Long Alliteration Poems
Long Alliteration Poems. Below are the most popular long Alliteration by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Alliteration poems by poem length and keyword.
This is the bomb! Wait until you
Here you will read hear about the
Tick of tock of tick the clock is
Gone lawn the mow now show
The glow a phone it groans.
Then moans
Time it is almost to the hour now
The bombs have dropped the plot
Thickens and rots
Now what but WAIT! The gates
Are locked! Hot trot slots sure shots
Casinos we know get rich quick
Schemes we know. What the WORLDS!?
We have the pearls. Unfurl reload
The goal? Unload gun load here we
Go you know the GOLD! it has slivers
Of silver. I confess I digress. Do not
Be BOLD your blood can shed.
Though you might not Ever dream
But muse and know deep think
Contemplate visit a shrink yeah
Concentrate if you must do not
Trust all that you see but believe
Some dreams to be reality, which
You think you see, do not believe
Only some will dream the daze
Away figuring to think on, long.
Forward on to the path of what
You believe to be real. All of those
Fascinating fluctuating facts you
Think you have? hear is the deal.
It is not real. So I say hey how have
You not known this throne round
Golden glorious crown I have found
On sacred ground. I have found
I have found! I can here the echoes
Of the Tick tock tick the clock is
Here the block is bare. I ask why
And where and bone Crushing FEAR!
You are scared? You dare not be
FEIRCE? SPEAK your WORTH while
You are on this earth do your best
And confess your worst thirst. On
This sphere this here yeah! Do no
HARM here the WORD! you your
Selves be heard with freer there
Then the Sun flares it glares then burst the
Glint and flint a spark forlorn first
Gong the bell tolls something is
Wrong! So since nothing else Amiss.
First the munch of lunch. A brunch
Bunch bun. I fill my girth. It is TIME.
The clock chimes DO NO HARM!
The bombs fall blistering all.
Oh! DETINATION! DESTINATION!
Complete DEVASTATING Fluxlng
DESTRUCTION! frightening furious
Flames absorb everything Nothing!
Nothing! At all REMAINS the Whole
Hearted horror of HUMANITY!
AAAAH HAA the TREACHERY!
Those schemes the will that be.
The alarm to late. HUMANITY is
Gone tick of tock the clock has
Stopped. NOTHING NOTHING AT
ALL NOTHING! REMAINS!
REMAINS! REMAINS! REMAINS!
AT ALL REMAINS! REMAINS!... remains.
NOTHING!
where is the LOVE LOVE
LOVE?!!
Was this a dream? Became a
NIGHTMARE?
A poetry
is a collection
of words that expresses
author's emotion or idea
sometimes with as specific rhythm or rhyme
Poet uses a figure of speech
that makes a comparison
between two things
that are basically different
but something in common
The metaphor does not use
the words 'like' or 'as'
But some poetry has words 'like' or 'as'
that is called a simile
The two poetic techniques are almost always there, but not seen
Poetry is a feeling that author wants the reader
to understand
Sometimes a heart breaking arrow shattering
or even joyful sunny day like when you were born
Poetry is a gift that everyone can write
People use poetry in novels and narratives
Some lines have animals, objects or human qualities
The words fill the page with imagery
to give feelings
Describing the plain into special words
It uses the five senses
So that the readers can touch and taste
Readers can smell
Readers can see
Readers can hear
Poems are like crumbs of a cookie
All you just have to do
Is to select the right words
And make the reader sense
Feel the feelings that you've put into
It's like stars
They sing with heart
They try to send you a message
About their experiences
How they've felt in the sticky situations
Some poets uses words
that aren't in the dictionary
Those words might be sound words
Explosion sounds maybe spelled, "BOOM!" or "MEOW"
Those words are called onomatopoeia
Some poems are so still without them
It makes the poet feel not right
They feel like something is missing
That's what poets think about
Reading it over and find out what's missing to deliver
When poets give an animal, object, idea, or human qualities
That's called a personification
When words dances into your mind
Imagining the worded movements
Sometimes it's just so easy that you miss them
Some poems have alliteration
The fist consonant sound is repeated
In several words
In the same line of a poem like
Something slid solemnly stood
Poetry is a great kind of writing
If you're the kind of person
Who doesn't like that much writing
You might fall for this writing
Because this kind of writing you need time
Poetry is a great kind of writing
If you're the kind of person
Who loves to express your feelings
You might like this kind of writing
Because this kind of writing you need heart
It begins at home
even closer: it begins "I"nside
I have forgiven failures, failing in faith, inside me
Have you? Until you do, it is almost too hard
To forgive your imperfect parent, and therefore Father-in-Heaven
Lest it seems, I speak ordinary, old, old-fashioned sermon or speech
"Remember Mandela, South Africa, TRC? I was there!"
