Long Upon Poems
Long Upon Poems. Below are the most popular long Upon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Upon poems by poem length and keyword.
Before me, was a fork upon the trail;
go left- go right- confused, I just stood there.
Then took a chance- not seeing past the veil
of crowded ferns that hid the views with care.
Not far into my chosen turn on right,
I saw the tattered roof, burst window, porch-
of the decaying structure- and, on-site,
a weathered chair that held a rusted torch.
The door, ajar- displayed a worn staircase
with some steps missing, quite in disarray.
Then, just like that- it floated down with grace-
a witch- with twigs and black rosette bouquet!
In black translucent skirt and cloak- she flew
above the stairs, past chair- to tall, dry, grass-
where once, for sure, a lovely garden grew.
But now- loud whispers warned, "do not trespass"!
I started backing up and then- oh, no!
The murmurings became a screeching scream!
Both ghost and house exploded in a glow-
as I woke up- to end my dreadful dream!
July 15, 2020
~1st Place~
Contest: Decaying House
Sponsor: Constance La France
Judged: July 19, 2020
Rules:
Write a poem on the theme of finding a decaying house
Use the 10 words (shown in bold) once only and in any order
Title is three words only from poem's first line
She offers far greater potential than the frame upon which she attaches
She is flexible, agreeable, and delights to be covered, opened, or closed
She provides a reality far and above her surrounding strong walls
If you should decide to uncover her, she will light up your world
If you desire to open her, she will comfort you with cool breezes
She’s transparent and flexible, willing and able to serve your needs
She’s a window and wishes to make you smile, but don’t break her
And even if you wish to close her, she will agree to give you privacy
Mirrors will aid and assist; but mirrors will never sustain or satisfy you
But if it is privacy alone that you seek, you need walls and not windows
If it is your world alone you desire, you need mirrors, and not windows
If “your point of view” is all that matters, you have no need of windows
But if you care about what’s out there, and how others see and feel;
If you long to share, to touch the souls of others, to give, to help, to heal;
If the tool of your trade is transparency, and you have no need for a shield;
You are a window person, and your heart has been touched by the Almighty
You’ve heard sounds, seen visions, and you cannot be retained behind walls
You have uncovered and allowed yourself to be opened for the benefit of others; you felt the breeze of the Almighty. You are free from mirrors and walls, and like God, through windows, you seek to love.
09142017Submitted for contest, Mid September Premiere, Brain Strand
In an irrevocable warp speed instant,
my head collided into the likeness of drying tar,
absorbing each horrid layer of concrete.
That pitch-black, tacky substance covered my body,
so that I was trapped, sightless, into immobility.
With pounding pain, like a full force baseball bat swing
to the skull, like a head cold amplified myriad times,
my brain screamed for release
inside walls of perpetual pressure,
with nerve spasms massively extending
beyond the central blow.
The stench of blood-covered latex gloves
and hand sanitizer attempting to halt disease,
had me guessing that I was in a medical facility.
I could taste metal, as if I was becoming part machine,
conforming to constant monitor beeps.
Morphine drips slipped me into hallucinations,
or maybe just distressing dreams.
My opaque mind tingled for air, breath gasping
like an incessant snore, mouth slightly ajar.
I imagined drools somewhere, but felt no dampness.
Numbness soon overcame most pain,
setting me into a panic of possible lost limbs,
lost neck, lost head.
Dread of the unknown
cast me into a guarded sensation of
always falling, anticipating the jarring end.
Unable to scratch intermittent itches
or ask for assistance, I twitched inwardly,
trapped in a corridor of horrors,
with siren flashes passing through the darkness,
running for a door or window to open,
or if locked, to kick vigorously
through this mind prison.
There are no doors. There are no windows.
Only echoed pounding of
familiar voices floating
surrounded me.
I could smell my wife's Tea Rose perfume
upon approach, accompanied by
my three mostly grown daughters
with their authentic scent of home.
Some named friends and acquaintances
came at arbitrary times.
Some offered slurred words in somber tones.
Some were simply saturated in silence.
All were drenched with unspeakable grief.
Each loved one's screaming drop of saline
made me cry inside, but I doubt it seeped outwardly.
I longed to reach out to wipe away their liquid sorrow,
but my muscles were limp, each limb
like a redwood tree branch in stagnant air.
