Long Verbatim Poems
Long Verbatim Poems. Below are the most popular long Verbatim by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Verbatim poems by poem length and keyword.
Once, A Time, I Was Accused To Be
Like A Siren of The Sea
As Ones In Ulysses’ Odyssey
but, No … That Was Not Me …
Those Sirens, Lured To Death
They Were Lethal Temptresses
Like Myth of Cursed Lilith
Or Like Real-Life, Eve Transgressed
They, With Beauty, and Beckoning Ropes Hung
Bound, Beguiled-Men in Rose-Blossom Arms
And Spoke with Honeycomb-Tongue
But Whose Hearts, Held Hidden Harm-Swarms …
No … I Should Not Be Compared
To Those, with Honor So Blurred
I Have Only Shared and Cared and Bared
… So, In What Way, Have I Erred ?
It Took Many Years To Be
And Much Salt-Water To Rinse Free
From What Others Say and See
And Drown Out Complexity
Yea, I Do Call, I Do Agree …
but, I Sing To The Brave and Eternity
And When I Pray … It Is Holy
And for A Soul's Safety, Only
Oh Yes, I Whisper, Clean and Sweetly
And My Tone Thrills or Trills So Softly
And My Voice Can Arch With Ecstasy
Or Timbrel in Throes – Dawn to Dusk, Sultry
And I Speak Words, As Perfumed Nard
Speak Words, That Leave A Silken, Silver Cord
Or Speak Words of Double-Bladed Sword
… After All, I Am A Female-Bard
And I Want To Learn and Recite More Victories
And Teach Each Other’s Verbatim-Stories
Discover Each Other’s Verbal-Mysteries
And God and My Lord’s Vocal-Oratories
And With The Moon, As Symbol-Shield of Light
Yes, I Rise To Conquer Oblivion-Nights
I Keep Faith and Courage, In Sight
Aglow for Good-Guys and Cowboy-Knights
I’m A Sensual-Woman, and of Sacred-Things
I’m Emotional, Yet … Aim For Deep-Think and Dreams
Now, Some Called The Lord A Glutton, for Eating and Drinking ( Matt. 11: 19 )
So Some Call Me A Siren, ‘Cause They Want Me To Stop Speaking …
But, Worthy, Be The Ear, That I Speak To
And Shyly Cry and Whisper … My Secrets To
And If Only A True-Higher-Calling, Will Do
Then, I’ll Sound, That Siren, For You …
This Is The Siren Song, You Hear
Not One, For You To Fear
My Volume, is not Too Loud, But Clear
Singing, Avoid Shadows, Avail Cheer ! !
No … I’m Not Some Fish-Tale Mermaid of The Sea
More Like A Lighthouse, Guiding To Rock, See: ( Deu. 32: 4 )
Ever Glowing, Ever Orbing … Audibly …
The MoonBee - Siren Odyssey
Once, A Time, I Was Accused To Be
Like A Siren of The Sea
As Ones In Ulysses’ Odyssey
but No … That ' Isn’t ' Me …
When wandering through a clinical studies program,
I began a practice of writing verbatims,
capturing the essence of conversations
messages
for their therapeutic integrity.
In this frame of mind and heart,
several years ago
I wrote this verbatim
on behalf of my daughter
with oppositional defiant disorder
and cerebral palsy.
Rereading it just now,
I wonder how different
really
are her imagined thoughts from mine
and yours?
in diverse political and economic senses
speaking and listening with each other
across our less than confluent
health enlightened
and wealth care
empowering/disempowering
polarized unholistic divides:
You asked me to ask when I need help,
and to add a please and thank you,
if at all possible.
I have done that often.
You ask me to ask to hold your hand
when you can't otherwise hear me ask for help.
I am doing that right now.
I am not like you.
I wish I could be,
but I cannot.
I need you to appreciate me for who I am
more than attack me for who I am not,
and probably will never become.
