Long Centenary Poems
Long Centenary Poems. Below are the most popular long Centenary by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Centenary poems by poem length and keyword.
The arid forest's grounds
are paved with dry and riddish leaves
that the whimsical wind loves
to take off the shivering sages!
Whoever hears the cries of the ravens
is a soul that sympathizes their agony;
they have sought consolation,but found pity...
in that heart ardently singing praises!
The swirling November's raindrops
land on the thirsty and light foilage...
without the strenght in their rage;
Nature ashamed to flaunt her diamonds
that nourished and embellished her tree-tops:
Nature retrieved to her dormant state!
A gloomy day for the angry shrikes that seem ample...
waging war with the presumptuous thrush
that throws glances by flapping his long wings;
an unexpected lightning strikes the growing maple,
pulling it from its roots,making those shrikes dash...
birds have better instincts that human beings!
I witness the wrath of the squall...
bringing down a centenary oak,
which is flung across before a hard fall;
I,enfeebled but not frightened,make my oath
underneath a sorrowful forest...
as dark as a secret put to rest!
Famished and flagging footsoldiers;
formerly fitters and farmers.
Facing fatigue, fitful fever,
faeces and foul, foetid fungi.
Fostering feelings, frustrated,
for this faraway, foreign field.
Forsaking fissures and furrows,
forced forwards with fleetness of foot.
Firearms flash and fragments fly far,
feigning the firmament aflame.
Fighting so fierce and ferocious,
fratricide set free on this field.
Fuelled by freedom, nay, falsehood;
for their fellows and friends, foremost.
Forays so fraught with fine failure,
fatally fettered from the first.
Forged by such fatuous fawners,
focus firmly fixed on this field.
Forfeiting furtive and fiendish,
fulfilment was falsely forecast.
Fate flexes her fickle fingers,
future’s foretold and foreshadowed.
Faustian favours forthcoming,
for folly to feud for a field.
Families of fine forefathers,
fought fiercely, for fear we’d forget.
Forthright and filial feelings,
forgo fun and frivolity.
Familiar flora forms focus,
for the fallen in Flanders Field.
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8 syallables on every line (www.howmanysyllables.com)
November 2018
(This is my original / extended version)
I wanted to do something special - and a bit different - to mark the centenary of the end of The Great War (11 November 1918). This poem is dedicated to all the brave souls lost defending freedom during that terrible conflict (and all conflicts since).
Poetry
Aged eighty Joyce started to write
Her poems my senses ignite
Imagery so divine
I just wish it was mine
Great poetry brings such delight
Making Fudge
Joyce really loves making fresh fudge
I wonder if I give Joyce a nudge
She will send to me
Her fudge recipe
From my kitchen I would not budge!
Tulip Parade
Without Joyce being sat in her seat
The parade would not be complete
Gardens Joyce does promote
On the flower club float
Her zest for life cannot be beat!
Gardening club
Joyce travels to state garden shows
Her knowledge of plants overflows
It would be a great idea
In her centenary year
To honour her name with a rose
100th Birthday
All soupers we must now rejoice
And shout out with united voice
That we just want to say
Have happy Birthday
To a fabulous poet named Joyce
Happy 100th Birthday Contest
Sponsored by Carolyn Devonshire
4/18/18
Famished and flagging footsoldiers;
facing fatigue, fitful fever,
faeces and foul, foetid fungi.
Fostering feelings, frustrated,
for this faraway, foreign field.
Forays so fraught with fine failure;
forfeiting furtive and fiendish,
fatally fettered from the first.
Forged by such fatuous fawners,
for folly to feud for a field.
Forced forwards with fleetness of foot;
firearms flash and fragments fly far,
feigning the firmament aflame.
Forces fight so ferociously,
fratricide set free on this field.
Forthright and filial feelings;
families of fine forefathers,
fought fiercely, for fear we’d forget.
Familiar flora forms focus,
for the fallen in Flanders Field.
- - - - - - - - -
8 syallables on every line (www.howmanysyllables.com)
November 2018
Entered in Brian Strand's "Contest No 515".
(1st Place)
I wanted to do something special - and a bit different - to mark the centenary of the end of The Great War (11 November 1918). This poem is dedicated to all the brave souls lost defending freedom during that terrible conflict (and all conflicts since).
1907, Saw the begining of forthcoming,Glasgow`s Sir.Willam Arroleco`s company
were credited, structural errecting of twas to be,Middlesbrough`s emblem,The
Transporter Bridge.Replacing the steam ferry,shuttling The River Tees.
Opening ceremony being October 17, 1911. Prince Arthur of Connaught, the chosen.
a delightful heartwarming structure,spanning The Tees 259 metres,an amazing view
from a height of 49 of the same.
An achievement,in itself as second largest of it`s kind.
World war 2,a bomb caused minimal but,effective damage.Gondalar hanging
midrift,waters lashing.
Folk crossing the high walk path, to reach Port Clarence,vice versa.
However,1933. A phenominal recognition, recieved highest honours. Institute of
Mechanical Engineers shone. A true sense of pride for Tessiders,alike.
Epic television and films alike, attracted our humble creation.Boasting Billy Elliott to
Spender and Aufweidersein pet.Dramatics and comedy on a worldwide wide stage.
Walking the steps to windy heights.Views a pleasure for the eye,the distance,Eston
Hills to Roseberry Topping.Foregrond,steelworks, hotels,dwellings,but standing like
a Mecca Shrine,The Riverside Stadium.( Our local football stadium )
The blue lights,reflecting every gurder every beam,at night
coming home is such a heart warming sight.
To commemerate the 100 years centenary of, THE TRANSPORTER BRIDGE.
.
A hundred year is gone,
Suspence still fill the air.
Truly, the signs are with us.
