Long Verisimilitude Poems
Long Verisimilitude Poems. Below are the most popular long Verisimilitude by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Verisimilitude poems by poem length and keyword.
Traduced! Forgive but don’t forget is the adage
How can one heal whilst storing the ugly image?
It’s the lie entailed by cowardice…
So a mind, replete with forgiven but unforgotten
Turns irrational and presumes in verbiage rotten!
Imminently, bruises need a poultice…
Mired in all the untoward-pardoned-unforgettable
Eclipsed visages twist-taunt into the judge-mental
as he hammers over a ripped bodice…
Rage absorbed takes on a caliber hard to disown
Of a volcanic-type verisimilitude; shield unknown
under the buried-remembered, malice…
Nursed so long in remembrance, turns corrupt
Drinks in all the stored negatives to then erupt
in wanton caprice…
Surely, forgetting is requisite to forgiving,
for how is one to enjoy the present living?
Odious history’s peace…
Riding the past to fill moments in beauty
Memory retention is the declared reality
Enunciated with declining hubris…
(5/27/21)
pulchritudinous ingots chisel and shades
dazzle and illuminate umpteen reasons
poetry is like a swirling, susurrus-sibilant chimera
of innuendo arty souls, albeit vapid syntax
around serene scenery, orbs, and idealism
Is unction vital to adorn naked words with plumose wings?
whose views of contentment, vim, and happiness?
Inversely hamstringing people with arrows?
sighs of sorrow sound sowed soil
mothers, wailing and yelling out to unborn spirits
as our hearts crave affection
poetry provides its verisimilitude vacuum
do susurrus coruscating suborn scarlet spills?
deep within a stymie pirouette
the tortured sinews of a troubled mind are twisting
my life bill was still due till my final breath
I bequeath you my spirit as expressed in sonnets
I bequeath you my marrow, wrapped in iambic style
I bequeath you my mind, crafted with mispronunciation
sharing with those who owe me a xanthous soul
she could not handle the truth
easier to live a lie
just the truth the whole truth nothing but the truth
does it still exist
when none believe reality its still truth
if all believe lies they are still falsehoods
authenticity captures facts that exist
cold hard facts metaphorically speaking
how do I substantiate its actual
is there a magic formular to follow
do I trust my instinct can it be misled
if its verisimilitude can I trust
being lifelike cannot be the whole answer
fakes can seem more actual than authentic
verifying requires a masters degree
some anomalies are true world or true life
says true fruit would they put fake fruit in the can
corporeality surely must exist
a physical body a truthful being
must be believed actual
I drove around the countryside, one wet and stormy day;
as lightning flashed, I realised I'd truly lost my way -
I saw a house and went to ask directions from the folk;
I'll tell you what then happened, but you may think it's a joke...
The door was open, just a crack;
I knocked, then went inside;
the stench was terrible, just like
an animal had died.
Huge flies were buzzing all around
an ancient photograph;
as footsteps echoed through the house,
I thought I heard a laugh.
The front door slammed - the laugh again -
I shivered then with fright;
the door was stuck, I couldn't leave,
and guessed I'd have to fight.
'I - I mean no harm,' I stammered, then,
'I'm sorry to intrude -'
I wondered would my story hold
verisimilitude.
The voice that boomed was deafening,
and curses filled the air;
my heart was thumping, hairs on end.
I felt an evil stare.
The stench was growing...footsteps neared...
a shadow on the wall!
I trembled like a frightened child,
and staggered from the hall.
I ran upstairs; from room to room,
I wandered, panting hard;
and cried, despairing at the sight:
the window frames were barred.
I spun around and saw a face -
such malice in its glare;
I knew I'd have to leave, somehow -
or else I'd die right there.
I sprang towards him, ready fists;
he towered at the door;
I paused, then like a bull I charged...
and he was there no more!
I slipped and tumbled down the stairs, the door was open wide;
I hurled his photograph and, chased by flies, I rushed outside.
Sponsor- Dear Heart
Contest- The Haunted House
written 18th August 2018
I can’t get out of bed
that drink went to my head
will I lose my job today and become famous instead?
