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Long Inspiration Poems | Long Inspiration Poetry

Long Inspiration Poems. These are the most popular long Inspiration by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Inspiration poems by poem length and keyword.

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Long Poems
Long poem by Cyndi MacMillan | Details |

SYLVIA, FOR CRAIG CORNISH, FOR ALL PLATH FANS

                         
                           It is a terrible thing
                           To be so open: it is as if my heart
                           Put on a face and walked into the world.


                                          Sylvia Plath, Three Women, 1962



_________________________________



SYLVIA

Sylvia, ever lucent, ever opaque,
an incongruity, a clever imbalance               
that spins collections her hounds facilitate.  
Failures and fractures she bravely lanced
with noncompliance. Reader, rebuff collars
labeled as forewords, smug introductions, 
for Plath’s voice is tenfold more a scholar 
than those receiving undue benedictions.    
Lofty beggars seek to bookend her words
and that empty space she instinctively refills
with her universe, a mayhem that girds,
unapologetic. Mirror images spill
over margins, searching for identity,
negating preamble, snubbing apathy.   

Negating preamble, snubbing apathy
with language that flickers, catches, combusts,
her volumes of wicks, her lit soliloquies,   
glint behind the stained-glass of trust.
There are those who are not really here,
they wander fault lines then crisscross chasms,
lost pilgrims who easily commandeer
unwary emotions. Some hearts just spasm,                         
pulled by their own nature, their delicacy,
for poetry is a weakness; poets die
between verses. Odes can become elegies.
The thin-skinned hear a snared rabbit cry,
and pray for the moonflower, always closing,
while cursing that page, unmoved and dozing.

While cursing that page, unmoved and dozing,
she corners rigid guides, keeps fingers poised,
synchronicity goes, the flow of typing
disappears, mislaid, that perfect noise
of a carriage return, a sound exclamation.
Joy is inspiration making its way home,
her Olivetti forages like a raven,
gifting found nouns, verbs that glare like chrome,
but love still flits, turns from hoarse requests,
and she longs for more than any man can give
for what snags worn ribbons will not rest,
it emits a strong beat, throbs as it loves.
Bless the bitter of life, all wisdom owing,
curse the open heart, its shadows showing.
  

Curse the open heart, its shadows showing,
for worldly delights take full advantage
of the wounded, their brokenness growing.
Everyday beauty wrings arteries, dredges
chambers with barbs, a prompt disobedient.
Fact, there’s no folder large enough to hold 
elation’s girth, no ink conveniently
on hand to black out depression. So, scold
the yew, its roots and branches reaching,
then poke at petals for being complacent, 
when all the while a candle is preaching
of give and take, surrender, luminance,
So, carefully archive apprehension,
revealing blue veins to tender lesions.

Revealing blue veins to tender lesions
requires much more than a room of one's own,
hours do dissolve, days lack cohesion 
when milk sours and tantrums are thrown.
Solitude is in short supply, loneliness,
however, is overstocked; her mind tugs      
at busy hands for attention, such darkness
contrasts to jammy smiles and sleepy hugs.
Elusive titles whimper each morning,
and short stanzas steep, so desperately,
all the while a manuscript is scorning
her swipes at dry crumbs, cold pots of tea.
A life sheds its months, gallows take delight
as sundials atrophy in the arms of night. 

As sundials atrophy in the arms of night. 
the moon blanches tidepools, suckles sand,
even the face of the clock is pulled too tight
and the new calendar can not understand
that writing is sex, is fresh bread, is air,
that time is a brute, quick fisted, rough,
that weeks come and go without a care
that a marriage vow is never enough
to mend adoration, repossess bliss.  
Words make better lovers, rarely stray,
upon her lips, the impression of a kiss
feels as cold as sheets then melts away.
Paper sops afterbirth, accepts her all:
fossil and seed, shackles and free falls.


Fossil and seed, shackles and free falls,
unlocking visions, defying any cage, 
art resists validity, upsets stone walls  
to scale the scarlet heights of a rampage,
to breach the barricades to euphoria.
She excavates id, bares teeth at ego, 
plays the parts of illusion and phobia
then infuses rhyme with soft indigo. 
Colossus begins to shrivel as Ariel
unmans him, riding hard upon metaphors,
and will remain strong, constant, ethereal. 
but curtailed are epics that still implore  
like the cusp of dream long after you wake

Sylvia, ever lucent, ever opaque.









