Long Uncanny Poems
Long Uncanny Poems. Below are the most popular long Uncanny by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Uncanny poems by poem length and keyword.
on hyaloid shade phylum
of zaffre azure
swish
soulful scrutinize
apodictic vinculum
magniloquent
wandering of wispy whooshes
wrapping wisps of weird warbles
shrivel olive trees
overflow no omen
drenched in sweat
summoned by chimera
once called passion
title assertion?
baud pace of rimless dreams
blurred bark
bare branches
fruitless leaves
unfetter'd
sky loose
mythic gem idol
purine as Myrsine
space rock fit
moon zappily
uncanny
azure drilled of ritzy rag doll
mesh shimmer blaze shackle
include
dare
desire
gaudy Sirius in darkened spell
mottled splendor
to cognize my path
as xanthic whispers
afresh
Written: August 06, 2022
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Eerie Midnight …walking through a field,
find three witches asking me to yield,
around a cauldron abominable they look,
Wonder what they're brewing following their book!
Are there a lizard's leg, toe of a frog
Fillet of a snake, tongue of a dog!
A frightful castle on top of the hill,
Who lives there, Dracula …I shiver with chill.
An uncanny mysterious moon shines so bright,
silhouettes of ghosts and goblins wander in sight.
Hear deadly werewolves howling and gnashing teeth,
I dread this menacing night, I hardly can breathe.
I screamed in terror, the witches signalled to me,
I stumbled in sheer panic, they wouldn't let me free.
Ohhh…gosh..what a nightmare of Halloween night,
Ghoulish things will disappear with morning light!
October 26, 2022
Halloween Themed 12 -16 lines Rhyme Premier Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Rhymes checked by rhymezone.com
SECOND PLACE
Into my general path with a low voice.
Included are profound love and rejoice.
There will certainly be no lyrical illusion.
Simply a breathtaking, supple inclusion.
In the same vein as a delectable sweet.
She brings joy and a soft, cherished beet.
This involvement encapsulates her well.
In the bliss of my life or in a crystal shell,
The lightness of the wreath is uncanny.
Gently pulling into every nook and cranny
The depth of the loyalty is beyond compare.
An immensely worthless treasure, and rare.
Her compassionate and kindhearted nature
It calms my heart turmoil and mind retainer.
Love that cannot be evaluated or measured.
That filled my soul with all that I treasured.
To have her in my life is a tremendous gift.
Is this love flawless, or is his barb less swift?
Her dulcet apathy, sparkling as stars above,
My lovely addiction, my unconditional love.
Written: June 08, 2023
I don’t write because I ‘like’ to
I do, I mean
but the memories whose door I dare to open again….
is something you do not write about
BUT I DO.
I do because without the agony there is no real me
I find peace in my torture
my anguish
my woe
my endless torment
~I write as the raw pain engulfs my insides while burning them with the same fire I burn through and the demons inside me start gnawing at the inhumanity of me
eating it all up like banshees
as my fingers bleed into the paper and my skin
forcing the crimson to surge out of the vessels
a pattern so lovely.~
I keep writing as the burden on my head
feels like a mountain
who is crushing me slowly
Steadily
into the ground while I keep trying
trying to stand
but it weighs my insanity
my lunacy.
I keep writing as I struggle to come up
while the weight of my past keeps pulling me down
and I struggle
for just a single gasp of air.
but the worst is when I keep writing
when my heart is exhausted from trying to come up
as I descend into the darkness of the sea
the dark all so familiar.
~I burned so much from the fire, that even the coldest of seas could not douse the torment growing inside of me~
the simplicity might seem uncanny to you
but for me, it’s the familiarity of pain
of abandonment
of exhaustion.
I live in it
no
I find solace in it.
and as the last of oxygen leaves my body
and nothing other than a void
of eternal pain is left of me
I keep drowning in it
because that pain at least
gives me a reason to exist.
Form:
A course-correction knife was plunged too late.
A smile was still, upon her lips, that date.
Clueless, for most of life, the cherries, green.
Her shoulder-bluffs and high-peak cheeks are seen.
She stands five feet, barely a statue-bold.
Appears quite warm with bundled arms of gold.
A pointed thumb at chest level. A charm
Bracelet does shake with silver-fake alarm.
The lyrics play a lycra-schmooze with stretch.
Uncanny walking cane, amidst homestretch.
A slide puzzle, her wrinkles crash and burn.
Only then, girl, a happenstance upturn.
A giving tree, with scathing sack of seed.
The dandiest scatters of yellow weed.
A field not quite a rose, with weaker stems.
A chosen path amidst headstones - few gems.
But remembered, oh yes. Her name engraved
and youthful picture set. ‘Tis what she craved.
Okay I saw your spitting image today!