There’s spots sprawled on my skin
I’m not looking thin
competition for exhaustion, that’s the one I’ll win
There’s someone on my case
friends forget my face
I think they’re tired of me and my a thousand states
I need a new job because this can’t be all there is
there’s a boy over there, who wishes I were his
I hate what’s in my wardrobe
I have nothing to wear
I’ve had this job for more than two years
yet I still wake up scared
I complain about my status
like I don’t run away
from actually being liked, from people who will stay
I change my hair colour like it’s really a fresh start
I trade my problems for polyester when I press add to cart
I’m volatile and dangerous
I’m soft and I’m too kind
I’m forever chasing myself when it’s myself I can’t find
WALES TO ME
Wales to me is my dreamland never seen,
Yet as heard and read, senses glisten.
My imagism shimmering in sheen.
I wish to have a glance,
If I could get a chance!
Wales to me with charms of mountain range
Astounding enchanting standing strange.
Nice Nature is careful to arrange.
I wish to have a glance,
If I could get a chance!
Wales to me with alluring blue beach
Sea waves roar, thrash on shore in high pitch
Wavy designs on wet sand to stitch.
I wish to have a glance,
If I could get a chance!
Wish to visit Wales in solitude
observing Nature in plenitude
to know the verisimilitude
I wish to have a glance,
If I could get a chance!
07/03/20
Fourth Place
'Wales ' Contest by Julia Ward
IN THE EQUINOX OF CHANGE
It seems like the spring
I waited for has betrayed me;
Leaving a verisimilitude
Of the season,
Due to the vicissitudes
Sown in today’s
Rogue political climate:-
However, it’s a rooted reality,
That changes happen, whether
We believe they do, or do not:
The day that’s coming,
Will become today,
And this today,
Will become yesterday:-
Thus, in the labors of love,
In the present and coming seasons,
Sowing and reaping divine fruits of hope,
Let us ensure that springing justice,
Balancing in God’s sojourning navigation,
Will be blooming in past yesterdays,
And their future tomorrows:-
love was a lonely Syllable
Embedded hypothetically in the
syntax of the
Story of
You and
Me
We quoted ,
I love you
And you , sic [loved me]
But perhaps
this was
Your hyperbole
Parenthesis
you
kept
[Me] in,
Frenetically
in case
our verbs
became nouns
No verisimilitude
Imbedded logically
the allusion
Came alive
Described
So
speciously
All too clear
Once I chose
To study
The
history
No,
The Plot discovered,
This was
My own soliloquy
Dear Apostrophe ,
you and I
We are not
Like simile
Truth be told
I only resemble
Footnotes
In the ledger
Of your
Poetry
I have shown her the worst that I could be but i don't think it wavered her love for me
I can't completely know but on this note is only right that more I sow
Everyday passes, she gives me more reason to let go of my problematic facets
Truth; i think i've been scared of getting hurt, so I built up a wall that limited my trust
She's hasn't given me a reason of incertitude, she's proven to have a heart of verisimilitude
I guess I have been holding back but not anymore, the cat's finally out of the bag
What more proof do I need, she's obviously the best person I've been blessed to meet
She sees me for who I am, understands me, appreciates me and still accepts me
Who does that these days? I guess I'm lucky I've found someone like that and she's bae
Her patience has been overwhelming and now in my heart, she is no doubt helming
Her level of understanding, I have underestimated but no more withstanding
I guess me always writing proves how she's interesting and how much she interests me
Sometimes saying I love her is not depth enough, cos more than any other person, she's beloved
Over the confines of the cliffs
in a cloud of crystalline haze
in the midst of a tsunami of whistling
skyline shadows in golden amber
hues ooze into the ocean
triumph against craving
waves of fairy spirits
Pearl stone sparkles in sundrops
flying is my passion
I'm diving again
in a wide chasm
sapphire knitting
chromium marble light
optimums prime
upheaval toward verisimilitude
you and my floating rhyme
with an increasing susurrus
a gentle melody is heard
tonal fuzziness
reverberations of rainbow hues
a scarlet choir of classic lullabies
Written: April 24, 2023
A Brian Strand Premiere No 1211 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand