Long Awarding Poems
Long Awarding Poems. Below are the most popular long Awarding by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Awarding poems by poem length and keyword.
no man is an island,
part of the continent i believe thee to say
well some have chosen a peninsula
free of cross-town traffic
friends are few and far between
we treasure our own thinking
less the frivolous conversations
with entities of no real worth, our pursuits
life quieter absent the chatter
have absconded from life's drama
which is a good thing
because the more withdrawn
the scarier to the world you are
hence few phone calls
or emails of, please forward at once
should a distant relative win the lottery
you won't be trampled in the line
having left the neighborhood
what better to your back
then the metaphor of the sea
there is no better place to be
dreaming of life on the high seas
easier to deal with reality, Empyreal Heights
more than likely your awarding fate
so yes, no man is truly an island
John Donne is quite correct
and if i could show him this world
of dystopian novels, romantic walking-dead
religious babblers, political rapscallions, preppers
blame God for manmade heaps of misery
brains with no depth of history
oxytocin, mirror neuron drooling fools
emotions missing logic and reasoning
better hauled away in a Honey wagon
or deposited into Honey Buckets
neither of which attracts a bee
well i am sure he would add a peninsula
to some other possibilities where to reside
then quickly disappear for apparent reasons
but you know us Romantics
we try to see a better side
from our own rooms on the peninsula
far from the maddening crowd
where creativity breeds unmolested
OKC 6/22
Saffron sunbeam swelters and sway.
Vividly scattering its burgeoning brightness.
Aurora is splendid, the dawning on our day
Awarding us admiration, now till darkness.
Magical orchid exudes a calm garden.
Autumn-loving meadow bird warden.
Roses of sorrow willow petals fall to Earth.
Shadowy blackbird spirit seeking worth.
Butterflies are haunted by their essence
Destiny, svelte and elusive existence.
I asked her name, as she sang "Amazing Grace".
She labeled this somehow "Serendipity Grace."
"Ah, well, it sounds very zealous and mellifluous.
Please, beautiful angel, keep playing audacious.
Written: October 24, 2022
Turn round around
Get me astounding
Wait for me
Do not disagree
Let us glue
Traces of you
Superb memories abounding
Which keeps funding
With kindest emotion
My hearty devotion
Playing thy guitar
But we are
Not to share
What duties ensnare
And the honor
Of great Connor
Shining so bright
How cognizance ignite
Like the TRUTH
Mixed with Vermouth
Land massive STARS
Yielding flavored hectares
Humans march upon
Earth's free cons
Awarding less duties
To foreign beauties
Pleasing young hearts
Praised enchanting arts
Teasing loyal minds
Eyes open blind
Lurking safe trip
How loyalties gyp
In fearful journey
Trading scornful honey
Dark souls morn
After trust warns
To savage peace
In lovely teases
With pretense borrowed
I rarely kowtow
With watery words
Keeping young birds
From eagles gazes
Forsaken reasonable promises
Why schools?
We are not clear
WiseElder sighed
in desperate fear.
Why guns at school?
Where teachers try
and pine for Golden EcoRules.
We sacred pry to teach
cooperation
And in return
guns rape our secular market nation.
We strive to learn
not to waste life
what God has given
pedagogic grace love.
Why point automated guns
at schools for deep cooperative learning
how society right ought to run?
Such mown down waste
streaming out of place
assaulted from within
without health-wealth
productive face.
We are what we nourish
on the field
and in each indoor
and outdoor classroom
competing for success
without innocent Right's
cooperative prime relational
sacred co-present flourish.
Silent deep ecological/theological learning
gasping rabid claustrophobia
Fearing the worst absence of breath,
competition's violent aptic phobia.
Feed me!
silent screams voiceless Innocence
longing for a place to anxiously learn
without deeper LoseLose dissonance,
defined and refined
by aptic absence
of WinWin resonance.
Deep sacred consumers
grow internally/externally terrorist alarming
when cooperation's redemptive resilience
is bought from
and sold to highest competing performers
In society's rabid operationalizing,
awarding speaking parts
sung by Wild Western Old Farts
about history's highest and best,
most accurately aiming,
non-elite alarming,
RedPrince Southern Adolescent Charming.
Red automated assault
AntiGreen
competing monoculturation,
punishing devolution,
anti-healthy monoculturing rabid expansion
growing individually devalued,
secularized,
sometimes isolated for punishing demonization,
overpopulation
harvesting toxic anti-outdoor green classroom STEAM results.
White, green or pink Christmas trees only seen on TVs and snowy countries
Hide and seek within the soft or spiky branches and leaves of religious boundaries.
Your white, red or green clothes that match the snowman's winter chills
Soft as cotton or frozen as candy bar that fills
One at a time a tree grows
Mountain or flat ground where a tree blows
Energy you can feel with your existence
Paying homage to all who've lived with persistence
Embodying growth and resilience
Outlasting obscure and odd ways of living
People from everywhere who never tire of giving.
Lending hands that groom a stronger line
Evergreens that bloom with a story line.
Naked as trees are Christmases
Every tree that gasps for the masses
Voice that sings your favorite lyric
Each word that sheers your beauty so angelic.
Running on streams so red under your skin tone so majestic.
Beliefs that trees come and go
Each leaf that sticks and falls like a Lego.
Life in every tree that stands
In your eyes you don't see, but lands.
