Long Books Poems
Long Books Poems. Below are the most popular long Books by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Books poems by poem length and keyword.
I wish you knew the depth of knowledge gained
How instrumental are your thoughts to me
Through teaching what I’ve learned, I have been trained
To revel in my self-efficacy
Attention and retention play a part
To reproduce the model, I am keen
And motivation soars above the chart
When victory is felt and also seen
To read of you in books and realize
Your thoughts have left a mark that will abide
Like you to deepen learning is the prize,
I’m longing for, and I won’t be denied
Vicariously, I live within the realm
Where knowledge is a living entity
A place where greats like you stand at the helm
where life-long learning’s our identity
I had to pen these words, to let you see
That I admire all the things you’ve done
Your brilliantly well-thought out theory
Is why a place in hall of fame you’ve won
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Once upon a time
Just to enlighten my mind
I crawled in to a book
To take a closer look
Right there between the pages
A story for all ages
Scrambling over each word
Hoping imagination would stir
I came to the word "market"
Fell in on a magic carpet
Went flying up and down
He told me he was book bound
We flew through every leaf
With pauses somewhat brief
Buzzed right through every chapter
Until the happ'ly ever after
It seems there once was a wizard
Who had a fire breathing lizard
They were the best of friends
Lived in a bear cave den
One day they met a squire
Who wanted to acquire
An imprisoned captive princess
Surrounded by walls and fences
But hunters were trying to kill
The lizard who wouldn't chill
They would all help each other
Until the plot was discovered
This is where my story ends
The carpet and I parted friends
I promised never to reveal
This magical plot concealed
The last thing I have to say
Is go find a book display
If there's a wizardly dragon lover
Read it from cover to cover
an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
The party last night was amazing.
Every one must have got the
memo because I saw a lot of my
soup friends. Jack, Jan, Tom and
Bob had a awesome limerick party.
Wing Warrior told jokes on a stage
Bobby and Mike Messina went next.
( I'm still laughing by the way).Chris
passed out all kinds of smiles of
different sizes. Next he wrote a
dreamy poem on the spot. Gershon
was the DJ. He had mad skills too!
Mark Massey and John Gondolf
we're in Sonnet square. Their
Sonnets were simply amazing.
Andrea, Connie , Pixie and CayCay
prepared the food. It was so festive
and delicious. The desert they made
just melted in your mouth. Freddie
sang Christmas songs. He sounded
so good. Many were shocked. John
Hamilton also sang some songs
that he wrote. The closing act as
singing goes was Greg B., Sandra
Heidi, and Dear Heart chose to do
spoken word of their amazing
poetry. Caren had her very own
Haibun corner. Across from them
Anne-Lise had a Senryu corner as
well. Eve held down the Artist circle.
Her portraits looked so life like.
Victor And Jennifer recited of their
poems. They are amazing story tellers.
Richard and Demetrios read some
excerpts from their books. Vijay
and Silent held a Pantoum party.
I saw new soupers that haven't met
dressed as elves, Santas, and snow-
men I introduced myself to several of
them.I didn't want the night to end, but
everything has to end. I can't wait until
next year. I don't know how they can
top last night. It was the best party ever.
*This will be my last Christmas poem,
I think. Happy Holidays to you all.
Have a wonderful 2020!
My apologies everyone not mentioned
in this poem. I'll try to keep in mind
next time
Have a wonderful 2020!
December is the coolest month
Or the coldest month in some countries
Bring the toys, bring the candies
Grab a jacket, grab a coat and wear pajamas
At night. Stay away from the labyrinth
Get a Christmas tree to decorate
December is the jolliest month of the year
This is the winter month to go from fête to fête
Ride, ride the carousels
Ring, ring the bells
Beat the drums and blow the trumpets, cheer
Cheer and sing Christmas Carols to celebrate
The birth of Jesus Christ
Let it snow, let it snow
Smile and paint a rainbow
Be happy, be enticed
Have a very merry Christmas
Peace on Earth! Peace alas!
Copyright © December 2018, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
By Phan Tan Hai
The wise are never confused,
the brave never afraid—
now I meet them again in a film,
the lessons I learned in my youth,
unsure how much of them ever proved true.
