Long Alloy Poems

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


Writing Poems

How to write a poem  that  gives you joy
Write one line on those you once adored
A villanelle’s a song the French employ

Write a poem  that gets us  damn annoyed
I recall I may said all this before
How to write a poem  that  gives you joy

Writing poems makes me  get very high
I vowed to love a  man forever more
A villanelle’s a song the French employ

If I could sell then someone else could buy  
I want a man  but, if not one, then four 
How to write a poem  that  gives you joy

Writing down the letters  in alloy
I wanted to be loved but it’s a chore
A villanelle’s a song the French abhor

I saw a symbol on  a heavy door
Do not  enter ,God knows you’re a bore!
How to write a poem  that  gives you joy
A villanelle’s a song ,the French   destroy


My Grandmother’s Ring

I took your ring to a gemologist today,
Shiny with spilt crystal rainbows,
Weathered by life’s hardships.

He took one look at it 
And then at me,
Incredulous, he said ‘this is of no value’.
And though it held no value for him,
I told him that it was precious to me. 

It was ‘just’ a glass ring underlaid with coloured foil,
A mesmerising prism that I touched with my childhood fingers.
You were a big precious stone,
With no precious stone to call your own.

Sand and alloy forged together and worn on 
a hand that bathed me,
Hand that fed me,
Hand that held me,
Hand that nurtured me.

Your presence is in this beautiful, 
simple ring.
An eternal symbol of your piety, 
simplicity, courage and love.

And now it circles my finger,
As a reminder of what life is really about.
It is my connection with you,
Across space and time.

Grea-Atitude

To Luck, 
Thanks for being there though you sometimes "suck". 
To Hope, 
Thanks for showing up when I almost gave  future an envelope. 
To Joy, 
Thanks for your loyalty to  our alloy. 
To Favour, 
Thanks for  being my strength's saviour. 
To Faith, 
Thanks for appearing out of the blue  when in concession tub I choose to bathe. 
To Family, 
Thanks for the warm space to embark on the journey. 
To Friends, 
Thanks for taking paths off  for some crosses, making hay days and sometimes some weak-ends. 
To Humanity, 
Thanks for teaching me "priority". 
To Life,
Thanks for the opportunity to live and die!!!!
Form: Lyric

In Search of the Lost Tongue

They sifted through the red soil of the years,
Plucking at roots where the great forebears sleep;
Not merely dust, but salt from ancient tears,
In vaults where Oghene’s secrets buried deep,
They sought the tongue of the Urhobos.

The mother-tongue—a Vwre of vibrant gold,
That bound the Uvwie and the Okpe soul—
Now lies beneath the damp, colonial mold,
A broken Ivri, losing its control,
In Ughelli’s mist, oppressive, gray and cold.

A desperate hunt for Edoid embers lost,
By Inuivwi clinging to a fading grace;
They seek to mend the spirit, tempest-tossed,
And find the value of their rightful place,
But find a landscape utter double crossed

For in the throat where udi used to flow,
A jagged, coarse Pidgin now is spun;
The Emotes of the market-square, we know,
Have taught the children’s lips to skip and run
From the very gods that made the delta grow.

This coarse alloy, this Oibo-shadowed chime,
Has choked the wells where elders’ wisdom brewed;
The tongue of kings is smothered in the slime
Of vulgar slang and metaphors endued
With nothing but the wreckage of our time.

Echoes of Brilliant Blue

As the blue bird called me to the pink ship
I then lived on an island with dry sands
I wasn't in a mood to let the chance slip
Looking at the crimson waves of warm life
I wished to taste the salt of human strife
In dazzling dance of swimming feet and hands
The sweet sounds of murmur from lip to lip

Answering the blue call I swam with joy
Normally I don't love the rising sea
But the brilliant blue birds that never cloy
Made me tipsy with their crispy stories
Making them my life long green memories
With them I got lost with a bursting glee
An absolute ecstasy, no alloy



24 August, 2018
Rhyme Time 6 - Verses of Metaphors Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Laura Loo
Form: Rhyme


Premium Member Mirror On Reflection Part Three

I descried a ghostlike glimpse,
of steel breath on blunt mirror,
   as my taut brain mulled scars,
from fractal bleak life motif,
   zooming over skewed glass,
reflections glum and forlorn,
   black ink eye ring capture,
shadow, shade, or shield,
    brittle convex, abject cog,
whoa, my frail image riven 

Buoyant pneuma projects,
   stuck on screen mimicry,
impact ray remedial dent,
on jumpy jitter edge twin,  
   shaft between rotated a plus,
my geometric bent wavelength, 
mere focal countenance, 
    epoch elapsed pier gaper,
morphing current field of view,
   behind hollow sphere’s mask   

Silver, aluminium, gold metal,
     counterpart to my snapback,
   curved aspect to visual plane, 
optical illusion now infinite,
   refurbish bone-weary scraps,
as sinistral dextral frontispiece,
  august neck crane of aperture,
    green speck tunnel sighting,
a trick of the light axial ploy,
prism dispersing faux rainbow
  
 Jagged shard bias plummet, 
    obsidian or shinning copper,
 glint and glare bounce factor, 
     mirror varnish vandalised,   
  leafy quatrefoil resemblance,
harsh hallucinating peep,
    stiff lens on prior passage,
when aghast, shrill alarm,
     might re-echo or resonate,
with latent shock imprint

