Long Compilation Poems
Long Compilation Poems. Below are the most popular long Compilation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Compilation poems by poem length and keyword.
The mellow chords of a cello draw tears
as its bow vibrates a combo of strings.
And as that sound found its way to my ears:
it pulled on my heartstrings and clipped my wings.
The sorrowful cry of a violin
imbues empathy, felt within its pitch.
And, the moan of a bass fiddle cut in,
emphasizing its power to bewitch.
French horns, like brass thorns, both piercing and sharp,
elevate each note, and I'm left reeling.
And the lingering soft bleat of a harp,
haunts and taunts, with a heavenly feeling.
A full orchestra leaves my soul in awe:
every chord bound to the conductor's will.
Pretentious, yet artistic, like scrimshaw,
a compilation of talent and skill.
The wind blew exactly right
For the flying of a kite.
Kites were nearly everywhere:
In telephone wires
And high in the trees,
One or two were in the air,
Blowing ever higher
On a gentle breeze.
Then all at once the wind increased;
It blew and blew, it hardly ceased,
Pulling all the kites so high
Into the clouds,
How high they go!
Pulling children in the sky,
Above the crowds
That watch below!
Children hanging by kite strings,
Dangling over homes and things,
Higher, higher, beyond sight,
Each child dangled from a kite.
Then there was a change in the weather.
The wind stopped blowing altogether.
Children fall, down they drop, one and all,
Plop…plop…plop.
This is another poem from the ongoing series "Lucifera's Questionable Daycare Poems and Stories." It previously had very minor publication in Pamela Olsen's mail art compilation zine The P&E Newsletter volume 2 number 9, October 1993.
Your not just beautiful.
I see you every time I look up.
The star that shines it's brightest.
Filling my life.
The moon lit like a dream.
And forever I stare.
Listening to the silence.
Awaken by a soft light I know it's you.
I can feel your touch hovering about.
Counting the steps until our arms leave our side.
The possibility of traveling from one sphere to the next.
Our eyes but dots in wait.
The question of rockets and big bangs.
The essence of time interlocked between our fingers.
With no room left to breathe, our rocket becomes continuous.
With you, a compilation of light.
Is there any question to why my arms stretch as far as they do.
I gravitate to you, the most beautiful chaos I've ever seen.
To be the space you fill in infinite devotion.
Your not just beautiful, your astonishingly out of this world.
Our arms no longer by our side. the rocket pierces the stratosphere.
We explode internally
Thanksgiving 1930
Mama was running around the house trying to make space for everyone to lay their heads when the night draped the day.
The house was jovial and laughter bang against the four walls like a rushing tide against an embankment, and it filled the cracks with vibrating music.
The aroma of baked turkey, ham, and yams live freely in the air with tobacco smoke. It was one of the most happiest and memorable day of my life.
My cousins and I made thunderous cacophony while running through the house.
The men in the family sat in the parlor in front of the fireplace sipping on papa's dandelion wine, and verbalizing their views on politics and agriculture.
The women gathered in the kitchen to prepare the meal and exchange recipes.
They knew everything significant about the world, according to them.
They knew every poultice and herb to fix for just about any type of ailment.
They knew and philosophized on the affairs of the heart.
They knew the words of the Lord and quote them in their solicitous conversations.
They were icons
Excerpt from short story Pinstripe Suit
copyright Labyrinth of Life 2007. Labyrinth of Life is a compilation of short stories and poetry.
POTW 12th May 2019
Thank you for visiting my third Visual Video Poem, more or less a continuation of my previous poem – ‘The Dreamer’
(I invite you to view the complete production effects and the superb narration by Kelvin on the video above)
I LIVE FOR THE DAY when faith in ourselves will unshackle old beliefs
I LIVE FOR THE DAY belief in The One Spiritual Energy will be redeemed
I LIVE FOR THE DAY that armed conflict against so-called enemies
Is declared pointless and therefore unnecessary will be deemed
I LIVE FOR THE DAY when wizened skin a thing of beauty will be perceived
Our elders revered and adhered
Their words of wisdom respected and believed
I LIVE FOR THE DAY when people will recognise the power of natural curing
And not be influenced by the greedy Pharmaceutical manipulating
I LIVE FOR THE DAY when equality by all will be shared
Power segregation abolished ~ racial discrimination repaired
I LIVE FOR THE DAY when schools will encourage children’s gifts and abilities
Rather than stick to outdated systems that stifles innovation and possibilities
I LIVE FOR THE DAY when Man will adapt to our Earth a more reverent conservation
Our steadfast purpose toward environmental change
And Mother Nature becomes our commitment to her preservation
I LIVE FOR THE DAY …
By Maria Williams
Copyright © Maria Williams
Video arrangement, production, direction
and compilation:
Ron Williams
Video editing, sound mixing, graphics:
Jayne Hartano
(Our very own Lariese.com Art Director)
Voice over:
Kelvin
Music:
Our Future
Composer:
Peder B. Helland
POTW 12th May 2019
When we speak today we tend to look at words as a necessary constant with limitations of their own rather than a completely different cosmos in which we have the ability to traverse and discover.