Is it true the wise no longer doubt?
Is it true the brave no longer fear?
The Analects I recited when I was young—
dust on the bookshelf has blurred
the innocence of those years.
Alas—
the more I study, the more doubts arise;
the braver I become, the more hesitation grows,
only because I fear this world
will shatter a little more,
only because I fear another moon
will break upon the lake.
Meeting Master Confucius’s teachings again
in a martial-arts film,
my heart grows even more uncertain.
Books I read now are countless as scriptures,
yet the more I understand this world,
the deeper my doubts become.
The more words, the more tangled—
if only the heart were quiet,
if only all words vanished from the mind,
if only I could delight in this world like a child,
look into a mirror
and forget my own name, or anyone’s.
Each day I translate the news—
full of bomb-soaked storms,
full of children’s cries.
Who was it that said
“the wise are never confused”?
Swimming through forests of words each day,
my heart grows heavier
with doubt.
If only I could forget all words,
enter a place without measure,
where neither wisdom nor folly exists,
where neither black nor white,
neither night nor day,
neither self nor other—
a place where all things
are silent.
*Image of Dr Mikhail Tyaglyy
AUDIO version for the vision impaired.
Dr Mikhail Tyaglyy
Go, young man,
and conciliate cravings,
menacing palls the cherished
realm. Shelves are left barren
for frantic looks, as aisles
reload a virtuous plunge of
cobwebbed books, decaying
prints accolades of vice barren
save one issue ...
record stamped BUNKER.
Youths immersed
in causality and confidence,
protest keeps step as discord
spreads outward.
Mein Kampf now theirs,
whimsical misfits and loose
ends, melee erupts as age and
gender are trivial.
Young Romanis heed,
while zeal enlivens heels
as a body passes by,
in lieu of a gurney --
a wheelbarrow suffices.
Cadaverous festers,
for the emboldened few,
dare pierce opacity,
glimmers flit defiant palls,
as capricious spells
law books are easily tainted,
usurpers once blind,
struggles timorously
in their judicial robes.
If e'er survivors
from off the streets,
perchance a hearing,
they'll hear an echoing
in the silent courtroom,
'tis the calm ere the
storm, calamity on
trial, as justice for the
dead is made more dead
than death itself.
50s long gone bigotry kept
Santayana periods of disorder
a bedlam of societies rise
aphoristically said,
"Those who cannot remember
the past,
is condemned to repeat it".
~~a floor lies hope, shift ends, dustpan waits a couple more years.
2022 July 29
*1st Place*
Dr. Mikhail Tyaglyy
~~Joe Maverick: Judged 2022 July 31
Their toys are all strewn across every room
Each soon to be broken or lost.
Their books are forlorn, all tattered and torn
In the corner where they have been tossed.
Mommy is hoarse from the screaming, of course.
“Put them back where they belong!”
But while her every roar is not quite ignored,
The little boys simply play on…
But they’re good little boys… truly they are.
For good or for ill, they cannot sit still.
Not at lunch and not even at church.
They wiggle and giggle, they jump and they jiggle
In forward and even reverse.
There’s always a joke that just has to be spoke
When it’s time to calm down and just rest.
Or a story to tell, and they do it quite well,
In the hopes Mommy will acquiesce.
But they’re good little boys… truly they are.
They will play for a while with a big cheerful smile
There’s never a more friendly pair.
Then one will be hit in a sudden mad fit
And no longer can they even share.
A yell then a scream until Mom intervenes
And to separate rooms they are sent.
And then it will end and once more they’re a friend
Lost in the new merriment.
But they’re good little boys… truly they are.
Should I even mention their need for attention
When we’re trying to watch the T.V.?
The noise that they make is just so hard to take
And they’ll stand there so you cannot see.
They’ll spill all the snacks and refuse to relax
As they jump from the couch to the floor.
They’ll talk through the scene and throw toys at the screen
Until you can’t take any more…
But they’re good little boys… truly they are.
Then late in the night as you turn out the light
And you’ve finally got them in bed,
They’re not yet asleep so you help them count sheep
Or tell them a story instead.
