Long Upended Poems
Long Upended Poems. Below are the most popular long Upended by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Upended poems by poem length and keyword.
Finally the agony,
of childbirth has ended.
A newborn baby's cry is heard,
and Satan's plans are upended.
Joseph hastened to clean the babe,
then tenderly laid him at my breast.
We both stare in awe-struck wonder at this child,
God's own Son in human flesh.
Tears of joy trickle down my face,
as I caress Your downy head.
My son - God's Son - Jesus.
Just like the angel said.
"Look Joseph, He's perfect,"
I said as I swaddled him up tight.
Joseph smiled and nodded his head.
It had been a momentous night.
Why me, Lord? Why was I the one,
to be chosen for this blessed honor?
I feel so common and unworthy,
to be Messiah's mother.
Look at us! We're in a stable,
a manger for Your Son's bed.
Surely the Son of God should have been
born in a palace instead?
But Your ways are beyond my understanding,
this humble birth you have decreed.
I will not give in to complaining,
because I know You'll meet every need.
Child of my heart, God's promise kept,
welcome to the world You made.
You have come to bring the earth Good News,
and on You our hopes are laid.
11/20/15
And I’m released in tiny bursts,
Like suddenly remembering what color the sun is,
Like remembering we’re all a bit like laser beams.
Why do I lean against the walls of the cave,
Self-regulating my impulses and bright-eyed notions
In a bubbling laboratory, upended with what I thought I wanted,
And what I felt was true?
That blue cord of boundless vision is either suddenly in shadows,
Or doesn’t want to come to the party as often.
Or you’re sitting on it and you don’t even realize it.
What's the bother? You’re making it all up, anyway.
Though it does matter what you’re creating.
Everyone’s watching.
This is the time and you know it.
And as vanity runs to the basement
The blue hues brittle into something near bliss.
Poetic paean to papa's princess
Otherwise titled:
Mien wonderful wedded divine wife
whose piercing deliverance...,
a balm ameliorating tattooed strife
despite being dirt poor,
I cherish her pricelessness, how nice,
a beacon complementing/
supplementing homelife,
who will forever be with me
even during our (mine
atheistic couched) afterlife.
She, the mother
of our deux darling daughters, I adore
though ofttimes, she never knows...
expressing love tis quite an arduous chore
concerning me upon this (we quietly celebrate
wedding anniversary two days hence, whoa...
how quickly time doth pass, cuz we wed
yes already number xxiv, i.e. twenty four)
orbitz around the sun, we reminisce...
So much emotional turbulence
nearly rent asunder,
I accept culpability (yours truly)
strayed against sacred covenant
went wayward intrepid misdeeds
nearly perilously upended marriage,
said vaguely worded insensate blunder
wrought catastrophic upheaval
reigned analogous how millenniums ago
Vandals, Huns, Goths,
et cetera did plunder
and ransack the
outer limits of Roman empire
our pledged troth shattered,
whereby the missus outclassed Zeus,
she emitted deafening thunder,
yet annulment nor divorce,
she would not grant
sigh of great relief
and mystery I wonder...
To this July twenty third -
how hands of father time
speedily lept away
two thousand and twenty,
an (extra) ordinary day
to be alive and appreciate sticktoitiveness
toward her, whose troth I pledged
courtesy thee (sacrilegious infidel)
mine discreet liaisons spouse forgave
NOT telling me hike along highway
and/or boulevard of broken dreams, motorway
avoided, cuz she thee missus
WANTED me to stay
in role of legally wedded husband
(and father to deux special grown lasses)
when they (progeny)...
were just newborn babes yesterday!
Oops, they pushed their captain off his own ship,
made sure the deck was slick, black-boot polished,
waited ‘til great white sharks surrounded it,
until sharp sword swells upended its whip.
They turned their back, mocked, laughed, pretending to
be very serious - glasses pinch nose.
They swabbed the deck whitewashing its bleak sin.
OvErThRoW overthrow, not noticing
a tidal wave is coming — a rogue wave
ripping and roaring, exploring — the bore
soaring, sore like Noah’s flood overdone,
as the fallen angels drink from its cup.