While billions only speak it, I have to live it
I did not want to; Mandela (OUR BELOVED MADIBA) made it policy
In the bad old South Africa, poisoned by a white Minority, 300 years
Still wanting NOT to share anything today; but we must for ourselves
And for Jesus (or for Mandela, or for Gandhi: both graced South Africa)
Yes, I have grown to love Forgiveness and Reconciliation in my heart
There it must begin, or it cannot come out into this bloody world
From the blood pump inside you, pure Jesus lineage can overflow
Once the mind and heart come into agreement, concord, one accord
(That's what happened at the Pentecost that birthed Christ's Church -
When the disciples, dreading death after Jesus's Crucifixion, locked doors
In the Upper Room, in Jerusalem, tarrying still: Fire in Holy Spirit fell!)
The Holy Spirit tells me to love like Jesus and Mother Theresa (now Saint)
Love till it hurts (and once hurt like that, NOTHING will ever hurt you & me)
I forgive because I see the forgiveness of Jesus (What does it mean? Sins?)
LOVE may begin in sin; but it flies with eagle wings, near the SON, forgiven
We reconcile with the Parent Above; who is really everywhere, doctrines do
not tell us all, only a start: God loved and offered reconciliation, but Truth
Demands we confess: I was a dirty, dastardly sinner, until He washed me
In the pure, precious blood of a Perfect Man, High-Priest after Melchizadek
So, dear brother and sister, I do not list sins to make you mad
That is only to assure YOU the Jesus way: Confess, Receive Grace, Live Free
TRC in RSA: TRUTH and Reconciliation (& Commission Under Archbishop Tutu)
Said anyone, white or black, who confessed their murders and sins
Would not be taken to court; only one was (Wouter Basson)
A whole nation forgave the white Minority under Mandela's mighty mandate
To Love and forgive like Jesus, for BIGGER things: like saving a country
From the kind of civil wars that rage on and on, fed by hate, all about US
In the pantomime of pretend prose,
the moon dances on lonely nights.
Before the lights go out at twilight,
unforgiven ice cold hearts,
remain abandoned, hoping this is the end.
Her eyes like Eve were deceived,
by manipulative sea green serpents.
Stranded on shores where time has no name,
the artistry of dread, breathed in poetic chills,
inhaling life, exhaling pain like dolent daisies.
Concealing metaphors of dying embers,
behind an avalanche of emotions,
she anticipated the rebirth of an artist,
by an art nearing the opposite side of yearnings,
because in the deepest chasm of poetic love,
an alliteration of antithesis attracts affection.
I was not as naive as Adam,
searching for heartbeats from heaven,
knowing that is how you ruin a poet.
An empathic spirit ignites pens full of fire,
burning the strings of poetic puppets -
the greatest gift of entrancement.
Rumi taught me the universe is infinite,
and so am I, so I knew I would meet my muse,
like stars greet the moon in a meadow of miracles.
As roaming romance conjured my dream's horizon.
Her name always echoed in the silence of quiet nights.
An empress without an emperor in a crumbling palace,
yearning to blossom in an epodic flower field.
Her seldom smile was as radiant as the golden orb.
Despite ghosts hiding in the shadow of sunlight,
mystical silver spirits were summoning me to her abode.
Her misspelt phrases accidentally fell on my page.
I found her burying her frozen quill under six feet of snow,
with a withered heart reliving a winter wonder nightmare,
constantly bleeding pearls in a silage of tears,
cursing her tormented tongue.
