Long Blake Poems
Long Blake Poems. Below are the most popular long Blake by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Blake poems by poem length and keyword.
Put Youself In Their Shoes Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
Placed 1st
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It was late August, during summer break,
We went to our grandma’s village called Snake.
She had a small house beside a big lake;
She was known to people as Mrs. Blake.
She liked to live in the village alone;
There she loved to live a life of her own.
In her little field, corn seeds, she had sown;
That time to its full size the crop had grown.
Around the field, there was a mountain range…
There we went for harvesting for a change,
Not expecting anything in exchange.
As we were novices the work looked strange!
We worked since morning till evening untired;
The art of harvesting we had acquired.
Our work in the fields everyone admired;
The children of the village got inspired.
After the work, we returned from the field;
People welcomed us with smiles unconcealed.
And honored us by giving us a shield;
To them our whereabouts grandma revealed.
Picture: 3
Date of posting the poem: 8/16/2023
Freeze and behold the glorious Tiger!
Don't dare stare down the Tiger.
Watch out! His predatory soul is burning
Look, his eyes are bright.
Silent. Still. He'll draw you in.
His glowing glare and sudden growl puts the
Strongest prey on edge. Chasing them into forests
Where his secret dens of
Family are. He rests in the
Busiest times of the day. But during the night;
Do you know what
His habits are? His immortal
Instincts set in. When conservationists set their hand
To cameras they capture the Tiger in action or
Sleeping. But always something to catch one's eye.
How on earth else could
We safely observe? How much to learn by frame.
Oh yes, dear nameless Tiger, thy
May be beautiful, mighty, fearful
And what could compare to your symmetry?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Tiger Tiger, burning bright,
in the forests of the
night; what immortal hand or eye,
could frame thy fearful symmetry?"
~~ William Blake~~
"My heart is like a singing bird". Christina Rossetti
The Dilettante Diaries: "The True Romantics"
Once cages are open
the True Romantics
dance their dance
of Freedom
Hidden Keys
Swallows
air beneath
their wings
(Lovejoy-Burton/September 2018)
"I love you the more in that I believe you had liked me for my own sake and for nothing else." John Keats
"I love you more than my own skin." Frida Kahlo
"Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced." John Keats
"Kiss me and you will see how important I am." Sylvia Plath
"I am in you and you in me, mutual in divine love." William Blake
“Don't look at me in that tone of voice.” Dorothy Parker
1.
"Giving In"
Club Kuru
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FEFwRSjfHk8
evol-u-shun, a coronavirus poem
by michael r. burch
does GOD adore the Tyger
while it’s ripping ur lamb apart?
does GOD applaud the Plague
while it’s eating u à la carte?
does GOD admire ur brains
while ur claiming IT has a heart?
does GOD endorse the Bible
you blue-lighted at k-mart?
NOTE: In the segmented title “evol” is “love” spelled backwards. The title questions whether you/we have been shunned by a "God of Love" or by evolution. William Blake’s poem “The Tyger” questions the nature of a Creator who brings lambs and tigers into the same world. Keywords/Tags: god, love, evolution, creator, creation, creationism, coronavirus, plague, disease, illness, William Blake, tyger, tiger, lamb, predator, prey, brains, heart, christian, Christianity, bible, K-Mart, blue light special
What creature is this that cometh near
His luggage filled to the brim with fear
Crushing our lives, crushing our beliefs
O whence for me shall bring only griefs
What of the men whom now weep?
What of the woman buried alive in their sleep?
What of the children who once stood brave?
Their minds controlled their souls enslaved
The baneful trumpets sound one by one
Can you hear them or are you numb?
Will you fear the creature of doom?
Come undone?
Or shall you overcome?
Overcome, overcome
Filled to the gunwale are the guns
The creature of the swamp now runs
He runs all things and everyone
The children now walk the plank
All hope sank, hopes sank
The baneful trumpets sound one by one
Can you hear them or are you numb?
Will you fear the creature of doom?
Come undone?
Shall you overcome?
Overcome, overcome
Will you fear the creature of doom?
Will you come undone?
Shall you overcome?
Overcome, shall overcome
Please read the rules above. Obey,
Lest you receive a quick “NA.”
So many fail to read my rules,
So many fail to heed them. Fools!
There’s quite a few, yes, I agree,
Take note of number fifty-three,
Which warns you must use perfect rhymes,
Imperfect ones are common crimes.
Instances of this are ample,
Let me give you an example,
By some guy, let’s call him “Blake,”
Two violations for heavens sake!:
“Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?"
Perhaps ‘twas written by a child,
Whose scribbles with a pen were wild.
Who dares rhyme “eye” with “symmetry?”
This poet barks up a wrong tree.
And also violates Rule Eight,
Good spelling is my main mandate.
“Tyger?” Really!? Sounds precocious,
But the spelling is atrocious!
I found another case just recently,
A poem that starts out quite decently,
Then ignores my main decrees,
The errors seem to come in threes:
“…Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
‘Surely,’ said I, ‘surely that is something at my window lattice,
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore …”
That’s three bad rhymes, all in a row,
Although it seems to have good flow,
(Suggest you study E. A. Poe),
And syllable counts? Inconsistent!
See Rule Ten, I am insistent.
Imagery superb? Yes, granted,
But who rhymes “haunted” with “enchanted?”
Such rhyming crimes are then repeated,
If only they could be deleted:
“...Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore ..."
