Long Byron Poems
Long Byron Poems. Below are the most popular long Byron by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Byron poems by poem length and keyword.
When all the world is a giant burden,
Banerji sir, my colleague, a true SST Allen.
“Maan ki bat Modi ke Sath; rest other shun,”,
Says always my friend Banarji, never stun
Or stagger or startle, never remains barren.
Best friend who teaches Dhruvi and others Balkan,
Or India with psychology, without an apron.
Kenil, Hari, Bhavin, Shivani had some unban;
With Favourite dish of Dada, a fish; talks on Patan,
Sings hymns, buzzes about Mahakali one.
Says, “Your age is less than my profession.”
Scolds us, “Worst batch of year” – a Pun?
He is Bangali babu, wears dhoti, kurta even,
Talks about SST, and about doors wide open.
He is a Brahman, takes plausible action,
Wearing a chevron, is our Divine’s lion.
Meshwa, Diya, and Pitambar are clearly won,
With Aryan, Harsh, Nupur, Dishal and billion.
Let it be Shakespeare or Keats or Byron
He is through with all, has a great fortune.
Appreciates my Monorhyme and region
Never keeps quiet, but is pure bullion.
Dear to my students, Esha, Jeet or Rohan.
Prosper a lot is my wish, Oh! Aaron!
Gloria is the lass all the college boys fancied. In fact, she
was the one they dreamed of marrying. Yet, when she walks
through the door at the reunion, she’s unrecognizable! In
truth, she looks like a wrinkled drag queen. A ravishing beauty,
she is no more. Her once pert breasts now hang down like
spaniel ears. Seeing her makes me glad I’ve kept in shape! The
hours spent working out in our private gym and spa each night
have paid off. Marrying a successful surgeon has its perks! Of
course my tan is from weeks aboard our yacht, ‘Cloudless.’
We escape bitterly cold weather by sailing to sunnier climes.
The Caribbean is where we always celebrate Christmas and
New Year. We sip champagne as fireworks explode in starry
streams of gold and silver sparkles in dark inky blue skies.
The room falls silent, all eyes on me as I sashay to Gloria and
we embrace, kissing the air as we did when we were young. All
evening we reminisced. I'm glad I was an ugly duckling. That’s
how I met, Max. My facial reconstruction proved he was the best
plastic surgeon in the world. He performed with the skill of
an haute couture designer and lifted me from depths of dark
depression. I was totally transformed into a catwalk model and
when we married, I knew my future would always be bright.
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Lord Byron – She Walks in Beauty
A shattered heart; tears spilling like rain
No one would ignite the flames of my desire
To this, I swore an oath to never love again
until the kiss of a friend, kindled in me a fire
His touch was not expected, but felt so right
He quoted poems of Byron and then his own
Poetry 'neath the stars, I fell in love that night
I gave myself eagerly; my heart did condone
We walked along the shore, clasping our hands
He pulled me close, then we began to explore
A time of awakening was not among my plans
I quivered in his arms, wanting so much more
My oath was then rescinded, but I'm not at fault
I'll blame it on the moon, the glimmer of stars,
and passionate kisses that unlocked the vault
to rid my wounded heart of its jagged scars
~ Inspired by Katie Melua's 'I'll Blame it on the Moon,'
written by Mike Batt.
Dear Lord Byron
Please don't be upset
I wish to call you George
With affection and respect
The "Destruction of Sennacherib"
I was introduced to your poem
I learned it word for word
As I sat home all alone
You see George the meaning
Is much more than you know
In school I had no success
I was considered quite slow
Empowered by your words
Assyrians coming down
I spoke with true emotion
For once I wasn't a clown
When I spoke of your steed
With his nostrils all wide
Within the deep of me
I experienced pride
Like the leaves in your forest
When summer is green
You provided inspiration
I now travel where you've been
With a pen held in my hand
My destruction I escape
Within my troubled mind
New ideas take their shape
I'm gifted with freedom
Words of power do supply
Whether reading or writing
They provide me with my high
So George, I humbly thank you
You're truly the reason why
I travel within the words
They're the gift that help me fly
With anticipation
I know one day we'll meet
Beyond the gates of heaven
Please reserve for me a seat
The Father of all poets
Will speak in splendid tones
We'll marvel at his spirit
We will feel it in our bones
For poets are connected
In very intricate ways
Time is not of consequence
Our words are a form of praise
As a child when I committed Lord Byrons poem to memory,
I had no idea it was a story from the Bible. Being he was a
believer I wanted to honor both him and our God. Thanks
Monterey, I think this is a great topic for a poem. I also
chose to write in the same form as he had for "The Destruction
of Sennacherib". This was the first and only form I wrote in
prior to coming to the soup. I thank all the poets here who have
helped me grow, yourself included Monterey.
