Long Vivre Poems
Long Vivre Poems. Below are the most popular long Vivre by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Vivre poems by poem length and keyword.
He was sitting alone in the corner
In a little cafe at the painting of Monet
And was talking to imaginary friend
About thinness opaqueness fear
Sensation of heat cold anger despair
Cruelty he claimed is the language of reality
Not the barren lame poetry with vulgar
Metaphors hiding behind empty words
Cruelty was the only honest way
To open the hidden heavy doors
Into suffering human soul and heart
And talk about things that matter
Through shamanic art of reaching
Deep into the guts of true teaching
And bringing light to the dark corners
That have never been lit before
Actors dancing in overpowering way
Manikins with terrifying theatrical faces
With empty eyes staring at the audience
And drilling through their souls
Objects of strange proportions
Surfacing in a dreamy scenery
Of unrecognizable ghostly world
Of the modern stage transformed
By the means of the theater of cruelty
It is the only way to be honest
To himself Artaud claimed
And believed
He was right
He sacrificed his life
To this idea
And died lonely forgotten
On the bare floor
Next to metal bed
That stood at the door
He tried to open so hard
In a madhouse
Where magic of theater
Truly belongs
In the secluded seashore of isolation islands,
people build desire castles with dream sands,
protect the fragile precincts with fervent care
from the beleaguering waves breaking on them.
The strife surge washes away the forlorn abodes,
grief is hidden in insular souls of lonely people.
With magical spell I will change them into
convivial people, they will be gregarious.
Behind the closed windows on sunlit meadows,
enveloped by the seamless drape of dismal darkness,
people morph into dense slices of moonless night.
Along their formless periphery I pass them by,
but can’t see through the obscurity, can’t perceive
the true substance of the opaque people.
With magical spell I will turn them into
transparent people, they will shine like crystals.
Reticent people fly like frigid birds in the misty sky,
their restrained wings flap aloof in the chilled wind.
In the crevasse of their glacial hearts
frozen emotions sink, can’t soar in the spring sky.
The warm embrace of empathy they don’t feel,
for they are condemned as cold people.
With magical spell I will convert them into
affable people, they will conform congeniality.
Despondent people make their lives desolate desert,
the charm of oasis desiccates in the dunes of discontent.
Blazed by the flare of their scorched minds
the foliage of ardent passions burns, doesn’t rustle
with the tune of impassive melody of their hearts,
for they are denounced as wooden people.
With magical spell I will transform them into
verdant trees, they will sprout joie de vivre.
______________
February 28, 2023
For Brian Strand Premier No. 1192
Upon a whim arising on this sunny springtime morn
hearing birds perform their songs at the crack of dawn
my knapsack packed already with a tasty picnic lunch
bread with cheese and wine
oh such a scrumptious tasty brunch
so full of joie de vivre am I for the day ahead
a slow ascent upon the bus as we reach *Beachy Head
then on to Belle Tout lighthouse where I alight instead
for on this glorious sunny day
in springtime sunshine I’ll make hay
Catching the light in stripes red and white
warning all mariners of dangers at night
a beacon of hope in a cobalt blue sea
her beam shining out majestically
Meandering gently nature's gifts I espy
a host of golden cowslips as if sprinkled from the sky
perchance if Wordsworth had beheld such beauty as have I
his host of golden daffs would have a rival for to vie
wafting gently in the breeze their lemon coloured blooms
a more stunning sight is seldom seen on sunny afternoons
I wander through the woodlands approaching Birling Gap
uneven ground negotiated, avoiding a mishap
then I espy the smallest orchid I have ever seen
with purple blooms and spotty leaves
exquisite flowers I could gaze for hours
secreted for her own protection
her subliminal message for all…
‘Please do not disturb me as
you stand here to observe me
for my beauty - my shape - my hue
and please leave me in situ, for all who pass just like you
as they pause awhile admiring the view’
Written April 2019
Contest Strand any form any theme
Sponsor Brian Strand
1st PLACE
*At 152 metres Beachy Head is the highest of Britain’s chalk sea cliffs, attracting nearly half a million visitors each year. The name ‘Beachy Head’ is believed to be a corruption of the original French, meaning ‘beautiful headland’. Some of the flora and fauna to be found at Beachy Head are purple and bee orchids, bluebells, primroses, cowslips, oxslips and hedgerows crowned in white - baby lambs and wild seas and so much more - just stunning!