Tried to give her a real big hug
She was your utter and absolute clone my love
Came so close to getting slugged
Thought there was really only one of you
With your bubbly personality
Will check a lot more closely next time
Could have ended up horizontally
Never thought two could look so alike
To run into her it was surely fate
One of those spooky occurrences in life
But her boyfriend set me straight
Uncanny is a very good word to describe it
Weird is another word that fits
She even had a luscious body like yours
And your gorgeous 34B... uh... eyes!
© Jack Ellison 2013
Boy,
When all is said and done
Like a mighty uncanny wind to by pass
Let it not be ever a whistle thereof
When in youth you sprout forth
And be a determined shoot
To avenge the wrath of retardation
And in the light walk right
Avenge boyish dreams
And cast away the dilemma of hangovers
The salted myths of the dozed off giants
Or the imminent fear of extinct volcanoes
Let the future afore be cast sane
Or like a sea ashore
Sands of time ashore to beckon
And be a poor boy plays pebble plays
Then avenge your avid desires
And mould them into a dream to reckon
A force that unrolls the planet a tune
Zigzagged ways pulled right
Akin to this
Passion to grab a life of your own
For in this there is no mountain!
In 1932, on April Fools’ Day,
you entered this world, and are still with us today.
Your original first names were Mary Frances.
Your birthplace was the city of El Paso, Texas.
In Burbank, California, you won a beauty contest.
This started your career many consider among the best.
Warner Brothers and later MGM placed you on the big screen.
In many films and television shows, you would be seen.
It was here you were given your new name “Debbie”.
You have possessed uncanny talent along with great beauty.
Your act contains fine music and funny comedy.
Among your hit songs is the fifties classic “Tammy”.
A friend of mine dragged me down to Atlantic City.
After seeing your act, I now consider myself lucky.
I thank wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for information I obtained to write this poem.
Perhaps the dead have the last laugh over us --
Daughters bitterly weeping in front of Jesus in an old church,
(merciful Jesus, merciful Jesus, merciful Jesus, be there for Daddy)
Unknown poor relations, pond scum grifters, co-workers
(gone fishing and unable to attend the cremation ceremony
at such short notice), well-meaning relatives (I knew she'd take
it hard. Has she managed to eat and sleep at last?
You look like your father so much, it's uncanny), therapists
Bearing tranquilizer prescriptions, numinous yoga teachers, oh sattvic touch,
Oh grief boundless everlasting oceanic.
The living say people things and do people things,
They bristle with a most jarring, annoying, persnickety sort of aliveness;
What of his estate? Why is she crying in church? Must be a war widow.
Well, she's real pretty. We all lost a good man. He was depressed over the divorce.
He was going on a business trip in June.
He loathed this freakish endless winter and looked forward to summer.
He planted two apple trees. He was such an avid gardener.
I do not care for my father's peonies, tulips, clematises --
Elated, I spend days wrapped in his new pearlescent world;
Death is sweetness, soft falling feathers, a joy and lightness of being
Unparalleled, undisturbed, unimaginable;
Happy Birthday, Dad.
The dead boyishly wink at us through a freshly printed pale pinkish
Death certificate with its Mahleresque staccato --
Born in Donetsk, September 23, 1956, died in St Petersburg
May 21, 2026: ewig, ewig, ewig, Ewigkeit -- inky crow feathers again;
The dead are playful with ghostly phone calls beyond the grave,
Strangely found Buddha figurines that have emotional significance to you
And your father alone, the dead are funny, silly, impish, impossible;
The dead know things, the dead take their time as they now
Whisper and now shout in repeating numbers, precognitive dreams, crows
Touching your face after your last phone conversation
(duration: 11 minutes, 33 seconds) months before
They are even dead.
The dead are very much alright and we are not alright at all.
I go downstairs to sit in the yard and chain smoke
And I watch my father morph into a solemn,
Unfathomable Osiris as the night reluctantly falls
In a tremulous never-quite-night-St Petersburg June kind of way.
Their brilliance, their godawful brilliance.
Numbness prevails over me,
Masking me… sending me pangs of suppression
Deadness tears its way inside of me,
Consuming me… devouring me with yanks of oppression
Darkness frowns upon me,
Dragging me down…sending me scraps of sadness
Gloominess molds me inside and out,
Chasing after me…surrendering to my wretchedness
Shadiness lurks above me and it wildly swarms,
Murdering me…scarring me with my unbroken misery
Murkiness blankets over us like troubled storms,
Shaking us up…bribing me with heaps of boundless fury
Edginess overrides me like a wraithlike form,
Misleading me…sneering at my failures and agony
Blurriness absorbs in this uncanny terrain…no sign of storm
Still, I’m withering into sand, grinding into shards of tragedy