I wish I could write
like those others before me,
Byron and Shelley and old Edgar Poe
Flowery phrases
Thy love unforgetting,
chasing a raven as ink tends to flow
Follow a sidewalk
in Silverstein footsteps,
sit neath a tree as the apples appear
Doth O’ my feelings
O’er Midsummer stanzas
Dream thee melodic as words of Shakespeare
Maybe some thoughts
in a past tense creation,
deeper in meaning like Sylvia Plath
Or Robert Frost
and the nature he touches,
meandering off through the trees down a path
Emily Dickinson,
aprons and daisies,
words overflowing the tea kettle rim
And let’s not forget
“The man”, Leonard Cohen,
what I would give if I could write like him
Neruda, Longfellow,
Kipling and cummings
so many thoughts in their own point of view
Taking our minds
to assorted locations
every piece speaks of something quite new
So many poets
who weave inspiration,
any or all I can just hope to be
But here I am
just writing my verses,
I guess I am stuck being little ol’ me
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And here’s a few more,
some you might know
Who inspire all
when their ink it does flow
Charmaine, Paloma,
Heidi and Dee
Victor and Daniel
Catie, Laniey
Holly, Alexis,
Mystic and Rick
Maurice, The Seeker
Eve and Tim Smith
Arthur and Freddie
James, Jo and Jan
Nette, Laura Loo
Broken Wings, San
And so many others
I’ve met on this site
Who each day inspire
this poet to write
If I have forgotten anyone, I apologize. I am still quite new here.
P.S. IT’S POETRY WRITE ON WRITE ON CONGRATS TO MY FELLOW POETRY SOUPERS PART 4
Many thanks to you selected poets;
Of sharing your whispers from God, tho you didn’t know it;
Each letters and each word;
Reads so very dear and well;
Joys of your souls cheers;
Covenants of choice, reading your voice;
Blessing peace be still;
Please keep writing your skills;
Rhyming verses blessings of course it’s… P.S.
Congrats and thank-U my fellow Soupers
• Beverley Abrahams 381
• Bidisha P. Kashyap 212
• Bobby J May Sr 244
• Bogdan Vaida 300
• Bojosi Ditshwele 272
• Brian Fredrick Bronson 271, 280
• Bryan Paul Norton 142, 284
• Byron Kaya 179
• Byron Nel 378
C. Anguslaz Anokwute 375
• Cal Bambi 317
• Carl "Papa" Palmer 423
• Carol Ann Richardson 193, 68, 99
• Carol Louise Moon 255
• Carol Mitra 306
• Carol Sunshinze Brown 117, 67, 84
• Carolyn Devonshire 141, 22, 69
• Catherine Crider 428
• Catherine Johnson Broussard 80
• Cecelia Hopkins 238, 239
• Celine Bartels-Mills 186
• Chante R. Reeves 410
A Poet comes, a Poet goes
Their poetry stays with us
A candle's lit, its flame burns bright
Pauses, flickers, vanishes in the night
Ghostly outline traced, lingering light
A Poet comes, a Poet goes
Their poetry stays with us
An elegant sonnet, a lyrical rhyme
Iambic pentameter's syncopated time
All outlast the greatest poets of the past
Shakespeare and Milton, Shelley and Poe
Byron and Coleridge, all once did glow
Their earthly sparks long ago extinguished
Their poetry lives on, forever distinguished
A poet comes, a Poet goes
Their poetry stays with us
"50 Words for Poe: Winter"
Hey, you know how it goes
when you had your first kiss
Poetry kind of gets you between
the gonads with that kinda shizz
Yep, you’re lost on the swell when it
hits that frizz
You just gotta hit the surf and
when the waves come for you
dive under the Effers
You’ll come out of the Lemonade, betya 10 quids
Head up, you’re King or Queen of the Waves
This is how "IT" begins
Sharks, bellies full of sunk brave
are there to awaken
"Kavorka"
Byron knew that biz
"Kavorka"
Poetry in Bliss
Go on
Deal those cards
Black Jack
No Pikers
Never pass this way again
It’s Now or Never
We’re ALL heading towards Winter
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
https://youtu.be/MKAC7t0P65o
Steely Dan...
"One always has to be willing to lose to be able to win... in battle and in life.”
"Dark-heaving . . . boundless, endless, and sublime . . ."
Lord Byron 1788-1824
_____________________
I am the wordsmith, guide and editor of this narrative,
this epic chronicle and story of abysmal dream love;
my fingers are ink-stained and worn from writing,
this account of my journey is both tragic and dreadful;
it is a ghost story both poetic and darkly painful.
I awoke one night to find a gossamer shape watching,
it was vague, misty and hovered vapor-like;
the form soon became a phantasmal beautiful man,
ethereal and cloud-born, unworldly and spiritual;
he floated about my bed whispering my name endlessly.
His face was noble with a smile dazzling,
fathomless eyes made me feel so calm and wanted;
when he reached for me I felt glorious and filled with love,
his touch was sublime and he whispered I was his;
at that moment- I was whirling into darkness.
I gasped and realized his skin was corpse-like cold,
oh, was he the spirit of a dead man- an apparition;
a ghostly shadow come the take me to some deathly destination,
but when the specter spoke it was like a warm wave;
washing over my soul and I found my arms embracing him.
All night I lay in his celestial strong arms kissing his lips,
it felt both heavenly and decaying and I had to escape;
I had to leave this divine desire- and this beautiful man,
so with all my strength I pushed, pushed him away;
and his arms became threadlike reaching out for me, reaching.
I woke in the morning in my bed with sun shining brightly,
but my blankets and feet were grave stained with mud;
and I fell back weeping for this love boundless, and endless.
______________________________
May 14, 2019
Poetry/Narrative/I Am The Wordsmith, Guide and Editor
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1144-258-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Epic Ethereal Editor
sponsor, William Kekaula
Second Place
___________________________________
Submitted to FGI Blog Series 20 - Epic
Brian Strand
Podium Place 1
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Rob Smith, C J Jordan,
Bob Johnson, Vernon Jones,
Herschel Walker, Robert Maxwell,
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