Long Warning(a) Poems
Long Warning(a) Poems. Below are the most popular long Warning(a) by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Warning(a) poems by poem length and keyword.
Her golden locks glide grandly through our gladioli gilded garden gateway,
I gulp ginormous groundbreaking gulleys,
telltale tear tsunamis cut cataclysmic currents,
raw reckless rupture of romantic render,
terror-stricken tangential tamper seal evidence
on lumpen lunge lonesome lachrymose levee
Abandoned to anthemion arch ambience awash or afloat with apoplectic angst,
afterthoughts amazing amplitude aligns with an amorous abundance once opulent,
majestic memories marvel at
mystic magnifying glass that multiplies mammoth moods,
separation from silken sensual strand sculpture in sapphire stone,
this stagnant somber seeker must supplant or suppress solitude’s silent shiver
Without warning a wellspring whispered windfall weave from winsome woman,
wide-eyed wondrous wakeful wizardry woos whining wildcard wreck,
a cascade of charismatic crystal colour clusters trial and tribulation trauma that trembles deep inside,
delightful dawn denouement dame drifts in dreamland dale,
“precious pining pristine pearl
I present panoramic passionate parameters to
propitiate bitter broken-hearted baleful bond.”
Fantastic flourish found festoons for emotional evocative environment evolved,
illustrious intimate intrigue inlaid immediately,
Heather’s halcyon harmonic laces labyrinthine lavender love,
heart healing honeymoon handcraft
herald on high,
supreme sensei soulmates savour
sentiment surreal beyond an iridescent infinite inkling
Date Posted : April 11th 2022
First Place Podium Medal Winner
JCB BRUL My Lost and Found Love Alliteration Contest
Judged April 21st 2022
The first time I met the ocean,
it roared in welcome,
a vast and restless beast—
powerful, endless, untamed.
Yet the sand held it still,
defiant, unbowed, unbroken.
Life and death, locked in a dance,
whispering promises I did not yet understand.
The air was thick with salt and sun,
golden waves swallowing the sky.
A tuk-tuk rattled near the shore,
its driver, a grinning guide to secrets
woven in the wind.
He spoke of the beach, its hidden alleys,
its shadowed souls.
Then he showed me her—
a woman alone, hunched in sorrow,
staring past the edge of the world.
The sea mirrored her silence,
rolling endlessly forward, pulling back.
A ghost of someone loved once,
now lost to the needle’s cruel embrace.
Her husband had been buried in waves or earth—
it no longer mattered.
The sun draped its last light upon her,
a warning, a farewell,
or maybe just a promise
that it would rise again tomorrow.
At midnight, beneath the silent crown of Mount Kailash,
I wandered alone, my eyes fixed on the vast tapestry of stars.
Then, without warning, a river of light fell from the heavens—
a radiant stream, golden and blue, draping the mountain in fire.
Figures appeared, human in shape but woven from pure white light,
walking, yet floating, descending without sound.
No words escaped their lips, yet my mind heard their voices.
Telepathy—sharp, clear, undeniable.
“We are the Anunnaki,” they said,
“keepers of the Milky Way belt.
Earth is our living laboratory.
From time to time, we come
to give tasks to those prepared.”
In a blink, I was lifted to the mountain’s peak.
Laid face down, I felt their touch upon my spine—
a spark, a flood of static fire racing through me.
I was powerless, yet strangely awake,
as if my soul was rewired.
“You are one of our chosen antennas,” they whispered,
“a bridge between frequencies,
a vessel through which hidden knowledge will flow.
At times you will appear, at times you will vanish,
but always, you remain our instrument.”
Then, as suddenly as they came,
they returned me to the path where they found me.
The light faded, the night grew still.
Yet the question burns:
How did Zechariah Sitchin know?
How did he see what few dare believe?
And why, when people say I am visible and invisible,
do I now understand—
I am simply a human antenna.
My Interpretation: Glenn Hughes Lyric:
In the space of a short span Mother can you see
the exactitudes that human I've been tryin' to see you
measure can be achieved if Cuz the line is free
the powers that be partake Now they're tellin' me
within said time of the hour Stop shakin' like a feather
mind control of its recipient On the count of three
purposed by the War Dept.
Be a.k.a., War Machine that Back in '69
take all known from yonder We never learned our lesson
space of a short span, turn Down in Vietnam
to short spin of actual news I refuse to sign
It doesn't really matter
calls and worded letters an They don't give a damn
urgent warning a nation its
new emperor wears a new I don't care what you want
clothes "Hear ye vainglory." And I roll with the fear
What's here is NOT there, You don't hear nothin'
and I am grateful for that A sad waste of life
truth, but to spin it in any When we go to war
fashion as being anything Won't you hear somethin'
but...
NAM undeniably benumb Father you cry
death then permeates all When we go to war
the patty fields of grains What is it for?
of rice guised as desert
grains of sand. Death is Brother is that you?
bears out truly that our So get a little closer
New Emperor at home I can't feel your breath
is as naked as sin can We're the chosen few
ever be... Out there in the desert
There's a smell of death.
Family--Mom, Brother,
Dad, let me be some-
body and not a made
up nobody. I want to
be your Bro. again, I
I want to be your Son
again, I want to be
Glenn Hughes again,
plain Ole American.
The banshee wails within the gale
and unease weaves its wary tale
across fair Eire’s inland moor,
a Lord will die by ancient lore.
The banshee wails.