My mind and body work similarly to yours,
but do not produce feelings and faith,
health and happiness,
language and love
as effectively as does your
LeftBrain verbally privileged
systemically light white trauma
capitalized wellness incorporation.
I worry.
You and yours often make me anxious,
stressed,
confronted by possibilities that I am not fully human
in your indignant eyes
and monetized mind,
perceived as not only differently abled
but inferiorly disabled.
I tend to panic.
Frequently your harsh spoken world overwhelms me.
I lose self-control when bombarded
by too much inside stimulation
from outside competition.
I want time and Earth and life and you and us
to slow peacefully down.
In these anxious situations,
if you want to help me,
then please stop,
slow down with me,
look at me,
wait until I am ready to look back.
Just give me a moment
or two
or three
or a lifetime
to catch up.
If I can trust you to do this,
I and we will be OK.
I will learn to trust that I could be OK,
and I will feel grateful,
occasionally
to live with you,
to share my life with you
as you share yours with me
and what is mine.
So not yours
to keep away from me.
So give it back
please and thank you.
I
First thing on earth on birth if ye had done
Was ‘cry and breathe’, and survive every day…
Then on O man, had ye her blessings won,
She’d not be in a state so dire today.
Had ye truly believed as ye profess
That Mother Earth’s beholden to no man,
It’s he who is— that she goes on to bless,
She’d never be so weary, weak and van.
She never was, nor is in a hurry,
Her nature is to do what needs be done,
Had ye shown even a wisp of worry,
She won’t have gone green to grey and barren.
If each, a true Earth Day had ever been,
Would ye find on your face such silly grin?
II
No such grin… had ye treated her as should,
Ye scarce did care nor yet know what ails earth,
But desert her ‘pon plundering all worth,
Ye deserve if she shows her irate mood.
You’re keen to know Sun, planets, all the space,
Not, why her green garment shows early dearth,
Nor ye worry on loss of her vast worth,
Nor yet your thoughts go to her aging face.
Not life on earth, you love all things alien,
Hasten to heal some heaven-bound headaches,
Her fever, melting frost, nor why she quakes,
But muse on Saturn's moons and things Martian….
If every day had dawned as your Earth Day,
Would that strange smirk on face survive to stay?
III
Sure, no such smirk nor ever grin would stay
On a face whose heart heaves for Mother Earth
Who’s getting grey from lush green by the day,
So, better rid O man your idle mirth,
And shift your sight afar from so shorter,
Do what needs be done, there’s no time to wait,
Long have ye stared blank as mute spectator,
Be not one to frame your own fatal fate.
Today, Earth’s fuming with long subdued ire,
And like an escapist, ye plan to ditch
Her, be not such a feeble-heart ostrich,
There’s not much time ere deparate turns dire.
Else, breathless you will have to cry when die,
Just as ye did on birth— the last well nigh.
________________________________________
Sonnets | 03.01.2005, revised in July 2023|
Poet’s note: This is a chain of three sonnets making a so-called crown. The last line of the preceding sonnet is not repeated verbatim as the first line of the next here. Instead, the point raised therein is answered in a way that establishes a link.
UNQUOTABLE QUOTES - LIV : Swatting flies in Buckingham Palace from the White House
When Bianca Nobilissima, the statuesque Sea Anne-Anne anchor in her Star-Trek heat-wave get-up exposing her sculptured architectural buoy spaces from head to heel (even Mr. Spock would raise eyebrows wishing he were human) disclosed – with the riotous rowdy Westminster Parliament for a backdrop – that she would give « anything » ( ???) to be (not necessarily verbatim) « a fly on the wall » during the British premiership « changing-of-the-guard » at Buckingham Palace just to see if the new Brexit-PM would actually « kiss » Her Majesty’s graciously proffered hand or just merely « sniff » at it, to say the least, she must have had no inkling whatsoever of the grave danger she was courting for right in those phantasmagoric surroundings resides a DUDE who is a past-master at « swatting » flies whether on, against or behind the wall or, for that matter,
even through the wall !
