Long Visage Poems
Long Visage Poems. Below are the most popular long Visage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Visage poems by poem length and keyword.
Cuz while ya steel got
moxie, don't nix chance if only a dot
before death finds
flesh rotting alot.
A self-actualized fringe benefit
as I racked up
orbitz round sun -
with increased measured,
(albeit neglected) ragged, and
shot thru tattered (turn shroud) -
regarding chronological yardage
brought to my dimming wattage -
sputtering third eye blind, sans
hindsight surveying extensive
emotionally frenzied groveling with
a lifetime penitential wreckage,
whence urgent critical (update)
foisted upon formerly entrenched
hermetically sealed voyage -
sequestered self wrought fallout,
viz long stretches of
time irretrievably gone with the wind
found me averse toward
commingling with village -
peopled within sin king
precincts of Lake Woebegone
joyus kneaded livingsocial
natives, now visa
vis (nee this past
and present atheist)
discovered the healing power
of powder milk biscuits,
when accommodated within Norwegian
bachelor farmer vicarage),
qua pained obligation now
imposed kickstarted mandate
to pay dying wage
clearly written along,
the sub weighted psyche walls
(over time) easily read
across my wrinkled visage,
where former cumulative
years of existence
pitched yours truly
figuratively teetering upon
precipice of abyss gave vantage
written in telltale creases
countenance spelling umbrage,
against me - asper tonnage
schlepping psychological Matthew
Scott Harris "baggage,"
wrought from decades
worth of uncultivated tillage
cuz n'er did I gather rosebuds...
during prime mortal teenage
stretch, thus present
day agonizing suffrage
yawning chasm miserably houses
bleak (Dickensian) testimony,
sans recovered anorexic
(NO...NOT... NEVER
bulimic), but feebly
endured desultory stage
punctuated quasi (moat)
towed riddled rattle trap ship
of state into deadly scrimmage
defies propped up
moxie succombing unrelenting
weathering, unforgiving savage
nasty, brutal and short sabotage,
wherein futile - short
changed growh opportunities
forfeited developmental stage
opportunities introverted
vehemence doth rage.
Contrary to popular myth, Einstein did NOT reject the existence of Time, but he did reject the differences of its elements, stating that "the distinction between past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion" ...
TIME ...
Is a phantom with many faces
It drifts, a blotchy mist from our early years
The cognizance of self-awareness like a patchwork quilt
Most memorable moments shining like warm sunlight
Mundane and everyday, a foggy swirl, as we slowly become ... ourselves
Memories splicing together like a movie in our mind ...
We learn and experience, as the images from memory clarify
All flowing like a rill to who and what and where we are
It is an invisible, ghostly yardstick
Chopped up into segments that we build actuality around
An ethereal inchworm, crawling at the pace we allow it
We watch it, breathless, wondering what branch it will take
What it will make or show of the now or then or later
It is beastly wraith that controls and objectifies all we do
We are powerless before it, yet we worship it with our every heartbeat
It is a monster in the dark
A horrid creature under the bed, waiting to grab our ankles
And pull us into the bleak, oily black of oblivion
It dances in the dark of night
Wearing the skin of our hopes, and the mask of our dreams
Laughing at promise like a mad moon laughs at the tides
It is a demon, immutable and brazen
The unchangeable mirror of our mistakes and pains and decisions
Thumbing its nose at our cold conscience
And yet, it is an angel, too
That carries on its wings the brightest of thoughts
The joys and loves and friendships that sustain us
Bright sparkles on the wave tops of what was, treasured and golden
And though we strain with all our might and marrow
We can never touch those many faces
For no sooner have we gazed on its visage than it has turned away
No sooner do we see it approach - smiling, waving, affirming
Than it has flashed by us in a swirl
It is our god and our devil
Our hope and our despair
Our villain and our lover
The keeper of our consciousness, moments and prospects
Our precise measure of what can NEVER be measured
And the universal spirit of existence
That will never, ever ... exist.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Writing Challenge 3, July 2019 - List" Poetry Contest, Dear Heart, Judge & Sponsor.
