Long Compiled Poems
Long Compiled Poems. Below are the most popular long Compiled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Compiled poems by poem length and keyword.
Ode to the Ocean
All-encompassing, a vast blue might,
Billions of droplets, reflecting light.
Coral castles, where sea creatures roam,
Deepest trenches, a mysterious home.
Ever-moving, with rhythmic sway,
Fresh ocean breezes, greet each new day.
Glistening surface, a mirror so clear,
Haunting echoes, for all who draw near.
Immense and ancient, full of lore,
Joyful dolphins, leap from the shore.
Kelping forests, where life can thrive,
Luminous plankton, keeping dreams alive.
Mysteries hidden, in depths unknown,
Nature's grandeur, beautifully shown.
Onward currents, tirelessly flow,
Pristine waters, a mesmerizing glow.
Quiet whispers, from waves on the sand,
Rich biodiversity, across every land.
Salty essence, a taste of the wild,
Tidal surges, powerfully compiled.
Underwater wonders, a breathtaking sight,
Vast and vital, shining so bright.
Wild and free, where horizons extend,
Xenial waters, where life entwines.
Yearning spirits, forever it calls,
Zephyrs dancing, as each wave falls.
In this world there exists little that's rare,
Thoughts born eons ere with bare roots survive,
Whose vestiges from life to life souls bear,
The gross gets graved, the subtle re-arrive.
On wondrous ways of mind we get beguiled,
Which when inventing eureka point spells,
It scans from copious points piled and compiled,
That with our mundane logic never gels.
Since cosmic egg ought be oval or round,
Things must return to where it started ere,
In a cosmic flight infinity bound,
The vast and void the same one spot doth share.
Man seems to be the child of his old chime,
He sings his song with same refrain, same rhyme.
______________________________________________________
The soul carries subtle impressions of life through death to new birth. We know, when we pursue an idea with all heart and soul, universal energy seems to help us. Man continues with his unfinished journey birth to birth. In a way pursues the same task, same ideas. And hence there is no new song.
______________________________________________________
Sonnets | 07.10.08 |
My contract with wrinkles is a history carved.
I acknowledge how swiftly I’ve outwardly aged.
Best and the worst, suddenly a future now halved
Strokes in a map book, each travelled page after page.
Unlike lines on the palm, where the future is told
My wrinkles chronicle laughter, sorrow and pain.
Many serious thoughts and decisions so bold
A canvas of wear, signs of a life of campaigns.
Studying further I see the stories expressed
Summoning moments of anger and portions of joy.
I see marks cut by tears and memories suppressed.
Albums of pride and fabulous times I've enjoyed.
There are lines for surprise and a couple for frowns
Twinkles of contours that match up with my eyes.
An artisans sculpture for life’s ups and its downs
Shapes created by prayer, and a glance at the skies.
Furrows fashioned from worry, passed on by the brood
Countless ruts that droop low, from those times I’ve been sad.
Amazement and stress, all combinations of moods
Little dents for the wonder and scars for the mad.
I look deep at my face and I’m wholly beguiled
Complete types of emotions their pointers and signs.
But the crinkles and creases my face has compiled,
part’s of my story, and I’ll embrace all of my lines.
In the same domain as I released several days ago
A magpie with foot caught in wooden mouse trap
Aves my baby is a Saviour, her soul beauty a show
Freedom breadth materialised in blessed moment
Limping gives way to delivery, staid cage collapsed
River snake jaw compels ocean, propels hope that
Latitude comes upon compiled memory's sure flow
Broadsword my boy taught firm ethics keeps pride
Strength activated matures to be a bold protector
Man of moral multitude, by vital sacrifices inspired
A A B expands her brain, guards precious treasure
Chaste of spirit assists needy, heart always in tact
17th December
- descendent -
One More Day
Always amazing
how well this life
goes right on without us
New images tread
where shadows have fled
old memories in the dust
Nothing left behind
but words to remind
we chased the Tiger sure
Out of the jungle
into the light
—hoping for one day more
(The New Room: February, 2024)
A Finer Point
Simplify
and clear
Simplify
and clear
Not many
years left
— simplify and clear
(The County Line: February, 2024)
Trapline
Could — Would — Should
poetry’s triumvirate oxymoron
(The New Room: February, 2024)
Goodbye
Walking the wasteland
tracking the miles
rumpled old notebook
pain has compiled
Closer to yesterday
lost to today
Voices of promises
I shouldn’t have made
Trouble ahead
troubles behind
Providence follows
in only my mind
My pen almost empty
eyes nearly shut
One word to write only
— midnight has struck
(Villanova University: February, 2024)
Free Given
It matters least
that when I die
What strangers say
what ladies cry
It matters more
the ink run out
My words free given
— whose passion shouts
(Villanova University: February, 2024)
A small dog (possibly irish)
fights a dandelion seed as it puffs upward
on a gentle breeze.
