Long Wrought Poems
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I'm a Piketown son who left his mum
To sail the eastern shores
Spent a year in Gloucester
'mong the barkeeps and the whores
Then a man came 'round to Gloucester town
Said boys I need a few
Strapping lads such as yourselves
To join me whalin' crew
The pay is mighty lowly and
The work'll break yer backs
But if ye crave adventure, men
You'll ne'er get a better chance
Those who'd go out wi' me, lads
Prepare ta leave at dawn
There's a whaler at the dockside
She's called the Dreadful Mourn
Ho! Called I to Captain Frye
My services you've bought
I've traveled here from Piketown
To earn a tale heart'ly wrought
Aye, me lad then ye shall have
A yarn ta spin yer sons
So join me on the Dreadful Mourn
'Ere long's the risin' sun
I nodded Aye to Captain Frye
Then turned to swig my ale
When a man appeared beside me
And pulled up to the rail
He shook his head and then he said
His offer you should spurn
There was another Frye set out
Yet ne'er did he return
This other Frye for he was kin
Of the Captain now about
That fortune on their family frowns
Of that there is no doubt
I turned to the stranger, smiled
Said thank you for the warn
Then headed down the gangway
Out to the Dreadful Mourn
For weeks on end I coiled the ropes
Boiled the oil and pulled the line
Though it was grueling labor
I was feelin' pretty fine
But the winds they soon blew colder
And the ship began to slow
The Captain said don't worry men,
This is how the whales go
One day the ice so thickened that
The ship came to a stop
The Captain cried a wild whoop
Boys I think I've found the spot!
For 'twas about this latitude
Where me brother's ship was lost
And now I've come ta bring him home
No matter what the cost!
Sorry I lied ta ye lads
I blame ye not for yer ire
Now calm ye selves, we've work ta do
Afore we can retire
Of course you know we would not go
Along with his plan
The crew decided mutiny
Right down to the last man
For Captain Frye's madness
We must pay an awful price
But he would join his brother
As a ghost beneath the ice
The ship was stuck, the stores near out
'Twas nothing left to do
'Cept sing a sailin' shanty
And toast the Dreadful crew
So I took a final dram of rum,
Cursed the day that I was born
And lay down to my icy fate
Aboard the Dreadful Mourn
June 24, 2017
I reached into the depth...
But could not withdraw Excalibur from the stone.
Yet I knew I was the one.
Why else my 'Grail Vision' in the sun?
The depths call me to reach further still.
And Mary's eyes bled.
Realizing for whom the tear's shed.
I know not what to do.
Vainity reaching to withdraw from the glue.
I stare blindly in the distance a 'bust' of my former self.
Passing the secret of excalibur being drawn by someone else.
And passing by the oracle of Ephesus, Medusa's eyes
She drew the sword stone in deep catching my contemplations of the mirror.
I could loose myself in her forever.
Secret Sweets. Stained Sheets. and shaking cold she wraps me in the golden fleece.
Covered in snakes, I melt into the secret skin.
Learning the name, I see my fathers before me distrought.
And see now the blindness of the Kingdom Oedipus wrought.
Sophoclese Tragedies and I am forever Oedipus.
Betrayed blessin' between whorish thighs and my camarades' lies.
Where is Helena these days?
Gone so long, I've forgotten her ways.
That's the trick-she sucks in your depth.
I am Horus, my seeds sewn in the west.
Innana's dead. I broke my maiden-named womb.
Long ago I allocated multiversic kingdoms for Osiris' perversion tombs.
And in the mysteries of deep misery.
I have witnessed my seed coming of age.
To lay thoughts like these out on a page.
Christ, Annubis, and I planned this on a street in Greece, A.D., B.C. I can't remember which.
I bare down frost-bitten from the North.
And my Christ of peace bore symbols from the East.
Our dog-eared down-home friend brought simpler lessons from an outdated South.
And we witnessed our births spread out over time.
Three wise men we were singing dark-hearted songs of a blackened Madonna we couldn't find.
So we relinquished ourselves to Daddy Darkest who knew best.
Redistributed seeds, we pushed ourselves to a static line beyond myth; where men like us no longer needed to exist.
Sweet Virgin, Return
I am old and worn thin.
Now, is your time to begin; A collection of stories your heart has borne, but you lay unblemished.
My daughter lay our bones to rest.
Cook them in your stew.
Reigns handover long overdue, but that's not the style you do.
Don't worry about ole Paw. Jimmy Crack corn.
May you be Princess Disarming Charming laced with meaning...
And I awake sleeping...
Beauty, I next to you.
Decorating
“But what is real? If you mean those impulses and signals sent by your senses
and which are then interpreted by your brain. Then the real can be anything
your mind desires.”