if zee al chemist trump doth win go hide in the bunker
to save your ass
brace yourself as this don holed
confabulates that gold iz brass
and conjures prestidigitation
like spinning false hoods in2 truth - crass
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
a synonym force head fabricator -
will threaten democracy, thus be afraid
as this pompous voice quotes
from hiz playbook, which = a charade
the hard core truths, he
(who i liken to the plague) doth evade
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
and dreams up fault of Barack Obama
for extinction of dinosaurs,
crucifixion of Jesus Christ
down fall of the Roman Empire,
or far tethered Fred Flintsone ca fetching an escapade
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
yea...this rip pub lick'n presidential contender
evinces a psyche that did brexit n got frayed
building and monopolizing castles in the sky -
nonexistent as a grade
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
school fib - or donning role
as play ground bully teaming with ivan
the terrible to dominate the greensward
in the above fiction, but...man
that loose canon dressing his
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
"make america great again" gag line - whar i ran
and mid eastern countries will rise
as one cheering him as star of global hit parade
despite any raging oppositional pandaemonium
birth er ring a conflagration
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
kenya believe the world acquiesces
to thine projected masquerade
blocking im grate shunning crowds -
which number of people rival in size
taller (if stack one atop thee other)
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
than the trump tower casino or high rise
with his signature - hm...mebbe funds provided
by drug lords, the swedish house mafia
or terrorist ties???
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
whom security details silence by tossing a hand grenade
sham on you Potemkin village people for quaffing draughts
from elixir purportedly to transform visage with trademark
swept back, wavy and coiffed hirsute.
Form:
when on a lark, this primate shut his eyes
until sight formed slits doubling up as a wink
this earthling stared hard and scrunched brow
unintentionally mimicking,
the familiar Auguste Rodin statue
likened to a pose when one doth think
perhaps said captive pose pondering
(similar to me) about life on other planets
while I stared at lunar surface
akin to a disc or dime sized skating rink
awash with luminescence
and imaging himself whisked away
by an alien, synonymous
to the peculiar millions miles distant pastische
manifested entity than didst slink
a non hue man feline looking cat in the hat
comical creatures decked out entirely in pink
soft halos conjured up saintly mink
or...a far fetched thought suddenly
came to form in my mind,
that this har creature a found missing link
whose nocturnal glowing facade exploding charade
possibly a message
or motion nothing more
than routine smoothing out an anatomical kink
on front and back oh head resembling
a Doctor Zeus characterization,
viz a harmless rat fink
hm...maybe a vestigial progenitor
of former birth by Gaia now extinct
though from afar, the b52 shaped being
aye espied as fur ball affixed
with a long elephant like snout to drink
and appeared to lack occipital orbs,
yet evinced possible mode to see via a chink
impossible to restrain me noggin
appearing to nod and blink,
--------------------------------
hence entranced my attention fixed
from faint (perhaps a feint)
flickr ring meant as playful faux
role playing lunatic humorous acting wry
impossible to decode explicit antics
(of spacial cosmic guest),
no matter eyes nearly shut tight visual
wondering if non verbal communication
of mine correctly interpreted
meant to kibitz and vie
despite impossibility to validate,
a continuous effort yours truly did try
fixing thy gaze, nee straining
with alm aye might to esse spy
if cheap trick concocted entire visage,
which might not constitute life form
(admitting this chap to prevaricate,
and be full of baloney),
himself prone to confabulate
(dropped one to many times on the head)
when this rocky lunar image,
a moon scape comprising nothing
boot ham and cheese on rye.
1.
This is Truth that to you, mortals is now speaking,
I’m the one that in the kernel of everything that exists resides,*
That no human has ever seen**, up to this very moment and
No one, I affirm will able be, eyes to set upon my
Divine essence!***
2.