 

 
* For Craig Cornish, whose contest inspired this piece. Thank you, Daddy-O. 




About this poem

This is my first crown of sonnets. It took over 25 hours to write, a full week of me-time! 

These are modern sonnets and the syllable count is extremely loose, intentionally, as it would seem odd to keep things too tight when writing of Sylvia. If anything, I regret not being even looser, altering syllable counts DRAMATICALLY. Also, I used a great deal of slant rhyme for the same reason.


I really wanted to capture Sylvia Plath with this poem, and it was a real struggle. Her language is so precise, and I wanted to do her justice. I had wanted to feel, upon its completion, that Sylvia would have said, "Well, it isn't quite horrible. Not bad for a novice. And there are parts of me there, but only the smallest bits." I do not feel I did this.  I feel like I didn't even TOUCH her mastery of language. But, it is good enough for now.. one day, who knows? 

Oh, Sylvia's typewriter was a Olivetti Lettera 22. It was portable!


Long poem by Ravindra K Kapoor | Details |

Pink Pink Pink


Pink- Pink- Pink- Every peak has its own attractions, Like the mountains, The mounts of a woman, Have always remained, Her pride possessions. 01 It has the charms, More intoxicating than wine, As it reveals the beauty, Of a woman's alluring binds. 02 These mounts gives, The wings of imagination and colors, In the mind of an artist, And they arise the passion, In lovers mind.03 Their rise and fall, Has shaken great empires, Under their cool and peaceful shade, The dreams of a child form shapes. 04 Its serenity has given birth, To most pious and holy figures on Earth, And their warmth have shaped the dreams, Of many powerful kingdoms on Earth.05 They feed life giving milk, To every new born light, Every time they laugh and cry, These lofty mounts, Help in forming shapes, When the child begins its story. 06 But these pride possessions, Of a woman, These lofty inspirations, Of Poets, Writers and Artists, These magical charms Which often become more attractive, Than the face of a woman, Are facing, A wide spread pollution,* Which is the unwanted gift of Modern living and They are also the gifts, Of worst living habits, Adopted by thousands, and millions of woman, As they fall prey, Before the charms, And shows of modern generation. 07 Many such wonderful women, Who are in the grip of this pollution,* Have brought this curse on them, Mostly because, Of their own follies and errors. 08 Many such suffering women, Can really get rid of, From the curse of this pollution,* If only they can show, The courage to adopt, The natural way, Of living and breathing, Possible under the boon like shade, Of real Yoga. 09 The reasons, Of the distortions,* Of their pink pink ribbons, Are mainly the results, Of their own creations, And these results, Are not something, For which, One should blame, The destiny or God every time. 10 Some of the serious reasons are, Not caring rightly, For one’s own pride possessions, And the lack of, Physical manipulations. Not keeping, A cool and calm mind, And eating, From morning till night, All the junk foods and wine. 11 And working, Beyond all time limits, While stressing, your peaceful mind. 12 Running and more running To catch others, So that you may not leg behind. 13 And madly crying, For more and more wealth, Even if you have sufficient, For your life time. 14 Are the reasons, Which invite the pollution,* To sow its rotten seeds, To spoil, The enchanting valley, Which exists, Amid the mounts of, Pink pink flowers. 15 The pollution,* Can still be derived out, With the little practice of Yoga, But it remains untouched, And unsung about, By most of the modern women. 16 These otherwise elegant women, Regularly face the problems, Of distress, Lack of peace, And sound sleep. Which ultimately take away, Their happiness, And coolness of mind, Resulting in strengthening more, The un sprouted seeds of pollution.* 17 Still it is not too late, If they can only change, Their life styles, Their eating and drinking habits, And adopt from today, The way of natural living, By adopting, The boon like Yoga. 18 As the practice of Yoga, Not only add years to your life, But life to your years, as well. 19 Ravindra Kanpur India 15th Nov. 2012 *Pollution- The other name of Cancer. Those who want to share their views on My above Poem may write to me on my yahoo mail id: kapoor_skk@yahoo.com I would welcome your brief comments and if possible I will reply you. Thanking you in anticipation. Ravindra K Kapoor Inspired by Poet Destroyer I am dedicating this Poem to all those women of the world, who are facing any such problem of Pollution* And to those also who are not facing it, so that their life my feel the joy of living under the blessings of Yoga. Ravindra
TO OVERCOME OR TO TAKE PRECAUTION ON THIS PROBLEM UP TO SOME EXTENT- ONE CAN START WITH ANY ONE OR TWO OR THREE OR ALL FIVE OF THE SIMPLE YOGA EXERCISES I HAVE GIVEN IN MY ‘YOGA IN POEM’ SERIES 1 TO 5 ON POETRY SOUP IT- SELF. YOUR COMMENTS WOULD BE HIGHLY APPRECIATED. http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=490745 IMPORTANT NOTE: The best effects of Yoga can only be obtained if it includes the main exercises of essential ‘PRANAYAMA’ otherwise it wouldn’t yield the desired results and PRANYAM should be learn properly first. Ravindra K Kapoor


