind of a temporary hide
I looked across my field of fire
It spread further than buckshot would reach
So I opened my trusty old twelve bore
And slipped two Eley five’s in the breach
I saw something off in the distance
Out on the old bridal trail
I knew straight away it was Reynard
I could see the white tip on his tail
This dog fox was working the hedgerow
Looking for something to eat
In a week or two he won’t be hunting
For vixens will soon be on heat
Then came a sound to my left side
I heard the dry rustle of leaves
I eased off the safety catch gently
And stood still not daring to breathe
Nearby from a patch of dead Teasel
A Pheasant was poking its head
It’s wattles were white as a snowflake
Round it’s eye was a dash of bright red
It’s head and neck seemed to change colour
With a green and blue oil like sheen
It sported a thin clear white collar
The clearest one I’d ever seen
Cautiously into the open
It was only three meters away
I was stunned by it’ breathtaking beauty
This vision is with me today
It looked like a fowl made of copper
Each breast feather tinged with a Pink
And edged with the finest black outline
As if they’d been sketched in with ink
It’s wings were a blend of dark ochre
Mingled with olive brown hue
It’s tail was two thirds of a meter
What was this hunter to do
Quite unaware of it’s danger
It slowly strolled on to the crop
Carefully I raised my shotgun
But something inside me said STOP
No way could I fire at this vision
This beauty by me won’t be shot
I came to an instant decision
Find something else for the pot
I have enjoyed many a pheasant
Washed down with a bottle of red
The countryside here would be poorer
If this lovely creature was dead
The bird by now had become bolder
and had wandered some distance away
With an unloaded gun on my shoulder
I went home having had a good day
I will have bread and cheese for my supper
Form:
By: Sashi.Prabhu(ZEAUOXIAN)
Dated:15/6/2012.(Mumbai airport)
Black velvet sky festoons solemnly my brooding words,
Exudes gloom from my mindly nib, drowned in woes two thirds.
Sharp shrillness of many of my lingering thought,
Shatter silence of stillness that dusk had on to me brought.
Grief laden clouds quiver with culpable guilt,
Blue starry skies shiver around the moon’s curves laden with forlorn silt.
Tonight I write about my past in melancholy laced lines,
About my ceaseless love for her and her conditional love for me at times….
Solitary nights like the one tonight,
Has stored within itself, deep memories like flashing lights.
Nostalgia sewn within its brimming self,
Of holding her in my arms, my warm embrace her body engulfs.
Her conditional love for me and my ceaseless love for her at all times,
Lure the emotions out tonight, to write the melancholy stewed lines.
As I sit here all senses alive to listen to the great black night,
Sans her beside me, tears trickle down filling the beady grass beds and dull my sight.
The shattered silence of the night all dark,
Resonates in my head no more, but my heart leaves a deep bruised scar and a mark.
A quaint sound of lament I faintly hear,
From a distance it seems like an echo of my bleeding heart all unclear.
My soul curses me as never before,
As its mate it has lost and has only me to deplore….
Places I go glare at my searching eyes with fervor,
Look out for her as though I wish to go to her.
And my heart too joins the fray,
And both of them conspire for me to seek her any which way.
But now as I no longer love her,
That’s a truth that my mind and my heart must concur.
As I sit and speak to myself, the dew drips on to the leaves,
Tell tales in the silence as the wind touching my voice as it grieves.
like my kisses of before, she is now another’s,
Her dreamy eyes, her warm weatish body, her heart, her joyous smile,
Her sweet body scent, her warm breath that spreads a mile
Are now not for me but for another…………….
I love her no more but maybe I yearn for her love,
But unknown to myself I seek her love somehow!!!
Filled with nostalgic emotions of our sweet oneness
I can barely raise my eyebrows to see us together in my mind’s eye.
I hope this is the last dart cupid has shot at me,
And this is the last verse I pen for her to see
Dated:2/2/2013
Black velvet sky festoons solemnly my brooding words,
Exudes gloom from my mindly nib, drowned in woes two thirds.