I know, the vast majority of you believe to be with me, very
Well acquainted,
Some even declare that the best of my friends are and
Instead of me, they could do the talking
Even there are those who boast to be my associates and
The ultimate reality only them to know
Thus
Each one of them “his truth” declares according to his doctrine,
Fervently maintaining the veracity of his established principles,
The principles of his policy, his history, his religion, his morals
That with me, the Truth, I assure you, have very little in common.
3.
So, I the Truth, with many faces came to you be known
As different colors are always used to paint my visage,
Colors with hues of their opinions to better fit their purpose
According to the era they are living in, their reason and
Understanding
4.
If a day, I the Truth, among them decided just a walk take
Certain am I that no one of them, would able be, me to recognize
For the bigotry that is deep in their uninformed heart planted
Unable has made their eyes the supreme Truth to identify
5.
Enraged am I, of all those criminals who kill in my name,
Regardless of their color, creed, sex, ethnicity,
For even if a little bit they knew me, never would they
Commit a crime
For
I, the Truth next to God live. It’s from Him I draw my existence,
Impossible thus for me it is, divinity’s will to disobey
And commend someone to do something that is immoral
Because God is love*** and love, you should know my friends,
Never commits a crime!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
07 OCTOBER 2014
* There is nothing that we with certainty know because the truth is found in the depths of each thing!
Democritus, Greek philosopher, 5th century B.C., the father of the atomic theory
**No man has ever perceived the truth, neither anyone in the future will know it but only opinions of things we will have for the reality of things!
Xenophanes, Greek philosopher 6th century B.C.
***John, epist. First, verse 8. “He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love!
The Bishops bathe in Babylon
while Princes, prancing on the lawn,
watch Queen deflowered, pale and wan.
The King dares not defend her.
The Horsemen, holding broken reins
the Morning of the Hurricanes,
sigh “it’s no use, it’s all in vain,
the Saints will soon surrender”.
They wonder why they ever came,
they have No One whom they can blame,
they have no face, they have no name,
and even less, a gender.
The empty-handed Vagabonds
smoke stale cigars, stroke faded Blondes
while waiting at the walls beyond,
but kneel as Chaos enters.
They’re gazing through the window panes
in hopes that distant Hurricanes
will twist and break their iron chains
defying life’s tormentors.
The Fantom of the Opera frowns
as feeble minded Cleric-clowns
mouth hollow hurdy-gurdy sounds
when blessing doomed dissenters.
The Pirate wields a wooden leg,
with pupils dull and visage vague,
and if by chance he spreads the plague,
it really doesn’t matter.
His Princess, pale, no longer feigns,
foresees instead (down ancient lanes)
the coming of the Hurricanes -
the Stones stir, staring at her.
And Jackals scrape the river bed
as Savants soothe the underfed
and Crows, collecting scattered bread,
adorn, with crumbs, the platter.
The Jokers Wild and One Eyed Janes
weep, winding up in rundown trains
mid whispers of the Hurricanes,
and Priests refuse to christen.
They’re fleeing from the Leprechauns,
the cuckoo birds, the dying swans;
while pitching pennies into ponds
their eyes opaquely glisten.
The spectral Clocks with spindled spokes
remind the Mimes to tell the Folks
the time of day and other jokes,
yet No One looks to listen.
The Hunchbacks with contorted canes
galumph before the Hurricanes,
in melted sleet, in frozen rains,
in bruised and battered sandals.
Their Groans engulf the land of gulls,
the land of stones, the land of nulls,
and lurk between the blackened lulls,
for Nighttime brooks no candles.
Their prayers to Dogs and Nuns and Dukes,
(and other long forgotten Spooks)
are more than random crazed rebukes,
though taunting to the Vandals.
Continued in Part 2
Twas fortnight before inspection 2021...,
Not a human creature stirred, nor seen
throughout Highland Manor,
property carpeted in lush green
gently hilly terrain,
(a deathlike stillness descended un keen
quiet and quite cool April 26th,
deux thousand twenty one).