Morphius.
The Matrix.
When a child opens its eyes
Awareness blossoming
New upon the day
Does it then envision
A clean blank page
To be coloured
To be decorated as it desires
Should all those hues and images
Then be given a name
Yet
What would be
If the child could see
Things that were not the same
In each and every second
These myriad patterns of light
React
To thoughts born from learning
Labelled with a voice which says “this” is
This
And “that” is
That
Yet a blank page emerges
Each and every single day
But written and coloured
By acceptance
In the same new way
But
What if for a moment
You dream
And decorate your world
Differently
What then would the eyes of the liberated
See
Would they see the world
As is
Or see repainted coherency
Or would there be
A moment of birth
Where awareness
Sees through
And beyond reality
And sees with the eyes
of a newly born
Child
A daily place of spirit
Life and light
A spoken place
Where all form
Takes on the form
Of the heavenly blank page
Of light
Where on
Is written
All possibility
And your mind
Decorating
The universe infinitely
Or will mere whim transform
To what it might be
The photons and the fabric of stars
Could we then hold creations dust
In our palms
And with a breath of splendour
Puff beauty into being
Should thought
Become a brush stroke then
Would we sweep and stride
With such a capable hand
The essence of magnificence
A new world
To greet
Our waking eyes
Or is this
What we have come to see
The ballet of light as it settles
Within us
Daily
Some other wonder
Some other hand
Which says
See what I have wrought for you
From the physical tongues of
Eternity
But I know you
People of Earth
And I know the multitude of your dreams
And how
Given the power of your imaginings
You could decorate so diversely
All these things
Which seem now so
Ordinary
Is it but a moment
A second
Of perception
Or a reaction
Predetermined by acceptances
Indoctrination
What where those things
We began to see
When as a new born child
Our eyes first
Opened
I seek not to be a presence. Forces beyond my control dictate the interactions I will have with those who come across my path. These forces disturb me in ways that I cannot understand, yet I react to them with efficiency.
Subtlety is not one of my traits. Even now, I am poised to move in the direction to which I am called. It is a direction that could have great impact. Although I may waver in the course set before me, I am nonetheless committed until another force impedes me.
On the path I seek, I can see farther than one can imagine. Even though I only have one eye, it is an eye that is clear, an eye that makes a statement. You would think that having only one eye, any spinning and turning I do would make me extremely dizzy. Nay, say I, I move ahead on the path I seek.
On course, on time, and always considering my wall. It is not a wall to jump over, or to keep me from something or someone. Instead, it is everything and everyone else who would need or want to have a wall equivalent to mine. Theirs would be a wall to keep me from them.
The path I seek can be strewn with objects that tend to slow me down. Nonetheless, I struggle against them, and keep surging forward. I depend on my own wrath and fury to keep me moving ever closer to my stated purpose, whatever it may be. At some point, I know I will lose all ability to continue down the path I seek.
Along the path I seek, I watch events unfold before me with my one eye. It is an eye that, while surrounded with moisture, does not blink, shows little mercy, and does not cry. It does not cry even as my wall begins to crumble. The crying is only left to those dear beings I leave behind along my path.
I wish I could feel the lives I touch but, the harsh truth is, I have no feelings. I am a creation that will never know what a feeling is. And thus, no love, no hate, no joy, no sadness will stay me from the path I seek.
Alas, my wrath and fury are destined to die a slow death as I continue along the path I seek. I will not be missed, but I may be remembered. I will surely be cursed and called a monster.
And before my eye finally sleeps, I get one last peek at where I have been.
Still, I cannot cry over the destruction and anguish I have wrought during my passing. I only know that I will come this way again, because that is what hurricanes do along the paths they seek.
END
OF THE COMMON SEAS
"We must come down from our heights, and leave our straight paths, for the byways and low places of life, if we would learn truths by strong contrasts; and in hovels, in forecastles, and among our own outcasts in foreign lands, see what has been wrought upon our fellow-creatures by accident, hardship, or vice." **
Truth need not be found
in philosophers' musings,
or complicated by thoughts bound
with theorems and words, fusing,
nor within the intricacies
of mathematical proofs,
as one and one may indeed
not equal two; un-truth is truth.
Truth becomes vast in life,
and like the pearl, can be found
as beauty captured, in seas rife
between the common oyster's gown,
Or found within the common leaves
of books written by common men,
discovered by those literates who read.
Truth is simple, now and ever been.
I stumbled on such a prize
In Dana's autobiography;
of common men on common seas
living truths of common humanity.
** Dana, Jr., Richard Henry, Two Years before the Mast, World Publishing Company, 1946, p. 283
1
Like a moth to a candle flame
I pondered the perceived right
of those of wealth, culture, piety and fame
to control and lead the common blight -
(the average, struggling and forsaken souls);
yet have never descended to the lowly station
to learn the culture of these earthly ghouls,
their dreams, their pleas, their damnation.