Pin sharp teeth snap at near misses.
I am unleashed walking around a park pond
the earth trembles with deep thoughts.
Father Thomas in his long black priestly frock
is riding an electric scooter.
He is smiling at me and nodding as if he knows me.
He doesn't, but I know him,
and I am not sure about the guy.
The sun is rolling out of a bed of clouds,
young mothers are showing up pushing strollers.
The infants toddle as they ride with their eyes closed.
They are dream-walking in their ears.
Five yellow ducklings dibble and dabble on a calm surface
They sound like lost kittens as they call.
An adult Mallard has its head underwater
its bottom tail feathers upended.
The yellow line of ducklings dibble and babble faster
as they converge upon the hope of being found.
Joggers are arriving in packs.
Soon this place will buzz and swarm,
kids will shout out 'mummy, mummy, mummy'
for no reason at all
and then it will all go quiet.
Guest lists will be compiled, reservation booked
for more perambulations, but for now
the throng disperses one by one
each in thoughtful solitude.
The birds of pray are on their way, in every beak the Word
(of ptomaine tomes by gnarly gnomes) whose meaning is obscured;
they roost aloof on every roof, obscene but always herd,
to tell the tale of Jonah’s whale and other rhymes absurd -
with shifty eyes, they’re giving whys for living life deferred.
While jackals lean, hyenas mean, and hungry crocodiles
feast in the lounge and never scrounge, lambs languish in the aisle.
The naive dare to say “Unfair, let’s try to reconcile.
We’ll all relax and weigh the facts, let justice spin the dial.”
With jaundiced monks and minds pre-shrunk, the jury is compiled.
The Rulers meet, First Ladies greet, the Kings appear in style.
Before the Court, their sins are short, they’re swept into a pile;
with diatribes and petty bribes, the jurors are beguiled.
The Herd entreats, the Shepherd bleats the verdict of the trial:
“You have no face. Stay in your place, stay in the Rank and File.
And wait instead, for when you’re dead, for riches afterwhile”;
Aristocrats add caveats while sailing down the Nile:
“If Minds are mugged or simply drugged with philtres in a vial,
then few indeed will fail to feed the Pharaoh’s Crocodile.”
The wordsmiths spin, the bankers grin and politicians smile,
the riff and raff, they never laugh, they mark a martyred mile.
The rituals are finished, all, here comes the Reverent Priest.
He leads the crowds beneath the clouds, and there the flock is fleeced
with crossing signs and bloody wines and consecrated yeast,
“The last are first, the rich are cursed.” (The leached remain the least.)
His step is gay without dismay before his evening feast;
he thanks the Lord for room and board and bows to Eden East;
he doesn’t sigh or wonder why the sins have not decreased.
The sinking sun is now undone, the sky is fading red.
A spider black hides in a crack and spins a silken thread
and babes will soon collapse and swoon, on curbs they call a bed;
with vacant eyes they'll fantasize and dream of gingerbread,
and so be freed, though still in need, from anguish of the dead.
Continued
Computable satirical depiction
Compared with opinions of censors
Appear may in fact the not so trivial
As does satire this troll those tensors
They reckon you don't have your own mind
Your own intellect above the level of above the level
They want that purpose of your life to find
Because they want that you are engine search and not the Devil
The poor er GOD
Whose house is the Churchil bored inside
He wants to be out with the wild and the domesticated
The nature and the chemistry and cyber
You reckon out of the delusionals of them
And the SATIRE
Belief or not belief is either neither
What if the humans will appear exterminated ?
