Long language Poems
Long language Poems. Below are the most popular long language by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long language poems by poem length and keyword.
motived by his desire to appeal to women
there attention her affection and her approval
it had been said je was nicer to women than men
it made it easier to those who oppose him to speak
against his personal desires and wants
at the heart of being a legitimate interesting person
who's interest allows those who share certain interest
to share moments and intimacies
those with a more intelligential knowing would probably
differ there opinion and look toward the needs of the man
and how the women he attracts meet his needs and wants
and find why other would wish take both who
and want he desires
any activity about interest both active and inactive
" The Clague of Desires" from GioCoso Barcarolle to
the neutralization of a note to advise accent to sforganzo were
ostinato is consistent from both ends
(from each beginning (than centered) to an end to began again)
(Poseidon (Neptune) began training to appeal to
The Goddess who were attracted to Pele)
They sipped wine on Curtis Creek
until Pele wished a certain Goddess as his own)
~Love And Peace~
(Mirrored Hourglass)
Pray God for love, peace today
Love comes from the Lord
He sets us all free
Changes all hearts
Makes us strong
In Him
In Him
Makes us strong
Changes all hearts
He sets us all free
Love comes from the Lord
Pray God for love, peace today.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2013
February.08.2017
So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.
1 Corinthians 13:13 (NIV)
-“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.
John 3:16 (NIV)
- Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer
Romans 12: 12 ( NIV )
-The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to be silent.”
Exodus 14: 13 ( NIV )
“Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”
- Mark Twain-
~Author's Notes:
The "Mirrored Refrain" is a poetry form or style created by George L. Ellison.
First there was you
Beautiful, full of hope and courage.
You stood there at the very edge of the cliff,
Breaking out...
Far beyond you was me,
I looked at you; you looked at me;
I realised you were my own.
In your eyes I could see a reflection of who I was,
And who I was going to be.
I knew if I spoke you could decipher my foreign language
You'd relieve angst.
I never had to explain.
I looked at you;
I saw you;
I recognised you.
I perceived the tears you had at the corner of your eyes;
Even when your mouth did nothing but smile.
I realised the bitterness in your laughter;
The weight in your wings;
Even if you were flying much higher.
I realised the coldness in your gentle but few words.
You were painting the world dark,
All of it was nothing but bleak;
Even though you wished to see light.
But honey you and I are the same
So different but yet so alike
Help, is all you wanted
"Don't fall,"
Stare at me and beyond me...
I will reach out to you
And you'll become my world
At the very edge of your Cliff
I
come all through
year
before the
dawn
sun rising
this is path
for the remembrance
with flowers
they all died for us,
mother tongue
for country peoples
I'm independent
today none can force to speak
in another tongue
this small flower oblation
from me for honor
though they did great for us all
from that nineteen fifty two
the Shahid Minar standing in heart
with revered love for martyr
to remind value of mother tongue
Twenty First February
comes as the Int. Mother Language Day
-February 20,2020 Chattogram
****
note
The idea to celebrate International Mother Language Day was the initiative of Bangladesh. In Bangladesh 21 February is the anniversary of the day when Bangladeshis fought for recognition for the Bangla language
Syllabic Form as below-
1+3+1
3+1+3
3+5+3
5+3+5
5+7+5
7+5+7
7+9+7
9+7+9
Between the howls of the wind,
there is a stillness,
a pause that speaks
in a voice too soft for the hurried ear.
The world contracts,
folding into itself beneath the weight of frost,
and in that moment,
I learn the language of waiting.
Tree branches rattle like old thoughts
scraping against the edges of sleep,
each creak a reminder
that even the barest things hold their ground.
They do not break,
only bend,
offering their silence
as proof of endurance.
The full moon spills its knowing
across the frozen earth,
silver light carving paths
where footsteps hesitate.
In its glow,
I see the shape of my own solitude,
a quiet lesson in reflection,
a gentle hand
guiding me beyond the dark.
All in a winter’s night,
I find wisdom
not in the storm,
but in the space it leaves behind.
I was talked into going to France by a persuasive friend.
Was not into it until I arrived. It was a magical place.
The Louvre is unbelievably chic and classy.
I truly enjoyed the musee d’orsay
The arc de triomphe is something you do not want to miss.
Luckily you see the Eiffel tower no matter where you are in Paris.
I ended up staying longer than my friend, smelling French roses.
Drinking their wine, trying to learn their language.
Next year I plan to return and stay much longer.