Long poem by Patrick Sutton | Details |

A Tree

                                                                                Tree
                                                                    you grow so tall
                                                 so green and wonderful and bold
                                your branches  look so chaotic        yet so perfectly shaped.
            You give me the air I breath,        and the shade I need,    to keep me cool on hot summer days.                        
I love to just sit under you                 and watch your sparkling leaves glisten
        in the light of the sun.
               Sometimes;         my whole day                 can be wasted just noticing in amazement
                                                                                                              the awesome power of you.
                         You withstand the wind and the rain and the snow 
    almost as if it's not a chore at all.         I think to myself how neat it is to be you,       to see             
centuries pass by               without a word;                      you deliver            to the newest   generation                 
admiring                                                       your qualities. 
                             I really like how      every day                you reach for the light of our star 
and never get to your goal,
             but that doesn't keep you from trying.        
                                                                        That's what more people in this world need,
dedication,        commitment,            understanding of what life gives us      and how we receive it.
       You know tree;               you give me hope     in the way        we      as humans can view life.
                        There is      a possibility                    that we              might just have a chance.        
                If more people would just stop           and see your accomplishments 
      It might just lead to something wonderful.           Maybe even inspirational.     
                But I'm not the type of person                        that will get my hopes up.  
                                       Perhaps in that                                         is where  human
                                           problem lies?             We believe    that we are the
                                             are the ultimate         earthbound entities. 
                                                When clearly                  it is you.
                                                                 You live longer
                                                                  grow taller
                                                               breath in that 
                                                              which animals
                                                              breath out.
                                                         You use the earth
                                                        for growth instead 
                                                       of covering up your
                                                      waste for the next
                                                     generations to take.
                                                  You supply the earth with
                                                  nutrients for the ground
                                               and atmosphere for the air.
                                            You create your own rain and 
                                             shade so you don't burn.
                                           You give shelter for mankind 
                                           and home for animals and birds.
                                        You are what mankind will never be.
                                   A Tree                    A Tree                      A Tree