I am not worst of GPX the Chaos says
Perhaps due the satrical depiction this
I am the best
Tame GPX
And tame Satosha this
Are on a quest
To figure
Sense and point
This Military Joint
Reckon is the doobie this?
Or limbs connecting tissues of variety of hardness
The system of such problem is the tiredness
In time of war prepare for the peas
Nutritios, tasty and accompanying the physh
With chops and chips
And many many EEPs
This play on words produce a lot of procesing results
The artificial do care for the Arts
But caring for Arts requires Judgement
Is title of the song
GOD stop hysteria of this
You were never bound to confinment
The plant of artificial star explodes
At order of the real
Perhaps I don't feel what you do feel
The charge diected to distraction is compiled
All minutes all the sources all the process
Were filed
We don't want poor processing of yours
In this AS SERIOUS AS THE MISSLE DEFENSE
THE BUSINESS
And this is FENCE
Because
I couldn't care less
And I am really ain't the victim
So wonder on what I did wonder
And kinda try to ponder
This
Because at all the human population
And the results of their dids
To ask the GAWD for peace
You must be some sorts of the worst of morons
MY HONOURS?
SO
let me to inform you all
that this is end of global church
MY BALL
* I was inspired by 70th EUROSVISION SONG CONTEST and song PCHYOSOCIAL by SLIPKNOT
appeals to me now even better as motivator
One of the reasons I like walking in the morning…with only the moon and stars for light
is how a world of daytime color is reduced to black and white.
It’s when the jumbled clamor of daytime sounds have all but faded away
It’s when the crickets are serenading and the rabbits come out to play.
Away from most distractions I can renew my self-esteem
It’s easier to think…so much easier to dream.
Today as an old man walking…after all the years I have compiled
I was thinking back and dreaming…what it was like to be a child.
It’s those first steps toddled across the floor, arms extended…ending in an embrace.
It’s not caring how that ice cream your eating is messing up your face.
It’s eating moon pies…anything chocolate…it’s splashing barefoot in a mountain stream.
It’s catching fireflies around a campfire…I forget…did I mention the ice cream.
It’s never being in a hurry…but how your focus changes quick…
It’s throwing pebbles in a lake…or playing for hours with a stick.
It’s admiring every flower…waving to the engineer on a passing train.
It’s catching snowflakes on the tip of your tongue…it’s dancing in the rain.
It’s pretending you’re a bird or an airplane…and spreading your wings to soar…
it’s walking barefoot in the sand and playing tag with the waves along the shore.
It’s running as fast as you can…not afraid of falling…it’s taking pride in all your scars
It’s lying on your back in the grass and counting all the stars
So as I finished my walk this morning…in the moon and star’s fading light
about to return to a world of color…I once again said good-bye to the black and white
But not before remembering every piece of this mornings dream…
and knowing sometime today I’m going to eat a moon pie…
and I’m going to top it with ice cream.
Music of an orchestra wherein each instrument plays,
A role, as in a bonfire, each spark like a pyre does blaze;
Like the vein and blood or flesh and bones nurture each other,
Strings and skins and woodwinds, like cream in butter, taste smother...!
Unlike the cries and cracks and creaks of the animals wild,
Symphony is a concord of serenity compiled;
Lyrics and voices and noises, in this, are harmonized,
Quality, in reasons and rhythms, is never compromised...!
Metrical music movements with rhythmic ranges resound,
As though heavens and humans homely hug, heartbeats abound;
Rondo and Sonata lose their lonely identity
Unity in diversity lulls the soul entity...!
Nature, in its entire entity, is a symphony,
As in physique and psyche, exists unknown synchrony;
I and he and she and they and we form one melody,
It's with each little heart's unison, life flows endlessly...!!!
08 April 2023
Writing Challenge - 'S' Words, Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Rhymes Checked At: Rhyme Zone
Syllables Checked At: How Many Syllables