Could these mistakes I just ignore?
“NA,” I say. Quoth: Nevermore!
Submitted February 29, 2024
Overly Particular Judges Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Matt Caliri
Judged: "NA"
BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY'S*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
While nibbling on French croissant so fine,
Audrey sipped coffee, feeling divine.
She struck a pose, twitched her chin,
The staff oohed, awed, gave a grin,
At bunny who dined with glamor and shine!
“Oh, daaaarlings,” she said with a flair,
“I’ll nibble on pink pearls, I swear!”
“I’m Holly Golightly,”
She said most contritely.
This dazzling bunny made Tiffany's rare!”
*"Breakfast at Tiffany's" is a 1961 romantic comedy film directed by Blake Edwards, starring Audrey Hepburn as Holly Golightly, a quirky socialite in New York City. The film is based on Truman Capote's novella and explores themes of love and identity. (Source: Wikipedia)
Written: June 24, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Natasha L Scragg
Quote: "If the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear to
man as it is, infinite." By William Blake
"Note: If we define perception to include transcendence, intuition, and the process of abstract meaning, we ultimately consider Spirit as the human sixth sense"
******************
Sight
The sky soars over sycamores above—
Amber light oozes over foliage & cove
A web of shadows weaves in stone.
The leaden hand of dusk settles in hush.
Eyes drink the amber evening's glow—
Remember, sight traces the soul's flow.
Sound
A sighing symphony thrums in the grass,
And birds croon their nightime requiem—
Wind dissolves to a sighing minstrel's song,
The river's pulse falls, soars, and swells—
With every ripple, a true voice tells—
Remember, pitch lets us feel—loudness dwells.
Smell
Café hallway emits the scent of roasted beans.
Velvet bitterness, and draft of warm balm.
A panacea for weary spirits.
Bearing salt sobs from ocean's eternal call.
Scents rouse the soul from dormant sleep—
Remember, scent rouses souvenirs from ash.
Touch
Wooden tables rough with mercurial grain,
Stone stairs under roving hand—lost in touch,
Wind, a feathered touch soft as a bird's wing,
Pressing, melting, morphing against skin.
Clearer than words, touch conveys fact—
Remember, touch and grace nurture men's mood
Taste
Cappuccino foam, pure alabaster gleam,
An astringent elixir dissolves into sweetness.
Rhythmic throb of each tongue's caress
A perpetual delight, a lament for oblivion.
Each sip recalls summer's golden light—
Remember, taste maps food and drains.
Spirit
All senses join in a nexus of now.
Knitted with time, bursting with life's vow.
No lack here, no abyss, no plough—
Spirit fulfills yin and yang—limitless sky.
Only abundance of presence here,
The ardor of being, the breathing flame—
Remember that soul transcends name.
Lord Denis Healey was an intellectual Labour MP,
Who represented Leeds in the Commons for 40 years,
From 1952 until 1992,
When he could at last objectify as a Lord his real tears.
He was a Beach Master hero in World War Two,
But his bravery continued in his post-war politics,
When he advised other politicians on how Britain could,
Live within her means to become again productive, good.
He was then Secretary of State for Defence,
Between 1964 and 1970,
When the Cold War so frightened and intimidated the many,
Who just wanted their war victory respected in reverence.
When he became the Chancellor of the Exchequer in 1976,
He demanded an emergency loan from the IMF,
To save the pound from decline and most certain collapse,
When Britain was fast approaching that Winter of Discontent, lapse.
However, after that Labour did not see power until 1997,
But Healey became the Deputy Labour leader in 1980;
And for most of the 80s he was Shadow Foreign Secretary,
And was slow at Falkland Island assault and battery.
He was normally on the right of the Labour party,
A patriot who championed social justice,
Who guided us through some very dangerous times,
Where the country’s growing pains were his signs.
He’s the last surviving member of the cabinet,
Of Harold Willson’s government in 1964,
But when he graduated from Balliol Oxford in Greats,
Him and the Communist Party were pally mates.
He had a love of classical music,
But was enthused and besotted by poetry;
Shakespeare and Wordsworth were his philosophers,
And Blake and Butler Yeats he always did glorify.
Denis Healey died aged 98 at his home in Surrey on the 3rd of October 2015
~~~ Not entered in a contest ~~~
I knew better than to touch the tail of a tiger,
but temptation was only a hair's breadth away. A tiger
lies sleeping. My hand, creeping closer, fingers burning.
I was yearning for a wish come true. Star light, star bright.
What wild jungle do I find myself in?
He is beautiful, yet terrifying. I find a paradox in the
nature of the beast. A feast I would be in the forests,
to this animal, were I to disturb his nap. A mere morsel of
human meat. A sweet treat for a magnificent tiger to eat. The
one who would dare reach for his tail in light of day or night.
There was a thought then thwarted, foolish as it was. What
if I soothed the toothed beast with a song? Would I become immortal?
A deity without dreading death, if the tiger licked my hand.
Would he think of me as a god, his lord, a divine entity, or
should I stare deeply into each amber eye
to make him understand that I mean no harm? Could
I charm him with bravado? I would need courage and the frame
of mind to inquire of him, "Would you consider sheathing thy
claws, pause your growling and be a friend to me?" I am fearful
his beauty and terror may not be balanced in perfect symmetry.
Tiger Tiger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
William Blake – The Tiger