Long Urbane Poems
Long Urbane Poems. Below are the most popular long Urbane by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Urbane poems by poem length and keyword.
Blinded by vanity
a king has no hope, only a pugilistic mind.
He speaks his urbane opinions carelessly
berating all others; he leaves their broken hearts behind.
Since he himself has no hope, he crushes the hopes of those he thinks of pusillanimously.
Such a waste, their hopes will never be refined.
This king, contrary to many other kings, was not thought of as volatile.
Not a soul, would I expect to be surprised,
In fact, they expected no other fact; they said he deserved credit through death upon exile.
Atop their graves, written on the tombstone, are words that penetrate so deep into you that you can hear their thoughts, which were not so much compromised.
All the while, the king is enclosed in his vanity.
Forevermore with a crown atop his grave
Along with the few remnants of his dignity
In addition to the veridical words
“A king, not so much, but a mortal man whose vanity couldn't save.”
I assure you, vanity is the bane
of this tragedy, so avoid it at all costs, for it will not diminish but will instead only exacerbate the pain.
Book in hand, I find a quiet corner,
pillowed bench in bay window,
inside looking out . . .
or is it outside looking in?
Unread words signal for rescue,
drowning in ink gone liquid
welling up from some salty inner spring,
pressured heart the incessant source.
Weary thoughts wander
outside open windows . . .
soon, feet follow, white and bare,
to chase across dew drenched grasses,
inquisitive masses repressed,
where the moon hangs large and low,
beauty begging to be grasped.
Take me away with you, Luna,
hide me in your dark eclipse
where prying eyes miss
the emptiness surrounding . . .
Urbane wise men say
this will pass,
this aching, animal-burrowing;
I doubt they ever walked this way,
this windowed way,
looking out
or is it looking in?
Copyright, July 1, 2017
Faye Lanham Gibson
He foils all jokes, punchlines and jocularity
He foils all contrary philosophies in hilarity
He's sarcastic and sardonic, he's even ironic
Soon to be iconic and witted supersonic
He stands for absolute truth, this trailer trash sleuth
Rap Reynolds is his name, giving noogies is his game
This spark started in a trailer park
Conceived to be, and to leave his mark
A foiler of all who attempt comedy
And the outcome (for them) is a tragedy
All those who claim contrariness will be slain
He will counteract the bane of the vain
Spoiler alert The Foiler has come to foil the plans
Ready, aim, fire and all the funny business dying with a laugh
Oh no it seems every time an Eighties tune is played
(Within earshot) I transport instantly to that time and space
And for every knee slapper there is a counteract-er
He never went to college and he'll steal all your musical knowledge
P.S. Does he chortle and guffaw at every flaw
Is he witty and urbane towards the lines that are flubbed
Nah he just needs his tummy rubbed
And even though she is in a different dimension
He thinks a lot of Emma Bankz, she's his cardinal direction
It’s hard to quantify experiences, but to coin someone else's
original phrase, ‘you know it when you feel it.’
Now that I’m living in Paris, at my Grandmère’s 76-room ‘hôtel particulier,’ I find myself on the itchy edge of wealth, influence and power and while I don’t consider myself necessarily of that class, I’m certainly exposed to attempts to drag me into it.
Many afternoons, as I come home wearied by classes and braced for hours of study, there are these silver trays with little white, gold embossed envelopes (invitations), casually placed where they’re unavoidable, and it’s not unusual to find that one of the CMs has laid out a dress for me and a suit for Peter - though we seldom attend these events.
I find myself vociferously defending my schedule (for the thousandth time) - and I’ve only been in school three weeks: “Grandmère, I’m in med-school, I have homework.”
Let’s wax freeversely of the upper-class (as if I belonged)..
In elegant but confined houses
where lives unfold in drawing rooms
and the inhabitants are sharp and snobbish.
They struggle against social and erotic constraints -
frustrations essential to the drama and pathos of wealth.
Let the rabble be messily heterogeneous
and agenda-set “inclusivity.” It’s nothing to us.
It hardly foregrounds harmony or authenticity.
Civilized people are more reticent and buttoned-up.
it’s sexier and more romantic, to drive toward marriage,
where lovers work to deserve each other,
and individuals integrate into couples.
Failing this urbane integration, love degenerates
into solipsist libertinism and eventually, these
sad outcasts catch their deaths - apart and alone.
.
.
Songs for this:
Am I the Same Girl? by Swing Out Sister
It Hasn't Happened Yet by William Shatner
.
.
hôtel particulier = a grand urban townhouse (mansion) in Paris or other city.
76-rooms - 37 of those are bathrooms - do those count as rooms?
CM = chambermaid (I think Grandmère employs 12 domestic servants).
The First Time
A brooding forest illuminated by a wishful recitation,
Errantly proffered, for woodland creature's, to savor,
A humble soul, who is slow in the course of courting,
A supportive procedure, of airy words to practice by.
