Long Boldest Poems
Long Boldest Poems. Below are the most popular long Boldest by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Boldest poems by poem length and keyword.
To Royal Prince George and Royal Princess Charlotte
How to save a Royal etiquette explainable when loyal rumination is not?
In a supplicating interlocking prayer
I witnessed so many times , simplicity
Ode to divinity.
After all those are left, one by one
after asking me, "What we may do, for a room-u?"
I remained silent, as God speaks in hands, often.
We, muslims, supplicate with concave hands, and through yearning
Once the interlocking prayers are accepted we all will go "Home"
Even beyond homeland security
MFA class in PM time, that often in competition with God
Godsay and God say are in "issueroom" for a "room-u" reason.
To troubleshoot you need an origin, method and mannerism that piled up, through all these years, as cumulous clouds clutter and declutter, in a poem, "The stranger", or a magnum "The stranger,"
If I see them ever again, back in my life
I will ask a policeman to have a wishful sleep
so that the acro climbs up the royal Tajweed
The Boldest and True.
And so on...
1-19-2024
...He reformed the routing patriots,
formed a line atop a rise, Perrine’s Hill,
brought in General Knox and the artillery,
commanding the mass through sheer force of will.
He needed to buy time for the main force
to march on and join up in the battle,
the British kept coming, soon to attack,
convinced they still had the patriots rattled.
Before in battle the Redcoats just had
to flash their bayonets in the bright sun,
that was enough to scare Continentals
and assure them the battle was won.
But they were no longer facing such men,
the Americans had learned Europe’s game,
they did not flee at the sight of steel,
gave hard volleys once the foe was in range.
Britain’s field commander, General Cornwallis,
made several attacks to break up the line,
only to run into fire and rage,
with his Redcoats turned back every time.
They he tried to turn Washington’s left flank,
the boldest maneuver of the fight yet,
but the main force had come, and pushed forwards,
striking hard under young Lafayette.
Seeing there would be no quick victory
the British withdrew there forces back,
both armies in defensive positions,
the fight would become a long slugging match.
Soldiers hunkered down as across the fields
artillery thundered and cut loose,
both sides trying to break up the other,
their foe’s ranks they sought hard to reduce.
The heat was such that many of the men,
suffered and even died from heat stroke!
One man passed out and his wife manned his gun,
fighting on alongside all the blokes.
Then Washington sent Nathaniel Green
with artillery up towards Comb’s Hill,
a high position on the British left,
from which the guns could enfilade and kill.
The British saw their hopeless position,
and quickly began an ordered retreat,
marching north towards Clinton’s main force,
having blown their opportunity.
Washington saw his enemy leaving,
and sent Mad Anthony Wayne forward,
to harangue the British as they marched off,
cutting down men despite their good order.
And through the battle ended as a draw,
for the nation it was victory,
they’d kept the field in an open battle,
and matched the Redcoats in soldiery.
This changed the calculus of the whole war,
all knew battles would be more costly now,
England would no longer campaign in the north,
hoping for easier prey down south…
In the golden haze of a Paris cafe,
Where shadows and light began their play,
She sat with a gaze both sharp and deep,
While secrets of art were hers to keep.
Oh, Dora Maar, with emerald nails,
You moved through the city’s vibrant trails.
A flash of green on fingers fine,
Tracing the edge of a cubist line.
Before the canvas began to weep,
Or shadows of blue grew dark and steep,
Those ten bright tips of polished jade
Were the boldest marks that nature made.
A photographer’s eye, a surrealist mind,
Leaving the traditional world behind.
While Picasso captured the fractured face,
You held your own with a steady grace.
The emerald glow of a steady hand,
In a world that few could understand.
A muse, a creator, a spirit of fire,
Fueling the artist’s intense desire.
But beyond the paint and the storied past,
It is your own brilliance meant to last—
Dora Maar, with the forest-green hue,
A masterpiece born from the essence of you.
Walking down a lane, strewn with withered leaves,
I watch as they twirl and pirouette in Autumn's chill wind
leading them in a rhythmic dance that it skillfully weaves
as they plummet, leaving branches naked and chagrinned.
There's a true spark of vigor in the breeze of Autumn's call.
One I am quite happy to answer in poetic verses composed
about a family trip to the pumpkin patch, amid hues of Fall
when Nature's boldest color palette is so vibrantly exposed.
It's time for gathering together, and offer words of thanks
for the bountiful food and the beauty of a harvest moon,
and children Trick-or-Treating; scary Halloween pranks.
There's a crispness in the air and firewood to be hewn.
I get so excited when my favorite season approaches
and foliage gloriously blazes in shades of rust and gold.
Too quickly the coldest season of the year encroaches.
I'm not enamored by Winter when shivering with cold.
From this lane, I watch geese flying to a warmer clime,
their vee formation clear to see as to the South they go.
But before Winter takes command there's enough time
to enjoy these golden days of Fall, before the first snow.