Twisted we are, staring at ourselves
Dusty on our sky scraping shelves
Reviling the imp that stares back at us
trading in love for the plunders of lust,
For idiots we must be
To cleave to a society
That dictates our pockets' depth and our heart's reach
To invite the water into our mouths when the hull is breached
As we shut out reason
For a lie that's more seasoned
And drown our grey matter
With the concoctions of another medical mad hatter
Here we are, doomed to wonder for the entirety of our lives
Why is there silence in our bee hives,
When we accept opinions as infallible truths
Choosing to conform rather than reform: an existence without roots,
Becoming faceless men and women strutting upon life's stage,
Strings pulled, lines delivered, audience engaged,
We dance to another's tune, no song of our own,
Moulded to conformity, yet we remain alone,
For we belong to those who influence us and this we cannot see,
Because thoughts are now taught and I have become We.
An infinitesimal slight speck tickled
nostril follicle – activated via an itty
bitty, nitty gritty dirt band noah bigger
than a mole luck yule set in motion a
chain reaction, whence mine sensitive
proboscis honker (wheeze - hilly little
bridged fine tuned pug nose aroma
sensor), got unexpectedly in gauged
(in holy matt trim mo’ knee) to achew,
and eschew pledging troth (in favor of
hanky-panky) found this chap feeling
phlegmatic because an endless string
of faux allergic emanations, which
upon subsiding left me throat rather
raspy and voice some octaves deeper
akin to a coterie of celebrated jumping
frogs from Calaveras County, California
took residence and refused leaving
stranglehold upon math rote upon
awakening from a hard day’s journey
into night across the outer limits
of thine twilight zone resurrected
during slumber, yet upon awakening
felt much refreshed and hungry enough
to eat a horse – nee – make that forced
whore – gulped down within a hoof
n hour and now recount how back in
the day when zooming thru the Lilies
of the Valley (whooshing mass elf tubby
an aeroplane) frequent bouts with uber
twittering snapchatting sinus attacks
besieged crinkled, doppelganger expeller
for germs hunting with his clean X
instantaneously for nasal passages
to enter surreptitiously the fecund
effluvia dripping, oozing, and seeping
clear liquid as wintry cold air looses
droplets from out a near frozen nose,
which bloke knows not why frigid blast
stimulates gallimaufry of sniffling
to spurt into a volume of one after
another gesundheit donning, snorting
trumpeting unwittingly confusing
Canadian geese, who misconstrue
the honking from midway centered
facial organ, which angry birds
in tandem with flock of Seagulls
quite perturbed to espy one curmudgeon
chap clapping hands over (what feels
like Smashing Pumpkins on face)
in an effort to stifle subsequent gummy
emissions, which residue expectorated
with heave hoe shove
schnoz el tov blowing into snot-rag.
The Blind Moon of Nights
Close to me, upon you, being — your dream draws my thought near,
the blind moon of all nights rolls, bald, drifting soft and clear,
like a ball of spent light on a sky gone mute and bare —
to your borrowed soul I write some letters made of air.
It is my guilt that I read antiquity with thirst,
dead Latin, in disguise, whispering inside me — words dispersed,
my bloated irritation — a balloon that holds desire, not breath —
squint-stare: I watch life in mockery with one eye full of depth.
In your eyes a prose poem — sweet hypnosis past all cure,
may love light up my old age, long as centuries endure,
to life, if I'm alive tomorrow, I'll write crooked lines by hand —
from zero: hero! — a mute echo rising, hard to disband.
Saints say your soul is an egg born from the purest void,
222 — routine drums inside me, hollow and destroyed,
at a dead end — a contrasting memory, an age on loan —
close to me, upon you, being, in the dream I've not yet known.
Dead Latin, in disguise, walks inside me in an evening veil,
from your eyes a prose poem — purple hypnosis, rare and pale,
from zero into hero — a letter gently written on life's wall —
close to me, upon you, being, in the palms of night and pain's long call.
Number forty six - White House occupant re:
guarding President elect Joe Biden
Within mein hermitage
now dwells one euphoric troglodyte who wept
upon hearing unbelievable news,
(albeit at snail's pace schlepped
finally proclamation emancipation
gave reasonable rhyme yours truly to ejaculate
(not prematurely), subsequently I leapt
into the air, and kept
myself aloft completing
one after another sumersault and except
for minor nuisance of gravity
nevertheless landed feet first and crept
back into mine mancave adept
to survive alone in the wilderness.