12/4/2019
Way back in the mists of the 1950's
Transistor radios were really quite nifty
I saved for such a long time
Spent every last one of my dimes
Bought me a red crystal-set 'rocket ship'
A radio custom-built to take a long trip
Under the covers I'd dive about nine
The reception on WABC, New York, just fine
I'd stay up way past my bedtime
Thrilling to sportscasts in my secret shrine
You can probably guess how all this ended
My parents caught me, my secret upended
Yet they saw how I cried over how they'd pried
And pretty soon they too were so teary-eyed
They backed right down -- my dream hadn't died
~ Tears of laughter all three of us cried
January 13, 2021
The Good Old Days Contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
DUCK AFTER DUMP PING THE DON
air ring ma thoughts - no matter aye ham
juiced one twenty first century mwm ape
serves as genuine s cape
to fly (during pitch black hours of night) and escape
burning effigies, where his jumbo jet, a sonic boom stick bewitching like Snape
temporarily tough feign ruffled feathers sans rape
pay shuss selfish lust, when world sliding down behavioral sink,
where he doth jape
and me as distant outlier from madding crowd i gape
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
At the sheer inanity
trumpeting strumpets donning an innate
prejudice and senselessness purr
blind faith toward self avowed demigod -- seize whore viz Cesar
his hair coiffed and puffed like it whir
wind blown kickstart ting mobs to stir
paying bodyguards to evict ruckus-causing murmur
oh...how the masses will let this country
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Go to hell in hand basket
and rack up stratospheric global debt
cause zing this one measly mortal male to fret
that totalitarian rule will force every man,
woman and child to march....het
two...three...four, while the billionaire
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
turns a third blind eye speeds away in his foo fighter jet
argh...heavens to Betsy, how did the fickle finger of fate let
this pompous ass
vacuumed majority votes across world wide net
to finagle vox populi, and groom hooligan nasty ruffian thugs
with smashed face s as his smart pet
bump ping uglies henchmen set
to create their own version of the tet
offensive, despite croup bawling ashen faced deportees
whose tears sentence innocent to po' ver tee branding indiscriminately vet
so culled unwanted ill eagle "aliens"
labored with nose to grindstone
fingers to the bone vainly, their american dream parched whence whet.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Long story short - pondering my rental circumstance will equal net
zero importance, and will be upended if this ret
chad, ewol, googly-eyed, gastronomic, narcissistic bullish don will set
the spark for world war three - via gone ah re: ha...ha...ha...to all vet
tureens within the american crucible melting pot - with backs whet
unless....Katrina and the Waves, superman or Sabrina can oust him yet!
The year is like a drainpipe
Gently sloping as we go
From new year resolutions
T’ward the winter’s dark and snow
We begin with such potential
Energy to fill our hearts,
Yet as we journey through the year
It’s full of stops and starts.
Modern day society
Is tipping up the pipe
Making us accelerate
In the dying of the light
But the year it is not linear
Time dies not come to an end
New Year’s Eve is not a stop!
At most it is a bend
A bend within the circle
As the year perpetuates,
Continues on eternally
It flexes and vibrates
Conformity discourages
Individual creation.
We live by routines, starts and stops
No individualisation.
As forward we all travel
Time is speeding as we go
The year becomes upended
December crushing down below.
When the days get shorter
Solstice marking Yule’s dark state,
The pressures pile upon us,
While we long to hibernate.
The chaos can be silenced
If you just reframe the view,
Of how we see this time of year,
And the stresses that ensue.
The expectations put on us
Demand that we react,
But this outdated rule has reached
The point we must redact.
We pile so much importance on
This time of dark and cold.
Take to your cave, slow down, relax,
It’s time now to be bold.
Push back against society,
The vulgarity of spend.
the world will keep on turning,
December is not the end.
Horrible, my map upended our time with boot camp son.
Horrible to get back to base, not be caught, had to run.
Horrible, to see Mom hurried into hospice, her hours few.
Horrible when we heard last sweet breaths, as time flew.
Horrible when a tree splintered the roof of our deck.
Horrible, the tree balancing, just above hubby, in check.
Horrible when eggshells were underfoot, a bad spell.
Horrible the slamming doors, curses and raising hell.
Horrible the gall stones and bladder, ended grand visit.
Horrible the nightmarish nettles that percoset gifted.
Horrible heaven’s so far away, like pot of gold source.
Horrible, like vagabonds, earthlings veer off course.
Horrible, the end of a savory and sweet meal.
Horrible the rancid leftovers of mortal ideals.
Horrible when poetry is no longer wielded, engaged.
Horrible when Armeggedon speaks, when war is waged.
Among tales told long ago were those
of finding hidden buried treasures,
of growing seeds in diverse soils,
of building homes on sand or rock,
of sorting worthy sheep from wicked goats,
of inviting multitudes to a banquet,
of celebrating a prodigal returning home,
of saving a life by a scorned Samaritan.
Jesus loved earthly stories
with heavenly implications.
His parables were spiritual seeds
sown in hearers’ hearts and minds,
analogies thrown alongside
puzzling narrative plots,
poignant truths with shocking twists
and unexpected outcomes.
Deceptively simple, sly stories
with multiple potential meanings,
his parables perplexed expectations,
and upended usual understandings.
Even his bewildered disciples
pleaded for private interpretations.
During careful contemplation,
parables interrogate our lives.
Providing few easy answers,
parables compel us to ponder.
(First published in Earth & Altar, 14 Nov. 2024. See also my poems “God Around the Corner” and “Consider the Dreaming Birds.”)
Born to time and it's despair
who is this solitary child for who no one cares?
Tears alone welcomed her that day,
as this child's mother slipped away.
A birth unintended
while life is randomly upended
and in the physical realm
is born the child of the oak and elm.
A prophetic dream laid waste to this land
where strangers walk the dampened sand
and the child taken out to open sea
is the harbinger of every you and me.
One day this child spurned
will find its way back and be returned
to the cause of justice, love and freedom's creation
where once it was spurned in the hopes of a nation.
For now, this solitary child yearns
aching in pain from lessons it has learned
and with a promise of a newer chance
perhaps the child will see America and the world advance.
Beware, users, traffickers of our children's lives
you have no right to choose who lives or dies
justice shall be most unkind, angry, righteously vexed
with you and anyone who might steal innocence next.