Sharp shrillness of many of my lingering thought,
Shatter silence of stillness that dusk had on to me brought.
Grief laden clouds quiver with culpable guilt,
Blue starry skies shiver around the moon’s curves laden with forlorn silt.
Tonight I write about my past in melancholy laced lines,
About my ceaseless love for her and her conditional love for me at times….
Solitary nights like the one tonight,
Has stored within itself, deep memories like flashing lights.
Nostalgia sewn within its brimming self,
Of holding her in my arms, my warm embrace her body engulfs.
Her conditional love for me and my ceaseless love for her at all times,
Lure the emotions out tonight, to write the melancholy stewed lines.
As I sit here all senses alive to listen to the great black night,
Sans her beside me, tears trickle down filling the beady grass beds and dull my sight.
The shattered silence of the night all dark,
Resonates in my head no more, but my heart leaves a deep bruised scar and a mark.
A quaint sound of lament I faintly hear,
From a distance it seems like an echo of my bleeding heart all unclear.
My soul curses me as never before,
As its mate it has lost and has only me to deplore….
Places I go glare at my searching eyes with fervor,
Look out for her as though I wish to go to her.
And my heart too joins the fray,
And both of them conspire for me to seek her any which way.
But now as I no longer love her,
That’s a truth that my mind and my heart must concur.
As I sit and speak to myself, the dew drips on to the leaves,
Tell tales in the silence as the wind touching my voice as it grieves.
like my kisses of before, she is now another’s,
Her dreamy eyes, her warm weatish body, her heart, her joyous smile,
Her sweet body scent, her warm breath that spreads a mile
Are now not for me but for another…………….
I love her no more but maybe I yearn for her love,
But unknown to myself I seek her love somehow!!!
Filled with nostalgic emotions of our sweet oneness
I can barely raise my eyebrows to see us together in my mind’s eye.
I hope this is the last dart cupid has shot at me,
And this is the last verse I pen for her to see
Dated:12/7/2012.(chennai)... early morn 12.45 am
Black velvet sky festoons solemnly my brooding words,
Exudes gloom from my mindly nib, drowned in woes two thirds.
Sharp shrillness of many of my lingering thought,
Shatter silence of stillness that dusk had on to me brought.
Grief laden clouds quiver with culpable guilt,
Blue starry skies shiver around the moon’s curves laden with forlorn silt.
Tonight I write about my past in melancholy laced lines,
About my ceaseless love for her and her conditional love for me at times….
Solitary nights like the one tonight,
Has stored within itself, deep memories like flashing lights.
Nostalgia sewn within its brimming self,
Of holding her in my arms, my warm embrace her body engulfs.
Her conditional love for me and my ceaseless love for her at all times,
Lure the emotions out tonight, to write the melancholy stewed lines.
As I sit here all senses alive to listen to the great black night,
Sans her beside me, tears trickle down filling the beady grass beds and dull my sight.
The shattered silence of the night all dark,
Resonates in my head no more, but my heart leaves a deep bruised scar and a mark.
A quaint sound of lament I faintly hear,
From a distance it seems like an echo of my bleeding heart all unclear.
My soul curses me as never before,
As its mate it has lost and has only me to deplore….
Places I go glare at my searching eyes with fervor,
Look out for her as though I wish to go to her.
And my heart too joins the fray,
And both of them conspire for me to seek her any which way.
But now as I no longer love her,
That’s a truth that my mind and my heart must concur.
As I sit and speak to myself, the dew drips on to the leaves,
Tell tales in the silence as the wind touching my voice as it grieves.
like my kisses of before, she is now another’s,
Her dreamy eyes, her warm weatish body, her heart, her joyous smile,
Her sweet body scent, her warm breath that spreads a mile
Are now not for me but for another…………….
I love her no more but maybe I yearn for her love,
But unknown to myself I seek her love somehow!!!
Filled with nostalgic emotions of our sweet oneness
I can barely raise my eyebrows to see us together in my mind’s eye.
