Storied Poems - Poems about Storied

The very abridged version recounting untold tragicomic storied life of Matthew Scott Harris I led a boring life. The end. All joking aside, now the epilogue. As a bookish fellow born January 13th,1959 he attended school and got promoted as a mediocre student, who honestly nearly failed every grade courtesy my nasty, short and brutish doppelgänger, who nixed, sabotaged, waylaid me a little boy blue (nothing but...

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The storied "I" Is the I The only I And cannot be known.. Yet life seems to be Attempt after attempt To find a hint of truth About the storied I... ...

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Moving throughh each sample she employed a various range of sound. Her voice moved through each octave with her concern to how she sounded.Rushing through each phrase choring to make them rhyme: one noted of the recitive nature and how the composition was laborious and unkind.To the advancement of the scheme I discovered the plot. A story of a wishful lover: who labored...

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The former MVP pawned his very last ring like the others, it had begun to sting Bittersweet memories of his storied swing that for a decade had made him King He'd hit home runs in every park high-arcing 'rainbows' his pet trademark Now...

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In my deaf and time-closeted pockets unpack pockets, string bags hang under the closed eyes of all-seeing watchers. Eulogies for the living are etched on wet lips and kitchen towels. Owls as mute as hollow urns turn to flute their mournful why, what, and who’s. The edge of IF, is most hard to see; ‘if’ is a lobster pot full of moonlight woven to waylay and...

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Nature Appears as Everything.. There's No end to Everything.. Not one Or many Things.. No thing At all.. Nature's Storied Beauty......

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Desiccated mice thus far do gnaw shreds of scant regret. Good and bad love, honey-dew in a salty brew. In my closet, pockets unpack pockets, bags billow under closed eyes, eulogies for the living etched on wet lips and kitchen towels. Owls turn to cry their mournful ‘why’s’, more kitchen towels to mop tear stained flops. One horror story lives on, much...

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In storied old ages, He lept off the pages. He lived on the waters; His story engages. Though was not intended, His legacy ended. He had only daughters; His name, time rescinded. No sons were begotten; His seed, some said, rotten. He slept with his fathers; He soon was forgotten. He lived on the waters. He had only daughters. In storied old ages, He slept with his fathers. ---------- Experimenting with the...

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...dead mice thus far do gnaw, splintered mirrors neck and rubber yet with scant regret. Ropes both for hanging and climbing, good grief, bad love, honey-do-dew in a salty brew. In my closet, pockets unpacking pockets, string bags under closed eyes, eulogies for the living etched on wet lips and kitchen towels. Owls as mute as hollow urns turn to cry their...

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Bygone recollected reflections while perched atop storied roof... years gone by now with a poof constituting one garden variety generic goof bolle yours truly sprawled himself aloof The celebrated sailing frog from Montgomery County went a court'n, or so the tale iz toad to a grand ole mansion built around 1910, ...

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Zip pose zing the weather forecast donned wafted air fragrant with flowered flora visibility for miles if ether crystal clear, this high da way countless yards off the ground presented flare approximating pristine floral display with powerfully poignant...

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Standing here in the mind of mine passing through and over time pulling out thoughts sublime: sorrow, hate, pain, joy, love, sanity-- all the mould character of my humanity; On the outside, my African character is evident despite the imprinted middle passage incident, and on the inside, I'm American born and bred... child of the black bent backs of the ancestral dead... still here...

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Standing here in the mind of mine passing through and over the time pulling out thoughts sublime: sorrow, hate, pain, joy, love, sanity-- all the mold character of my humanity; On the outside, my African character is evident despite the imprinted middle passage incident, and on the inside, I'm American born and bred... child of the black bent backs of the ancestral dead... still...

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I am your lord and savior, Holding thy life in the palm of my hand, Heed my words and know I am not kind, I shall excuse your despicably free behavior, And teach you to die by my stern command, For that is the way of the respectably defined. He was my lord and savior, And thus he shaped my life with...

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Isn't it amazing how two real lovers Can read each others thoughts Every nuance, every twist of a phrase The other can surely spot Really a sign of a very deep passion No matter where you look Where the bond is as strong as forever Love they write about in books What makes an affair so solid so true Without ever a hint of...

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