Long poem by Brody Brown | Details |

My Thoughts of You

So fuck it, it jus causes me 
agrivation
Your killing me i can compare 
you to taxation
Your a constant source of my 
fucking aggrivation
Pretty soon there will be an 
altercation
Due to my fucking frustration 
Im gunna kill you both ooh, 
how about castration? But it 
was you caused it so fuck you 
and the god damn explination
Shut the fuck up bitch im sick 
of your  all your exploytation
You used me you slut, thanks 
to you i have inspiration to 
send you to heaven,
Ha more like hell and youll be a 
piece of shit call it your 
reincarnation.
I write with anger as a source 
of ventilation.
I wanna scream at you through 
amplification!
LOUD ENOUGH BITCH! 
screaming at you is my way of 
communication!
Because you dont fucking listen 
I just had a hallucination, you 
were going to prison 
then you came to me looking 
for compensation.
All i said was "congradulations i 
hope you rot and suffer from 
starvation"
Well go fuck yourself, i wish i 
could give the judge a 
commendation for putting you 
away.
I hope you have a realization 
that your a cunt, i only say that 
based on true information I 
hope they lock you up till the 
end of your probation and thats 
18 months with no chance of 
early cancellation. Maybe youll 
figure out what you did was life 
altering and you realize your 
actions are faultering your final 
destination. Ill tell you where 
you gunna go no where bitch 
cuz you a hoe who has nothing 
to show heres my explination. 
Your Satan and thats just the 
reality not my imagination 
heres whats on my mind im 
God you are my worst creation.
You're a fuckin' coke-head slut, 
I hope you fuckin' die
I hope you get to hell get a 
needle stuck in your eye
I hate your fuckin' guts, you 
fuckin' slut, I hope you die
And you wonder you Why?
Why not? But, please don't get 
me wrong, I'm not bitter or 
mad
It's not that I still love you, it's 
not 'cause I want you back
It's just that when I think of 
you, it makes me wanna yack, 
what you did was whack.
But What else can I do, I 
haven't got a clue.
Now I guess I'll just move on, I 
have no choice but to.
But every time I think of you 
now, all I wanna do puke my 
guts out. Now jus fuck it all, 
especially you. If i was you, id 
be a piece of poo and yes my 
album name is a fuck you so 
guess what? Fuck you and that 
asshole Tiger too! You call me 
boo boo but thats what you call 
him and every nigga youve 
played too. So haha fuck you, i 
hope the next time i see you 
youll be in a casket and ill be 
wearin all black crying boo who 
(boo who) but wait i wont ill jus 
laugh at you (haha) because 
youll be dead and ill be 
standing over you and ill spit 
on you! (spit noises) how much 
i hate you, you aint got a fuckin 
clue and your love cant go to 
two and im who you skipped 
you fuckin shrew. Savannah 
youll be the topic of my debut. 
I wanna stab and burn you call 
it fondue. Your the obsticle ive 
gotten through. You played me 
like a kazoo soo buzz buzz fuck 
you! I need to wash you off like 
some shampoo. your no longer 
one of my worries Hakuna 
Mattata just like your tattoo. 
What you did to me you cant 
undo. Theres nothing youll live 
up to youll be a bum haha deja 
vu. Huh, i gave you everything 
look at it from my point of 
view, you left me out of the 
blue, deep in love i tried and 
met the true side of you. You 
know whats true im gunna be 
big one day unlike you. So go 
ahead hold your head high but 
in the inside you know your 
worthless and theres nothing 
youll ever amount to. Im the 
reason your wrists are bleeding 
and cut too, and now im proud 
of it that shit cant be 
misconstrued. Ive got a large 
list of things to do one is to kill 
you, check, this verse just did 
you wanna review? Haha fuck 
you bitch, im done with you but 
alas i still think about you. I 
cant get you out of my head jus 
like I cant end this with out a 
simple goodbye and fuck you!


Long poem by Therese Bacha | Details |

A White Sheet Of Paper Part I

                       "A White Sheet of Paper."  Part1

Once upon a time I was a white sheet of paper
Pilled between hundreds on a shelf my neighbor 
For years was an old stapler.

I was full of life yet dreading never to find myself 
A home where I would achieve all my dreams 
With someone not all alone.

Suddenly I heard a murmur of a low sweet voice
Asking the sales man where he can find white
Sheets of paper closer and closer he approached 
I was praying to be chosen.

When Oh! I was in his hands pulling me from 
The pile between thousands relieved to run away
I quickly said good bye to the shelve 
I could no more stand.

My blood felt warm like after a cold winter storm
Abiding by a chimney opposite the fire.
I was thinking who is he? Where does he live?
Will he posses me? Will he become my master?
Will he take me for a ride forever to abide
Or would I be used just like a scratch
Piece of paper.

My heart stopped beating for a while thinking
All the memories of my past and the future would
Just vanish depart my end in a waste paper basket
Carried away like a dead man in a casket
And thrown in a background of a graveyard.

No; I was carried by him and feeling his strong hands
Inside of me came a glimpse of hope I felt secure as 
I wanted to belong to someone for long.

Feeling assured for the very first time happy 
Within me and with him I saw him smile while 
Walking that mile to where his car was parked 
I promised myself to comply day and night I 
Will be on stand by forever.

