Long Beginning Poems
Long Beginning Poems. Below are the most popular long Beginning by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Beginning poems by poem length and keyword.
This was when the whole world measured time
This is when the light would turn around
This is where the past would come undone
and the spinning earth will mark a new beginning
Let's go back in time, to when it all began
To the breaking of new dawns
Where moments bright with fire, would light the chanting song
Where pagans worshipped sun, and danced among the trees
Wore strange masks of covered straw, and blessed cold ash with awe
Wreaths hung upon the door against all spirit's, dire
and when the winter's grasp let go, the sun reversed the pyre
This was when the whole world measured time
This is when the light would turn around
So that spring arrives, and seeds will sprout and grow
Oh, radiant sun, stretch the day, shorten night
Return earth's darkness into light
This is where the light will turn around
And this was where the past would come undone
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5/26/16 Summer Solstice Contest Sponsored by Shadow Hamilton
Today I fall
My heart fills with glee
Today I fall in love
I felt the need to sing
I felt the need to leapfrog
My 32 stay unclose
It as the white bulbs bright at night
My belly fills with love
I am unable to eat
Her picture within my eye
I felt like seeing her in my front
I lie on bed to sleep
But her thought didn't let me sleep
I close my eye for a long time, but thoughts are
Flowing as water
How am I going to confront her?
What should I say to her?
Should I start with HELLO or HI
An innocent heart in love.
I penned this to draw your mind to the beginning, how do you feel then? Share me yours
Form:
Interviewer:
What is the original name for your island chain now called Bikini?
What happened to it?
What has it become here and now?
What is your future?
Bikini Atoll:
Well where do I begin?
We have been assaulted from the very beginning.
The name for the island is 'Pikinni',
meaning a "flat surface of coconuts".
German colonials corrupted this to the offensive name 'Bikini'.
Less than 200 people lived here originally.
Perhaps because we were so few to matter, and so isolated,
our beautiful island was chosen as the site for
multiple nuclear bomb tests,
including the mighty 'Bravo' which was 1000 times
more powerful than the bomb dropped on Hiroshima,
The Japanese name of which means 'wide island' .
Our beautiful island was destroyed, all but obliterated.
We cannot go back there for countless generations to come
because the dangerous radiation lingers long and fades so slowly.
We tried to go back once, it looked so lovely
as the coconuts gathered again, on the clean atoll beaches
but the hidden radiation made us sick, and we had to leave.
My people of Pikinni want to return to their homeland,
but their hope is frustrated with despair.
The price my people paid is immeasurable and never ending.
Here is their lament:
Why choose Pikinni to blow up with your bombs?
What did we ever do to you?
All we wanted was to live in peace
in paradise here on our
lovely island atoll far away from it all.
Instead you blew us up, left your lingering scourge
of radiation, hidden away and deadly.
While our island has recovered its beauty
and externally became
paradise on earth once again, it is forever unlivable.
Go to hell and stay there forever for
what you have done to Pikinni
and its refugees living in foreign
lands unable to return!
The river of our relentless tears lies collected
within the green coconuts strewn
on the sands of Pikinni atoll,
on our 'flat surface of coconuts',
on our home
on our one and only land.
DIRGE OF THE UNBORN
The Owl hoots
In the smooth silence of midnight drama,
3 a.m thick darkness
Unrivalled by neither the moon nor stars.
She moans and wail in excruciating pain
Forgetting the envisioned end from the beginning,
Her pain shrouded my pleas from within;
'You can not deliver the goods
When your heart is heavier than the load'.
Reverberation & movements announce my readiness,
My time is overdue in the confines of the sack
I am eighteen months old...wow...
And belly-laden, without seeing the light.
I care less about the place we are,
It doesn't matter the doctor's gadgets,
Equipments or resources available,
I just want to make
my first long awaited cry.
But was it to be??
My virtues pleaded with a soft conscience
And I hear them say: "it will be okay",
With a totality and constitutional agreement.
But consent majority rule
Only in groups of one, which are you.
They said it will be successful and fine
But in less than three hours
My fate was sign, sealed and delivered,
They said I will be complete
But now, I am empty
And what are left are pieces of me;
Echoes of distress,
Ripples of life and soul,
Swimming in the pool of tears, Momma,
Regrets hovers on the faces of deep depression;
They could have been more cautious
And Orthodox in their operations.
"...although we've been successful in million cases", they said.
They never boast more loudly
than when there is no one to expose them,
Lie away to your heart's content
After all, never will they be
another Christ resurrection to contradict thee.
Smh.
VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright ©2014.
To please Lady Muse, all my heart to bare,
I tried invoking her with chiselled verse,
That, the pure pleasure of my pen’s all hers,
Yet, left I was at blank paper to stare.
I sought some odd words archaic and rare,
And tried to paint the bleakest face of woes,
Which, often a desperate poet toes,
Fervent did I appeal that she be fair.
The words when came, came halting as if shy
And listless, I failed her bulwark to breach,
Nothing whatso worked and I knew not why,
I failed, the fount of words resource to reach,
I still coaxed my pen a new line to mint,
A voice whispered: hearken to your heart's hint.