About an exodus?
But no, not a plague of locust,
It's a plague of men.
The people are the disaster
Since naturally we have none.
Arise O compatroits.
To serve our fatherland
What has happened to the song we sing?
Why the irony?
Why tampering on the bond
Of peace and unity?
Why letting vain cause to overthrow
The labours of our heroes past?
O democracy! don't fail us now
O God of creation!
Direct our noble cause
Help our youth the truth to know
That we move again as a nation
towards great lofty height to attain
One nation bound in freedom
Peace and unity.
All is relative, 2 and 2 are not 4,
but 22 ... an 8 is nothing else
that two 3 back one
to the other ... I0 in reverse
is Q.I not only ten, but many
combined figures, several
problems solved ...
Hundred with H, is a respectable value,
an honorable and eld centenary human being...
With S of sans, it's nothing ... nothing!
The zero 0, is a bigger brother of o ...
if accentuated, look and assembled in
o,?.ó.ó, o does not form a figure
but a row of regrets ...
Numbers compose numbers,
letters combine words.
Numbers count.
letters write ...
Well or worse things with them
happen, but this is also
relative ... and with that relativity,
we live ...!
Although flowers bloom it’s awkward to say that they are flowers
because they are not flowers, but thorns disguised as yellow pistils
and stamens surrounded by the petals made of pieces of colorless
paper. Moreover, their fragrance bears no meaning at all because
they bloom in the night,
and each time when the scorching sun brands the cactus’ skin
it cries out loud from the pain of the thorns pierced through
it’s burning flesh to form renewed skin,
then, surprised by a heartrending cry,
the birds flap their wings to fly in the air abandoning the cactus.
However the birds may be, they only are lifeless drones
flying over a desert. And since they are lifeless, they
don’t know the meaning of life, and that’s why they only see
the thorny flowers standing open arms in the midst of the desert that is
filled with ashes of death—nuclear wastes, abandoned poisonous chemical
solutions polluted waters that drive lives to the edge of death.
To the saguaro cactus standing in the midst of man-made miseries,
nonetheless, dreamed to have an audience with
the mystic Queen of the Andes,
and in order for him to fulfill his dream,
to have a long journey toward the south moving along with the sun,
and then, after crossing the delicate line marked zero,*
climbing up the Andes for a higher ridge that is higher than the drone.
And as you go higher the wind starts to rise;
when the wind gets stronger to cut through the skin,
then saguaro’s thorns start to prick its own body from
loneliness unbearable,
and that is the time ripe for
the mystic Queen of the Andes to reveal herself
from the clearing fogs, behind the thick and heavy veil of clouds.
She appears in a dress embellished with tens of thousands of
not overly extravagant or pompous but graceful flowers that
bloom centenary.
She is the tree, immaculate and with inviolable dignity,
she bears the blooms in the serenity of the high and deep mountain.
Today too, the saguaro cactus under scorching sun dreams
a dream of seeing the elegant Queen of the Andes someday,
even afar it, stands as ever.
Enveloped in the cloud, though Queen hides her image
she has left her sweet scent behind,
in the sweet scent she left, the thorn flower saguaro stands
willing to wait another one hundred years to see her again.
*Zero: The Equator
Jinxed jesting jejune junior jobber...
just jabbering gibberish (A - I)
Again, another awkward ambitious
arduous attempt at alphabetically
arranging atrociously ambiguously
absolutely asinine avoidable alliteration.
Because...? Basically bonafide belching,
bobbing, bumbling, bohemian beastie boy,
bereft bummer, bleeds blasé blues, begetting
bloviated boilerplate bildungsroman,
boasting bougainvillea background.
Civil, clever clover chomping, cheap
chipper cool cutthroat clueless clodhopper,
chafed centenary, codifies communication
cryptically, challenging capable, certifiably
cheerful college coed.
Divine dapper daredevil, deft, destitute,
doddering, dorky dude, dummkopf Dagwood
descendent, dagnabbit, demands daring
dedicated doodling, dubious, dynamite,
deaf dwarf, diehard doppelganger, Doctor
Demento double, declaring depraved
daffy dis(pense)able dufus Donald Duck
derailed democracy devastatingly defunct.
Eccentric, edified English exile,
effervescent, elementary, echinoderm
eating egghead, Earthling, excretes,
etches, ejaculates, effortless exceptional
emphatic effluvium enraging eminent,
eschatologically entranced, elongated
elasmobranchii, emerald eyed Ebenezer,
effectively experiments, emulates epochal
eczema epidemic, elevating, escalating,
exaggerating enmity, enduring exhausting
emphysema.
Freed fentanyl fueled, fickle figurative
flippant fiddler, fiendishly filmy, fishy,
fluke, flamboyantly frivolous, fictitious,
felonious, fallacious, fabulously fatalistic,
flabbergasted, fettered, flustered, facile,
faceless, feckless, financially forked,
foregone, forlorn futile fulsome, freckled
feverish, foo fighting, faulty, freezing,
fleeting famously failing forecaster, flubs
"FAKE" fundamental fibber fiat, fabricating
fiery fissile fractured fios faculties.
17.9.2024, Tuesday,
Lunar calendar Middle Autumn Full Moon day.
The moon hangs up high in the dark but clear sky.
It is so full and bright.
I must have witnessed it,
For more than half a centenary at least,
I have been alone for nearly two decades,
But only tonight, looking at the moon
All I felt was lonely and sad.
Early this evening, I delivered to you a little bag,
Inside there was a letter which I wished you
To enjoy the traditional Full Moon festival,
The messages were written in reverse fashion,
Only you, the recipient can read it.
Because I have shown you this special trick,
It was returned without opening it,
Instead of replying to the messages.
I felt like playing ping pong with this stubborn person.