Vicious rumors circulate wrenching
hammering, and drilling psyche
where mailer demons invade,
that immediate hell fire enfilade
natural hair color made
gray follicular shocks amply pervade
instantaneously turning
Janus faced with Machiavellian
mean streak inlaid
(how word some would say)
"stern", any previous
housewarming aura
experiencing welcome spiel,
nor iota of politesse present,
but Trumpeting her entourage,
asper self important capering escapade
taskmaster known to abrade
even the most stalwart macho,
gung-ho, brave heart appear afraid,
thus oft time tis most
advantageous and optimal
prospective mutineers betrayed
Princess Ja***n Ge***r
harridan de jure ushering tirade
akin to a petit grand mal one
woman banshee masquerade
hoop puts on be preyed
upon switching pretentious airs
dead ringer give
away (immediately
points gnarled finger
sentenced to clinker visage),
non verbal charade
hence unstoppable mounting
anticipatory anxiety manifests
as disabling, impending,
oppressing fate
cannot be delayed
if insubordinate tenants
try with futility to evade
officials with truncheons flayed
doth rarely give surcease
renters passing grade
she, the consummate
de facto grande heiress
of Gr***e & Qu**e
inherited plum deal,
where lifetime employment,
and generously paid
analogous as born
(that way) portrayed
maintaining poker face
into royalty made,
now as single mother
to biracial heir
purportedly inhabits castle
abode with parents,
thus no child
care costs paid
expectant heavy foot
falls getting louder,
(oh...no that jist
my heart pounding
whence approaching raid
so please inform this jade
did troubadour if privy to let
(me and the missus) aid
i.e. a safe and sound
place to call home
with this hole in the poetry wall,
I would immediately
make thee a fair trade
in lieu of living, where
mercilessness doth parade
expenses property upkeep,
teaching (two
door ring) English,
or even employed
as a mister minute maid.
Famous Last Line
ORIGINAL POEM
(Loveliness ---Acrostic)
L~etting out a gasp, the young man stared at the pretty face.
O~pening the curtains, he noticed a
V~evil covering the beautiful
E~nearing visage of a young
L~ady who sat upon purple velvet cushions.
I~nite resting was the decor of the patterned interior of
N~eedlework with gold and purple threads.
E~nursing that the horses were well fastened, the footman
S~lid some cushioned steps before the carriage doors;
S~o that this adorable lady may step down. How gorgeous she looked!
NEW POEM
Famous Last Line:
"So that this adorable lady may step down. How gorgeous she looked"!
(Romanticism)
An adorable lady stepping down from the carriage,
How gorgeously stunning she looked!
Mesmerized and in awe, dumfounded and tongue-tied,
The young man stood as though in a trance.
As is the custom of the 1300s, it was "proper" for
This lady to wear a veil over her beautiful face.
Sid, the love-afflicted well clad gent,
Was determine in becoming the lady's beau.
The Footman having gone for a stroll,
And exquisite stores being opened to peruse,
The lady shopped to her heart's content;
Thus leaving Miss Antasia to carry her parcels.
Seizing the opportunity, the elegant gent
Gallantly stepped forward and offered to help.
Eying him under long lashes, esh curtesied as he bowed;
And allowed him to take the parcels out of her hand.
The carriage doors now locked gave Sid the chance,
To woo this sweet lady in becoming his bride.
What a romance was this tetetet, listening to words,
As Sid leaned against the carriage ardently serenating this maid.
He learnt her name, where she lived and how important her family was.
She in turn found out he was a banker and owned almost half of the towne.
Soon the families were merged, and formed a lasting business bond for all.
These were the days of Romanticism, the American way of yesteryear.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Famous Last Line - Poetry Contest
Poem Title: Famous Last Line.
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Contest Deadline:
3/26/2016 at 12:00:00 AM
Instruction: "Please include your original entry, followed by your new entry."
Solitude:
Distressful
Afflictive
Merciless
Unbearable solitude,
When you are present, Time immobile remains,
And
Each second an eternity of intolerable
Suffering becomes.