Nimble eyes brashly grazed the overworn paper,
Promising to thoughts sake, of multiple repeats,
Apprehensive importuned by that thawing hour,
As the momentous occurrence, developed itself.
Yon floweret holds neath dangling mistletoe,
Her fervent fragrance burst to exude scents,
Ventured out eagerly entice the staled nose,
Urbane sweet-smelling embrace a new year.
The sweet nothings poured first from his lips,
To tendered labyrinths to absorb and exist in,
The elder minds remember and youth fickles,
Naught this brave budding cause for he begs.
So he gathers the courage to submissiveness,
With both hands behind his back and yield . . .
. . . fingers crossed, he leans in towards her too,
favors a kiss to be in-kind, she willfully responds.
. . . two as one . . . for the first time.
2020 January 17
What Are Your Wishes
*7th Place*
Second Chances N-A Poems From My Contests Only Part I
~~Chantelle Anne Cooke
*2nd Place*
Writing Prompt - Take the Dagger Out
~~Constance La France
“Sir, Sir, why are you smiling, so happy and glad,
If you do not mind to answer my simple query,
Please teach me how to be urbane and merry,
I am so tired to be labeled as gauche or mad:
It is so scary to look at the moon and feel sad!
The days are so long and the nights too dreary
The comedies too silly, the dramas too eerie,
Who would guess that a Romantic soul is bad?”
“But my dear friend, there is no secret at all,
No mystery in the rainbow for you to find
Unless you look inside your own good mind:
I have just answered a surprising phone call:
It was not Calypso or a holy archangel above,
No, it was just the voice of the woman I love.”
A special treat as a tyke was a trip to the candy store,
Pressing my nose to the glass eyeing tasty candies galore!
With pennies in hand trying to make a profound decision,
The candy-man becoming impatient with my youthful indecision!
Gracious me! All those marvelous delicacies in cartons and jars!
Jelly beans, lollipops, gum drops and heaps of chocolate bars;
Taffy, licorice, all-day suckers and jaw breakers too.
So much to choose from - what was a poor boy to do!
When I became a teenager and somewhat more urbane,
I forsook lollipops, horehound and the childish candy cane!
I much preferred heartier fare to sate my greedy sweet tooth,
Like Mounds, Pay Day, Milky Way and the good old Baby Ruth!
Now as I near the autumn of life's wild and treacherous tour,
I have a taste for more exotic sweets as I become more mature.
Truffles, pralines, penuche, bon bons and luscious divinity;
Almond roca and turkish delight - I could go on to infinity!
I researched the history of candy and here is what I found.
Cave persons discovered honey and consumed it by the pound!
Others concocted candied honey mixing in a bit of fruits and nuts.
History aside, I don't care - I relish candy no ifs, ands or buts!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
one need not be cosmopolitan nor urbane
but like me just a common and simple fellow
whom this bumpkin t'would never be called vain
doing his level best to ride the gravy train
voicing sentiments in league like an ordinary swain
recounting how those forebears occupied a royal reign
composing this, that or the other anonymous quatrain
perhaps even adorning an irish pen name like o'shane
just one humble poet whose verse one might call plain
reaching to win the heart of this paramour in the main
taking an idyllic stroll along lover's lane
taking in silent subtle musings like some citizen kane
this common joe holding hands with his ordinary jane.
one need not be cosmopolitan nor urbane
but like me just a common and simple fellow
whom this bumpkin t'would never be called vain
doing his level best to ride the gravy train
voicing sentiments in league like an ordinary swain
recounting how those forebears occupied a royal reign
composing this, that or the other anonymous quatrain
perhaps even adorning an irish pen name like o'shane
just one humble poet whose verse one might call plain
reaching to win the heart of this paramour in the main
taking an idyllic stroll along lover's lane
taking in silent subtle musings like some citizen kane
this common joe holding hands with his ordinary jane.
Exponential growth
of capital and unkindness
in wildly unsustainable urban centers
viciously competes without more virtuous cycles
of silent wilderness integrity
NonCapitalized outside my tribe
compassion co-investments
enveloping local community resilience planning
for optimal health and safety
Community trauma prevention
through personal and public
intimate and cultural
nonviolent
nonverbally sustained co-investments
in family and multiculturally extended friends,
sacred EarthTribe co-investors
All with nomad roots
emerging from a savory
sensory
sentient wilderness
Inviting privileged Elders
to become more actively curious
and retirement committed
to pay co-investments forward
to restore EarthHealth
resilient justice
through universal
cooperatively win/win
healthy and sacred bodhisattva
co-redemptive pay compassion forward
vocations
Fed and watered by silent wilderness
vacations
from finding sufficient time
and capital investors for one more war,
tolerating one more angry domestic retort,
this one final partisan revenge
While co-investing in sufficient wilderness time
and curious interest
and courageous urbane places
for spacious enculturing peace,
kind and quiet response
absorbing regenerate empowering health
and resilient enlightened promise.