Her hair is torn, her face so pale,
her gown a tatter shrouded veil,
bringing only dark and horror.
The banshee wails.
'Tis but a warning, a mournful hale
a piercing sigh, the end's exhale
soulful sound, a mother’s clamor,
cutting through the shields of armor
though death, the sound, will not delay.
The banshee wails.
Is there a word for when you love something because it is horrible
and it's horrible because it's true,
and specifically, because it's you?
That's why my chosen album cover
adorns, probably, a fine record,
but not one I have special feeling about,
instead of a great psychedelic cover
from the great psychedelic musical era -
or a cover like that of HMS Donovan,
featuring children's poems put to music
(listen to The Walrus and The Carpenter).
Imagine my surprise, when, grown up, I saw
portions of The Maze, by William Kurelek,
on the cover of Fair Warning, a Van Halen album.
A flashback to being ten,
reading the Time-Life book on psychology
about madness in art.
The cover shows a few of the best scenes -
the boy being beat up
while classmates cruelly feast on the spectacle,
the boy, his progress thwarted
by a brick wall.
These are scenes from The Maze,
self-images
in a painting of the inside of the artist's skull.
We see his memories -
a curled-up rat, dead,
an older boy looking a his own arm,
devoid of flesh,
as if it were not his own,
as death lurked
curiously close by,
a helpless lizard
being attacked by
a murder
of crows,
and my favorite,
right on top,
the boy,
alone and dejected,
in a wheat field -
thrilling,
shocking,
lonely,
to see,
in an artist's work,
oneself.
On an early spring day, washed brilliant with clover
In the land of the sun, and sweet cherry blossom
A tremble, a rumble, that rattled the earth
Cracking open the spring day, like the devil's own plaything
Plates of dispute, on the edge of destruction
Beneath the sea’s surface…anger's wrath lies in waiting…
It came with no warning, …a mighty surge of horror
A tower of strength, to this tiny island flower
The harsh call of nature, came boldly from the shore
Relentless, the shaking, battering to the core
And altered the earth with a shattering shrill
Spilling despair, in a pillage of flurry
Killing the helpless, yet… leaving the courage
O’ land, of gentle people, wearing dignity’s expression
Those from afar, watched on with compassion
We gasped, then we cried, yet are awed with impressions
How hands helping hands, and courage ensued
Kind hearts, claimed the bruised, and calmed the confused
You banded together…helping each another,
Balance of elders, will hold you forever..
Grace under fire…. with honor we brand you
You raise up the spirit with hands of the valiant
Respect you have earned and honor you wear
The sun keeps on rising…..and will shine ever more
Does everything really exist?
Forgive me I tend to philosophise when I’m pissed
Scientist’s say that energy wants to exist
Like the warmth that you feel when you are kissed?
But they say that energy has to exist in large quantities
Does it mean we should touch not just our fingers but our bodies?
And elementary particles are dependent on others
Mingling the particles by making love quenches the hungers
Now I understand the basic theory of how things exist
Hick! This bottle of JD’s making me feel more and more pissed.
I GOT IT NOW!!!
For all the men that have been unfaithful
This excuse remember it well because it will be useful
One’s wife exists when you see her and hear her nags
To her friends, she ridicules you which sound like she brags
Here’s the science bit.
If you have an argument with your wife, go for a drive
And if you apply this theory correctly you will feel alive.
Because you are alone and therefore, she does not exist
And you have become a bachelor so you should be feeling bliss
Have a few drinks and play around with some women
When you leave them they won’t exist and stop being a lemon
But there is a warning, a warning of war
Never have another nonexistent woman in your house begging for more
For a nonexistent wife has a tendency to walk through the door
And believe me it’s not good trying to drink a bottle of JD to numb pain
When you get stabbed in the back by a nonexistent wife that’s insane….
The first time I met the ocean,
it roared in welcome,
a vast and restless beast—
powerful, endless, untamed.
Yet the sand held it still,
defiant, unbowed, unbroken.
Life and death, locked in a dance,
whispering promises I did not yet understand.
The air was thick with salt and sun,
golden waves swallowing the sky.
A tuk-tuk rattled near the shore,
its driver, a grinning guide to secrets
woven in the wind.
He spoke of the beach, its hidden alleys,
its shadowed souls.
Then he showed me her—
a woman alone, hunched in sorrow,
staring past the edge of the world.
The sea mirrored her silence,
rolling endlessly forward, pulling back.
A ghost of someone loved once,
now lost to the needle’s cruel embrace.
Her husband had been buried in waves or earth—
it no longer mattered.
The sun draped its last light upon her,
a warning, a farewell,
or maybe just a promise
that it would rise again tomorrow.
It was a good morning until I went to the bathroom and fell,
slipped and skidded across the floor in my hubby's hair gel.
In pain, I tried descending the stairs to scramble some eggs,
but I tripped on my dog's chew toy, and broke both my legs.
I got home from the hospital, sporting two knee high casts.
Suddenly, my house trembled from thunderously loud blasts.
I turned on the TV news to discover what the cause could be,
and saw the warning; a supercell twister headed right for me!
I couldn't hobble to the cellar. In my eyes, tears began to well.
I screamed as my roof blew off. This day is a nightmarish hell!
Everything I owned had been destroyed, and when help arrived,
Someone softly said, "No one inside could've possibly survived."
February 15, 2021
It Was a Good Morning Until...
Contest hosted by Tania Kitchin