Each green leaf, each heavy heart
Breathing in the grief… grief who haunts,
Rising from the forests, hesitant to depart
With whispers, winds, light for each heart’s wants
Each fiery sun, blazing on the melancholic dawn
Heavenly sensations falling over the wren’s crooning
Her song in a feeling, blessings to which we’re drawn
Lifting away the ache of a day, storm shower’s pruning
Each glistening stream, flowing over smooth stones
Heading for rivers where waters run deep, hiding
All the laughter of a forest who is welcoming the bones
Of her past, where shadows grieve and go sliding
Each well meant race between night and day
When the shadows play across the mountain’s blue
Weeping for the moments when we fail to pray
For the winsome breath of a woodsy spring’s brand new
Each silence, each faded whisper, each reminiscence
Folded into the oaks, the pines, the spirit’s sensing
All the beautiful beneath the leaves, this since
All the joy of knowing His glory among the clever commencing
Each crackle of a leaf, each sound of squirrel in grief
Silencing the heavy footsteps of a lasting peace
It is the mountains, the forest, bringing relief
To those who know God is here and love will never cease
Each forest’s light, glistening against the backdrop
So alive, soundlessly revealing all the echoes, overcast
Heaven’s gentling truth, rising, singing nonstop
Of the love that will always be, love that is steadfast
Each moment, each hue, each direction’s boldest muse
Wisdom echoes in the forest’s new, sincere as blue
A silent cry, a promise for you and I – oh, we must choose
The wonder of a love from God above, a love that is always true!
- “Oh, no! not in spring-time! Summer, winter or fall!
No, never could I leave you at all!”
From the song “If Ever I Would Leave You” from the movie Camelot
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qqTveSQoKZE
A Legendary Love
In a special place, Camelot,
a legendary love blazed hot -
forbidden love that came to naught
for Guinevere and Lancelot,
King Author’s brightest, boldest knight
who sought the love of the king’s bride!
Passion could not be denied
although Guinevere so tried.
One kiss - their love took flight!
A spell was cast; now more alive,
than ever, they could not deprive
themselves of that which made them thrive -
that magic for which they would strive
to meet in secret, lest they burst!
Into each other’s arms they’d fall.
Joyously they gave their all,
for at passion’s beck and call
were two with endless thirst!
Her hair of gold; her face so fair.
Sir Lancelot could never tear
himself away from their affair,
and Guinevere, how could she bear
to let her soul mate walk away?
They lay when leaves or snow would fly;
or ‘neath spring or summer sky,
proving passion could not die.
What price they were to pay!
For Love STory contest of Silent One
It is as if the world is upside down.
The ground is too light,
in comparison
to the too dark sky.
The fiercest,
boldest,
shades in nature,
clash together.
They form the
brightest
streak of golden brilliance
ever imaginable.
In that sea of darkness
I can see vibrant,
energized,
light.
At my perch by the windowsill
I can watch the world around me
thrash in rage.
But… it passes by.
Leaving the world
new,
refreshed,
soothed.
I take one step
into the
world outside,
and then another.
The ground feels soft
beneath my feet.
The grass slicker than
the finest silk.
The air that seeps
into my lungs with each
heave and ho
of my chest.
Is cleaner than
any air I’ve breathed
In a long time.
So, I sit.
I tuck my feet beneath me,
Criss-crossed and Indian style,
taking more of
those cleansing breaths.
And I think
and remember...
If this is
what it is like
after every surge of rage,
every clash of nature’s emotions.
It should storm
more often.
Sir Henryi Morgan lived a life
of rags to riches. In his time,
he first was an indentured slave.
When freed, he drifted into crime.
The century was seventeenth,
The New World under Spanish rule.
A pirate Morgan had become,
and to the Spaniards he was cruel.
Sir Morgan managed to become
the captain of his own large crew,
controlling many ships and men.
This Welshman had a lot to do!
With Mansfield, Morgan sailed southwest,
there plundering St. Catherine.
Escaping, he sailed elsewhere then
assembling seven hundred men.
A raid in Cuba yielded him
A very hefty sum of gold.
To Portobelo he then sailed.
Five hundred men they were, all told.
Four hundred men marched forth with him
To Portobelo; then again
he raided other towns and gained
himself prestige plus ships and men.
At last he made his boldest move.
On Panama he set his sight.
In jungle land, he cunningly
took risks and won this major fight.
A pillager and murderer,
in England he was later tried.
Yet in the end, he saw crime pay.
Respectable and rich he died!
For Joe Maverick's "A storm on the Spanish Main" Poetry Contest
Baal was a phony god that was worshipped by many, including King Ahab and Jezebel.
Jehovah put it upon Elijah to prove to the people that he was the true God of Israel.
Satan created Baal to turn people away from Jehovah God.
It took Elijah to prove to the people that Baal was a fraud.
Elijah knew that he could show the people the truth and make Baal falter.
He told them to slaughter a bull and use it for a sacrifice on an altar.
Elijah told them that Baal would be the true God if he could burn the bull but no fire came.
But then Jehovah God sent down fire and burned the sacrifice and that put Baal to shame.
Even though Elijah had the wood and bull covered with water, both still burned.
The people saw that Jehovah is the true God, that was the lesson that they learned.
King Ahab and Queen Jezebel promoted Baal worship and it was something they came to regret.
Both of them ended up dead and God was pleased with Elijah who was the boldest of his prophets.
On one summer night’s boldest game
We hunted and attacked vicious pirates,
Riding on bubble rafts of spokes and rubber
Our young skin caressed by the velvet air;
This mission devoted for an honored Celtic God.
Yielding our mighty wooden swords,
We protected the river to save the children
From all the evil and greedy villains…
While enchanted minds conjured fierce tactics.
While moonlight peeped through a blue of cloud,
Suddenly, a yell halted our weary feet…
Mother's voice chimed, “Guys, time for dinner!”
Between reality and play… we still wandered!
Contest: Jesse Day's Tell A Tall Tale
7/5/2016