At such moments,
We implore Time to advance,
To accelerate its pace,
To hurry up
For
The next second
The next minute
The next hour
The next day to come,
So as
The pain to decrease,
Our agony to lessen,
And us to be liberated from distress,
From our affliction and from
Our ordeal
But Time – a sadist- unmoved stays,
Mocking us
And
Instead of picking up speed, it is
Dragging its leaden feet, enjoying thus itself With
Our perpetual torture,
Hence, we,
Disappointed by Time's unhurried stance,
Absorbed by its immobility,
Let ourselves sink deeper and deeper into our hopelessness,
Till we reach the deepest point of
Our being,
A place void of all thoughts,
Of absolute silence and of intense
Anguish!
At that point
We wish:
To shout
To scream
To yell
To howl
But
No voice is possible to be heard.
No one is there to listen to our call of distress.
And then
In the darkest hour of solitude,
At the culminating point of desolation,
When we thought all is lost, we realize to our surprise that
We are not alone,
WE WERE NEVER ALONE!
A tenant is there with us,
A tenant, beyond the limits of ourselves,
Of our understanding,
Of our awareness,
A tenant who looks at us with affection
With compassion and most of all
With love,
Unconditional love,
True Love,
Yes, it is HIM
The only ONE
HE who was there before us
And
Will be here into eternity
After we are gone:
GOD HIMSELF!
We look at His Holy visage, and we discern an
Apologetic expression for
Having put us through this tribulation to be able to make
HIS presence to us, is known!
He had tried before to approach us on many occasions,
During the period of our good fortune,
Of our successes and our achievements
But
We had ignored HIS calls at that time,
You see, we didn’t need any help then,
For
We thought every achievement of ours
Was our doing
We had the erroneous notion that
Everything was under our firm control
And that
We were INVINCIBLE
But
Now we know better for He has
Revealed to us the truth!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
19 January 2021
Wood Nymph, wraps white
gossamer legs in hello, as branch shakes
in obvious "ka_ching"!
'Oh wait till you see what she does next",
tattles the tree, in an excited and mischievous
foreboding.
Itself, a Familiar and Servant,
hypnotized to carry and present her gift of wrap
and wrap of gift.
The naughty Nymph O pushes herself halfway up
like a tired and cautious sloth
(on the lip of a drinking cup.)
An innocent look beguiles her face
as essence of bark soils it's digits up,
To stick like a sponge to her curves like a leech
leeching much.
Nurses a clamp to her soft skin
as if to aspire seed of sapling in sap, sapping sin.
As She stares through, impossibly pierced,
her cruelly clumsy jiggle starks the eye
in an ultra violence of lumplumpsum.
The forest stirs with whispers of silence,
gossiper secretions to soil more.
Wood nymph dances careless,
her story unfolding, merciless amore.
Her web weaving legs, wrapped in ethereal grace,
licks of
delicate tricks of creature of delicacy.
Surreal ad vise given visa visage
it's enchanting embrace.
The trees, they giggle with mischievous delight,
as they await her next move, a magical sight.
A familiar servant, the branches extend,
presenting her gifts, their devotion, bend.
Halfway she rises, cautious and slow, oh dear.
Like a tired sloth, uncertain where to go
but nearer near.
Innocence plays upon her beguiling face,
as she clings to the bark, leaving presiding trace.
A sponge to her curves, the bark holds so tight,
seeks to crumble there.
Leaving a mark, a visible sign of it's mare.
But she dances on, with a clumsy sway.
A violence of debauchery in a mystical play,
there there, tears tears tears.
Her presence, it lingers, in the air, a fragrance,
mimicking the soul bare.
A poem to stir souls, in carom of supernatural
resonance in crept.
The wood nymph bewitches with every step,
to numb your penance swept.
Leaving an imprint of memory kept as plum-line erect.
In the depths of the forest, her essence will remain,
a powerful muse, never to wane.
For she is a poet's dream, an excuse so rare,
relished relic of the gone insane.
Captivated, beyond complain,
the Satyr's forehead yields sign, pops a vein.