His radio Came on with a Melody of Waltz
Rocking in the car My fate was still Unknown.

Than he stopped assuming we arrived to a 
Home or an office he gently carried me up the stairs
Opened the door I looked inside and at last I shouted 
We are all alone we were in his home will it be mine 
too one day.

With much caring he placed me on a huge big desk 
It was a mess magazines and books an ashtray that
Was not emptied for days.

I noticed next to me was a crystal white vase filled with 
All sorts of brushes still stuck on them multiple colors of paint.

That was when I realized oh my lord! I will be famous
My master was an artist from joy I was going to faint as
My thoughts pictured a frame and inside it one day I will 
Be born I will exist created by my master I will hang on a
Wall and will be admired from the soul.

The warmth of the room filled my heart I was getting tired 
Wanting to relax while turning my head before closing my
Eyes I noticed many paintings hanging on the wall 
From the ceiling to the floor.

I got jealous and ready with a deep sigh to whisper and beg 
My master to create me in an image of a dazzling woman
Surround me with such beauty cover me with colors
Pour on me paint and make me look like a wild saint.

Taken by my inspirations to provide him an identity
I felt his strong hands holding me opposite his eyes and
Pressed me on the desk and that was when I felt it hurts
Then a second pain followed by a third and fourth pain i 
Could not move I lost my breath trying not to cry I felt
I would die.

But not very long as I already knew my fate
Being a white sheet of paper I had to be pinned 
on the Table for me to remain motionless until 
his creation is terminated.

I was stunned when I saw a pencil in his hand
Smelling his perfume when he was tracing my face
It started to feel round small ears for future earrings
My nose was tiny he started with my eyes than he 
Stopped.

I felt him fixing and concentrating on the spot where 
He will create my eyes excited as I loved him when
I was blind and now he will unbind the bandage 
off my eyes.

To see him more to love him more to follow him 
Everywhere to watch him laugh and cry to see him 
Dress and undress caress his body with my Eyes.

Watch him drink and think eat sitting down or standing up
Amazed awaiting his decision to start by reviving my 
Inner soul and create me as his woman I was craving 
To have green eyes.


To be continued.part 2
                                         Terry


Long poem by Richard Lamoureux | Details |

A Man and the Moon Prose Version

Sebastian looked at the moon, the source of his inspiration. When the Moon appeared in its silvery glory, he was profoundly moved to write. Sadly he could only write during a full moon. This was a problem which perplexed him. He had waited many days for the full Moon to appear so that he could put his plan into action.

When Sebastian would write a poem during the full Moon his readers would be moved to tears. His prose had wooed many a young heart, his songs had been sung to princesses. Countless women had named their children in honor of him. His words were distilled romance with power beyond the comprehension of ordinary men. The problem however was that Sebastian was unable to meet the demand. Strong men would beg for but a few lines to capture their true loves heart. Without the Moon, when Sebastian would try to write it felt like his tongue was wrapped around his hand. Nothing flowed little made sense, he was like an inexperienced teen unfamiliar with the ways of love. How Sebastian longed for the Moon during those long nights.

So here he was with his enchanted pen in hand, at the end of the pen was a golden strand. Sebastian went out to capture the Moon. He swung the pen in large loops over his head releasing it with tremendous force. The pen hurtled towards its target the tip of the fountain pen struck the centre of the Moon sinking deep into its surface. Sebastian pulled with all his might each movement of his hand brought his prize closer and closer. As the moon came closer there was no evidence it was increasing in size. Once the moon was in hand it fit perfectly in his pocket. Sebastian felt gleeful as he carried the Moon into his home, everything was going according to his plan.

Once inside he removed the Moon from his pocket and bathed in it's other worldly light. As Sebastian dislodged his pen from the surface it began to drip with the Moon's tears. Magnificent lines beyond anything he had ever hoped. Songs, poems, prose, the mysteries of the ages flowing onto his pages day after day year after year. His home overflowed with his treasures, the realization of his poetic dreams.

Still he had no joy, no one knocked on his door. Lovers could not walk in the Moonlight, wolves couldn't bay at the Moon. Romance was no longer in the air. The night was a thing to be feared. Sailors could not find their ways home, if they did their lovers no longer waited for their return. Some refer to this as the Dark Ages. Art creativity had all but dissapeared. The Oceans stood still with no Moon to guide the tides. Meanwhile Sebastian continued to write.