Guess WHO was watching the same emission ? for HE, too, proclaimed how he would love to be « a fly on the wall » just to listen to growls and growses in Democratic corridors of power on impeachment designs after the Senate Mueller hearings !!!
The Teutonic strains in the principally Norman royal household might reverberate to the chilling ribaldry of the Koninklijke Chorale Caecilia --(under the baton of Paul DINNEWETH and the ethereally uplifting voices : Martine REYNERS (soprano), Philip DEFRANCQ (tenor) and Joris DERDER (baritone) -- through Carl ORFF’s care-may-the-Devil-be : CARMINA BURANA performance : http : www.al-production.be
Would that the newly-ordained PM recall the medieval poet’s Old-German
in these lines :
Were din werit alle min
von deme mere unze an den Rin,
des weht ih mih darben,
daz diu chunegin von Engellant
lege an minen armen.
Translation (taken from the internet without credits) :
Were all the world mine
from the sea to the Rhine,
I would starve myself of it
so that the Queen of England
might lie in my arms.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, July 29, 2019
Umbilical umbrellica of umbral phantanes
"Anjelsmoth Banjitreel Naievae"
These are the spasmodic words you cause in me,
dare to ascertain in my exotic condition
of your cusping contain
My darkroom carotodomy gastronomy
of infrareds and lightwinds, rushing in,
scouts of wrath seeking the four ends
As you pet pet pet care snap twang, mend
"your pretty thing"
KarmaSupra-Natural endear- in me how spooning
feeds bends at my thrashing and gnashing of teeth
where your purring thickens in my auditorium,
arouses condition,
echoes in sonar picture perfect verbatim,
ruins in salvatore partition
Your light-wound
Is it a seizure, a leash
Tourettes syndrome, speaking in tongues?
What is it called, may I know-
I need a name, give me your true name-
and what aim, what precision archery,
what kind of game are you hunting?
Bondfires burning in the Valley of the Kings
Stuck Pig, squealing and turned by your spiteful
rotisserie of baneful spit you leave to dangle
as an apple on your lips?
Mountain Ram, braving the rocks and the heights carelessly of crash-ward depths?
Did I lock horns a moments long locked
on a linger and caught in a snare
of your primal mating ritual of Astuan?
Challenge your beckoning finger
talons of Vulcan Eagle to soar me to the heavens,
how did we get here?
Why must I be your icarus of daring -
savage amusement, knowing
I cannot outstare the burning sun
The melting in your wax museum,
peepshow coliseum, of the lost, you are the acost
of my 'verted musement again and again and again
Libra is scaling taxation, purgatory perdeum owed-
to the shades of Shangri la,
I'd say we, you and me are more than even,
Nefertiri
Will our clashes ever die?
Our gashes ever sustain or lusts
or take the darts from our eyes?
We a gleaming the cube and porpoising the rift
on the lips of
evermore, Eigypsed in the swollen rains
with chariots on fire
At the steppes of our estranged world,
of the law, of desire
...You can feel them on the wind...
Relief courtesy dreaded (re:) inspection not revisited until May 2022
Anticipatory anxiety put on high alert
when the warden gave less than a week
courtesy spluttering tone of voice
she did angrily blurt
nsync with her usual persona
being wickedly curt
treating us (myself and missus) like dirt
gloating in our writhing adversity
poor, sharecroppers, no matter yours truly indigent
no matter exhaustive effort I do exert
to secure living income/wage, thus flirt
with visions of illusions grandeur
analogous to taut pulled belt girt
tightly around psyche whereby temple hurt
with unbearable agony
rendering these lovely bones inert.
Grosse and Quade Management
at 2 Highland Manor Apartments
with Jackie Geiger at the helm
finds yours truly afflicted with weak
praise, cuz she left us
(meself and the missus)
in figurative darkness,
whereby I electronically bellow and shriek
silently critiquing as if writing op/ed
for Time magazine and/or defunct Newsweek
perhaps under heading summarizing healthweek,
which hypothetical issue possibly considered
virtual collector's item
and subsequently unreal antique.