Her winter kisses were as tender as butterfly snowflakes,
but at first, her rage slashed at my wrists,
drowning me in her obsidian grieving seas,
but my soul is like a seasoned samurai full of scars.
I always believed small steps lead to great places,
and I would kiss her sorrows goodbye.
Upon realisation there's no blood in my veins, only poetry,
together we portrayed pastel coloured sunsets,
illuminating a celestial canopy of light,
sowing trees of forgiveness,
surrounded by colourful petals,
leaving behind the dark long road home.
In our internal garden of Eden,
there is no darkness,
there is no forbidden fruit nor sinning,
only an aura of love personified.
He is my almighty, my always, my armor
He is my blessing, my breath, my boldness
He is my comfort, my carpenter, my compassion
He is my divinity, my devotion, my delight
He is my earth, my eternity, my enlightenment
He is my faith, my fulfillment, my future
He is my God, my gift, my grace
He is my hope, my heart, my heaven
He is my insight, my inspiration, my inner guide
He is my joy, my judgement, my Jesus
He is my king, my kindness, my keeper
He is my light, my love, my laughter
He is my maker, my music, my morning
He is my necessity, my nurturer, my night
He is my openness, my oil, my offering
He is my purity, my praise, my peace
He is my quest, my quiet, my quivering
He is my rock, my redeemer, my rest
He is my shepherd, my sight, my sensitivity
He is my truth, my treasure, my theology
He is my understanding, my unity, my usefulness
He is my value, my vastness, my virtue
He is my worth, my warmth, my wisdom
He is my xenia, my xenas, my xenodochy
He is my yearning, my yore, my yesterday
He is my zeal, my zenith, my zest
He is my Jesus, He is my God, He is my Holy Spirit
He is the One I love… He is my everything
Yesterday, tomorrow and today – always
He holds the key to death and the grave
As well as my eternity – Praise His holy name!
Matthew 16:13-19
King James Version
13 When Jesus came into the coasts of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, saying, Whom do men say that I the Son of man am?
14 And they said, Some say that thou art John the Baptist: some, Elias; and others, Jeremias, or one of the prophets.
15 He saith unto them, But whom say ye that I am?
16 And Simon Peter answered and said, Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.
17 And Jesus answered and said unto him, Blessed art thou, Simon Barjona: for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father which is in heaven.
18 And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.
19 And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.
Tell Me, Who Do You Say That I Am Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
April 22, 2021
Indeed, there are three sides to every story
multi-faceted, alerting us against fake news-misery
thus, wisdom is needed to unravel twists and mystery
along circumspection toward seeking truth's victory!
Here am I presenting a story
along my role in child-rearing ministry
facing challenges on how to handle information-delivery
yet staying calm, though reality-check makes me feel sorry.
One decade and five years ago,
our special child was diagnosed
with infantile spasm epilepsy
along global developmental delay…
Side 1 ~~~ Perspective of the doctor:
The pediatrician with her neurology expertise
explained the CT (computed tomography) scan
result of our child’s brain --- as having an atrophy.
Then she declared this prognosis:
“Your child will progress toward retrogression.”
Side 2 ~~~ My poetic viewpoint in ABC with alliteration:
Apprehension midst anxiety agitated my angst
Baby in our life-building bosom
Calls for compassionate care due to cerebral palsy condition
Diagnosed with debility, demanding diligent duty---
Enabled with endurance for extra-effort
Fervently facing feats for faith-fueling
Guided with God by His grace and goodness
Hope-filled to help our child, we are hoisted that his
Infantile spasm epilepsy should not be ignored…
Side 3 ~~~ The Omniscient vision of the Divine Almighty:
By faith in the Sovereign Supreme Creator Who knows
perfectly what’s best, I see His miraculous power in
our child who is now 15 years old…progressing
toward milestones, midst the Lord’s provision,
with our love, prayer and trust, testifying
“With God, nothing shall be impossible.*”
Indeed, there are three sides to every story
multi-faceted, alerting us against fake news-misery
thus, wisdom is needed to unravel twists and mystery
along circumspection toward seeking truth's victory!