The Moon asked to see the Ocean so Sebastian took it for a walk. As they walked along a lonely secluded beach the Moon began to increase in size. The Moon summoned the Ocean to it's rescue. A huge wave came up on shore plucking the moon from Sebastian's hand. As the Moon was floating out to Sea Sebastian swam out to reclaim his treasure. Sebastian jumped on the Moon as a gigantic hand like wave tossed the Moon back into space. As the moon traveled back to its home it became larger and larger brightening the nights sky. Lovers came out to kiss captivated by the silvery glow.  If they look close they can see a man with a fountain pen held in his hand. Wolves cry for him as they bay at the moon.

On the Moon Sebastian sits all alone with his fountain pen in hand, he fills the pen with his tears. He longs to write the words trapped in his heart yet there is not a page in site. Even if there was there is no one to read his words or to sing his songs. The Moon was once his Muse and then his greatest prize. Now it is his prison for the rest of time.


Long poem by Just That Archaic Poet | Details |

From Great Pain Comes Great Inspiration

A total Jedi mind f*ck from Hell is what this is. I feel like a nuclear bomb has exploded in 
my mind of Hiroshima proportions and I am on the brink of a Chernobyl meltdown. 
Bewildered may be the best description of what I am feeling right now. I cannot process 
anything; I feel like I am in total and utter f*cking shock. I apologize for the expletives; 
I normally never curse when I write because I find it uncouth, but I have to get these 
feelings out; I know if I don't, I will want to cut, which is the last thing in the world I want to 
do. God knows I have enough scars; I don't need or want anymore.

From great pain comes great inspiration, I believe. Even though my mind is positively 
reeling at this very moment as I type, I feel exponentially inspired. I am completely 
overwhelmed emotionally, and I have just now stopped sobbing and weeping enough to 
write; to get these horrid feelings out of me.

Even the smallest of troubles or strife turn into absolute tragedy and catastrophe in my 
mind; I cannot help or control it, and God knows I wish I could. I "catastrophize" everything.

My best friend of 15 years just called me and told me she was moving to Alabama. I 
shouldn't even say "best friend" for she is more like a sister to me. Always, always she 
has been close by and been there for me as I have been for her, and now she is moving 
what seems like galaxies away from me, and the pain I am feeling is so tremendous and 
shocking; so unnerving and vexing and tormenting and afflicting...I could go on forever 
with melancholy and exasperating adjectives and descriptions. In my mind, she is dead 
and I am hosting the funeral in my brain. That's totally insane; I understand that, but at 
this moment I am NOT rational. For a moment after I stopped crying my eyes out, I 
almost felt catatonic. In my partner's arms, I just wept as he held me; I was shaking 
and shuddering furiously. I feel lost. I haven't felt this powerless or helpless since my 
grandparents died. She is moving away and there is nothing I can do about it. I am 
a horrible and selfish human being for I want her to stay, so desperate do I feel. 
Wendy, my sister, my best friend, my partner in crime; my cohort, consort, comrade, 
co-conspirator: you who know me best, inside and out, like a book...you are leaving me,
and my sorrow is swallowing me whole- devouring me like an angry, rabid beast. Don't 
go; don't leave me. With every fiber of my being I wish you to stay, but you've made up 
your mind and told me your decision at the worst possible time, when I am already too 
stressed to deal with or process this kind of pain and anguish in a healthy way. I'm ready 
to hit the bottles: whisky and Lortab. They will ease the pain and will quell the compulsion 
to cut.

This is the most personal blog I have written. I didn't know what else to do but turn this 
despair into words to help ease the heartache and suffering. If anyone cares, I need 
support right now. I need prayers and well wishes and good vibes; I am about to crumble 
to pieces. I feel like the proverbial rug has been pulled out from under my feet and I don't 
know what to do. This is the worst feeling in the world. Uncertainty is truly the worst of all 
ailments.