I hope this is the last dart cupid has shot at me,
And this is the last verse I pen for her to see
Once on the vast placid sea,
Was a bucket whisked 'long currents so free.
He was as a boat
And he ever did float,
Unknown to Care, Worry or Hurry.
But one day, there came a new wind,
'Long a new way the bucket was sent,
Oh, this path unfamiliar
And its tests to endure,
What will this expirement rend?
Not long had he set his new course
Came a wave of such prodigal force,
He was born on the crest
And he did fare the best,
Though filled up with some water, he had this recourse:
Since it's along water I fare,
Well then, I really can't care,
If water makes me sink
I will take my last drink...
To leave it to Choice, I dare.
He heard the dolphin's chit-chattering chide,
Felt the surging insurrection of successive tide,
Though he was alone,
There soon fell a stone
From the depths of the cirrus-strewn sky.
So lower in the water he sunk,
His next gulp of water was drunk,
The victim of Whim
filled two-thirds to the brim
With no way to get out of this funk.
Now, inside the bucket did dwell
Countless people, no number could tell
And so, they did choose
Everything to lose-
They toppled the bucket, he plummeted towards Hell.
"I sit on the ocean's sand floor
Bereft of my purpose forevermore;
I shan't again be
Upon the sea free-
The whole ocean this vessle wll store."
Until I set out on my ship
And found me a spot, for to take a dip.
Who woulda' thunk it,
But I found that old bucket
And took him along on my trip!
The bucket was filled up with woe,
"How is it that water's my foe?
Was I, then, not meant
On this quest to be sent?
An answer, I wish I could know."
Not long had he sat on the deck
That the water had gone 'bout the length of my neck,
He was surprised about
How fast he dried out
And found that his value was not at all wrecked.
"I was not meant for the sea,
It is too much water for me.
I know my purpose
And I shall not fuss
When I can but meet my duty."
When we arrived back in the port,
I found him a new job of sorts:
I hung him in a well
And his joy he couldn't tell
That his too-great ambition, he chose to abort.
The globe is of unfathomable size,
It will not be tamed, we must realize;
Let all of it stand
And keep close both your hands,
But lend them to others when nears their demise.
Form:
(A white space. One door is labelled ''arrive'' another ''depart'' a white bed in the centre labelled ''stay''. In the bed are two women sleeping back to back, with the sheet pulled up high. A woman enters dressed semi-formally looking dazed and confused, she looks around baffled.)
Eliza: Hello, hello? My God, where am I? It''s so white, I''m so...
(A girl in the bed sits up, looks at her, frustrated at her sleep being interrupted)
Missy: You''re sooo dead.
(The other woman sits up, wearily rubs her eyes)
Martha : Missy we''ve talked about this. We let them down lightly. You mustn''t shock them like that
(She climbs out of bed, dressed in 1940''s clothing)
Martha: Nice to meet you, I''m Martha, and this delightful young thing is Missy. You are...
Eliza: Eliza. Look, where am I?
Missy : Purgatory, the ''afterlife'', heaven. Call it what you like. Honey...you''re dead.
(She steps out of bed, dressed in a school uniform, a short tie, a black mini skirt and a shirt only buttoned two thirds of the way, Eliza laughs nervously)
ELiza: No, no I don''t believe in the afterlife. When you''re dead you''re...
Missy: Dead! God..we''ve got another one on our hands Martha. You can deal with her.
Martha: Well, darling, what do you remember?
Eliza: I was in the car, with Nick, my husband, and ummm, oh, and in front of the car walked the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, a dear, all proud and tall and...
Missy: and BANG! You''re dead.
Eliza: No I must have just drifted off. This is all a dream. Isn''t it?
(She looks at Martha as if for reassurance. She receives only an apologetic look)
Eliza: Wow. Dead. That''s quite something.
(She sits on the bed)
It''s not...how I imagined. I mean, where is everyone? You must know.
Martha: You can''t know anything really. Not here. But after fifty years you begin to form ideas. I think the afterlife is separated into different rooms just like this. Every day women walk through here, weeping, confused, empty. I think this is the room where mourning mothers pass. Pushed through that door...drawn to that one. They rarely ever tell us their stories, but you can see it in their eyes you know? There''s something about a woman who has lost a child.