Take a single resident of that realm for example; one individual word. Rather than looking at it as a compilation of letters, view it as a beautiful form in which you have the privilege of dressing. Turning it into a separate creation adorned by the complements of your choosing; a poem.
In the realm of poetry there are unending borders of emotion, philosophy, and beliefs that make it a place of residence like no other. However, you as the individual are the surveyor of your own boundaries; meaning that you run the risk of personally limiting your space within the universe of word.
Explore this new land and map its different landscapes. Become that which you are writing and attain the ability, the gift, to reach directly into the mind, heart, and soul of another person.
Men of learning mired are in envy,
Those of influence, proud and haughty,
As rest are ignorant,
My poems have gone gaunt,
Untold, unread, old and weary.
___________________
Translation | | poet, poem
Poet’s Note: Bhartruhari was a poet king in central India in the seventh century CE, who when disillusioned in love renounced kingdom and became an ascetic. Neeti Shatakam, a compilation of hundred verses on moral values was written by him along with Shringar Shatakam on romance, and Vairagya Shatakam on dispassion and renunciation. This verse is taken from Neeti Shatakam. It seems, even in these olden times, poetry suffered from the same fate as now--getting old unread.
Boddharah matsara-grastah prabhavah smaya-dushitah |
Abodha-upahatah cha anye jirnam ange subhashitam || 2 || Meter: Anushtup
Pt. 3
We lived in a house with many shadows that came and left frequently.
She called herself my caretaker. From small measures of her time, she taught me how to read, yet she never caressed me nor given me a kind word.
When I was younger, she sat me in front of the television while she shot fire into her veins or snorted white powder through her wide nostrils.
When she disappeared along with the shadows, the originator grew even more of a fiery beast, and my tears and pleas were ignored
I learned to remove myself from grief and emotions over the years and stay in my closet out of the way of him and the shadows that he invited into my bed.
Something happened to him.......
Maybe I grew wild with perplexity that dims the seasons of my life.
Ambiguity is a heavy boulder.
I raked at my arms and thighs.
The blackness chased away the sun, and my eyelids felt heavy. I for once was thankful for the pills that were forced down my throat.
I will lay still in hopes of a dreamless night or a sleep that never end.
I have no wish for another dawn.
copyright 2007 Labyrinth of Life, a compilation of poems and short stories
Attorney General William
Barr black marker in hand
kept promise to censor vital
details of Mueller Report
swift as Usain Bolt candidly,
grandly, lustrously, roundly
youthfully blocked out more
rapid than an elegant eland
vibrantly, regally, magically,
and gracefully skirts borderland
which favored topography
constitutes grassland or woodland,
far more pleasing to observe,
than reading adulterated brand
of aforementioned compilation,
distillation, edification, fortification
zeroing questionable activity
upon head of trumpeting brigand,
whose arrivistic, bombastic, caustic,
demonic, electric broadband
outsize ego still convinces
me, thee commander in chief
delegated one or more chargehand
perhaps while delighting as
gourmand savoring chateaubriand,
where his best buddies imagined
themselves in seventh heaven cloudland
every so often taking siesta sans repast
or golfing with grisly handicapped clubhand
non verbally communicating,
in viz sub bully taking a peas zing
cues from presidential high command,
which coterie (i.e. den of thieves)
manipulated social media with nefarious,
insidious, deleterious, et cetera
analogous to "FAKE" contraband,
maybe even milking innocent cowhand
unwittingly planting GMO electronic
bugs amidst future bovine fodder cropland
to allow, enable, and jackknife demand
that moost every eligible voter tricked
induced by virtual reality dreamland
with sinister motive for thee "Apprentice"
rule his kingdom, and expand,
realm asper Medieval days
declaring himself chieftain of fatherland
and/ or North American motherland
where naysayers guillotined
by uncontested firebrand,
who without provocation
very likely bomb into Stone Age
formerly edenic, lush, verdant
geography into flatland
rendered hostile, poisonous and uninhabitable
nonetheless radiating for miles with gangland
forced labor tilling barren, desolate, fissured
landscape erecting unsightly grand
standing room only (cause he know Shylock)
terrain (reign) vast highland
manor as poobah, and husband
to his only heiress, the former
a kooky monster from foggy bottom marshland.
Your Choice for President
( a suggested method for democrats this next voting season)
By Franklin Price
6/3/2019
Who is your choice for president
Of all who chose to run?
To vote for them as “Idol”
Would be “American” for fun
When the final ones have entered
And debating fills the air
To cast some votes at evening's end
Would be something we could dare
Because there are so many
Divide them into groups of five,
By a drawing, fair and square,
To see how long they will survive
Ten votes, for each method sent,
Spread them out or all for one,
Must cast your votes, after they speak,
And before the rising sun
After the compilation
Has been totaled and is through,
The bottom three are outta there
Must find something else to do
The top two of each round move on
The rest of them are goats
They're then put out to pasture
Due to lack of cyber votes
The cycle then continues
Until only two are there
They move on to the primaries
To decide the one, if you still care
The winner meets the Elephant,
Who right now is Donald J.
Could be another opponent, then,
If the Asses have their way.