~Chan 


Long poem by Robert Mayy | Details |

Drifting on a Cloud

Drifting on the clouds I lie
With my head pointing
To yonder skies
In a sea of dreams 
 Where mind and spirit 
Igniting natures prize
To feel like you are heaven bound 
But feet standing firmly
 On hallowed ground
But in the clouds you drift
As the cascade shifts
Your feet no longer touching
The ground

A lift off to a peaceful place
an Ease from  pain
Heading to heaven
On the now train
No heading back
 
Settling in  your own time
Welcoming  rain
An escape
For the things that beset us
Riding our backs
Painting the surfaces
Filling the cracks
No longer weary
Nor hearing sounds
 of hungry cries
Heading to glory
With the echoing of lullabies
Off on a voyage
With an opt out clause
Given by nature
When we stop and pause
Discarding distress,
And inflicted pains, 
Looking for a redress
With  sweet Refrains
 eyes wide opened 
To a beauty and a guile 
Painted by nature
By the clouds on high
So I decided
 to pause for a little while
 
Taking nature in my stride
Story’s written
 in the clouds
artist at play
Mixing the co lours
Painting a picture
Inviting a crowd
Having her say
Without uttering a word
How the lines are drawn
The bold highlights, 
And intricate designs
Nature’s Way 

In shades of grey and pastel blue
With the turquoise borders
Depths of indigo 
How can I not be taken in
Blending with unison
Of a presence and a place
Is it not inspiration?
That brought me here 
My resting place!
That there is peace and harmony
In  yonder skies
 
Wrapped in a woolen shroud,
Floating on high
As on a cloud I now reside
Homeward bound 
While in the depth 
Of an azure sea,
over yonder a tide does wake
Surging to inner shore
A surfers dream
 
Riding its waves
Horizontally, I must glide
To cross over in spirit of the other side
I am at a time and place
Where though imagery 
we can foretaste
Although somewhere different
in time and space 
It must be like being in heaven ,
when nature take its place
At the cent re of the stage
 revealing its beauty
 

So humble yet so almighty
There is complexity in every art
the very corners and intricate parts
Inviting the  eye
Taking time out on a page
Syncing with beauty
 Looking from  the sky
Floating on high
In a woolen casket
 Weightlessly 
Drifting on by
I am in no race
Just run life’s race
Off on another journey
A different time and a different place
 

An escape from the rat race
To find a new place
Full of joy and grace
That I would always be floating
from the skies 
While the north east trades go wonder
Pushing on by 
to open the seven seals
blessing my eyes
See what picture is painted
And the wisdom that it derived
In secrets of the wise
Recovering lost virtues
From failure to realize

Imbalance of the senses one cannot deny
But to approach beauty you have to switch off others 
for another to come alive 
Its not faking reality
But letting spirituality in
To be sublime but not yet ridiculous
But moving to another realm
Enjoying earthly blessings
While wishing changes in


Long poem by Robert Candler | Details |

Sooner Magic

Dedicated to the Oklahoma Sooners & Saint Barry Switzer

-------------------------------------------------

Fifty years, boy & man, I’ve been a Sooner Fan;
And, like others, I’ve wondered many times:
Just what is Sooner Magic?
Is it real…or only in our minds?

Sooner Magic has won many games
And has even saved some seasons.
Fans always revel in its Glory;
But, still, we seek its reason.

Is it more than simple superstition?
If so, Sooner Magic must have a source;
And some way to know exactly when
To unleash its awe-inspiring force.

Yes, something very special happens on the field
When the desperate hopes of All the Sooner Fans
Somehow fill our Sooners’ hearts with Urgency.
Oh yes, they feel it…to a man.

And, as that feeling swells in their hearts,
It’s like some supernatural persuasion.
Our Sooners do what must be done,
They rise to the occasion.

Oh, there’s more to Sooner Magic.
On this point, please don’t be deceived.
Before Fans can even hope for Sooner Magic,
First…we must Believe.

Believe in the Power of Tradition.
Believe in our Sooners’ Will to Win.
Believe our Sooners will make it happen.
Believe because they’ve done it…
   time and time again.

Yet, there’s still more to Sooner Magic, 
A simple fact beyond reproach
Fans’ Belief must find its inspiration
In the Heart of the Sooners’ Head Football Coach.