As gods atop their cloud draped mountain
how dare they, in their empiric quackery
force the masses to their impure fountain
to drink of the laws and life that they decree,
yet having not trod the tracks of the plebian path,
having never felt the sordid plebian passions,
but worshipping instead their comfort and wealth,
adorned in decadence and richly clothed fashions,
how can they govern those they do not know,
minister to anguish they have never felt
or heal their sickness of body, heart and soul?
How can they play the cards, to them never dealt?
Are they leaders, statesmen, kings and lords,
or simply counterfeit men full only of themselves,
vainglorious peacocks, strutting hordes
deceiving not a common man, only just themselves?
We have them here, in this land of the free,
politicians, preachers, corporate men and judges.
None have suffered and worked, you see
yet dare to rule, when by common men begrudged.
Form:
please lemme know and honestly profess
if profusion of words create a lingual Loch Ness
(when hens canst come home to roost
especially, encountering
the following conglomeration
in matthew scott harris patois).
He readily admits writing inventive
attempts usually ten tubby a literary mess,
thus finding innocent cyber cruisers
Angle fishing for Saxony fundamental fluidity
courtesy of Freudian stream of consciousness,
gabbling gibberish, muck not done on purpose
and certainly less
to impress.
Gnome hatter intent toward
cogency, fancy ingenuity,
levity, the inevitable
resultant wrought gobbledygook
fascination for Lingua Franca
feeble endeavor splutters, splinters,
and splatters Asia Yukon guess.
Paramour status analogous with twenty six letters,
sans En gull Lush Mother tongue confluence
finds me submerged (as an Arctic Monkey)
swimmingly enervated
via erotic laced sentiments
perhaps finds bravely daring soul madly
hollering, gesticulating floundering,
(in close proximity to Davey Jones's locker)
to avoid drowning at sea
perchance comprehending passionate influence.
Upon espying a signature poem of mine
forces one pre ponder ring lurking predilection
tib hush anonymous re:
dears (dares) adventuresome mettle
taking him/her to the brainy
(briny) deep brink
Icon fess
this (NON FAKE) pretense, why
aye metaphorically express
(via medium of ordinary Anglophile
alphabetic wanton soup,
or figurative egg drop bub
bling broth (el) doth brew)
pronouns Sibyl affectation
affliction sans plethora,
where each ladle full adrip with
richly flavor Verdana Font lee
and sincerely textured vocabulary.
Pluperfect mortals beings undoubtedly feel
(blindsided, how this hunger stricken author
suffers said sesquipedalian syndrome
particularly expectorating flashy
hoping tum bark on successful literary quest)
hyper aware aspiring paperback writers wannabe
might stoop to conquer, cheat, cadge
vis a vis plagiarize plethora
amidst storied plentiful English droppings.
Rather than succumb pretense feigning paucity
temptation to bask exultantly,
professed glorious unrequited love
announcing required sworn vow,
(el lye ding) avowed consonant covenant.
Form:
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.
(following on figurative heals
sans, l'amour,
i.e.,and that bastard conception
of life, liberty, and the
pursuit by George - Marshall ling, Grant
ting, and Bing Frank.)
Expectant motherhood generates aurorean
sonogram x-ray zooms
bringing developed fetus
healthily shimmering viz,
quasi hologram seen
glowing halo, inducing
jubilant kickstarter lil bean,
administering capitalone
earthlinked joyful lyft,
natural pheromone readying cerulean
tommorrows, venerated ecstacy doth gleam
zinging bounteous
dizzying feelings hormones houseclean
jackanapes leviathon nestling
pinterestinly interocean
reaching terminus vista
xing zee birth canal mien
doctor readies Fallopian tube cutting
helping jiggle little nymphean
possibly ranking...
as future topnotch venerated Olympian
fast forward to joyful loving neuro
logically plain resplendent teen
knee weeny tiny
vaunted expanding zing
baby dripping Vasoline
like goo fully gesticulating
happy jolly newborn.
Which miracle whipped
purely by chance
given reason to the most orthodox
to sing and dance,
sans said singular biological
phenomenon does enhance
freshly minted parents,
or the mommas
and papas genetic
copy wrought grants
who already passed along
to a brood of offspring
gushing with excitement
akin to fire hydrants
spewing forth fountain head
treasuring such Kodak moment,
cuz such instance
and subsequent tender
wonderful blessed
Instamatic reverent cherished instants
will zip at greased lightening
via speeding hurled lance
sing remembrance of things past
during twilight years,
an eye blink those yesterdays,
when my troubles seemed so far away
and upon being centenarian,
doddering fogie gripping hold,
hugging intensely, indubitably decrying
how quickly of
decades long ex pants
didst elapse, when tendering
to a coliciky, finicky,
inscrutably lemony snickety offspring
wishing infant would grow up already,
now onset of autonomy
Das Agean sea sunned
father or mother
hood doth rants
at father time, he doth access
without a word an excel lent
power point demonstration
with near vertical line brevity
of how mortality slants.