Nevertheless said rich daddy's princess
forewarned yours truly and spouse
dated June 24th, 2021,
quoted verbatim as follows:
Dear Mr. & Mrs. Harris
Due to your recent annual inspection,
we will be re-inspecting
your apartment on Tuesday, June 29th
from 11am-4pm.
We will be conducting
the inspection to ensure
you are making progress
cleaning your apartment,
especially your kitchen and bathroom areas.
We also want to keep up
with eliminating your fruit fly issue
in your apartment.
The above date came and went
(as did two other recently lapsed dates),
we never got notified
approximately five year tenant
logically concluded - and anger pent
up inside furious enough
methinks gross analogy when
twenty eight National Guardsmen
fired their weapons at a group
of anti-war demonstrators at Kent
State On May 4, 1970,
now mine poem attains completion extent.
There was a time.
There was a time
When your fabled dreams
Seemed honest
A time when
Your open arms
Coated in dented silver and tainted dreams
Understood my Size 12 shoes
When the world seemed to be against you
Yet, still,
Your blunt eloquence welcomed me home
Then, your “rainbow”…
…shat
t
er
ed
Your heartbeat became an arrhythmia of petulant theatrics.
Your topaz coated spit
Released from refilled white-out bottles,
Brushing away quartered moons of an iridescent shame
A copycat of robotic muses
Infringing upon your pedestal,
Turned loud mouth, afflicting broken tongue
The “Stalin” of a messenger’s wit,
You raised your voice to a poignant sky!!!
And, as if Yahweh cured your muted disorders,
EVERYBODY HEARD YOU!!!
Including me
That was your goal…
…excluding me
From incipient edge, I witnessed you,
A turpentine puddle in front of a confessional booth
On a melancholic Thursday morn,
With ripened glares to avoid your hallways
Tangled, dangling pacifiers as your doorbell
...
There will come a time.
There will come a time
When social feeds will deprive your vexing smile
Of validation
Where ignorant heartbeats will awaken
Through lyrical epiphanies
To see your “rainbow”
As a faded, stolen crayon
Where flirtatious dialect from withered accomplice
Licks cubic zirconium’s aftertaste
Forgetting that karma doesn’t tolerate one-night stands
For me, that time is now.
Then, I knew who you were.
Now, I know who you are.
You are not what you say.
A false advertisement in Sunday’s illiterate paper…
…with erased verbatim amongst your mirrored peers
Remembering how you falsified truth’s smile
Dire requests for empathetic warmth of our yesterdays
Yet, my Agnostic coat could never be thick enough
For your saturated, dual face
©Drake J. Eszes
In prison, and bereft of all defence,
But my Healer, graver than ever ere,
Swirls his chair round, yon of window to stare
As if to get inspired from Providence.
More of a dumb than mute, I curse my fate,
But happy he feels that it’s my left hand,
We’ll amputate it if we cannot mend,
What, what? I ask, my mouth an open gate.
We’ll start with anti-Cox, let it take long,
If you stick to treatment, you’ll sure get cured,
Soft tissue bone cancer I hope it’s not,
It looked he played a loose game of Ping Pong,
But what’s not in one’s hand ought 'tbe endured,
He vaguely kept everything to my lot.
Vague were his ways, vague as his weird know-how—
Of kind that make from mole hill huge mountain,
I ask him once again to well explain,
Here’s what he said with flourish and a bow:
There’s a graveyard of local infection,
And a cyst envelopes it like a fort,
Fight ensues, there’s settlement out-of-court,
Bur why worry it all, time to take action.
The cyst was hence removed, its stems and roots,
Biopsy tests done still gave not a clue,
But all follow up had to be gone through,
Cost and concern, me left with bitter fruits,
Does today’s tech help, hinder all the more?
A mixed bag of debates rage—needless lore.