I have put a collage together, representing the highlights.
Made into a bit of a window, it sits above my breakfast table.
Coaxing me back into the world of the Parisians.
Cryptic language with words that hide;
Secret message in ancient tides;
Mine the passage in mystic ride.
Linger a while on textures tough;
Thought waves that style beyond the rough;
An inner guile with pregnant stuff.
Heart within mind in pulse and urge;
Address ***** finds in sag and surge;
Go beyond kind in swirl and purge.
To find the core where meaning fills,
Discern some more the vital till;
Let knowing soar in precise will.
Address the space where time holds gist;
Accept the pace of rhymes that list;
Align the trace in hidden mist.
Knowing within the sacred code,
Beyond mere whim a wondrous mode;
Here yet unseen a pathway node.
Feeling the way within these grounds,
A tensile stay that firms around;
Pry cryptic sway with motive found.
Peel layers here that hold meaning;
Read beyond fear the deeper fling;
Ponder sense clear as answers sing.
Deep within see the hidden span:
Veiled legacy in sure attend;
Code that sets free an ancient blend.
Trace clues that spur your quest to know;
Go beyond blur to sublime show;
Let swirls unfurl the course of flow.
Thought hides cryptic in symbols deep;
Know dear mystic realms that now sleep;
Feel the magic as foliage creep.
Leon Enriquez
10 Apr 2014
Singapore
So red the rose a crimson divinity
Thorns sharp cruel dangerous
Crush the petals so gently, so soft
Thorns are long, how they prick thee
A rare fragrance of delicate tones
Eyes as black as Sable's ink, see
A so razor keen like murder myth and miracles
The deeper you cut harder you are to hold
Rose thorns born deep death reeks
thorns driven grave
to the heart of sin
In Flesh n Bone where blood is born
Rare dark deep
shades secrets keep
of crimson shadowed and spawn
Hue the shade of crimson ichor
The Blood of Life
The Blood of Sacrifice
A bloody firstborn
Runs on burnt Crosses and Rosary
ironic is the Rose
crimson a Delicate sound
blood-born sharp of thorn
Life races through your veins, reflex
a flash of the unknown, crimson, and onyx
Just like you a dark secret entity
so like death are you
Crucifixion n entropy
The razor sliver sharp keen n new
born upon the wing of ravened claws
I see preludes to Doom
Dominions and Damnation
it bleeds, it breaks your visions
into ruddy muddy puddles
Hollow be thy name
Profane is your humanity, a burning crown
Secret Heart in the Silence of Heaven
Where a rare rose grows and bloom
A rose so rare a deep dark shade of Crimson
So rare the rose dusky is the tones
The delicate sound of distant thunder, Doomed.
bleed upon thy holy grounds, Sacred
Your thorns are so sharp they cut
Darkness is your language
Crimson is your color
Deep is your power
Onyx and Crimson
about your light flickers,
Images reflect,
Thoughts retract
Roses and Thorns
So Red the rose of your crimson divinity
Thorns sharp and long cut so keen
Crush the petals so gentle
A thorn so long sharp and keen
A mortal death comes upon crimson wings
The roads leading away
circle the distances
and seem to go nowhere.
They seed the horizon
with promises, disorganising
the senses and reason
until there is only a hole,
a dark cave into
the interior.
Effigies stare out of the dark
cloaked in symbols that can
only be deciphered by the soul.
This is the language
of the visionary, gifted seer
of the modern. For this traveler
in the shadowlands
of the psyche, there is either
transcendence or death,
mattering little if counted
as one more in history's legion
of the forgotten,
or a dazzling occupant
of another realm.
His words haunt,
coming agonizingly close
to revelation, enchanting
the soul with the stolen
melodies of the sublime
before falling silent
as homeless angels
must do, a casualty
of flesh and blood.
I confront my bones
when they refuse to move
I empower my pen
when it refuses to write.
each poem proof that
We write our way
through tangled thoughts.
Refusing to be shackled
As I teach my soul to fly.
You wanted me to play small,
but I was made to come alive.
I write in the language of the unheard
I have spoken in tongues of the overlooked.
I have learned to plant seeds of Poetree
And harvest the fruits of liberty.
Still my poetry roots run deep
Even with my mouth piece close my
Poetic souls still speaks.
Revealing depths of what I longed for.
One authentic step forward,
One unapologetic choice to be
Exactly who I was meant to be.
I became revolutionary as freedom
Continues fighting for me.