Beloved daughter dubbed "Munchkin",
an appellation engineered by "mother"
now evinces enviable survival skills,
this papa dismissed himself attaining,
and though sites set
to attain satisfactory income
courtesy asper keeping
your inherited Semitic
nose to the grindstone
(cute as a button)
toward fiercely dedicated
academic success to
acquire Bachelor's Degree
objective self instilled since "star student" -
(another moniker the missus aptly affixed)
amply proven successfully completing
undergraduate engineering degree
(a minor in je nais sais quois French),
this from storied high achieving Ivy League
University founded by Benjamin Franklin
this "sir" once again
applauds laudatory milestone,
and additionally acknowledges
sincere appreciation surrendering
veritable treasure trove
commestibles, toiletries, vitamins...
allowing unswerving selflessness
to kindle tears of utmost gratitude
figurative biological dice throw
now embarks upon admirable
self reliant (no batteries needed)
time tested personal conviction
proving steely mettle with panache,
despite fallings out
undermining rapport during yesteryear,
when dada felt important,
evinced kibitizing, pampering,
reading requested stories,
(yea even Harry Potter - now passe)
aware how mine debauchery,
who set poor flagrant example
posited ye to escape appalling
financial, emotional, spiritual...
domestic conditions
ye understandably
envisioning more ideal legal guardian,
asper loco parentis
thus parting equals bittersweet
sorrow for dada, whose bottled anger
directly linkedin to opprobrious
selfish misdeeds compromising
psychological welfare two precious progeny
whose presence provided joie de vivre,
and never wanted restraint imposed
maturing into an admirable young lady,
no matter sentiments towards me
poisoned by toxicity, whose
predilection to debilitating panic
undermined, restrained, quashed...
necessary needs and wants
to nourish healthiness...
despite aggravating, hellbent
nerve wracking time consuming
odiously infernal exhausting
drive to accept donations,
i.e. personal belongings...
dada doth care for thee!
Everyone must discover the truth,
Watching a small red cargo ship move away
From the port of Brest, slowly
By unmasking the young man who walks
Without fear of passing people,
Ignoring the baker in love with his wife
Without talent, ignoring his warm bread,
Everyone must discover what is behind
The devastated tropical forest,
Everyone must discover the truth, so difficult
Sitting on a bench facing the Atlantic Ocean,
By drinking without an ideal, wine from the slopes of Provence,
Everyone must discover the truth, by looking at the accident
From a car on the rainy road,
Everyone must discover the truth, so essential,
Opening the wardrobe of his old parents,
Crouching down to eat a mango
In an unhealthy port of Kenya,
Losing a game of poker with friends from childhood,
Everyone must discover the truth, looking at the desert caravans,
You can’t live without hiding your face, you can’t live
Face uncovered.
Chacun doit découvrir la vérité,
En regardant s’éloigner un petit cargo rouge
Du port de Brest, lentement
En démasquant le jeune homme qui marche
Sans rien craindre des passants,
En ignorant le boulanger amoureux de sa femme
Sans talent, de son pain chaud,
Chacun doit découvrir ce qui se cache derrière
La forêt tropicale dévastée,
Chacun doit découvrir la vérité, si difficile
En s’asseyant sur un banc face à l’océan Atlantique,
En buvant sans idéal, le vin venu des coteaux de Provence,
Chacun doit découvrir la vérité, en regardant l’accident
D’une automobile sur la route pluvieuse,
Chacun doit découvrir la vérité, si essentielle,
En ouvrant l’armoire de ses vieux parents disparus,
En s’accroupissant pour manger une mangue
Dans un port insalubre du Kenya,
En perdant une partie de poker avec ses amis
D’enfance,
Chacun doit découvrir la vérité, en regardant les caravanes du désert,
On ne peut vivre sans cacher son visage, on ne peut vivre
À visage découvert.
Speak to the primrose,
Of this girl,
This princess
Haunting your thoughts
Without my permission,
Speak to the primrose,
From this satin wine
This nectar that flows
In your glass,
Without my permission,
Talk with the primrose
You can’t live
Without thinking of them
They never lied to you,
You know it today.
Parles en à la primevère,
De cette fille,
Cette princesse
Qui hante tes pensées
Sans ta permission,
Parles en à la primevère,
De ce vin satiné
Ce nectar qui coule
Dans ton verre,
Sans ta permission,
Parles en à la primevère
Tu ne peux vivre
Sans penser à eux,
Ils ne t’ont jamais menti,
Tu le sais aujourd’hui.
“50 Words for Poe: dactyl”
When Terror Fell came
he had no complaints
the joint was jumping
it was do or dare
he offered Her his old pear
the porridge here was so glum
She closed the door
to the window of his cell
and sucked on Her plum
She was thinking, a dangerous thing in itself, indeed,
that next time peaches, not pears would be fun
She’d tighten his straight jacket some
fingers and toes to be free
She’d observe him for a while
there was the pressing issue
of The Others let loose on the run
joie de vivre, gone all bat**** wild
there was still the report to write
an extra dose of Laudanum prescribed
She’d blindfold him and buzz him electric
then instruct him to write poems didactic
delusions of grandeur
fingers and toes playing piano
with the other dementors to be denied
he was manic - full of too much ego and arrogant hurt pride
All in a day’s work
He was safe in his cell
or so he thought ...
counting numbers
the seconds tick by
he'd gladly wait
for Hell's Bride
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
https://youtu.be/mGYUV76Lhic
“In the window full of sunlight
Concentrates her golden shadow
Fold on fold, until it glows as
Mellow as the glory roses.”
https://youtu.be/CoA4goulmMo
“Silver dust
lifted from the earth
higher than my arms reach,
you have mounted.
O silver,
higher than my arms reach
you front us with great mass;
no flower ever opened
so staunch a white leaf
no flower ever parted silver
from such rare silver;
O white pear
your flower-tufts,
thick on the branch,
bring summer and ripe fruits
in their purple hearts.”