You’ve tucked them both in and then tucked them again
And then tiptoed your way to the door
But you must turn around as you hear the faint sound
Of “I love you…” or was it just a snore?
But they’re good little boys… truly they are.
Patradoot or The Messenger 3/Many
Originally written in Hindi by my late
father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor
English version by Ravindra K Kapoor
The moment you will hear, the voice of my heart,
You will become pious, like the showering raindrops,
Taking shapes from my expressions,
To shower the rains of Love, on my beloved’s heated heart.
Ravindra
Kanpur India. 11th May 2010 to continue in 4
Transliteration of Hindi poem in English- Patradoot or the Messenger.
Sunte Hi Sangeet Hradaya Ka,
Tu Pavitra Ho Jayega,
Udgaron Ka Rup Dharega,
Prem Virsti Burseyega.
By Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor
Freedom Fighter and writer, Poet & Dramatist
(1889-1994)
Background of this Epic
The Patradoot was written originally by my later father
Dr.Amar Nath Kapoor in 1932. He had joined India’s
Freedom struggle in 1920 on the call of Mahatma Gandhi.
From 1920 till 1947 (India got freedom in 15th Aug. 1947)
my father was in active movement as Congressman and
Gandhi’s non violent soldier. For many a time he was
imprisoned for many months to more than a years sometimes.
During one such imprisonment he wrote this epic and sent
it to my mother secretly as a gift for her and to get it printed
and circulated among the masses to create awareness for
India’s freedom. The book was printed by my mother in
Hindi and some of this epic was circulated also, but the
British confiscated the book and press of my father around
1933. I was born in 1950 in a free India. I am trying to bring
this great writing of my father in English which portrays more
than the translation of the epic, so the world may
come to know about this otherwise lost and forgotten great
great epic and the sacrifices of my patents towards India’s
freedom struggle.
Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor left active politics after 1947
and devoted rest of his life in
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas,
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990.
He left this mortal world in 1994. Unfortunately many of his
World class work could not be published so far and Patradoot
is one of them.
Ravindra
Her Father was the Creator
Of the heavens and the earth
He gave her all of creation
Then, in time, He gave her
His word
The Bible was His precious
Book – of grace, faith and hope
Sprinkled in Love beyond measure
Love that could even be heard
In the scriptures He breathed
Light onto everything
His gift was more than blessing
It was wise beyond description
It was inspiration and enlightenment
A gift of purity and affection
Bringing life that was a living word
Written by inspired authors
Who knew she would soon need
This gift that surpassed her
Wildest dreams
Her Father gave her a book
And it was a book of wisdom and truth
Grace bound it up in love
And prayer brought it to birth
All her heart’s hopes and desires
Her belief was like a warm fire
Sending tingles of love through her soul
And capturing her spirit in an embrace
From the psalms and praises
Flowing through the ink in His gift
The Word of God is alive
Breathing out passion for Him
The greatest giver there will ever be
The God of heaven, the Father
Of all creation
God, the Father
Gave her a book, the Bible
And it’s contents – scriptures and verses
Are more potent and powerful
Than anything she could have imagined
With love, He blessed her greatly!
We live in different weather now.
Your mornings arrive
while my city is still arguing with rain.
There are oceans between our names,
customs checkpoints,
missed calls sleeping inside old phones.
Still, some nights
your laughter returns
through the cracked window of memory
like a bird that forgot migration.
I have tried discipline.
Deleted photographs.
Archived conversations.
Stopped visiting streets
where your shadow once leaned against tea stalls.
But absence is an untidy tenant.
It leaves your perfume
in books I did not lend you.
It writes your initials
on steamed mirrors.
It sits beside me
when trains leave stations at dusk
and strangers wave at no one.
People say distance is practical—
a map, a border, a measurable thing.
They have never watched
two souls remain stitched
after the bodies have learned departure.
I no longer ask you to return.
Love has matured into quieter disasters:
watering plants alone,
saving good news for someone unavailable,
hearing your favourite song
inside a supermarket aisle.
If we meet again,
let it be without accusations.
Let us speak
like two countries after a long war—
carefully,
honestly,
aware that history still burns,
yet knowing
some fires were lit
only because we were afraid of the dark.