Eliza: Not really a woman at all.
Martha: Yes.
Form:
Black velvet sky festoons solemnly my brooding words,
Exudes gloom from my mindly nib, drowned in woes two thirds.
Sharp shrillness of many of my lingering thought,
Shatter silence of stillness that dusk had on to me brought.
Grief laden clouds quiver with culpable guilt,
Blue starry skies shiver around the moon’s curves laden with forlorn silt.
Tonight I write about my past in melancholy laced lines,
About my ceaseless love for her and her conditional love for me at times….
Solitary nights like the one tonight,
Has stored within itself, deep memories like flashing lights.
Nostalgia sewn within its brimming self,
Of holding her in my arms, my warm embrace her body engulfs.
Her conditional love for me and my ceaseless love for her at all times,
Lure the emotions out tonight, to write the melancholy stewed lines.
As I sit here all senses alive to listen to the great black night,
Sans her beside me, tears trickle down filling the beady grass beds and dull my sight.
The shattered silence of the night all dark,
Resonates in my head no more, but my heart leaves a deep bruised scar and a mark.
A quaint sound of lament I faintly hear,
From a distance it seems like an echo of my bleeding heart all unclear.
My soul curses me as never before,
As its mate it has lost and has only me to deplore….
Places I go glare at my searching eyes with fervor,
Look out for her as though I wish to go to her.
And my heart too joins the fray,
And both of them conspire for me to seek her any which way.
But now as I no longer love her,
That’s a truth that my mind and my heart must concur.
As I sit and speak to myself, the dew drips on to the leaves,
Tell tales in the silence as the wind touching my voice as it grieves.
like my kisses of before, she is now another’s,
Her dreamy eyes, her warm weatish body, her heart, her joyous smile,
Her sweet body scent, her warm breath that spreads a mile
Are now not for me but for another…………….
I love her no more but maybe I yearn for her love,
But unknown to myself I seek her love somehow!!!
Filled with nostalgic emotions of our sweet oneness
I can barely raise my eyebrows to see us together in my mind’s eye.
I hope this is the last dart cupid has shot at me,
And this is the last verse I pen for her to see
Enea's Pope! (2)
I suppose it’s common knowledge
(and not tedious, I hope!)
that two-thirds of the Sacred College
must concur to elect a pope.
With eighteen cardinals gathered,
twelve was the number to get.
They were nervous, preoccupied, lathered,
for there was no favourite yet.
Day One turned out quite indecisive,
Calindrini accomplishing five:
Enea’s vote, far from derisive –
his five kept his prospects alive.
D’Estouteville’s position was healthy,
and he lobbied for all he was worth.
It helped to be fabulously wealthy,
and promise the voters the earth.
“I don’t want to sound like a critic,”
(thus whispered d’Estouteville in private)
“but look at him – pauper, arthritic.
There’s something you need? I’ll contrive it.”
The gist of the cardinal’s sermon
was that Enea worshipped Apollo,
and was anyway almost a German,
dire consequences were certain follow.
A cardinals’ caucus at midnight
convoked by the frenchified faction
made it seem that the tertium quid might
take a piece of the Rouenais action.
D’Estouteville himself was a teller
when they voted the very next day:
they’d do better to pick Helen Keller –
one of Enea’s votes “went astray”.
Now Enea’s on nine votes, and leading:
a silence descends on the throng.
D’Estouteville is far from conceding:
this process could well be prolonged.
In silence they sit in the Sistine,
feckless, faineant, forlorn
(the chapel itself is still pristine:
Michelangelo hasn’t been born.)
A shout comes from Borgia (Rodrigo,
that’s Cesare’s father-to-be),
“I’m switching to you, mi amigo!”
That’s one of the necessary three!
And then speaks Tebaldi of Naples:
“I’ll go with Siena as well!”
It’s looking decidedly papal,
as friends of d’Estouteville can tell!