Acoustic wobbled surface,
    noise returns sunny splatter,
merriment exuberant audible,
    etched in sonic brush strokes,
  interstitial dual facade,
splits a gleam diffuse,
   watch my smirk refract,
is that mirror cracked?
   off its alloy succour,
stone hearted crop

Rent beads amass,
   one shrunken clone,
me in smithereens,
   asides a plethora,
fraught mien on exhibit
Form: Verse

Premium Member Inner Vocal Quiver

As if a child should understand an  adult’s muddle,
putrid oil slick puddle,
the dreadful pain we foist on wide-eyed offspring.
Robotic elders crush with rigid slabs of Portland censure whatever spark remains in those tiny rosebud cheeks before their prime.
Those innocents should never have to wrap their nascent minds around the wanton desecration of intertidal lakeland wetness gradients,
the callous douse of velvet purple algerita berries,
blighted by the stark timbre cloud forms
that recklessly pour bile on every genus.
The rug rats at our feet  may never know the joys of sap-addicted sugar gliding nocturnal possums, whose acrobatic tree to tree mirror ball exploits mock Isaac Newton,
or the kinkajou of tail grip fame who flaunt their tan glow wooly fur coat in broad daylight,
or the dawn to dusk fennec fox, that doughty eagle owl and jackal dodger whose kissing cousin dens pockmark terracotta forests.                                    But not alone in wider worlds are children being deprived.

 
A heartless milieu also  asks our clutch and clan to dwell in
alloy girder mousetraps, those pale decor rat infested tumble downs gouged out by scrimp and scrape rust bucket caterpillars.
Beyond belief we tolerate the nick and hoist elevator, 
that pressure cooker transit flight abduction of the harried wage slave parent,
those cotton  garment dress code senseless
dragonfly stand-ins that hover in mid air.
There’s every chance we’ll leave our nursling’s ire to future bands of mutant stem cell rockers who are duty bound to sculpture rimshots meshed in suckling chimes,
when validating rawhide rattle chainsaw fret board anthems
at crowd mosher mud fests, 
where rivers of apocalyptic visions burst the bank.
If only grown ups listened to that inner vocal quiver that we
may not yet have cast into plastic resin folly for the  generations weaned in toxic smoke rooms,
we’d pollinate a luscious fairground acorn dotted garden with childhood zest its one and only buzzword.
A sweet treat gift with natural flavour pending,
eternal life for baby planet daisy chains of tender petal linkage,
who‘d finally experience pure clutter free environments,
an eco world that values new born thirst for natural realms

Premium Member We Are He, Who We Seek

The cosmic egg, splits into two
Male-female polarities new
Beginning game of hide and seek
Esoteric truth, known to few

Each half incomplete, feeling weak
Dips into love, it’s hungry beak
Union manifests heightened joy
Fleeting due to energy leak

Body both boon and bane decoy
When heart’s pure, free from lust alloy
We entwine with God, who in-dwells
Go there now hermit, don’t be coy

Conscience speaks, hark to its love bells
Love’s the balm, that all cravings quells
Heart’s where desires begin and end
Creating both heavens and hells

Time’s now that will to God we bend
It’s the only way to ascend
Becoming again, who we are
There are no goalposts to defend

God’s here within, not somewhere far
Give up needless strife, cease to spar
Reclaim now, soul’s luminescence 
By cleansing heart of ego’s tar

04-February-2022
Form: Rubaiyat

Night Bike

A polished skeleton gleams in the porch light,
meshing gears rattle silver bones.
He slides tubes under his legs,
pivots on a straining fulcrum,
knee’s unlocking a juddering thrust.

He rides by night
pondering a nocturnal test flight.

Lights flicker as wheels turn.
Head bent, he powers downhill,
lamps sucking energy
through metallic stems.
Stringy tendons
knotted to angular levers,
then uphill,
dynamo stuttering, counter-assaults
of implacable darkness.

The dim road
saps,
but he will not stop.
He imagines he has a blueprint
for a flying bike.
He believes that a drawing
can be bolted together by thought.
He imagines an alloy so light
it can be lifted intact
from the page — be airborne.

The boy turns for home,
there is work to be done,
wings to be hammered together
on paper anvils.

Premium Member Pathway To Joy

Pathway to joy
paved gold not alloy

Resolute and true
eternal life in view

Our pathway to joy
paved gold not alloy

A life passionate,yet pure
A promise so sure

On  pathway to joy
paved gold not alloy

Creating compassion
learning His lesson

Our pathway to joy
paved gold not alloy

PATHWAY to JOY sep 2020 version
resolute and true
    eternal life in view

I smile and laugh often
   enjoy beauty
     where and when

 always passionate yet pure
      with a promise so sure
explore every yearning  
          I  let creativity sing
release my inner self
     pessimism 
          has no scope
      in this life 
lived with hope

 bold
      I never hesitate
           as ideas gestate
not  letting
      the moment pass
draw back the veil
    to  let  imagination set sail
the exploration starts
with what's in my heart

   those poeima
        gifts free from above
            mine to deploy
each earthly day
        lent for me to enjoy
the  sacred
   with
      the secular

 oh
   this  sense of
                     glee
jumping with joy
       spinning within
joined with Jesus
         I capture 
               the rapture
Form: Kyrielle

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