Every step you make, moving around
Velvets you wear or used clothes that sound
Every detail spoken in different patois astound.
In every tree or home where Christmas may not reside
Natural or never watered, arises aside
"Christmas" is the word that will always stand
Holiday above all, unspoken or uncelebrated that spanned.
Resonating merry from branches and leaves in qi
Iron-made or wood or plastic of modern ki.
"Santa" not everyone believed was real
Tripping and awarding people of all ages with gifts and meal.
Mistletoes on doors that knock each day
All day telling you that Christmas is everyday.
Savor the sweetness of the Yuletide...
Christmas you may not know, but lingers
in your mind!
This is written in defense of the contest sponsors who are being disrespected by a 'poet' who feels his entries were not judged fairly. In separate posts, he contested their judgement. They should never be publicly harassed by a poor sport.
Someone is disgruntled and quite perturbed
so, he wrote about it. Could be he is disturbed
Got some bees buzzing around in his bonnet,
but can he rhyme the lines in a good sonnet?
I find his poetry nonsensical, and often inept
but he must think it's worthy, and so he wept
for not being a winner, a fact he can't accept.
That shows conceit and for sponsors, disrespect.
"OH, WOE IS ME," cried the sorrowful dissident.
"I'm not appreciated, and wasted time spent
writing for poorly sponsored contests and lost.
My poems were read and then they were tossed!"
He thought each entry deserved a shining star
With vengeance in mind, he decided he'd spar
with contest sponsors and called them out,
so, acting like a spoiled child, he decided to pout.
"I'll show them and give them a piece of my mind.
My poems were better than some. They're blind!
I'll even mention them all by using their name.
for not awarding me prizes and robbing me of fame."
"OH, WOE IS ME." cried the sorrowful dissident,
Upon getting even he seems to be hell bent.
I doubt that his poetry will ever make him a STAR...
The KEY to winning contests is to stop writing subpar.
The title of this poem was taken from the theme for a contest on another site. Contest hosts playing favorites is an issue that many of you here in PS have stuck in your craw...whether you admit it or not. Below is my entry, which I didn't write with the hope of winning. The rule was to write 8 - 12 lines of something bright and lively. This hardly meets that qualification, but nonetheless...
Another poem that did not place
That sponsor is such a disgrace
awarding the win to a friend
It's difficult to comprehend
Why, that's not a contest at all
not worth entering with my scrawl
I come not to bury the host
Nor raise a glass in honored toast
I've written what was in my craw
I'll use pen and paper to draw
unless I know all will be fair
I'll post my poetry elsewhere
Be with another rather than behold
Sight of the blind gifted to everyone
Absorbing action, instead of what we're told
Big speech shrunk, replaced by worthy deeds done
Closed eyed deep listening, imbibed intent
Disregard for flair, sparkle, pomp, parade
Blossomed from reward of firm message sent
Path paved fearless by honest choices made
Blind sight love allows hearts be truly read
Respect earned according to fair virtue
Judges awarding faith to soul thoughts said
Trustworthy traits, all humans can pursue
Purity speaks more loudly than the show
Sightless tender touch, transparent hearts know
3rd September 2020
Submitted for Contest : A Better Tomorrow
Sonnet Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
The mason left
three stones
beside the wall.
Nothing
prevented him.
The wall
had merely ceased
to require
his hand.
For years
I could not.
Each thought,
arriving,
claimed
precedence.
I convened
an inward assize,
awarding
credence,
reprieve,
exile—
until my days
became
the jurisprudence
of echoes.
Meanwhile
rain
never argued.
The ash
added one leaf
to the wind.
A blackbird
crossed the morning
without ambition.
Roots,
beneath the path,
advanced
through darkness
that required
no witness.
Then,
while the kettle
raised
its small republic
of steam,
a thought
called me.
I did not answer.
Nothing followed
except
what had always
been following.
Steam
ascended.
The bird
completed
its silence.
Evening
entered
every object
equally.
The thought
went on
without me.
There,
if there
it may be called,
Silence
relinquished
its ancient misnomer.
It was never
the absence
of voices.
It was
everything
that had never
petitioned
belief.
Then Observation,
long usurped
by governance,
remembered
its elder office.
Not to choose.
Not to refuse.
Only
to behold
that Reality
had never once
competed
for my attention.
The mountain
remained
where no distance
could improve it.
The sea
arrived
without travelling.
The stars
required
no heaven.
Since then,
whenever thought
pronounces
my name,
I wait
for what
has never
spoken—
and it is always
first.
"Alone is an addiction for Agoraphobics," ... by The Poet
Fireplace, beg a question; spark fuels naught?
Tired face lit the embers that awaken,
iron mace walled, beyond, fox and bears fraught.
My birthplace well-hushed that quiet sneak-in.
Contented engraved on my face, falsely,
consent and circumstance, hunger and thirst,
extent and measure, fed and quenched shortly,
ingested fully well, blessed, and naught cursed.
Accordingly, dawn swaps late noon's plum skies,
rewardingly, I stepped outside to pause,
awarding me sunsets that soothe my eyes.
Artistry; that the dusk paints when it draws.
Twilight ascends, sunlight lost, moonlight found.
Finite embers dim, alert eyes remained,
my sight sees, the fire's out, I'm bedroom bound.
Divine light flits fears, embrace Grace proclaimed.