One vote is now all that is needed,
one vote and he’s pontifex max:
one vote and he’s finally succeeded:
one vote is the one thing he lacks!
Colonna gets up from his cushion:
d’Estouteville and chums know the score:
unseemly, the shovin’ and pushin’:
they bundle him out of the door.
The spectacle can’t be called splendid.
“Enea, I’m making you pope!”
The greasy pole’s now been ascended:
It’s time for the slippery slope!
My distracting theatrics verses are preempted versions of impending calamity, one by air, and, one by sea.
The point of levity is to advance the common element of surprise--the unexpected of the "clueless," whereto, I'll appropriately relabel as "passengers," save or bar the crew members, whom I'll also relabel them as, "sacrificial lambs," "... jolly good to go down with the ship, eh, First Mate?" "Every man for themselves, Captain!" "Are you from the States?" "Birmingham, sir." "England or Alabama?"
Levity is on because hope exists as time permits the gullible. A poem I wrote, exacts that point, entitled, "Mirror, In The Line Of Fire: POTW," where impending doom may claim your liberties, both physical [inability to move--fear], and mental [clear process to act--hysteria] is in the strike of you--death seizes your face/fate/faith.
My quantum phrase addressing those factors is, " ... gullible may hold the keys, but 'tis knowledge that opens the door."
Time idles whilst the plane sits on the tarmac--read the manual where on board is the safest place to position yourself or loved ones--a measure of hope--tho' odds are great, lean your faith on righteousness hold--greater than other--hymnally speaking.
With so much floatable furnishing, Titanic could have created a raft for a few souls more--again, a measure of hope.
A clear mind and ability to move give hope to those lacking, as fear and panic claim ownership of precious souls.
The odds may be great when facing such a calamity, and having such a mindset, therein lies the greater calamity.
A third survived, 700 souls, and two-thirds lost 1400 souls the Atlantic Ocean claims. A sad yet true revelation grew in Titanic's aftermath. The phraseology: "The Affluent Survived, The Destitute Died," adds another chapter of humanity's truths of life's measure of worth well-hid in the core of Eve's fruit, hence, illumination, "Since the beginning of time/knowledge of good and evil.
Murphy's Law acts as a jumping point for quantum knowledge in their efforts to simplify life struggles with a convenient doorway for its exit for your journey to a better you--give time for hope.
Tomorrow it will be a new start she said as a vow to herself.No more broken promises and tomorrow's that never are to be realized.
Today I plan.First thing new tennis shoes.Then shop for fuel.No longer looking at food as a panacea a means to dull the ache.
She awoke at four thirty to put on her exercise
uniform.It has been proven people perform better
When dressed for the occaision.
As she took off walking she was taking note of the feelings in her body .The tightness in her arches the discomfort around the left knee.Her mind fighting
to stay on the path of least resistance .To keep the status quo firmly entrenched no matter the cost.
Looking up she saw the moon a lovely muted
gold ovoid wondering is it waxing or waning? Am I waxing or waning?
The birds slowly awakening after a late night courtesy of the sunset that was thought never to arrive.
She walked at a victorious clip remembering to
open up the hip joints with each stride.Walking like a Geisha might be cute if you don't mind walking that way forever short of surgical intervention.Not
on her to do list.
Two thirds through her chosen route marveling
that her feet no longer hurt nor her knee.As the cars ahead approached she flashed the light she carried secured by its wrist strap.She had thought as she secured it so it could be used to defend herself if push came to shove.
As the traffic passed she flicked the light across the
roadway in answer to the rustle of a hopping squirrel in the brush.
At that very moment her right foot unsure of purchase in her brand new stiff soled walkers rolled
off the edge of the roadway .In one, as if
rehearsed ,movement she fell backwards onto the culvert's lip. Striking just below the base of
the skull.A kiss proving to be fatal.Just as her debut began the curtains
came crashing down with no chance of encore
In sight.All mixed metaphor aside,
do I believe she failed in her new beginning?
No! Never let it be said.
She attained all she had self swore. And more.