_______________________________________
Crown of sonnets | 03.11.2012, revised July 2023|
Poet’s note: Here are sonnets VII and VIII of a sequel of ten sonnets constituting one single poem called a crown of sonnets. The last line of the preceding sonnet is repeated as the first line of the next sonnet, but not verbatim; nor is the first line of the first sonnet is repeated as the last line of the tenth as is. The sestets are either a quartet and a couplet or two sets of three-lined Terza Rima. Hurt is the place from where light enters, and it did, I realized after my long-drawn medical treatment.
Proffered no reprieve, led was I like cow
By clinic’s nurse to slaughterhouse, I thought,
The wise me cursing the rebel me now,
All mute, betwixt devil-pain-and-doc caught.
Take thermal waves— weighty words waft from her,
And every day— we can’t let it get worse—
She, pontiff like, her wisdom did aver,
I learn to live with pain, whilst me to curse.
Oh for a thankless lingering long time,
Yet, pain nor problem wanes both wind their way,
Docs have reasons that to them only rhyme:
I need take a good look at your x ray,
I feel as if caught in a lifetime’s crime—
Caught red-handed with a bleeding knife, say.
Yea, caught red-handed, knife still bleeding red,
No sign of malignant growth, he declared
As he scanned my x ray, felt elated
To hint that he favoured me, for, he glared
At me to pose: how kind heart he’s within,
Then, his eyes enlarging more than somewhat,
Said, see that growth on left hidden therein,
I sure have reasons to doubt it than naught.
But doc, I see naught else but fore-arm bone,
Humerus bone as you call, but I view
It as rather funny, fun too far gone,
But felt, silence is patients’ sole virtue,
On wrong side of stick— hurting bone my own,
Wordless I weighed for his weighty clue.
_______________________________________
Crown of sonnets | 03.11.2012, revised July 2023|
Poet’s note: Here are sonnets III and IV of a sequel of ten sonnets constituting one single poem called a crown of sonnets. The last line of the preceding sonnet is repeated as the first line of the next sonnet, but not verbatim; nor is the first line of the first sonnet is repeated as the last line of the tenth as is. The sestets are either a quartet and a couplet or two sets of three-lined Terza Rima. Hurt is the place from where light enters, and it did, I realized after my long-drawn medical treatment.
What else but weight endless for devil’s due?
And I’d need a few more tests to be sure,
Grimace or grin, but I ought to endure,
What greater devil was seemed like dawn’s dew:
Was it ailment or treatment of elbow?
Grey visions of an endless dark tunnel
Flashed in my mind, as dark and numbing dull,
More than pain, unknown fear churned in my maw.
Take a course of routine tabs to start with,
Your elbow’s whilst under my careful brow,
He said as tinkered it like a blacksmith,
As if pregnant, pain and swelling did grow,
An unknown growth grew within like close kith,
The treatment tottered for long to and fro.
And my mood too, back and forth, to and fro,
Its spectrum, violet to infra-red,
Let’s aspirate the fluid, at last he said,
If fluid is flushed, hope blister too would go.
My skin dulled, he sucked all the liquid out
And felt as if Everest looked dwarf in view,
But both were back in days less than a few—
The pain and swelling too with all their clout.
As I lived normal life as did before,
Pain was to me but tiny irritant,
If only I’d never seen this doctor’s door,
What if I leave him this very moment?
Whatso was wrong is confined to its core
In a small cell-like cyst and all but spent.
_______________________________________
Crown of sonnets | 03.11.2012, revised July 2023|
Poet’s note: Here are sonnets V and VI of a sequel of ten sonnets constituting one single poem called a crown of sonnets. The last line of the preceding sonnet is repeated as the first line of the next sonnet, but not verbatim; nor is the first line of the first sonnet is repeated as the last line of the tenth as is. The sestets are either a quartet and a couplet or two sets of three-lined Terza Rima. Hurt is the place from where light enters, and it did, I realized after my long-drawn medical treatment.