Dumbfoundedness still prevails three weeks later...
when held spellbound courtesy grifter
Flim-flam man left lasting emotional whiplash
his derelict perfected artifice
to hijack every last cent
smarted me with indelible smash;
living daylight delivered I kidney you not
envious affliction affecting
last named member and founder of the Byrds
with crosby, stills, young and nash
entire corporeal being turned to hash
condemned state yours truly relegated,
cuz cremation unaffordable, though pulverized
and transformed into powdery ash;
Impossible mission to conceptualize
transmutation into cremains, the brain
lodged within me noggin
ill equipped to envision mine gray matter
even after asking mister Google to explain
that cremation takes place
in a specially designed furnace,
referred to as a cremation chamber or retort,
and exposed to extreme temperatures –
up to 1,800 degrees Fahrenheit–
leaving behind only ashes.
Following the procedure,
a cooling period required
before the remains can be handled.
Yours truly can best attest,
when succumbing as victim to virtual heist
I most likely flip flopped
into one percent atavistic Neanderthal state;
a surprising revelation
23andme genotyping results
yielded said presence of proto human
after analyzing DNA
courtesy saliva sample from eldest sister.
No other logical satisfactory explanation doth chime
lapsed consciousness, hence reasonable rhyme
whereat one twenty first century mortal man
virtually travelled in time
cast into nasty, shortish brute
obliging deft inducement
outsourcing valuable dough.
Though aforementioned far-fetched notion
smacks of high skepticism,
yet no more ridiculous than
hominids over bajillion years springing forth
from flotsam and jetsam in the ocean
I may as well broach another theory of creation
(just came to my mind),
that divine omnipotent wizard
sprinkled magic potion
across primordial sea
after watching an advertisement promotion
claiming said product
contained the seeds of life and white lily.
Convinced that snake oil salesman
wrought deleterious influence
triggering a debacle that rocked
the financial market,
(albeit constituting one singular naked ape),
an attorney general based in Philadelphia
believes I presented a convincing case,
which hopefully witnesses
recouping all or most of my funds.
Nestled under blankets,
the gentle whirring sound
soothes the savage beast
within mine body electric
of one generic, opportunistic,
and wholistic garden variety man.
Within blink of closed eye
yours truly transported
into the realm of deep sleep
benumbed to reality as unconscious guy
experiencing dynamic vivid dreams
courtesy Fluoxetine Hcl
(C17H18F3NO·HCl)
known as Selective
Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitor (SSRI),
especially prescribed to treat
depression, panic disorder,
and obsessive-compulsive disorder.
Holmes tower fan whooshing air
analogous to sonogram (ultrasound)
infiltrates slumbering snorer (me)
best not to awaken papa bear,
cuz he will roar loud and clear
disrupted sleep upends ability to function
no joking psyche riddled
with profound anxiety and despair
subsequent havoc wrought
on par whereby mailer daemons ensnare
co opting, conquering,
and compromising blissful state
deadened head reveling
within private webbed world
regarding unscripted drama deep inside
temporal lobe of brain,
the hippocampus might conjure
time traveling circa Renaissance faire
wordsmith metaphorically possessed
remonstrated by fire breathing dragon
evidenced fiery breathing
affect nostrils to snort and flare
awoke from necessary dreams,
I would angrily glare
frightfully enough to induce goosebumps,
and raise every small hair
along spine uncontrollable fury
communicating shattered functionality
essentially rude awakening would impair
ability to experience joie de vivre.
Debilitating panic attack invariably triggered
similar to Tonga underwater volcano
eruption January 15th, 2022
constituting physiological displeasures
chiefly vertigo, racing heart, nausea,
excessive perspiration, adrenaline
coursing thru body,
whereby Prozac (brand name regarding
aforementioned synthesized chemical)
ameliorated unbearable,
unmanageable, untenable...
earth-shaking, devastating,
and crushing manifestations
disabling, exhausting, hijacking,
jackknifing, sabotaging, and wrecking
life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness.
Kickstarting psychological equilibrium
linkedin with savoring at least bajillion winks
else sixty plus shades of gray matter methinks
knotted courtesy cerebral gordian knotted kinks
yours truly feels discombobulated
teetering and tottering atop brinks
of figurative precipice.