Seventy four million popular votes
tallied across country,
gives ample reason to grind hips and bump,
(cuz the most votes
cast for any presidential candidate in history),
which Republican contender finally plopped
hook line and anchored
courtesy Taj Mahal replica sinker
into dustbin of history
good riddance electorate voted out
loutish oaf, which voters chose to dump
best mandated to cavort with zoot suited frump
on any given Wednesday available to hump
rotund barenaked lady merging
into humongous protoplasmic lump.
Caught red handed concerning
more'n where's the beef
stole 2016 election
under nose of Hillary Clinton
abused role, when tasked
as commander in chief
good ole Charlie Brown nemesis
caused nothing but grief,
hence yours truly quite elated
upon occasion when figurative new leaf
turned over and booted out
as more onerous than Baghdad thief.
Hit the ground running
with nary a second to waste
Joe Biden, Kamala Harris and company
proving their steely eyed mettle
after victory lap Democrats did taste
usher in COVID-19 game plan
bolstering pandemic defences
where prior administration sorely misplaced
priorities United States Lady Liberty
wantonly, undeservedly, subsequently
her reputation disgraced.
Hope springs eternal - ah tis amazing grace
yours truly suddenly brimming with optimism
able bodied diverse cabinet to erase
formerly inept sycophants with intentions base
running amok within White House
at long last competent candidate won the race
adieu Donald Trump, who
did disappearing act at Mar-A-Lago without a trace
sore loser teed off absent American
delivering his humiliating defeat coup de grâce.
"on those nights"
on those nights with million shining stars
with all their glow and radiant light
I remain in your arms for hours upon hours
nothing could be finer than sharing with you
this life this world these enchanting moments
savoring together all senses breathing true
we completely open our hearts to what is right
on those nights with million shining stars
I remain in your arms as love comes to light
SkyWatcher
05-10-18
Note:
I want to thank Victor Buhagiar and Anil Deo
I received messages from them that inspired me
thank you so very much gentlemen
it is my hope this little entry is ok
life is still busy as it is for everyone
may this day find you all well and safe
keep enjoying poetry and poetrysoup
thank you
Because You Came to Me
by Michael R. Burch
for Beth
Because you came to me with sweet compassion
and kissed my furrowed brow and smoothed my hair,
I do not love you after any fashion,
but wildly, in despair.
Because you came to me in my black torment
and kissed me fiercely, blazing like the sun
upon parched desert dunes, till in dawn’s foment
they melt, I am undone.
Because I am undone, you have remade me
as suns bring life, as brilliant rains endow
the earth below with leaves, where you now shade me
and bower me, somehow.
Keywords/Tags: Love, compassion, tenderness, kisses, melt, melting, sun, rain, bower, shelter, comfort, refuge, home, union, relationship, recovery from, thank you, for her
The Antics Of A Would Be Mama's Yoyo Thief
(now a penchant with less Zionist trenchant ululation to vent.)
Not a peep passed thru mine -
aye vaguely attest
what ten? eleven? twelve? age
of following anecdote at best
guest, but no
doubt yours truly
with figurative heart in chest
scared puny meek boy
tight lipped silently confessed
to foiled attempt, sans trying
unsuccessfully to steal a yoyo,
inviting tummy prepubescent
unbuttoning, a substantially
sprawling Holy skype sizing breast
of mine upon be nabbed,
thus aye didst detest
foolish kid ploy, and
(prematurely nipping
in the bud) messed
up potential life of crime
with first and only
shoplifting heist jest
for getting caught no a pest
key yoyo, mama would
(IF FOUND OUT)
axe me no quest
chin, but whack me itty bitty
teensy weensy derriere lest
quickly putting to rest
any Robin Hood
fantasy life of
high stakes crime pressed,
and squeezed out the noggin
with apropos punishment addressed
thankfully, neither parent
got wind, nor ever guessed
their beautiful darling
boy did test
petty theft, never
matured nor didst crest
into a profitable "yoyo
string Ponzi like
scheme," thus ballsiest
dare devilish and bitterest,
and laughably noble lest
act yours truly ever attempted
immediately ceased to shelve bravest
sleight of hand find
delve during broad est
daylight, I immediately
didst shelve, when clumsiest
initial foray into
the world wide web
tubby come cleverest
lad, this side of
Lansdale, Pennsylvania
many damnedest
yesterdays ago, never
took another earnest
tempting gamble since security
detail nearly wrest
head possible zapped feeblest Ames?
to pilfer from other
Department stores if pressed
for money no matter,
I might miss an enforced
hated ballet class,
with abs salute zest!