Here I stand today along triumphant territory
winning over unbelief, skepticism and guilt's fury
learning that the Almighty can overrule man's story
since He knows everything, and such is proven in our history!
*Luke 1:37 "For with God nothing shall be impossible."
November 29, 2024
1st place, "Three sides to every story" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Silent One; judged on 12/16/2024
My silent serene soul softly craves your candles of crystalline calm.
Your gallant greens of golden glow gently beam with bumbles, bashing blissful thoughts in a thundering whisper.
Our chemistry and connection is madly enchanted in ethereal crimson certainty of nectar's new dawn.
I want to own the oceans and you like I hold my butterflies and beliefs.
Rumple my radiant lips on silhouette sheets of your secret shoulder yard, leaving amaranth art of kisses on your lavender chest.
Letting your spikes of spices chase me into a search of serenity.
You are my wind in the wild storm.
The whisperer, wanderer in my mystical melodies.
You are the tempting thoughts in my tempestuous tides, thrilling the turbulent twilight of my heavenly heart.
The mesmerizing midnight memories in the infinite brain of my independent heart.
I'm nightfall without your luminous laughter.
I'm dateless without your conducive calendar of pink promises.
I'm the death of a wasteful war and torn tears from the endless screams.
Be the pondering puzzles of my relentless reasoning.
The savoury solitude in my sour soul.
The hibiscus honey and roasted peanuts in my poetic pantry.
My rustling reckless reflection in muttered excuses.
And I'll be your rainbow, your Rosa Juliet.
Your chocolate cosmos. Your scout for love in the jungle of jasmine spring.
I have fondly found fleeting fragrances of happiness from the ryhming rheum in your eyes. It is daring densely, hallucinating hazardously, making me stare still till I blindly bleed in haphazard hues.
Till eternity my love, your secret silence is the riff in every song. It is the splash of every sound. The hair on my stirred skin. The pulchritudinous phases of pain in astrological agony.
Stand, stand my sublime king so thou shalt see the height of my love for thee.
Listen, listen my charming prince so you shall hear my painting in every voice.
So you can feel the breathless bath of the present and the tickle in the tapestry of our voiceless vows, viciously channeled through the thighs of our bond and the sync of your seductive grasp.
So I can smell the wind of your hands slowly stroking my sensitive skin and the attention of my hairs saluting your stemless grasps.
My soul critically craves you my workshop and I your tools.
Villanelle: Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon
for the author - male or female, prince or pauper, playboy or priest - of the
THIRUKKURAL*, the reputed "bible" of the Tamils, the principal Dravidian race credited with having engendered the first literary heritage of the Indian sub-continent. Only one thing might be said of him with certitude:
he tamed the language like none other and was more alive to his "times" and his literary, inter-personal, romantic, religio-philosophical and political environment than any prince, philosopher or priest ever since. In my view, whoever he may have been, he was an unjustifiably oppressed individual like King Wen who wrote the judgments on the hexagrams and provided the explanations of their images and the Later Heaven arrangement of the Yi Jing, the Canon of Change.
Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon
Words come asunder blown on road side-table
Debris of wanton collisions intone
Long-gone ages singe the stylo his work shone
Who knows what diamond crumbs spill disable
Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon
Sans case-endings morphemes participial pun
Regimented feet in seven steps enable
Debris of wanton collisions intone
Who confined meaning in drumbeat phoneme moan
Lest envy upper-caste knowledge expose enable
Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon
None know who he was nor what age saw he sun
Savants pat cheeks his lines to render readable
Debris of wanton collisions intone
While lordly conferees seek to feather nests own
His sculpted riddles tease meaning and jumble
Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon
Debris of wanton collisions intone
* Thiru=Sacred; KURAL, meaning "short" or epigrammatic composition in the form of couplets (1330: ten kurals allotted to each topic in three books with a short introduction), composed and ordered according to the rules of a strict classical prosodical pattern: the "venba" metre while adhering to complex rhetorical features, such as, alliteration, assonance, initial-rhymes and ellipses. The author was known as Thiru-VALLUVAR. One of the earliest commentaries on the Kural, still extant, was made by a Tamil scholar PARIMELALAKAR during the 13th century.