(H.S. 1886 - 1961, The Pear Tree)
https://youtu.be/PgqHi5HkBRk
"before I am lost,
hell must open like a red rose
for the dead to pass"
For the Lost, out of their cell still serving time in Hell.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/51869/eurydice-56d22fe6d049d
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/h-d
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/h-d#tab-poems
Just a garden variety generic wordsmith
teasing out reasonable rhyme courtesy ploy;
self plagiarizing boot juiced barely abiding
by ruff dogma, with enigmatic joie
de vivre charisma,
which oft times witnessed
gentle green giant gentile goy
essentially me being a decoy
occasionally rocketing, outsourcing,
kickstarting, feigning
tubby an Anchorite, ahoy!
Life in the K9 corps
ain't so doggone ease zee
absolutely daunting, hence
lemme share with ye
haunting, and unnerving, the whee
kid nasty, short, and brutish
ways, and truth be told,
I would rather be outwardly
hidebound, gagged, and flagellated
(threatened tubby slowly
strangled to death by bonafide vee
numb muss snakes, yours truly
screaming bloody murder,
viper esse scent chilly resembling
caduceus), and/or re:
peat head lee bitten
(till death do us part)
by vampire (weekend) bats pre
dominant lee inhabiting
spooky attic, nee
above cattle crying
abattoir, bovines bull heave -
meeting grisly demise, where prowling
hoodlums - vicious murderous electric
kool aid acid tested gang
infesting mean streets -
viz hit head hay be us corpse lee
ving shot up desolation
(think skidrow) role much
more blood curdling, key
ping adrenaline heart pounding,
and sweat pouring directive hee
ping helplessness 'specially,
when this gree
gear re: us macho foo fighter,
accompanied by my grateful
dead cutting crew - on free
key Friday the 13th
assigned directive to man
the most crime ridden, and be
dev filled violent bailiwick,
donning head to toe
bulletproof suit vests.
Nevertheless, yours truly fraught with
horrendously extreme
difficulty, and more
challenging, enduring, and grueling
than surviving training
undertaking associated
with elite military clique,
and attendant rightfully
earned linkedin prestige
joining: Raiders of United
States Marine Corp,
Green Berets United States Army
Special Forces, or Navy Seals.
Reminiscing and full of nostalgia
looking back over the years
A life full of joy and laughter
though some occasional tears
But no real regrets
Oh, maybe just one
For at this time of year
to my mind it doth come
So why before I die
have I never been to Glastonbury
watching from my old armchair
wishing it was me
wishing I was there
For despite
the rain
the mud
the loos
euphoria is all I see
with babes in arms
and sixties hippies
this place I really I want to be
sitting here full of joie de vivre
To see those happy hippy souls
festooned
bejewelled
leaves me beguiled
their visage truly says it all
they dance and sway the night away
a fantasy world of music and colour
this place is truly like no other
It’s never too late for me
to visit Glastonbury ~ my guilty pleasure
donning my happy hippy attire
strategically placing my stick- on tattoos
I turn up the volume ~ I'm ready to go
So singing and dancing the whole night through
at dawn ~ as I wipe the sleep from my eyes
I’m enjoying the luxury of my very own loo…
Written on 28th June 2019 – the first day of Glastonbury Festival
3rd PLACE
Contest: YOUR CHOICE SEASONS-FESTIVALS VERSE ,any form,any theme
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Je m’adresse au mystère du temps,
Es-tu mon ennemi ou mon meilleur ami? Je n’ai jamais réalisé avant ce moment que les enfants n’ont pas de conflit avec toi. On n’entend jamais un enfant se plaindre qu’il n’a pas suffisamment de temps. C’est donc évident que c’est l’Adulte en moi qui a tous les problèmes.
Je me demande d’où vient la notion que 24 heures ne me sont pas suffisantes et que j’ai le droit de me sentir ingrate. J’ai tenté à plusieurs reprises à m’établir des objectifs, des priorités, des suivis. J’ai toujours mieux réussi avec la partie À FAIRE, mais moins bien avec la partie pour célébrer mes réalisations ou même d’en faire le bilan. Ce n’a pas toujours été gai entre nous deux. C’était plutôt à sens unique et toujours travailler travailler travailler. Rarement jouer.
C’est le temps de faire la paix avec toi. Je ne peux pas vivre le reste des jours fâchée contre toi ou continuellement à me sentir inadéquate.
Ces jours-ci je pense à ce que je laisserai derrière moi, mon patrimoine. mon héritage. C’est évidemment un projet massif que je veux entreprendre avec des blocs et des piliers. J’aimerais donc devenir amis afin de travailler en équipe.
Je pourrais peut-être commencer chaque journée en acceptant que, si tout va bien, j’aurai 24 heures comme tout le monde. Qu’est-ce que je veux accomplir durant ces heures et qu’est-ce qui peut attendre à demain, si Dieu le veut.
Je suis bien contente d’avoir eu notre discussion.
Translated from my poem LETTER TO TIME
AP: Honorable Mention 2021, Honorable Mention 2020