With Confidence and Strength of Purpose,
He molds the Character of our Sooner Team.
He transforms talents into skills and abilities
And forges Victories out of Dreams

He’s taught our Sooners how to win;
But, win or lose, to give their All;
That Luck is Timing, but also Preparation,
For they must be ready when Victory calls.

In the blink of an eye it happens,
What seems a relentless tide is turned;
But it’s not called Sooner Magic
Without a Victory…well earned.

A breakaway run, a recovered fumble, 
   an intercepted pass;
Yes, Sooner Magic only seems to happen
   when it must.
Anxious Fans go wild.  Our Sooners win the game;
And, somehow, Sooner Magic always seems so just.

But Sooner Magic doesn’t happen every game;
And, sometimes, it’s simply not enough.
For on any given game day,
Their foe may just be too tough. 

Even when “The Streak” died that day, 
There was solace in what Coach Wilkinson would say:
“I’m proud of you.  The only ones who never lose
Are the ones who never played”.
 
So, there it is; no mystery now.
Sooner Magic’s source is plain to see:
A Coach and his Team in singular accord
With the Hearts of Fans like you and me.

So, Fans, be very proud;
And know we play a glorious part;
For Sooner Magic never happens
If we’re not True of Spirit, True of Heart.

For as long as Fans have Faith,
As long as Fans Believe,
There’s no limit what our Sooners, 
With a little Sooner Magic, can achieve.

Yes, it’s simply called Sooner Magic,
Great moments to be remembered 
   with a measure of glee;
And fondly recounted, season after 
   season,
Moments when our Sooners were as
   great as they could be.


Long poem by Leonora Galinta | Details |

I Will Be Faithful To You

A first free verse  Poem and a lyric  Song for Y. 2014: 

A Poem:

I WILL BE FAITHFUL TO YOU
  (Free Verse Lyric)

I was broken when you met me
You gave me hope and courage,
Your words were enough strength
To bring back my heart a whole again.

I learned to love you more and more
Each day, dearest friend of mine,
To know that you are leaving
These teardrops fall from my eyes.

I will be faithful to you till the end of time
Whether you are far or near,
Forever in my heart  I’ll keep you dear
I’ll be waiting for you even under the rain or storm
I’ll try to be strong although my heart is torn.

Through you I found a new way
While you lovingly hold my hands
As I write my joys and my pains
You never leave me behind

When the sun shines in your day
Or the stars are seen above you,
Think of me that I’m always here
Wishing and praying the best for you

 I will be waiting for you even under the rain or storm
 I will be faithful to you…
 God, please give us strength to go on.

Jan. 5, 2014 2.40 pm

   A poem and a song I composed also with the inspiration from verse of  SIRACH  “A faithful friend is a treasure beyond  price”.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In A Song:

I WILL BE FAITHFUL TO YOU
 (Lyric)

I was broken when you met me
You gave me hope and courage
Your words were enough strength
To bring back my heart a whole again

I learned to love you more and more
Each day, Oh dearest friend/love of mine
To know that you are leaving
These teardrops fall from my eyes

 Chorus:  
                 I will be faithful to you till the end of time
                 Whether you are far or near
                 Forever in my heart 
                 I’ll keep you, Oh dear/love of mine     
                 I’ll be waiting for you even under the rain or storm
                 I’ll try to be strong although my heart is torn
                                                         
Through you I found a new way 
While you lovingly hold my hands
As I write/share my joys and my pains 
You never leave me behind
          (Back to chorus)

When the sun shines in your day
Or the stars are seen above you
Think of me that I am always here
Wishing and praying the best for you 
          (Back to Chorus)


Refrain: I will be waiting for you even under the rain or storm
               I will be faithful to you
               Oh God, please give us strength to go on
   

Note:
          
 *6,7,8 syllables in each stanza  except the chorus    

Second Place
Contest: First 2014 Poem
Judged: 1/7/14
Sponsor: My loving greatest poet & sis, PD  
   
I was practicing my favorite piano pieces after my lunch this afternoon , Jan. 5, 2014 when I thought of composing  a friendship song. This can also be a love song for the options given. I'll be spending more of my time this coming weeks to compose the simple tune or melody of it. I have already the melody of the chorus ringing in my mind. TYSM.  



Long Poems