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
She Goes Back
By Lillian J. Jeffrey
Whispers flow like a river
she will be sold
sold or rented like a cash crop
Born on a Maryland plantation
her mother works the big house
Harriet runs barefoot in the woods
side by side her brothers, nursemaids
her younger brother, childhood ends at five
She is rented, sleeps on a cold, cold floor
shares food scraps with dogs
wounds yarn slow they say
checks muskrat traps in marshes
barefoot in icy waters she looks
Her lungs fill, fill with fluid, her body burns
she is sent back coughing, coughing, holds on
fights off bronchitis and measles
her mother helps nurse her back
Rented to take care of a baby, clean house
the baby cries, she’s whipped, whipped, she runs
runs like the wind, tumbles into a pig pen
pig fights for potato peels
Her stomach empty, rumbles, she
returns to her mistress, the whippings set
her back on fire, she is sent back.
Rented, rented to load lumber
hears Nat Turner led a revolt
losses fighting for freedom
rebellions spark hope in her heart
whispers spread she will be sold
Her master dies, the new master
rents her to a local builder
the builder permits her to rent herself
she makes money, saves, saves, runs, runs
bends with the wind.
Empty of fear, full of dreams of freedom
doors open, slips of paper lead her way
through the Underground Railroad,
a network of shifting safe houses
Her heart skips a beat,
beads of sweat roll, roll down her cheeks
she crosses, crosses the Mason-Dixon Line.
Free at last, lonely, life stands still
like a still life of shells and bones
she is cut off, she longs, longs for her family
The sounds of rattling chains, cracking whips,
echo in her ears, she hears her mother’s
cry, hears her mother's cry, she goes back,
helps her family, friends escape, escape
on foot, through cemeteries, swamps,
around hills, she never losses a passenger.
A will as strong as a rock
a will to endure, persevere
a will to help others
nineteen times she goes back
Shoes worn, spirits strong
more than three hundred slaves escape
Harriet Tubman is nicknamed “Moses”
for her fearless bravery,
thump, thump, thump
bounty hunters on her trail.
Jesus Christ is "In God"and that is a given fact in order for "Jesus Christ to be "The Lord God Almight's "Only Begotten son"! We sometimes go "Astray don't we! In "The Holy Bible" in "Psalms 103" we discover "The Lord God Almighty"! Bless the Lord,Oh My soul:and all that is within "ME",Bless his "Holy Name. Forget not all of his "Benefits:Who forgiveth all thine iniquities; who healeth all thy diseases; Who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with lovingkindness and tender mercies;Who satisfieth thy mouth with good things;so that thy youth is renewed like the eagle's .The Lord executeth righteousness and judgement for all that are oppressed. He made known his ways unto Moses,his acts unto the children of Israel. The Lord is merciful and gracious,slow to anger,and plenteous in mercy. He will not always chide: neither will he keep his anger forever. He hath not delth with us after our sins; nor rewarded us according to our iniquities.For as the heaven is higher above the earth, so great is his mercy toward them that fear him. As far as the east is from the west ,so far hath he removed our transgressions from us. Like as a father pitieth his children ,so the Lord pitieth them that fear him.For he knoweth our frame. He remembereth that we are dust!As for man his days are as grass: as a flower of the field,so he flourisheth. I don't feel no ways tired even though we will be a "Corps in the grave! We sometimes go astray! Our Father god will not leave us! I don't believe he brought this far to leave us! I don't believe he brought us this far "Living or Dead to leave us!We can have "The Peace That God Can Give whether we be living or dead!God is full of mercy to the living and the dead in "Christ Jesus"! How can a Bird ask why it died? How can a Tree asked why it died? How can Covid 19 the virus ask why it died,and is being killed while "Human Lives are being saved ? The Lord God Almighty giveth and taketh away! How can "The Clay" tell the "Potter" what to do with it or what to make it? We are the "Clay" and "The Lord God Almighty" is "The Holy Potter"! The Lord God Almighty made "Jesus Christ" ! In Jesus Christ name I pray ! When anyone is dead and in their grave they still can be saved if they have ever "Feared The Lord God Almighty"!