_________________________________________
Sonnet | 03.11.2008 | poem
Poet’s note: There are times when no matter what you do, words desert your pen as this sonnet says. Notice, the Volta is hinted at the beginning of the sestet, but its high tide occurs only at the poem-ending couplet.
In the beginning the Lord created a great deep,
So deep that no eye saw anything but obscurity.
This deep we now by name call the heavens,
Accompanied by the creation of great vacancy-
A formless void that is uninterrupted by shapes.
It is the undefinable foundation for that yet to form,
A place we now think of as the planet earth,
Which passed the tests of the primeval, perfect storm.
Now with this creation comes the beginning of time,
And for measurement a transparent hourglass,
With an exact amount of sand enclosed within,
Which has until this moment been at an impasse.
Not a grain has been able to pass the constriction,
Until the Creator has commanded it to go.
As the primal beauty comes into existence,
Change enacts sand to fall in the chamber below.
With the passage of time within the hourglass
The Lord’s creation enlarges and expands;
It becomes the abode for another creation –
The harvest of the Lord’s desires becomes Man.
To Man the hourglass is a no longer fashionable,
And it may even seem to be ruling his day.
So he looks to the Lord for a savior—
For someone who-win or lose-will want to play.
The solution from the LORD is Woman,
A helpmate fashioned of Man’s own bone.
His dream has become his reward,
And She seems even better than homegrown.
Her figure is the perfect hourglass,
And her countenance is a bonny display.
Plainly It seems Man never saw the lady coming,
Since his plain morning bird became his bird of prey.
Walks along the beach,
Watching the sunset on the roof top of his car.
Waiting for it to set so we can drive home.
As he opens the door,
He kneels to the ground
reaches into his pocket
and pulls out a box.
"will you be mine forever?"
i still hear the words like they are being echoed on a tall mountain.
Speechless i shook my head yes
he closed the door.
and he got into the drivers seat.
the ride home was amazing
except we never made it.
the streets seemed so still
so quiet
and then the world seemed to be ending.
hit on one side
not mine
but his
as tears roll down my cheeks.
i see him sitting there.
Against the deformed steering wheel
blood down his forehead
and blood down his shirt.
This is the end.
This was the beginning of something i knew i wouldn't survive
the beginning of the end
April in Melbourne
and the trees
are beginning to write Autumn
on the waters of the river
in a script of floating leaves,
briefly holding meaning clumped
within the grip of a few
fragile stanzas before
breaking apart.
There is something sad
in the dissolution, in the loss
of adhesion, the inevitable drift
towards an end where
what remains will become
pages of bottom silt.
I am not sure
if anything survives -
beauty, the loveliness
of this world, meaning itself -
all seem to pass away
and yet we write words
as if reaching out to grasp
something of the eternal
that is concealed behind
a camouflage of decay.
Initialising silhouettes submit to midwinter dawn
Beginning willingly to swallow colour of choices
Fledgelings' flamboyant campaigns display oblivion
Audacious adolescents distribute chafing thoughts
Attach entire esteem to securing peer approval
Frivolous get transfixed in youth's lurid allure
Bustling balloons launch from high vaulting hearts
Adventurers revel in joy during jaunty occasions
Concerned observers avoid havoc's banquet
Money cascades proportionate to patrons' appraise
Circumspect travel with kaleidoscope analysis
Attentively pensive address torrid scheduling
Pallid consideration accompanies shaded misers
Assorted sections bolstered by merciful sharers
Principled accord favoured by fate's ultimation
Aura of agitation promotes copious desires
Hushed heeders find freedom in relinquishing
Dilating ease determines to exit temptation
Plethora of pleasures pledged by reoccurring sunrise
Replenished spirit operates as a doting shepherd
Validates delight in desiphered silence
Supreme reckoning denounces pretentious credentials
Clarity invades tainted captivity's insatiable tirade
Mortal manuscript mirrors sequel's assembling
20th April 2020
Submitted to Chantelle Anne Cooke's
Best NA Poem 2020 Re run
Got up from the sofa with sleep in my eyes
As the dawn was beginning to break.
I went to the kitchen to clean up the mess
From the previous evening’s mistake.
I’d thought it was worth it. I gave it a try,
But my dinner plans didn’t go right.
We got past the entree and served the dessert
When my ex and I started to fight.
She told me, “You ought to...” I answered, “No way!”
Then she mockingly called me a fool.
I said she was pushy and oughta back off.
She responded with more ridicule.
I called her a bully. She called me a bum
And a loser, then said, “Kiss my ass!”
I gave her the finger and called her a witch
As the cabernet flew from her glass.
I tried hard to duck, but I stumbled instead,
Lost my balance and started to fall,
I grabbed for the tablecloth as I went down,
But the act didn’t help me at all.
The glasses and dishes and chicken and sauce;
Gotterdammerung down on the floor.
It all went to pieces, it all went to hell.
My ex walked out slamming the door.
Yesterday’s coffee is bitter and cold
As it pours dark as sin through the spout.
Yesterday’s love tastes exactly the same,
But it’s something I’ll manage without.